Title: Bewitched Bothered and Bewildered
Word Count: ~ 2,400
Warnings: Spoilers for Michael
Summary: PROMPT FROM ANON: Blaine is fussing and getting frustrated while he’s ill and Kurt gets short with him but only because he loves him so much. Cue Kurt being a bossy pants and doing what he can to make Blaine more comfortable. Bonus cuddling if you’d be so kind.
“But I’ve been here all day and it sucks. In fact it more than sucks, it completely sucks.”
Kurt huffed out a breath and closed the magazine neatly in his lap, eventually turning to Blaine. “May I just remind you that you’re fresh out of surgery and on extremely high pain medication? That’s not conducive to dancing around your room to whatever song you’re obsessed with this week.” Blaine mumbled something incoherent, pushing off the blanket. “What was that?”
“I said that it’s Road to Nowhere by Talking Heads.”
“Ok. Well then, we’ll not be listening to that then.”
The groan from Blaine was enough to snap Kurt into action. He’d been poorly for officially too long. Blaine on early pain meds had been adorable until cuddly, responsive Blaine had turned fussy and irritated only one day post-surgery. These new meds kept him sane and lucid but as someone used to moving around far too much, it seemed that Blaine couldn’t deal with being cooped up at all. He wasn’t programmed for stillness.
“You don’t have to sit there and listen to me whine if you don’t want to. I’d understand if you wanted to leave,” Blaine mumbled, toying with the buttons on his pyjamas. Kurt sighed as he stood, holding out his hand.
Blaine frowned, glancing around the room as if to identify the emergency. “Why?”
“Do we need a reason to stand up?” Kurt pressed his lips together, meaning business. There was only so long he could sit and listen to Blaine’s moody whining. Plus, there was a part of him that missed regular Blaine, the one who would sit contently and listen to Kurt’s dramatic readings of the Agony Aunt section in trashy tabloids, sometimes even providing the voices himself.
“I suppose not. Where are we going?” Kurt raised his eyebrows impatiently.
“We’re going into your bathroom where I’m going to wash that gunk out of your hair. Goodness knows why it’s in there. Once we’re done I’m going to give you a head massage and try to stop you complaining. Ok?”
Kurt tracked the slow and gradual smile creep onto Blaine’s mouth and fought one of his own. “I could be down with that.”
“Well that’s good to hear because your choice in the matter is non-existent. Up.” Kurt whipped off the blanket and tossed it on the now-vacant chair.
Blaine crawled to the edge of the bed, smirking but obviously careful to plant his feet flat on the floor before pushing up. They’d both learned that an eye patch wasn’t conducive to steadiness. Kurt reached out, hands firm and wide on Blaine’s lower back providing a little pressure. Blaine squirmed into the touch, turning to smile as Kurt’s other hand steadied his shoulder. Nobody in the world managed to fluster Kurt Hummel and he prided himself on that fact but Blaine Anderson had a gift, something special in his eyes that rendered Kurt a twelve year old girl on the inside. It was a mixture of the warmth in Blaine’s every expression met with close proximity – it was a problem but Kurt was certain he never wanted it to go away.
“You’re good at this.”
“Being bossy?” Kurt offered, unable to fight a smile any longer, heart beating wildly at the twinkle in Blaine’s eyes. So far it was working.
“Well, yes, that.” Kurt gasped, affronted. “But I meant the caring for people thing. I mean, my mom’s not even this good.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
With a soft laugh, walking slowly, Blaine murmured, “You should,” and allowed himself to rest against Kurt as they walked down the hall and into the bathroom. Kurt closed the door securely with a click.
“Sit,” Kurt said sharply, turning to pull a towel off the rack behind the door. When he looked back at Blaine, he was frowning down at the bath with uncertainty.
“I don’t understand how this is going to work.”
* * * * * * * *
After deliberation and much manouvering, Kurt dragged Blaine’s desk chair to rest in front of the sink and assisted Blaine carefully into it. “Now, if you just tip your head back, I can get it closer to the water and I’ll be careful to keep your face dry. We don’t want water anywhere near your poorly eye.”
With gentle hands, Kurt threaded a fluffy towel along Blaine’s shoulders and tucked it over the back of the chair with precision. Blaine followed every movement; it was hard to resist smiling fondly at the smallest thing like Kurt straightening his pyjama shirt collar. Kurt had an air of detachment and superiority that he presented to the world around him, yet Blaine knew the real Kurt, the one nobody else was lucky enough to get a glimpse of and in their quieter moments, it was hard to breathe under Kurt’s touch or at the tenderness in his eyes.
As Blaine craned back his neck and felt the cold enamel on his skin, Kurt’s hands brushed at his temples and rested as a barrier to his face while the water ran. Blaine could feel it, the steam licking at his shoulders and face, soothing and warm.
“That feels nice,” he hummed with a happy sigh.
“I haven’t done anything yet.” Kurt rolled his eyes, glancing down.
“Yes you have.” He meant more and knew Kurt would read the subtext, as always. Sure enough, Kurt’s eyes left the running water and met Blaine’s. They softened.
“If you think this is going to turn into a regular thing then you’re going to be sorely disappointed.” Kurt words were spikey but Blaine could see the corners of his mouth twitching, desperate to give in to a grin.
“I’ll just enjoy this while I can then.”
“Yes,” Kurt said, nudging Blaine’s arm with his hip and narrowing his eyes, “and hopefully you’ll stop being such a baby about being able to lounge around. While you were tucked up in a blanket watching Finn’s dreadful movies today, I was in dance class with Mr Schue trying to persuade us all that the Eighties was the most creative making decade. While I appreciate the application of appropriately used shoulder pads and tasteful asymmetrics, I think he’s finally lost the plot.”
Blaine pouted. “But the Eighties were awesome.”
“Honey, you weren’t born,” Kurt teased, eventually wetting the back of Blaine’s head with careful hands. “And I know you’d agree with him. Something about that is terribly wrong. Anyway, Rachel and I used our extensive knowledge of classic artists and Broadway to prove to him that the Fifties is the decade to beat.”
“I love the Fifties too. Gene Kelly. Those two words are enough to convince me.”
Kurt smiled down and began rub in shampoo. “Glad to see we agree. Although we do need to watch An American in Paris together. It’s the only one we haven’t watched and as you’re sick then the timing couldn’t be better.”
Blaine grinned, finding it difficult to reign in his glee. “I’d love that.”
“We can watch it later unless your parents are due back early.”
They were never home early. “No, I don’t think they’ll be home until late and even then, I don’t care if they have a problem with you being here. It’s no fun being alone when you’re sick.”
Kurt caught his eye and just held his gaze strong for a moment. There was enough in that gesture for Blaine to understand its significance. Kurt was there and he certainly had no intention to leave.
“Lift up.” Blaine obliged, wriggling as a few stray water droplets escaped down his collar.
“Oh you’re such a baby,” Kurt scolded but without any edge to his voice.
“Let’s try pouring water down your back and see if you don’t make a fuss.” Pulling a face, Blaine screwed his eyes shut and leaned back, awaiting Kurt’s playful wrath. It didn’t come. Instead, as Blaine opened his eyes, Kurt was intent and focused, hands teasing through Blaine’s hair and rubbing in slow concentric circles. He began to hum quietly under his breath and Blaine allowed himself to rest into the chair contentedly.
After a few verses of an unknown song, Blaine felt the slosh of warm water over his scalp. The infusion of aromas was too much to handle. Usually Kurt’s hair smelled of his favourite brand of expensive shampoo causing their cuddles and closer moments smell delicious but this smell was new, stronger and unknown.
“What are you using?” Blaine asked, eyes still closed. Kurt’s hands tickled at the nape of his neck, meticulous in their task of reaching every strand.
“Special shampoo. For you. I saw it when I was shopping with Mercedes last week and, um, well that’s it really.”
Blaine grinned, struggling to keep himself in check. Kurt usually huffed at the mere sign of smugness. “So you brought it with you tonight?”
“No,” Blaine laughed, feeling Kurt’s hands holding his head purposefully in place to stop him jiggling about. “I meant that it was sweet of you to get it for me and think about me even if all of this,” - he gestured at the room- “wasn’t planned.”
“God knows what the gel does to your follicles, Blaine.”
“Then it’s a good job I have you then isn’t it?”
Kurt laughed then, squeezing the water out of the ends of Blaine’s hair and leaning closer as he did so. Blaine shivered at the proximity, aching to pull Kurt closer and find ways of thanking him for being so thoughtful. There was a long list of things to express gratitude for but, most of all, it was just his presence during his week from hell. It had meant the world.
Kurt drew back, pulling the towel up and patted Blaine’s arm. “All done, tiger.”
A little giddy, Blaine was sure his face was close to splitting in delight. “Back to my room?”
“Back to your room. Are you ok to walk yourself?”
Blaine nodded and gingerly pulled himself up on the arms of the chair, wincing at the sudden shooting pain in his head. Kurt was there in an instant, tutting and sliding his arm under Blaine’s. “Come on. You’re still like a wounded soldier so from now on, I’m just going to help until you’re fully better, ok?”
The sharp stab at his temple fired across his cheek and back into his scalp, aching and burning. He could feel them moving and knew his feet were obliging but the pain took all of his attention away from motor skills and he groaned at the deep throbbing. “Stood up too fast,” he mumbled out, clinging tight to Kurt’s arm.
“I know. We’ll be sitting down in a second. Here.” Kurt nudged his hip and, in seconds, they were safely perched on the edge of Blaine’s bed.
In a whirlwind of fuss, Kurt flicked on every one of Blaine’s lamps – and there were many – dragging his chair back in from the bathroom and swiftly locating the agreed DVD to slide it into the player located under the newly situated TV stand at the end of the bed. Blaine shuffled back against his pillows and watched Kurt’s every move; the thrill of having Kurt so very much to himself was something Blaine was sure he’d never take for granted. He wasn’t sure if Kurt was aware that he liked to pretend things when they were alone and being overtly domestic. He’d close his eyes sometimes, when Kurt was otherwise distracted, and imagine that they were in their own house, going about their own lives together where nobody could object or interrupt. In those moments, the world felt such a beautiful place.
This was one of those times.
As the opening titles of the movie began, Blaine felt a familiar rush of excitement. Watching movies with Kurt was something he enjoyed immensely as his witty comments were addictive to say the least. But the best thing was when Kurt would sing along, his fluid melodic tone soft in Blaine’s ear.
It made the moments when Blaine bopped around his room with abandon that much more acceptable. They each had their quirks.
Kurt perched on the edge of the bed by Blaine and considered the situation for a moment before gesturing for Blaine to sit forward. He did and Kurt tugged off his boots, placing them neatly on the floor and slid in close behind Blaine with crossed legs.
“If you crease my shirt then you’re paying for a dry clean.” There wasn’t a shred of ice in Kurt’s tone, prompting Blaine to turn and catch Kurt’s eye with a smirk.
“You don’t mean that,” he sing-songed, snuggling back into Kurt’s embrace and resting his elbows on Kurt’s knees, careful to slot together comfortably.
With delicate fingers and a touch that Blaine knew he’d never take for granted, Kurt dragged the pads of his fingers through every strand of hair, teasing out the curls and pressing at just the right pressure spots. Nuzzling back and bending into the touch, Blaine sighed out and tried not to purr or moan too loudly out of sheer pleasure.
“That feels so nice.”
“You didn’t hit your head when you fell, did you?” Kurt’s breath ghosted his ear causing Blaine’s skin to cascade with tingles.
“No. No I didn’t,” he managed, breathlessly.
They fell into silence for a while, Kurt’s body warm all around him and his hands soothing in their continuous motion. Fingers caressed from his neck to the curve of his ear, tracing the shell of them before playfully teasing out each curl in turn. Every now and then, Kurt’s hands would cradle his head and rub dotingly to alleviate any residual pressure. It felt like heaven.
“Thank you for putting up with me while I’ve been ill,” Blaine whispered eventually, breaking the easy silence. “I know I get restless sometimes.”
With a fond chuckle, Kurt withdrew his hands and slid them to Blaine’s waist. He tucked his chin into Blaine’s shoulder, snuggling close. At that, Blaine wound his fingers with Kurt’s and drew one hand up, planting a gentle kiss to its palm. “It’s a tough job but someone has to do it.”