On Blank Pages
Title: On Blank Pages (a oneshot)
Pairing: Kum (mentions of Klaine)
Rating: G
Summary: When he doesn't sing, he illustrates. Crossposted here (tumblr).
A/N: Let's call this my LJ fic debut, shall we? :) Written on an uncertain timeline. Place it wherever you see fit.
Kurt was his favorite subject - all subtle lines and rosy cheeks and amazing fashion sense. Kurt's choice of clothing always made it so much easier for Sam to draw without getting repetitive. Like today, for example.
Kurt's clothing was simple enough: a monochromatic palette, probably to suit the gloomy atmosphere that the day of his mother's death brought. Sam knew that, because Kurt told him, but that was a completely different story altogether. So he draws it all: black scarf, top made of a sheer, flowy material that accentuated all Kurt's curves at the right places (his pecs, for one), leading to tightly-fitted pants that served to emphasize Kurt's assets, flawlessly weaving in with his boots, all grungy yet classy, only something Kurt can wear correctly.
Then there are his eyes, which Sam could never capture perfectly in color. So much as a tiny twist makes those eyes different. And it changes, too, with the people Kurt looks at, things.
For example: when Kurt looks at Rachel and Finn during glee, his eyes have this twinge of what Sam supposed was jealousy (the question, though, was why. he had blaine, didn't he?). And when Kurt looked at Blaine, he had these adoring crinkles and his eyes were a unique shade of blue-grey, but something was off, and he didn't know what (and Sam wasn't only interpreting Kurt's eyes that way out of spite). When Kurt listened to Gaga, his eyes danced, looked everywhere. When Kurt listened to musicals, his eyes were this green-blue that screamed happiness and joy.
Today, though, Kurt's eyes were a bit different: some grey, some green, some blue, a bit dilated. He was trying so hard to explain the differences between metaphors, metonymy, and sinechdoche to Sam, who didn't know the difference. His eyes were pleading for understanding, a please listen, Sam, and a bit annoyance, please stop scribbling, Sam, and maybe a little oh, you're adorable that Sam observes, the same look Kurt gives Blaine sometimes.
The dilation, though, Sam didn't understand. He licked his lips, out of reaction maybe, because Sam felt these... things. Like, he couldn't pinpoint exactly how or exactly what his feelings were, but he knew that it was the same reason he was a bit jealous of Blaine, or the same reason why he'd go with Mercedes and Rachel and Finn when they go with Kurt on dinner-dates, or why Kurt was the favorite subject of his pencil and sketchpad. It's the same reason why he licked his lips while watching Kurt sing a duet. With himself (like seriously, who does that?). It's the same reason why he felt something more akin to a crush than gratefulness when Kurt helped him out during his time of need, offering not just clothes but free tutorials, and sworn secrecy. And it's probably the same reason why his body always heats up with a simple grazing of Kurt's hands on his - surprisingly callused, he assumed, from all the car-work that Mr. Hummel teaches Kurt. His touch wasn't feminine, at all. It didn't feel like Quinn's touch, felt much closer to maybe Finn's, and is it odd that they're brothers now?
His hands always do this, sketch faster, when he's got a billion thoughts a minute. For a moment, his hands thought on their own, the pencil sliding, shading, a bit of an outline here and there -
"Sam, are you even - what are you doing anyway?"
Sam looked up, biting his lip, his hands twitching. He mumbled an apology and hid the sketchbook from Kurt's view.
Kurt sighed. "Come off it. You listened to my recordings, and I think it's time to return the favor."
That's right. Kurt sent him recordings and Kurt called it off and that same feeling he got when Kurt visited him in the shower came to the forefront of his mind. That same feeling. The same reason for all of this.
"You owe me a duet," Sam dared to say, hesitant, as if afraid.
Kurt smiled. "I suppose I do."
And with that, all talk of Sam's sketches have been forgotten, lesson moving on. And maybe Sam could keep this secret, for a while, while he figures out just what the hell these feelings are.
And until then, he'll draw. And draw. And draw some more.
Pairing: Kum (mentions of Klaine)
Rating: G
Summary: When he doesn't sing, he illustrates. Crossposted here (tumblr).
A/N: Let's call this my LJ fic debut, shall we? :) Written on an uncertain timeline. Place it wherever you see fit.
Kurt was his favorite subject - all subtle lines and rosy cheeks and amazing fashion sense. Kurt's choice of clothing always made it so much easier for Sam to draw without getting repetitive. Like today, for example.
Kurt's clothing was simple enough: a monochromatic palette, probably to suit the gloomy atmosphere that the day of his mother's death brought. Sam knew that, because Kurt told him, but that was a completely different story altogether. So he draws it all: black scarf, top made of a sheer, flowy material that accentuated all Kurt's curves at the right places (his pecs, for one), leading to tightly-fitted pants that served to emphasize Kurt's assets, flawlessly weaving in with his boots, all grungy yet classy, only something Kurt can wear correctly.
Then there are his eyes, which Sam could never capture perfectly in color. So much as a tiny twist makes those eyes different. And it changes, too, with the people Kurt looks at, things.
For example: when Kurt looks at Rachel and Finn during glee, his eyes have this twinge of what Sam supposed was jealousy (the question, though, was why. he had blaine, didn't he?). And when Kurt looked at Blaine, he had these adoring crinkles and his eyes were a unique shade of blue-grey, but something was off, and he didn't know what (and Sam wasn't only interpreting Kurt's eyes that way out of spite). When Kurt listened to Gaga, his eyes danced, looked everywhere. When Kurt listened to musicals, his eyes were this green-blue that screamed happiness and joy.
Today, though, Kurt's eyes were a bit different: some grey, some green, some blue, a bit dilated. He was trying so hard to explain the differences between metaphors, metonymy, and sinechdoche to Sam, who didn't know the difference. His eyes were pleading for understanding, a please listen, Sam, and a bit annoyance, please stop scribbling, Sam, and maybe a little oh, you're adorable that Sam observes, the same look Kurt gives Blaine sometimes.
The dilation, though, Sam didn't understand. He licked his lips, out of reaction maybe, because Sam felt these... things. Like, he couldn't pinpoint exactly how or exactly what his feelings were, but he knew that it was the same reason he was a bit jealous of Blaine, or the same reason why he'd go with Mercedes and Rachel and Finn when they go with Kurt on dinner-dates, or why Kurt was the favorite subject of his pencil and sketchpad. It's the same reason why he licked his lips while watching Kurt sing a duet. With himself (like seriously, who does that?). It's the same reason why he felt something more akin to a crush than gratefulness when Kurt helped him out during his time of need, offering not just clothes but free tutorials, and sworn secrecy. And it's probably the same reason why his body always heats up with a simple grazing of Kurt's hands on his - surprisingly callused, he assumed, from all the car-work that Mr. Hummel teaches Kurt. His touch wasn't feminine, at all. It didn't feel like Quinn's touch, felt much closer to maybe Finn's, and is it odd that they're brothers now?
His hands always do this, sketch faster, when he's got a billion thoughts a minute. For a moment, his hands thought on their own, the pencil sliding, shading, a bit of an outline here and there -
"Sam, are you even - what are you doing anyway?"
Sam looked up, biting his lip, his hands twitching. He mumbled an apology and hid the sketchbook from Kurt's view.
Kurt sighed. "Come off it. You listened to my recordings, and I think it's time to return the favor."
That's right. Kurt sent him recordings and Kurt called it off and that same feeling he got when Kurt visited him in the shower came to the forefront of his mind. That same feeling. The same reason for all of this.
"You owe me a duet," Sam dared to say, hesitant, as if afraid.
Kurt smiled. "I suppose I do."
And with that, all talk of Sam's sketches have been forgotten, lesson moving on. And maybe Sam could keep this secret, for a while, while he figures out just what the hell these feelings are.
And until then, he'll draw. And draw. And draw some more.