happyinchintz72 (happyinchintz72) wrote,

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A House Is Not A Home (Ficlet)

Title: A House is Not a Home
Word Count: ~ 1,050
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A lovely anon prompted me "home" and the lovely whenidance prompted "warmth".
In which, unpacking is a messy business, Kurt is precious about his belongings and Blaine is spectacularly overwhelmed.

Author's Notes: I had a little bit of fun with free writing. There was something about this that I loved writing so so much. I'm a such a pathetic sucker for playful bickering and cuddles ;) I hope you enjoy!

* * * * * * * *

Blaine stretches up, wincing as his back creaks and snaps in a way that surely can’t be healthy. After a long day of lugging boxes in minus temperatures, every joint feels frozen much like most of their belongings that are currently strewn in half opened boxes around their lounge.

Their lounge.

It still feels like a dream even though Blaine can reach out and touch their coffee table, their brand new sheets still in their packaging and their kitchen supplies, most of which Kurt has claimed immediately and begun to unpack into their newly cleaned kitchenette.

It’s then that Blaine’s eyes pause on a box of rather large and rather terrifying contraptions.

“Kurt?” he calls, laughing when he hears a clatter, a cursory mumbled swear word followed by a hum in response, “what’s this box of stuff? The big silver thing?”

In a flash, Kurt’s at the doorway. “Oh that,” he coos, taking a leap forward to cradle the contraption with both hands. “These are Carole’s old machines. This is a sausage machine and this is a bread maker. It’s old and wonderful.”

Blaine splutters out a laugh. “A bread maker?”

“Yes, Blaine. What’s so hilarious about that? It doesn’t just materialise in brightly coloured little bags, you know? Someone has to actually bake the stuff.”

With an affectionate chuckle, Blaine reaches out to inspect it. “I just didn’t think people actually owned these. It’s funny, that’s all. How often are we going to have time to make bread while we’re off being fabulous? As you always say.”

For a moment, Kurt is silent, eyes narrowed to slits. “This is an authentic and precious kitchen appliance that was given to me as a present by my step mother. Insult it and you insult me.”

Blaine barked out a laugh but schooled himself quick at the look of sheer diamond-sharp outrage in Kurt’s eyes. “Um, I just didn’t expect to find it, that’s all. It’s just a little bit weird.”

As if exhausted by their exchange – and possibly the stressful day too – Kurt clutches the machine to his chest and disappears through the archway but not without shouting his last words. “You’ll eat your words, Blaine.”

Prickly, tired Kurt is one that Blaine has learned to take a wide berth from and he acts in line with his own learned lessons from their many years together.

After thirty minutes of stalemate, Blaine is sitting cross legged on the floor sorting through housing documents and ensuring that everything is official and organised (the way Kurt likes it) when the smell hits him. It’s yeasty, warm and cosy and feels a lot like being wrapped up tight and held close, sated and full and entirely too indulgent for a day so long and tedious.

It’s enticing and Blaine can’t resist. He abandons the piles of paper and fumbles to stand, slowly making his way into the kitchen as if drawn by an invisible thread. His mouth is watering and it’s only made worse by the adorable and frankly devastatingly gorgeous way Kurt is swaying, wiggling his hips as he mixes something suspect in one of his large mixing bowls.

His sleeves are rolled up, gentle swaths of material pooled at his elbows and only seeking to sky rocket Blaine’s blood pressure at the pale skin on show. Years of exposure to it – and more – hasn’t dampened any of Blaine’s reactions to the finer and secret parts of Kurt Hummel. He’s getting used to having Kurt so close again and it’s intoxicating.

Blaine smiles to himself, fingers sliding into his pockets as he hugs his neck with his shoulders and takes a few precious moments to just look.

Everything is a mess. Nothing is in order and the entire apartment looks as if a nuclear bomb has hit but somehow Kurt has transformed the space into something personal with minimal effort. His iPod is emitting lilting melodies that he’s moving to, gracefully pouring and stirring in a world entirely of his own making.

It’s something Blaine cherishes, loves and adores.

Anything Kurt puts his mind to somehow turns to gold.

In a few languid steps, Blaine reaches the counter and, in turn, Kurt, sliding his hand along Kurt’s hips and under his loose fitting sweater into where it’s warm.

Kurt doesn’t jump or flinch at all, instead tutting softly with a click of his tongue. “Someone knows not to interrupt me as I cook. Blaine Anderson.”

Bending to press his nose into Kurt’s neck, Blaine smiles and hopes to god Kurt can feel it. “When have I ever paid any attention to that rule?”

“Well, I’d have hoped the day the two of us were almost scolded with hot oil would have taught you a lesson but evidently not.” Blaine laughs and squirms closer at the playful cadence in Kurt’s voice.

“You’re warm and it smells so good. How can I resist?”

Kurt bends, moving both them with ease. He pours his mixture into a tin and swipes at the edge of the bowl with a spoon as he shakes his head fondly. “So are you going to eat your words?”


Kurt’s laugh is sharp and melodious. “Way too fast. You could have at least drawn it out a little longer, pretended like I don’t always win.”

It’s a day of impossibility. Being so near to Kurt and sharing a momentous occasion with him, one that they’ve both dreamt of for far too long, made everything special and, in turn, Blaine had tried to remember it all, cramming his brain with each and every detail.

“I’m too happy to care right now. Just treat it as a truce and you can begin keeping count again tomorrow. Ok?”

Kurt hums happily,

“You may kiss me now and tell me that I’m a genius.”

Blaine sidles as close as physically possible; he presses his knees to the bend of Kurt’s, encircles his arms tight and snuggles into the fold of Kurt’s luxurious  sweater. “You’re a genius. Always.”

“Now tell me why,” Kurt asks as he turns in the loops of Blaine’s arms, eyebrows raised and waiting over deeply sparkling eyes.

Leaning in and incapable of allowing a second’s space between them, Blaine sighs into his words and Kurt’s mouth in turn. “Because you made it feel like home.”

Tags: fan fiction, fandom: glee, fic: one-shot, kurt&blaine
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