happyinchintz72 (happyinchintz72) wrote,

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Aftershocks (One - Shot) [The Sleepover Chronicles Verse]

Title: Aftershocks
Word Count: ~4,900
Pairings/Characters: Blaine/Rachel - sibling AU, Kurt/Blaine + talk of Finn/Rachel
Warnings: Oh so AU!
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sleepover 3:
Sparks fly in the Anderson-Berry household and Kurt finds himself accompanied in a late night rendezvous.

Author’s Notes:
This is one of my favourites of all of the things I’ve ever written - I had SO much fun with it.
People have asked a few questions about the vast realm of possibility for these little on-shots and, yes, it’s huge and I love that. There will be Finn, tales of some of the mornings, parents and eventually we’ll get to Kurt’s house plus the rating will change a little :)
I’m a little blown away by the reaction to the first two stories so thank you for your encouragement. Have a cuddle :)

[Writing these three is like so addictive. I’m serious. It’s helping so much with my characterisation skills outside of fandom but, my god, I could write these three and Finn in every situation imaginable and still not get bored!]

Other stories in this verse on LJ:
All I Do Is Dream Of You and Open Up Your Door

* * * * * *

“Well,” Rachel said eventually, smoothing down her skirt as Blaine finished his final note. She offered a tight smile, biting at her lip, “that was very nice.”

“Nice?” Blaine threw himself down on the adjacent couch, the breath he was holding deflating slowly. Singing with Rachel could be tiring business. “You only ever use the word nice when you hate it.”
“Oh, Blaine. Not hate, just, um - Ok! Instead of singing because we’re both clearly too exhausted for it to be productive, how about we work on your audition costume?”
Carefully, as if to prolong the answer, Blaine hummed his uncertainty. “Costume? Do I want to know?”
With a double skip in her shooting star slippers, Rachel rounded the piano to pull out a large wooden crate, the very same one they’d christened ‘The Costume Department’ aged three years old. It contained nothing within the realm of a serious audition for a summer job performing for the general public.
“I thought we could add sequins to it!” She exclaimed, dragging out a blazer with silver stripes and a pair of jewel encrusted shoes that Blaine was sure their dad had worn to a seventies fancy dress birthday bash a month previous.
Blaine groaned, burying his head in the cushions. “I ask myself daily how we’re related and yet daily I’m reminded that you are in fact biologically bound to me and I must find ways to understand you.”

“Oh be quiet,” she snapped, flopping down beside him, the offending articles in her grasp. “You’ll stand out. King’s Island won’t just give you the job, you have to earn it. What does Dada always say?”
With a deep wrinkled frown, Blaine spoke into the fabric. “You’ll still be calling him Dada when you’re thirty won’t you?”
“Of course,” she said in her frequently adopted ‘why are you asking such stupid questions’ tone. “Anyway,” she batted his leg, “what does he always say?”
With a pained sigh, Blaine gave in. “You don’t get anywhere by playing it safe.”
“Exactly. Which is why you have to look your very best at your audition to make sure that the judges don’t remember anyone else but you. Now get up, I’ll measure you.”
“Rach, can we not do this tomorrow? I’ve got Latin homework piling up on my desk and surely you have your Senior class president’s speech to work on.”
He sat back up, rag doll-like and sprawled as he watched her jut out her chin.
“I already wrote mine. It’s inspired.” She blinked rapidly, her cheeks twitching with effort to retain composure. He watched as her hands toyed with the stitching at the edge of her cardigan.
“You want to talk about whatever’s making you upset?”
With a sharp glare, she huffed, “I’m fine, Blaine.”
“So fine that you’re spending your evening trying to dress me like a doll instead of inviting Kurt over like you usually do.”
She deflated instantly, head tucking to his shoulder with an exaggerated sniffle. “Kurt and I don’t have to do everything together. We’re not joined at the hip you know?” Her voice wavered, watery and teetering on the brink of break down but still, as always and in true Rachel fashion, she acted with defiance. Kurt was right, she truly was transparent.
“So you two had a fight?” Blaine asked, daring to cuddle her in. She fell against his chest, nose buried at his neck as she spoke. Her voice shook at every syllable.
“I just miss him.”
As soothing as possible, Blaine kept up a gentle rhythm of pats, which seemed to allay her more pathetic sounding sobs. “What happened? Did you fight?”
“I just want to go to New York so bad and get our little eclectic apartment on the Upper East Side. We could walk arm in arm along Schubert Alley and breathe in the air of legends. We were going to breakfast together in the bustle of the most beautiful city in the world and now it’s ruined. I can’t get into NYADA without something impressive on my resume and I thought that running for president would look good for me.”
“That was Kurt’s thing though, right?” She clutched at his arm, her muscles tensing at once.
“He’d make such a wonderful president. He’s fierce and would fight for all the right things.” Her head snapped up in an instant, eyelashes damp with tears, cheeks flushed pink but her eyes were suddenly bolder. “However, that’s not to say I don’t have outstanding policies. I do. It’s just he’s my friend and I think I might have hurt him because he hasn’t spoken to me. I just miss walking to class with him and our early morning wardrobe configurations.” She slumped down once again, hands looping Blaine’s arm as if to cling on.
“You have the lead as Maria. You’ve got more trophies than Meryl Streep and the kind of dedication that terrifies people. Do you not think that maybe Kurt might need this a little more than you, Queen of the Extra Curriculars? I mean, Rach, come on. Dad sent you to tap lessons the week after you could walk. ‘It’s never too early to learn efficient coordination’ he said and look at you. You’re my sister and I love you but, jeez, give other people a chance. If NYADA doesn’t swoon over your application then they don’t deserve you.”
“Oh,” she replied, coughing delicately into his chest. “You may be right. I just want things so bad but now I don’t know what to do. I think I may have been a bad friend.” She wiped at her eyes, dabbing her fingertips at the pools of tears along her lashes. “It’s funny because I haven’t really had a best friend, not before Kurt.”
“Well,” Blaine sighed gently, the strokes at her back firm in the hope that she’d stop sobbing, “then maybe you should talk to him and put it right. You can always tell him these genius ideas you have and he can make them a policy if he wins.”
“Brittany gave out pixie sticks and promised to go topless every week,” Rachel whined, throwing her hands down in mild temper. Blaine watched as her eyes sharpened, shoulders straightening. “It’s hardly a surprise that the general student body would rather see a girl’s boobs than elect someone with independent thought and morals. He’s more than likely going to lose.”
“Help him,” Blaine said. He shuffled on the couch and ducked to catch her eye. “Talk to him and put things right. He’s your best friend and he’s nice. As much as he pretends that you’re insufferable, he loves you really.”
“I know.”
With a far too familiar roll of his eyes, Blaine pressed the blazer and shoes back into her tangled hands, still pouting all forlorn.
“I’m going to bed, sis. Please put these… lovely garments back into the costume department where they belong because I’d rather be seen outside in sweat pants and my ratty old Dalton t-shirt than that.”
Rachel gasped, head snapping up. “Blaine! You’d never be so flippant with your clothes.”
He rolled his eyes, bending to press the offending items tighter into her grasp. She blinked back much like a rabbit in headlights as he spoke almost nose to nose.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Rachel broke the silence with her voice quickly restored to normal. “You know? He is nice isn’t he?”
Blaine felt a shiver at his spine; he closed his eyes momentarily and turned, almost frightened by her tone. “Why do you ask?”
She was smiling, hands clasped angelically in her lap. “It’s just, he is very nice and you both get on well don’t you?”
“Rachel -“
“I’m just saying,” she sang, bundling the clothes into the trunk and skipping to his side. She pressed a dainty hand hard to his shoulder. “He’s single, you know? Just in case you didn’t, I thought I’d inform you.”
She disappeared quickly, no doubt with a clever smirk. Blaine took a long and steady breath and tried to flatten out the buzzing nerves in his stomach, the same ones that seemed to have free rein whenever Kurt was around.
Considering it was strange - it was Kurt after all - but Blaine wasn’t blind and certainly wasn’t stupid. Dalton Academy didn’t admit idiots and he knew his own heart enough to recognise the fluttery feelings - the ones that made his palms sweat and head spin whenever Kurt so much as smiled at him - but the sheer fact that Kurt was single meant nothing.
Yes, they were both gay and available; yes, they scarily shared a mutual love for Rachel; but Kurt was so head strong and independent. He was also incredibly sweet and far too enchanting to stare at when he thought Blaine wasn’t looking but that didn’t mean there was anything between them.
Not at all.

* * * * * *

Kurt took a deep breath and seriously considered turning around, getting back in his car and driving home immediately.
In this precious world there was only one thing more terrifying than an angry Rachel Berry - an angry Rachel Berry and her angry brother.
Like firecrackers dipped in gasoline and smothered in something nuclear and massively destructive, they were abhorrent and preparing oneself for entrance into the eye of the storm was a task Kurt truly didn’t have the nerve for. The day had been volatile enough due to their particularly horrific game of dodge ball and Rachel’s sudden but morally correct stand down at the Presidential speeches.
Kurt had missed her. Admitting it was akin to setting a pair of Louis Vuitton loafers on fire or those boys who found it acceptable to show a generous portion of underwear above their waistband - truly terrifying - but it was true.
Raised by two gay men with a mother appearing suddenly on Western Ohio’s show choir circuit was an upbringing that screamed ‘problems’ but Blaine seemed reasonably together so Rachel didn’t have an excuse for her horrible personality. There were times when she’d smile and Kurt would see kittens frolicking in a field but a second later, those eyes would flicker and the glare so sharp and unbreakable would kill the kittens stone dead. She lived with intensity inside of her; Kurt could easily picture her in the future auditioning for even the most fearsome Broadway directors, their careers long and glittering with the fruit of their creative decisions, and them all shivering in her wake. She’d have them strung up from their first wavering expression and they’d simply (have) to cast her.
It was for that reason that he loved her, though.
They were best friends and she’d looked so utterly forlorn as she’d stuttered through her apology that he couldn’t deny her a cuddle and a recap on the week’s reality TV. It was nice to have her back by his side, except now he had to cross the threshold and most probably die in a flurry of claws and bared teeth.
He knocked again.
The door opened quickly, almost flung from its hinges. “Kurt!”
Blaine looked wild, hair mussed and eyes shining with life as he smiled. Kurt couldn’t help but notice the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the very lovely way it made his sweater pull tight.
Kurt coughed, distracting himself. “Um, am I interrupting something? Because I mean it truthfully when I say I can come back later.”
Laughing, Blaine shook his head. “No, come in.” He turned, shouting exaggerated over his shoulder, “You’ll have to excuse my drama queen of a sister because she’s turned into the demon from hell!”
“Wow,” Kurt breathed, stepping tentatively into the breach as Blaine’s brow wrinkled in apology. He waved his hand in dismissal.
“Sorry about this. My dad left us in charge of the house tonight and I have to work on my audition for Kings Island tomorrow but,” he took a breath, hollering the rest in the direction of the stairs, “but of course little miss crocodile tears can cry on demand so my Dad gave her full usage of the basement!”
“Clearly nobody in this house appreciates my need to rehearse daily,” Rachel’s voice boomed down the stairs, “because if they did then the ego on legs down there wouldn’t protest to my using our COMMUNAL rehearsal space!”
She appeared, face flushed with anger and wearing a pale lemon dress, her hair softly curled. The antithesis alone caused Kurt to fight back giggles. She glared daggers in Blaine’s direction but her icy expression slid away instantly to be replaced with a saccharine smile aimed directly at Kurt.
“Hello Kurt. Come. We’re using the basement.”
“Your show isn’t for weeks,” Blaine groaned, leaning against the arm of the couch. “You have Finn scheduled up to his arm pits in rehearsals and you have an overpriced auditorium at school to use but, of course, Rachel flutters her eyelashes and the world’s her oyster.”
Kurt winced. He could see Blaine’s point clearly, the frustration etched at his brow, but without some well planned manipulation, he didn’t stand a chance of getting his own way over his sister.
“Your school has a budget the size of Ms Streisand’s loyalty fund so don’t pull that one with me, Blaine. You clearly aren’t as fully committed as me or you’d have booked your school rehearsal room or got to Dad first.”
“Fully committed? Rachel, I’m having to use our old beat up karaoke machine so I can record my voice because someone requires the sound recorder, I’m using my own room to rehearse in, which,” Blaine glanced at Kurt as if to inform him, “has appalling acoustics and limited space.” He turned his rage back to Rachel. “And don’t even get me started on the fact I’m also trying to finish my costume at the same time as studying for my Latin final. You want to talk about commitment, little sister, you want to take a leaf out of my book because god forbid you have to make do for once in your life!”
Kurt took a gentle breath, resting against the back of the couch by Blaine. Rachel scowled into the song sheets clutched at her chest. “Did you say costume?”
Scrubbing a hand over his face as if to discard his pained expression, Blaine blinked at Kurt. “Yes. I need to sew patches onto my tweed blazer and add a pocket square that won’t move as I dance. It’s a wholesome number.”
Kurt pressed his lips together in a grin. “Go get it and I’ll do it.”
Rachel glowered, affronted but Kurt stilled her arm clearly about to be raised in protest. He nodded towards Blaine. “I’m serious. I’ll rehearse with Rachel and run lines with her and while we eat and she’s sorting through Artie’s costume suggestions, you can use the basement and I can sew while you both share nicely. Yes? Wonderful.” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead, taking Rachel firmly by the arm and steering her towards the door.
As she flounced down the stairs, no doubt preparing her revenge, Kurt tried not to notice the fond smile teasing at Blaine’s lips as he mouthed his gratitude.



* * * * * *

After an evening of back and forth trips to Rachel’s room and the basement, a couple of hissed snipes and a takeaway pizza, Kurt caught Rachel passing Blaine a can of low sugar lemonade with a shy smile.
Job done.
Blaine’s blazer wasn’t completed but Kurt assured he’d have it finished in the morning. They’d dressed for bed without argument, Rachel even making a trip to Blaine’s room to give him an extra blanket, which seemed to solidify their apology. It appeared that their sibling spats came and went as quickly and violently as the Jeggings trend so Kurt settled down into one of Rachel’s goose down pillows with a contented sigh – harmony at last.
He knew he’d sleep soundly and somewhat smugly knowing he’d helped initiate the cease fire that brought peace.

He woke sluggishly, pawing at the pillow only to end up with a handful of Rachel’s hair. Spluttering, Kurt yawned and climbed out of the bed with a glance at the clock.

A blurry 3am.

His head seemed to be pounding of its own accord and sleep suddenly didn’t feel like an option so he collected the pile of sewing from Rachel’s desk chair and crept out of the room.

The Anderson-Berry household was always a warm one, known for its noises more than its decor but Kurt, even after all of this time, still found himself captivated by some of their design choices.

Rachel’s room was, of course, a nightmare. It was a literal reproduction of her personality in interior design form – bold colours in vibrant shades, plenty of pink, sharp edges and fluffy cushions. Not to mention the generous littering of stars upon every available surface.

Blaine was different. He was classical, sedated but still bold in his choices. His room was cosier in a special way, his walls deep green and every surface covered in items of culture. From what Kurt had seen, Blaine had hordes of records, books, magazines, DVDs and a liberal helping of art decorating the walls – he had taste. He was a traditionalist without the horrible undertones. Everything about his surroundings screamed warmth and a sense of strength but Kurt could see the softer elements and, as quickly as that, Blaine became a mystery.

Rachel was blatant and in your face, her personality easy to grasp within minutes; Blaine was a conundrum. A very handsome conundrum.

Sneaking through the darkness, Kurt felt for the staircase and stepped down gently so as not to creak any of the steps. He reached the lounge, flicking on the lamp close to the couch. He curled into the cushions propped at the arm, thankful for his choice of flannelette pyjama pants and a long sleeved top as there was a definite drop in temperature.

Their Dads were men of taste. Kurt knew Robert better than he did Joel but both were the friendliest of all of his friends' parents. Something in Kurt wondered if it was because of his sexuality, that they felt a kindred connection to him. Rachel had sometimes mentioned Joel’s history of bullying during his youth what with being both gay and Jewish in a society less than accepting of minorities. Regardless, as Kurt glanced around the lounge, the love that both men clearly had for their children was overwhelming.

It was the family’s defining quality.

His own hearth at home was covered with photographs and well chosen items of style and the Anderson-Berry’s was almost identical in its family orientation. There were shots of Rachel clutching trophies with a beaming grin, a photo of Blaine in his uniform standing proudly beside a crouched Robert and some were full family shots, including a couple of recent ones with Shelby.

Her introduction hadn’t been easy. Kurt had witnessed a lot of it; Rachel’s trauma and issues of abandonment had prickled at the surface for months until Shelby had returned and made an effort in their lives. Blaine had taken it with more resentment than any of them. His anger was understandable due to her lack of support for him when he surely needed a mother – Kurt could sympathise what that factor. He’d softened quicker than Rachel upon hearing Shelby’s story of painful teenage years and her fear of becoming too close to children she was ultimately going to have to say goodbye to. Being a surrogate hadn’t been an expression of kindness or love. It had been as much of a business decision for her than anything else and Rachel had been born entirely for Robert and Joel, however, what they hadn’t expected was Blaine – he was the surprise. Non-identical twins had never been the deal but Robert and Joel were apparently overjoyed and Kurt, upon spending so much time in their home, couldn’t imagine a more perfect pair to raise two precocious, sweet, spirited and supremely talent kids. Both were so different but frighteningly alike in some very specific ways.

As Kurt began smoothing his fingers over his already completed stitches, daydreaming about the complexities of the Anderson-Berry clan, the door creaked. He jumped, turning round and brandishing his needle.

“Hey!” Blaine chuckled in a whisper, “I heard someone moving and I couldn’t sleep. You can put down your weapon.”

Bashfully, Kurt hung his head with a smile. “Sorry. Strange house.”

“You’re here most weekends. You’re like our weekly lodger so I’d say it’s not that strange.” Blaine tiptoed into the room, smirking as he spoke. Kurt couldn’t help but sneak an all over body scan as Blaine passed, his eyes drinking in the graceful folds of linen that made up Blaine’s pants and the way they skimmed his legs perfectly. Blaine Anderson-Berry wasn’t tall but, my god, what there was of him was wonderfully created. Blushing, Kurt kept his eyes on his project.

Not the time nor the place, Kurt.

“It’s the noises. I know exactly which step creaks at home because it’s the very same one that Finn steps on every single night when he sneaks down to,” - he gestured quotation marks - “get a glass of water. What he doesn’t know is that I happen to have a photographic memory when it comes to our refrigerator.”

Blaine laughed, tucking his legs beneath him as he leaned into the arm of the adjacent chair. His eyes quickly fell on Kurt’s hands. “You’re sewing my jacket.”

After a few seconds, Kurt looked up, too scared to glance into Blaine’s eyes because being alone with him was becoming a much more regular occurrence and, with each weekend, retaining a sense of normalcy was growing harder. “I am. I did promise it would be done by morning.”

“Kurt,” Blaine sighed, his smile bright in the darkness.

“Blaine?” Smiling despite himself, Kurt straightened out the material, holding it up for inspection. He watched as Blaine’s face lit up, eyes crinkling and full of charm. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Blaine said, the wonder definitely evident in his voice, “it’s amazing. Thank you so much but you really didn’t have to get up to finish it. I’m not as demanding as my sister, you know?”

Wryly, Kurt spat out a laugh. “Believe me. That much I know. In all seriousness, though, I couldn’t sleep. I woke up almost choking on Rachel’s hair – “

“Yeah,” Blaine laughed, “she smothers when she sleeps. I pity the guy she marries. Poor soul won’t get a decent night’s rest.”

“You’re forgetting the day times.”

Blaine giggled. An actual giggle. It was difficult to continue sewing as Kurt blinked in mild shock. Being inexperienced in the world of romance and relationships was something he was used to, a fact he’d grown accepting of and nothing about it had ever seemed possible or easy. He’d accepted that it would be many years before any of it became an option but somehow he could make Blaine laugh and that, well, that felt better than any Black Friday sale or bargain find.

“Yeah. Wow, we can live in hope that whoever the guy is, he’s hard of hearing, slightly slow, willing to default to her whims, tenacious but with a huge capacity for love because he’s going to need it.”

Kurt nodded, rolling his eyes. “Finn’s hearing will be damaged by his incessant drum playing in no time so they’re made for each other. He checks every box.”

Blaine curled further into the chair cushions, hugging one to his chest and leaning a little closer. Kurt drew a quick breath, thanking the stars above for its silence and the overpowering feeling of his entire body tingling in recognition. As he fought to keep his hand steady, it was hard not to wonder how his body would react if Blaine ever touched him properly.

“You’re not cold, are you?” Blaine broke the sudden silence, ducking to catch Kurt’s eye. Kurt shook his head in response, gesturing to his pants.

“Flannel isn’t exactly chic but my family seems to be big on the material so I seem to have acquired quite the collection of it over the past few months. Turns out its pretty warm.”

With a breathy chuckle, Blaine dropped his chin onto his propped up arm and watched Kurt’s hands intently. As Kurt finished a row with a flourished flick of his wrist it earned him a whispered “Yey!” from Blaine and the world’s cutest shoulder shrug. It was then that Kurt wished he believed in a deity;  he could bestow upon them his greatest thanks for Rachel Anderson-Berry’s terrible sleeping habits or else he’d never have experienced the joy of sleep-crinkled Blaine in all of his loveliness.

“Can you teach me?” Blaine asked, his fingers lingering mere millimetres from Kurt’s and ready to touch. With a slow breath, Kurt looked up and into the autumn glow of Blaine’s eyes, their iridescence taking his breath away in an instant and leaving him helpless, fluttering and positively mute.

 “Um.” Eloquent, Kurt thought bitterly, mentally bitch slapping himself for his lack of composure. Laughing it off and regaining control with a deep breath, he blinked back at Blaine with a deal of certainty. “You’d like me to teach you to sew at three in the morning?”

 Reality seemed to dawn quickly, Blaine’s eyes dancing with the absurdity of the situation. “I’d like it a lot actually.”

 There was a twitch at Blaine’s cheek, a slowness to his smile and a moment of hesitancy that Kurt filed away to consider at a later date. He couldn’t possibly focus on anything as Blaine shuffled closer, tugging the chair so the arm of it rested against the couch and, in turn, Kurt. He didn’t move – couldn’t even if he wanted to – and instead turned towards Blaine and passed him the jacket. As Blaine took it, gingerly following up by taking the needle, Kurt could feel his chest aching, his mind reeling with the intimacy of it all. It wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, as lewd or scandalous as something Santana or Puck would get up to but it was charged and there was no mistaking the fact that they’d both been seeking each other’s company more frequently.

Kurt couldn’t read into that. He couldn’t allow himself to.

 “Ok,” Kurt sighed out, retaining some semblance of control, “you need to be gentle and pin point your spot exactly.” Blaine obeyed, pressing the needle half a centimetre from the previous stitch. He glanced up into Kurt’s eyes, to which Kurt nodded his encouragement and tried very hard not to stare at the eyelashes fanned against Blaine’s cheek instead. “Just push the needle in as vertically as you can and draw it through. Be careful not to snag the fabric on the way out.”

 They continued until Blaine had sewn one length of his pocket square, its edges well finished and up to Kurt’s standard. It was as if Blaine had completed the Mona Lisa or was responsible for the Sistine Chapel; his smile was breathtaking and bursting with pride.

 “Wow. That’s not so hard when someone shows you how.”

Kurt laughed to himself, mind drawing up memories of his mother’s deft hands and gentle fingertips. “Yes. It’s a skill everyone should possess. You’re a natural.” He smiled, daring to look into Blaine’s eyes. As he did, he found them soft and filled with gratitude.

“Well, who knew three in the morning could be so productive.”

 “Oh,” Kurt waved his hand, smirking. “By this time I’ve already designed my outfit for the next day, cooked a meal, finished up my homework and – “

“Don’t tell me,” Blaine teased, tilting his head playfully. “You washed the car too.”

Kurt gasped. “Oh no. That’s Finn’s job.” He splayed his fingers for show. “Cleaning products are abrasive.”

Blaine’s eyes glittered in the darkness, his breathy laugh causing Kurt’s heart to thud harder. For a second, Blaine appeared nervous as he sucked in a breath.

“Um, I don’t want to keep you up in case you want to sleep,” Blaine said, standing and repositioning the cushions and chair. Kurt took it as a sign to leave.

“Yes. You’re right. Rachel might wake up and presume I’ve been kidnapped or something. You know what she’s like.”

“Only too well,” Blaine sighed, leading them both out into the blackness of the hall way. They found their way up stairs with the pearly light from the windows as a guide. Once outside Rachel’s room, Kurt presented Blaine with his jacket, modelling it in front of him.

“All finished and fit for an audition.”

“That it is,” Blaine replied, smiling in awe. He smoothed his hands down the arms before placing his fingers over Kurt’s gently and sliding the material free. “Thank you.”

With a shaky breath, Kurt let go and frowned as the heat of Blaine’s hands slid away. “Not a problem. If you ever need me to diffuse an Anderson-Berry warzone again, you know my number.”

“Actually,” Blaine drawled, leaning against the wall, his fingers trailing the sleeves of his jacket, “I don’t think I do know it but promise you’ll give me it in the morning?”

It was all Kurt could do to remember to breathe in but he managed a brisk nod before watching with a pounding heart and trembling fingertips, as Blaine waved a little and disappeared into his room.

Tags: fan fiction, fandom: glee, fic : the sleepover chronicles [anderber, fic: one-shot, kurt&blaine
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