Erm, pointless fluffy fluff. In the rain. IDK. Hope you enjoy anyway.

"It's about to rain. We should head inside."

"In a minute."

Blaine knows that he's probably breaking about twelve Dalton rules, and were he in a better state of mind, he might be able to remember exactly which ones (if nothing else, removal of the tie while on school grounds is expressly forbidden). But kissing Kurt tends to drive nuanced thought from his mind, and he's feeling somewhat rebellious today.

"You're a bad influence on me," he whispers against the corner of Kurt's mouth.

Kurt laughs breathily. "I'd say the feeling is mutual."


"Mm-hmm." Kurt trails a line of tiny, burning kisses along the curve of his neck. Blaine lets his head fall back against the wall of the building and tries not to groan too loudly. "My scarf," Kurt says intermittently, "My favourite, very expensive scarf is just lying on the ground right there, and I can't even bring myself to care. What have you reduced me to?"

In response, Blaine tilts his chin up and presses their lips together, deeply and sincerely. Kurt tastes like mocha; strong, bitter and sweet. "I'll buy you a new one," he promises, several long moments later.

"Ha, no. I don't trust you to buy your own clothes, let alone mine."

"Okay, that's just mean."

Kurt smiles wickedly and shifts his whole body so that their hips are in alignment, and tilts his head just slightly downwards to capture Blaine's mouth once again. It's only a subtle movement, but Blaine feels the rush of his desire increase and he grips Kurt's waist tightly, whimpering faintly into the kiss.

Kurt undoes him so easily, no naturally, with the same careful, passionate intensity that he uses to play the piano, or design an outfit in the margins of his biology book. Blaine feels cherished in his arms. It's overwhelming, and frankly, kind of surprising. Everything about Kurt is unpredictable and contradictory – his quiet strength, his awkward grace, his sardonic compassion, and the fluidity of his lean, fragile-sharp limbs. He shakes the foundations of Blaine's certainty, and steadies him when he begins to stumble.

Kurt has redefined his world, made it bright and dangerous and warm and exciting.

Thunder growls warningly in the distance, and Blaine is so far gone that he barely notices. But then there's a tiny splash of cold against his forehead, which is followed by another, and another. Kurt makes a startled noise and pulls away. "Oh no," he murmurs.

Blaine grins wryly. "I told you so."

"Oh, shut up." He unwinds his limbs from Blaine and steps back, fussing with his hair. But there's no time to get their bodies back under control; the rain is increasing, and Dalton blazers are a bitch to get dry. Blaine hurriedly scoops his tie and Kurt's scarf off the ground, and grabs Kurt's hand, nearly tugging him off his feet. Kurt lets out a surprised peal of laughter, and the two of them make a mad dash towards the nearest entrance, fighting against the wild onslaught every step of the way.

"Oh God," Kurt bemoans as they skid to a halt inside. "We look like drowned rats." There's a wide grin on his face, though, and his eyes are sparkling with adrenaline. Another beautiful contrast.

Blaine laughs. "You're pretty adorable, for a rat."

"Well gee, aren't you a charmer."

He and Kurt quickly fall back together, their chest heaving in unison. "I totally am."

"Are not."

"Am too." He silences any further protests with a fierce kiss. Kurt winds his arms around Blaine's neck and threads his fingers through his rain-soaked curls (Damn it, he needs stronger hair gel). This time Kurt is backed against the wall, and he slides down a couple of inches to give Blaine a new height advantage. It feels a bit strange, even awkward, but more than anything he feels trusted. Trusted and cherished, and God, alive.

Another crash of thunder echoes, and the rain falls harder. But all Blaine can hear are Kurt's breathy little moans as his tongue darts across Blaine's lower lip. Cracking his eyes open, he catches a glimpse of Kurt's lashes brush across his cheekbones, illuminated by the grey, misty light from the open doorway. There are some tiny freckles, which Kurt hates. Says they make him look twelve. Blaine says they make him look adorable, and no Kurt, that doesn't reinforce the point. Blaine loves every single one of those freckles, fiercely and irrationally.

I love you, he breathes into Kurt's skin, kissing each raindrop away. I love you I love you I love you.

Kurt shifts in his arms. "We . . . we should dry off. Warblers practise. Wes will kill us."

"Hmm, probably." He doesn't bother moving. His current place in the world is just perfect, thanks.

Kurt's breath huffs against his cheek, amused and helpless. "Seriously, Blaine. Just think of the panic that will ensue, if you aren't there. Imagine the flailing."

Blaine can't help but chuckle at the image. "I'll just blame you. You're my bad influence, remember?"

"Funny, I'm not the one refusing to move." He raises his eyebrow pointedly. Blaine lives for that eyebrow. And the freckles. And . . . well, everything.

He sighs. "Okay, fine. You win."

Kurt straightens up, and kisses him quickly. "I already have."

They busy themselves with tie-fixing and hair-fussing. Blaine goes to heave the heavy door shut, while Kurt laments the supposed loss of his favourite scarf.

"I blame you for this," he informs Blaine, gingerly brushing wet dirt off the tassels.

Grinning, Blaine pulls the scarf out of his hands and drapes it loosely over his shoulders. "Don't be melodramatic, it still looks amazing on you."

Kurt smirks and tosses one end over his shoulder with exaggerated flair. "Fine. So, shall we go?"

They join hands, and Blaine brushes his thumb over the pale skin of his wrist. You're my everything, he doesn't say. "Sure."

Maybe he'll sing to him in practise.

Thanks for reading :)