DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "No One Can Touch Us" by Sing It Loud.
Warnings are: well, there aren't really any. This is just a short fic based around "Prom Queen" when I wondered if Kurt and Blaine put on each other's boutonnières. This is also my first foray into the K section of FF! Holy crap.
Reviewers, you are all amazing. You leave some of the most insightful, kind, sweet stuff and I don't know what I did to deserve those words.
TUMBLR IS THAT WAY
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The moment that Kurt walks into the living room Blaine's heart stops and he forgets how to exhale. All the noise in the room dims and fades, falls away like the unsteady walls of a fleeting dream. He forgets where he is, forgets his name and wonders if it's normal to feel like this just because of one boy.
He's seen Kurt's prom outfit before, of course, but seeing Kurt in it on this night, in the few hours that they have left before they enter their first dance as a couple, makes it seem somehow lovelier, the edges brighter and more clear-cut, more beautiful. Kurt's glowing, his smile wide and genuine as he sweeps into the room. The kilt swishes and sways around his legs and the tight black jeans he has on. Blaine nervously fingers the box in his hand that's behind his back. He swallows and it gets caught in his throat, making him cough and clear his throat.
Kurt steps close, his eyes bright and wide as he takes in Blaine's tux and carefully-gelled hair. "You look handsome," he says, a little note of awe in his voice as he runs his fingers along the lapel of Blaine's jacket, feeling the fabric. He looks a little nervous, redness tinging the apples of his cheeks and his eyes darting around, focusing on Blaine's for only milliseconds before being occupied elsewhere. His bottom lip is fixed firmly between his teeth as he lets his arm dangle back down at his side like he's unsure what else to do with it, whether or not he wants to travel up to caress Blaine's cheek or curl around his neck.
"You look beautiful," Blaine says back breathlessly, truthfully. He holds the box up and flips open the lid, revealing two matching pink carnations. Suddenly Kurt's nervousness hits him full force and he's stammering. "I, uh, wasn't sure if you'd want one or not, since we didn't match our outfits or anything, and I know they're really simple but I didn't know what color you'd want and—"
Kurt's finger on his lips stops him from finishing his rant. "Blaine," he says, "they're beautiful. I love them."
He lifts one out of the box and inspects it, holding the stem delicately between his fingers. "C'mere," he says after a moment, and when Blaine steps forward he fastens the flower to his lapel with deft fingers, checking to make sure the pin is securely in place.
Blaine's breath hitches at Kurt's careful touch. Their foreheads are almost touching, breath mingling. Kurt smells like toothpaste, face cream, cologne, and hairspray, and Blaine wants nothing more than to hold him close, kiss him hard and make his night the most amazing, memorable night he's ever had. As Kurt's boyfriend—boyfriend—it's his job, his duty, and all he's ever wanted to do is please, please, please, like it's his job.
Blaine takes the second one out of the box and carefully fastens it onto Kurt's lapel with a little less precision, his hand shaking and almost causing him to prick his finger in the process. He smooths his hands down Kurt's arms as he steps back to admire it.
"Perfect," he says quietly. He's not really talking about the flower.
He looks over his shoulder where Burt is still talking with Finn, their backs turned away from the boys. It'd be so easy to, but he doesn't want to risk anything. When Blaine turns his head back around Kurt is closer and he startles a little.
"Kurt—" he begins warningly. It's just the house, and though Burt is pretty strict about PDA, a quick kiss isn't going to make him head for his shotgun. Mostly, it's Blaine's ingrained fear about affection in front of other people. He knows what can happen and Kurt knows what can happen. They're safe, but they're never really safe, not here in Ohio; hell, not even in New York in some places.
"Shh," Kurt replies, breaking Blaine's train of thought. He rests his hands on Blaine's neck then slides his arms back, crossing his wrists behind Blaine's head. They're pulled so, so close, enough that when Kurt speaks Blaine can feel his breath on his lips "You're amazing, Blaine. You didn't have to do any of this. I wasn't really—I wasn't expecting anything." There's something in Kurt's voice, a little note of sadness or expectation, like he's already braced himself for never getting what he deserves even though he's more deserving than anyone Blaine's ever met.
His heart twinges. "I'd do anything for you," Blaine whispers, brushing a stray strand of hair carefully back into Kurt's sculpted style, backs of his fingers sweeping along smooth, pale skin. "I want you to be happy." They're even closer now, breathing in only each other. Blaine's never felt so connected, so in tune, just by proxemics.
Kurt pecks him on the cheek, close enough to the lips that Blaine loses his breath for the second time this evening. Kurt springs back a moment later, putting an appropriate distance between them. Light dances in his eyes, mischievous and alluring and Blaine wishes he could just reel him in and kiss him until all of Blaine's feelings, the helium-light and fuzzy ones, seep into his body and warm him from the inside out.
"With you I'm always happy," Kurt says, holding out his hand. Blaine takes it without hesitation, stomach fluttering like it had in those anxious moments when he had walked into the common room to find Kurt gluing stones to a casket. "Now let's go have the time of our lives."
Blaine couldn't possibly be more in love, but he'll wait to say it.
He'll wait because he knows that they'll last: they'll have forever and he plans on savoring every single moment.