Because I saw someone on tumblr tag a picture of Chris with "it's like god painted him" and I agree.
(P.S poetic drabbles are apparently what comes out when I have no idea what to write about.)
It's Like God Painted Him
His eyes are closed, and Blaine kisses them. His hair is a mess, and Blaine gently runs his fingers through it. His neck is long and pale, and Blaine sucks on it.
He is perfect.
Blaine wonders if he knows how perfect he is. He slides his hands down his naked torso, down to his muscles thighs, and exhales fleetingly.
Sometimes Blaine feels like lying on top of him this way is a sin, hiding him from the world. But he wants to keep this beauty to himself, protect it so the world with its crudeness won't be able to corrupt it.
It's like god painted him, Blaine thinks.
Kurt's eyes flutter open, and he notices Blaine looking. He smiles, and the room lightens up with new brightness from the sun that is his smile.
"Good morning," Blaine says with reverence, with awe, with love.
Kurt smiles at him, closes his eyes again and tilts his face up slightly, searching- Blaine tenderly presses their lips together.
"Good morning," Kurt whispers, and goose-bumps rise on Blaine's skin when his eyes are reopened, light-colored and deep, like the ocean on a sunny day.
"Marry me?" Blaine asks like he does every morning, fingers idly touching the ring on Kurt's finger.
And like every morning, with all of his naked, sleepy glory, Kurt beams and answers, "Yes."