fic: where hedgerows have wild business with roses and clematis
Title: where hedgerows have wild business with roses and clematis
Fandom: Glee
Pairings/characters: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary: of mornings and weather vanes.
A/N: I got this out in about an hour - I'm super rusty so quick fic is good :3 I was reading some lovely domestic!Klaine fic and sleepy cuddly boys is my fave always so this sort of happened. Title and quote from a lovely poem by Abse - 'Postcard to his Wife'.
Anything! But come home. Then we'll motor,
just you, just me, through the dominion
of Silurian cornfields, follow the whim
of twisting narrow lanes...'
'Postcard to his Wife' by Dannie Abse
&
Sometimes dawn breaks like the pause in a crescendo of an orchestra, reds and purples building and merging until they disappear all at once in a steady high note of pale blue, soaring over treetops and lampposts and flags and past streaks of soft white and up, up, away, endlessly.
Their sheets are cream, Kurt's old ones from his bedroom at his dad's, creased and too big for their bed. They only have one more set (navy blue) and they alternate every two weeks (because Blaine never remembers to take them to the dry cleaners until the second Tuesday). The sheets are currently tucked tightly around an entanglement of limbs, hands on hips and shoulders and fingers clenched around pillows and other fingers. The traffic is already loud outside, ten stories below, drowning out the deep, slow breathing of the occupants of the bed.
When the light shines too brightly through the threadbare curtains Kurt blinks, tiny sounds escaping as he burrows further into their bundle of warmth. It's too early, he's thinking, but the clock he'll see in two minutes time says otherwise. Blaine snuffles into his shoulder, wrapped like a limpet around him and heating him up quite sufficiently.
"Hm." Kurt stretches as much as he can and cups his palm around Blaine's scruffy cheek. "Blaine."
"Wha-hmf-" He wakes with a start, frowning at the disturbance of his death-like sleep. "No."
"It's eight," Kurt croaks, gently pushing at Blaine until he slumps back onto his side of the bed, pouting.
"'S'too early."
"Come on." Kurt pokes him until Blaine opens his eyes again. "Up."
"No," Blaine whines but sits up, mouth opening wide in a loud yawn. "No, sleep."
"You had nine hours," Kurt says, tangling their fingers together and tugging once. "Come on, sleepy."
"Okay." Blaine presses his forehead into Kurt's back and loops his arms around his waist. Together they stumble towards their tiny kitchen, Kurt humming as he deposits Blaine at the counter and places a bowl of cereal in front of him.
Blaine usually perks up after breakfast and their shared shower, singing along to something bright as he hops into his clothes and brushes his teeth. They depart for classes together, shoving their helmets on and straddling Blaine's scooter. Kurt still clutches at Blaine's little waist, burying his face in Blaine's jacket as they zoom through New York traffic.
&
Other mornings are grey and bleak compared to the atmosphere in their little apartment, coffee brewing and radio on and Blaine being less difficult to get out of bed (but these sorts of mornings he likes to hold Kurt's hand and dance around their apartment with him in their pyjamas until their neighbour bangs on the wall and Kurt is wiping tears from his eyes). They take the subway those mornings, Kurt hopping past puddles on the sidewalk and wincing when the steps downwards are muddy. Blaine rolls his eyes but waits for him to slink down anyway, hand outstretched for Kurt to take again.
NYU and NYADA are two stops apart, so Blaine kisses Kurt on the cheek and blows more kisses from the doorway and through the subway window until Kurt can't see him any more or bumps into someone. Kurt spends the rest of his journey smiling.
&
Sometimes the rain is a downpour, rainclouds black over the city and occasionally thunder making the buildings tremble and the people jump, startled, under their umbrellas. These are the mornings where Blaine pretends to sleep, watching Kurt from his dismissed corner on the couch and Kurt pretends not to notice, eyes red and nose turned upwards. Blaine tries to hold Kurt's hand only for Kurt to slip his hand away at the last moment, leaving Blaine frowning and lost. They leave at different times, Kurt to the subway and Blaine to his scooter, throats raw and hands jittery without something to hold onto.
&
The last kind of morning (except every morning is different, in its own way) is when the light pours through the windows and shines on their faces, but their eyes are already open, glazed over, full and brimming, woken hours ago by unfinished conversations and honesty still clawing up into their throats.
(Because you compromise for love, yes, but the strongest love is the love that holds its own even when the things you hate about each other the most float to the surface and explode between you)
Kurt touches Blaine's nose with the tip of his finger, nudging him when Blaine ducks his head and trails off ("No, come on, tell me."). Blaine finds Kurt's hand and entwines their fingers, gripping tight like he couldn't for what felt like so long. His words break from his reluctant mouth at intervals as Kurt nods, taking, learning. Then Kurt does the same, palm pressed to Blaine's heart so that everything works in time, alongside one another, as always.