Ancient Roman Poets and Coffee Cups
Lets not even talk about this ok? No way did Verity just write 5 Kurt/Blaine drabbles...
Blaine is always so upstanding. Kurt loves seeing him like this though, incoherent words spilling from his lips, hair wild around his flushed face, eyes dark, lips kissed swollen. It makes Kurt want to have him like this all the time, lock the door and forget about The Warblers, lessons, New Directions. Everything and just have Blaine.
Its becoming more difficult to look at Blaine during the day and not see the way he is now, not hear the gasps, feel Blaine’s hands on him. The blush that colours his cheeks is mirrored on Blaine’s when he catches him looking.
It doesn’t take long for Kurt to realise he is dangerously head over heels in love with Blaine. It starts with butterflies in his stomach whenever Blaine graces Kurt with one of those smiles. It ends with Kurt blurting it out one day over a pile of books as high as the Rocky’s and numerous coffee cups. Blaine hands him another coffee, fingers touching Kurt’s briefly and he says it, groans out “I love you” as the aroma of beans and caffeine hits him. He freezes, his stuttered apology stopped short with a kiss and a “I love you too.”
Blaine gets jealous. Its not something he likes to advertise, but its there, it bubbles under his skin whenever someone even looks at Kurt. He feels a red hot rage seeping into his veins when Kurt smiles back. He does nothing though, just looks, clenches his hands into fists and grinds his teeth. He does nothing until lights out, then he growls, pushes Kurt into the mattress of his tiny bed, kisses him hard enough that it leaves no doubt in Kurt’s mind as to whom he belongs to. Kurt doesn’t seem to mind, clutches at his shoulders, kisses back.
Its four in the morning and Kurt wakes to Blaine’s fingers tracing patterns on his stomach, Blaine’s chest pressed to Kurt’s back, so hot its almost uncomfortable, but Blaine’s fingers slip lower and Blaine’s lips press into the back of his neck and Kurt pressed back into him, hums slightly. His stomach muscles quiver under Blaine’s fingers and he can feel the thump of Blaine’s heart in his own chest. “Love you” Blaine whispers as his fingers close over Kurt’s cock. Kurt sighs, arches slightly into the gentle touch, whispers the same words back, and tangles his fingers with Blaine’s.
“There’s no one in Ancient Roman Poets.” Blaine’s voice is low in his ear in the silence of the Dalton Library and Kurt jumps slightly.
“There never is.” He replies without taking his eyes of his French homework. Blaine presses in close behind him.
“There’s no one in Ancient Roman Poets, Kurt.” He says again, his voice lower this time. Kurt finally gets it, the point coming in loud and clear when Blaine dips a finger in Kurt’s collar.
Before he can say Catullus, Blaine’s hand is down his pants and Blaine’s lips are on his and Kurt thinks he might become rather fond of Ancient Roman Poets.
(Catullus wrote “erotic” poems during Julius Caesar’s reign, first century BC.)