last friday night
notes: Hey guys, here's a new piece I'll be working on! Basically, it's a series of ficlets/drabbles about the Hudmel Friday night dinners - the goings on before, during, and after. Feel free to message me with prompts, as I'll be posting a new one each Friday. (:
Kurt smiled against Blaine's lips as the boy pushed up the hem up his shirt, untucking it from his jeans. His fingertips ghosted along the bare skin of Kurt's side, and in turn the taller boy yanked at the bottom of the other boy's polo shirt, managing to get it up off over his head with only the slightest bit of awkwardness and fumbling.
Blaine pressed against Kurt, lifting up off the bed and gently pushing him back against the pillows instead. Kurt closed his eyes as the other boy moved his lips down the other's neck, slowly working at the buttons of the brunette's shirt.
"Hey Kurt, I was—oh."
Blaine fell back off of the boy, staring wide-eyed at the door. Kurt on the other hand groaned, propping himself up on his elbows and glaring at the intrusion.
"Finn," he said in a low voice.
The boy shifted awkwardly in the doorway. "Hey, I was just wondering if you'd help me make some warm milk—"
"Finn," Kurt repeated, his tone more dangerous now.
Finn nodded quickly. "Yeah, I can probably figure it out myself," he muttered. "But um, if, you know, whenever you're done... we're out of cookies, and—"
"Get out," Kurt told him slowly.
"We can talk about this later," Finn said, nodding, trying his best to look supportive, "during our lady chat—"
"Finn, get out!" Kurt growled, and his stepbrother was quickly out the door, closing it behind him.
Kurt groaned again, throwing himself back against the pillows and squeezing his eyes shut tightly, tossing his arms over his face. "I'm going to kill him," he murmured into his elbow.
After a few moments, he sat up once again, raising an eyebrow as he spotted Blaine fumbling with his shirt and mumbling to himself. "Your dad's going to kill me," he breathed out. "It's Friday night and in just a couple hours I have to be sitting at the same table as your father, eating dinner and pretending that your stepbrother didn't walk in on us making out—"
"Blaine," Kurt sighed, quickly buttoning his oxford.
"—without shirts!" Blaine said, finally having his shirt back on and throwing his arms up in exasperation.
Kurt simply laughed. "Blaine, you're fine," he said with a gentle smile.
"You said your dad has a shotgun," Blaine groaned, and Kurt couldn't help but chuckle again.
"I also mentioned he has a flamethrower," Kurt pointed out, and Blaine made another unintelligible sound of discomfort. "You're fine," Kurt repeated, folding his arms. "You convinced my dad to give me a sex talk, and then asked me out just a couple weeks later. If he hasn't killed you so far, I think you'll be safe at least for a bit longer."
There was a loud crash from downstairs and Kurt flinched slightly. "I'm going to go help Finn before he destroys the entire kitchen," he sighed, sweeping in for a swift kiss on his boyfriend's cheek before making his way to the door. "Oh, and Blaine?" he said, pausing and turning back to the other boy. "You should fix your shirt. In your distress, you put it on backwards."