Pants, a Glee fiction
I do not own Glee. Enjoy and review!
Kurt looks down past his jodhpurs to the floor and wonders when please don't became please don't stop.
What had started as "Hey Kurt, I like your pants," became a matter of "My God, your butt in those pants." Because they wrapped around his tiny body better than any pair of skinny jeans could. He was going to explain how he had found them at second hand store for a sinfully good price, but judging by the glazed over look in his boyfriend's eye he wouldn't have heard him. They could have been from an antique chest in the attic and Blaine wouldn't have had a second thought towards it.
Kurt should've written a reminder to check with his dad about fashionably inclined ancestors later. He'd die to get some vintage pieces to add to his collection. And if new clothes always caught Blaine's eye as positively as now, that was all the more motivation. He was dressed rather equestrian today. He hadn't gone all out, forgoing the riding crop. So he couldn't be evoking some sexual fantasy in him about being whipped like a pony.
There was a bag of black licorice whips hanging on display beside him. Kurt was open to improvisation. He could easily rip open a pack and swat at him. After going to the counter, paying for them and insisting that no, he didn't need a bag. Besides, he knew that some people preferred red licorice to black and they were all sold out.
The basket that he was clutching was taken from his hand. It was set on the ground. Blaine swept an arm around Kurt's back.
He could've sworn the boy was drunk. Nobody puts that much passion into a grocery store kiss. Even if there is a girl, five foot six in khaki pants and a employer mandated tee shirt ogling them from behind a pyramid of soup cans. That had been last week, when they were sent to buy said soup for Blaine's mother. She had come down with a cold. They were debating between chicken noodle and tomato.
She was debating if she had lipstick on her teeth. Satisfied that there hadn't been she asked if they need anything. They hadn't and she left. Slowly, as if she lingered long enough they'd call her back. She ended up on register duty. She raced through three orders of groceries to make sure they made it into her line.
Minutes later they had walked outside to see a college kid shut his trunk and get in his car. He opened the bottle of Dr. Pepper to have it fizz over the cap.
This week there were no employees creeping around. The only people working seemed to be a half asleep elderly woman at the cash register and a teenager cleaning up a broken jar of pickles to the beat of All Time Low coming through his earbuds. Blaine grinned from ear to ear.
"Why'd you do that?" Kurt gaped wide eyed at his boyfriend. Yes, he had enjoyed it. Very much so. But they were in a public place (and very tight pants on his behalf).
"Because I wanted to." Blaine took a step closer to him. Which was almost impossible, but he had somehow made it happen. He had just about tripped over the forgotten basket at their feet in the meantime. Kurt realized in that moment how badly Blaine had wanted to. He felt proud of the influence he had over him. And the slightest bit embarrassed.
"We're in public." He pointedly ignored the look he was receiving. It was enough to make his legs go jelly.
"We're in love." With that he kissed him again, this time exercising enough self restraint to aim for his cheek. Kurt felt his knees start to quiver. He set a hand on the display rack. A box of Milk Duds fell to their feet. He bent down to pick it up.
"Uh, the ice cream is melting." Water droplets fell off the sides of the carton. It was still cool to the touch.
Blaine looked down to the tub in the basket. "I'm sure there's another one in the freezer. We'll get a different one." He picked the basket off the floor and started over.
Kurt's phone buzzed from his coat pocket. He picked it up. "Dude, Puck and I sent you to the store half an hour ago. Where is our Schweddy Balls?"
"We already went over this Finn. I can't buy you rum flavored ice cream just because it was named after some sketch you saw on Saturday Night Live. Dad would kill me." He tried not to laugh as Blaine held out another carton. Karamel Sutra. When had ice cream become so suggestive? And why had there not been another Milk and Cookies in stock. He knew that was Finn's favorite.
"That still doesn't explain what's taking so long." Kurt peered into the freezer case. It was better to let his brother wonder.
"Just tell me if you'd rather have Half Baked or Chubby Hubby and I'll be there as soon as traffic lets me." A coin flipped in the background.
"Do you have a coin we could flip? Ours is stuck behind a stack of, uh, magazines." He knew what Finn meant by magazines. Carole's catalogs never made it into the recycler. They hid under his bed in a neat little stack.
He rolled his eyes at Blaine. "Do you have a coin they can flip?" He poised the quarter on his thumb. "Call it."
"Heads for Half Baked. Tails for Chubby Hubby." It was heads.
Kurt and Blaine stood successfully in line with ice cream, a loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter. The woman scanned their items and went back to pretending to be awake.
When the duo returned home they tossed the carton to the hungry boys. Kurt pulled a knife from the drawer. He opened up the jar of peanut butter. It spread across the bread. They ate their sandwiches, watching the boys decimate the ice cream they had gone to get. The carton was empty before they had finished their sandwiches.
Finn stuck a clean spoon in the jar. Kurt blinked at Blaine who blinked back. They rose from their seats and scurried off to Kurt's room.
Blaine reclined onto the bed. He teased Kurt with butterfly kisses along his neck. "Please don't."
He lifted his head. "Why on earth not?" He pulled his shoes off and set them to the side of the bed. He slowly removed each of his partner's boots.
"We have peanut butter breath." Kurt pouted. He really did want to continue what had happened in the store. But peanut butter breath was not romantic.
Blaine pondered this for a minute. He grabbed Kurt by the hand and led him to the bathroom. He filled the cap with mouthwash. It was gargled and spat back out. Kurt followed suit.
Minty fresh, they made their way back to the bedroom. Blaine closed the door and slammed Kurt against it. He looks to the floor and finds himself murmuring please don't stop. He isn't sure where things will go from there, but one thing is for certain.
He is definitely keeping these pants.
Whether that means on him or on the floor has yet to be determined.
At the rate Blaine's going, he's leaning more towards the second answer.
Surprisingly, he's okay with that.