DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "The Tip Of The Iceberg" by Owl City.
Warnings are: kissing. Wait, that's an expectation, not a warning. Allusions to sex, then.
Oops. I lied when I said my last one would be the last you heard from me. I just want as much fluffy fic as possible before Tuesday. Once again, this was from my Tumblr first. So have snow day!Klaine :)
TUMBLR IS THAT WAY
endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com
It's been an unseasonably warm and dry winter, so it comes as a surprise when one morning in late February dawns cold and bright, four inches of snow covering everything from the mailboxes to the fronts of stop signs. It's a wet one, too, everything heavy and weighed down and damp-sticky as icicles form from overhanging roofs and the neighbor's dog porpoises happily through the drifts. Schools are cancelled all around the area, forecasters predicting treacherous road conditions that could become even worse overnight as another system moves in, this one harboring drizzle that has a possibility to become sleet mixed with freezing rain.
All in all, it's that much-needed snow day Kurt's been wanting for months. He can catch up on laundry, get a head start on his homework, and, mostly importantly, he can spend time with Blaine, which is exactly what happens a little after noon when there's a knock at his front door and he's shouting "I'll get it!" from his room to deter Finn from heading downstairs. He gets a low mumble in response that e doesn't try to decipher before he's taking the stairs as fast as he can.
The knob of the door is cold to the touch as he grasps it, twisting and pulling, a gust of frigid air greeting him. "Hi," Blaine says from the doorstep, smiling and rosy-cheeked and decked out in a thick heather gray wool scarf with matching gloves and heavy black pea coat.
"'Hi' yourself," Kurt replies, grabbing Blaine's gloved hand to tug him inside. "Make it here okay?"
"Mm, obviously." Blaine unwinds his scarf and then loops it around the back of Kurt's neck to reel him in. Kurt makes a startled noise, eyes widening until he regains his balance and rests his hands flat on the curve of Blaine's hips. The scarf still holds Blaine's body heat and the sharp tang of his cologne. Blaine's nose is still cold when they lean in, brushing their noses together before kissing softly, Blaine's scarf scratchy yet comfortable on the back of Kurt's neck.
"Roads weren't too bad?" Kurt asks between kisses, steadily shuffling closer and closer into Blaine's personal space.
"Not on the highways," Blaine says, nosing briefly at Kurt's cheek before kissing a line from the corner of his jaw back to his lips. They kiss lazily for a few more minutes, letting their hands wander until Blaine whimpers and presses flush against Kurt, letting the scarf fall from his grasp as he links his fingers together, arms resting on Kurt's shoulders. He opens his mouth a little wider, licking at the backs of Kurt's teeth.
"Uh-uh," Kurt scolds, pulling back. Blaine's eyelashes flutter in confusion as he blinks, mouth still slick and dropped open and just beginning to redden and swell. "Finn's still here."
"So? Blaine protests, grabbing the lapel of Kurt's cardigan to tug him close again. "I missed you."
"You saw me yesterday."
"Yeah, but I didn't see you naked."
Kurt laughs, batting Blaine's hands away. "And you thought that the coldest day of the month so far would get me to take off my clothes?"
Blaine leans in close, breathing over Kurt's ear until he's trembling slightly and breathing harder, curling his hands into the material of Blaine's coat. "I figured my body heat could be enough to keep you warm."
"As . . . tempting as that may be," Kurt says, swallowing, traitorous mind running rampant with steamy, sweaty images, "let me repeat: Finn."
Blaine pouts but steps away, looking around the room for a moment. His eyes land on the dark fireplace, then to the couch and the heavy afghan draped artfully over the back of it. Kurt follows his train of thought and smiles dreamily, wrapping his arms around his midsection at the loss of Blaine's warm touch. He still wonders why Blaine thinks that he's terrible at romance, because even unintentionally he's better than most romcom stars.
And, suddenly, homework seems trivial and stupid. He's got his boyfriend standing in his living room, they've got a day off and a fireplace and a huge bay window displaying the sparkling winter wonderland outside. It's picture-and-cliché-perfect.
"Get your coat," Blaine says suddenly, jerking Kurt out of his thoughts.
Kurt blinks, mind still a little fuzzy. "Excuse me?"
Blaine picks up his scarf from where it'd fallen to the floor, looping it up and tying it snugly around Kurt's neck. He straightens the ends when he's done and repeats, "Your coat. Go get it."
"Uh, why . . . ?"
"We're going outside, silly," Blaine says, running his hand down Kurt's arm as he steps back and buttons the top two buttons of his own coat to make up for the lack of a scarf. "I'm not wasting the first substantial snowfall of the year. That's a crime in the Anderson household."
"You can't be serious!"
"Afraid I am, sweetheart," Blaine replies, pushing insistently at Kurt's shoulders. "Now go. C'mon," he pleads. "Just ten minutes, I swear. Then we can come in, light the fire, make hot chocolate, drag the blanket down on the floor, and cuddle like the power's out and we'll die if we don't."
Kurt heaves a sigh, looks out the window and squints at the brightness. The sun's still hidden by a thick layer of gray clouds and a light wind jostles the bare branches and occasionally sends clumps of snow falling into piles on the ground. This is usually the weather where he curls up on his bed with a magazine and tries to forget about school just for a day.
But now he has his boyfriend staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes, excitement playing across them in quick dances, and he just can't say no. So he hurries up the stairs and darts into his closet, pulling out the heaviest (and most water-resistant) coat that he has and pulls it on, smiling as Blaine's scarf covers his chin when he looks down to button up the row of black buttons.
He doesn't really have any gloves for this kind of weather, but . . . he supposes that just this once won't hurt the oldest pair that he has.
When he walks back downstairs, checking to make sure that his jeans are tucked securely into his old yellow rain boots, he finds Blaine waiting eagerly by the back door, flashing him a smile as he says, "Looking as cute as ever, I see."
Kurt feels his face heat up and knows that his cheekbones are reddening quickly. He tries to sidle past Blaine and out the door, but Blaine's too quick and he grabs the sleeve of Kurt's coat, tugging him back.
"Blaine—," Kurt protests.
"Nope, shh," Blaine says. "C'mere, baby. I just wanna kiss you." He does, softly and so gently that Kurt feels his body tingle and his heart begin to pound and he can't resist winding his arms around Blaine's neck to be closer, always closer. "Love you," Blaine whispers against Kurt's lips when they part. Kurt shakily whispers it back and watches Blaine's face light up in a grin.
The snow crunches underfoot when the door's finally open and they step outside. A gust of biting wind hits Kurt in the face, making his eyes water. He does have to admit, though, that the backyard untouched is stunning, with only the barely-discernable lumps where bushes and chairs would be. It gives the impression of a clean slate, a fresh easel waiting to be painted on.
He's looking up at the sky and the tall wood fence marking their property when something hits him hard in the back and he shouts in surprise. The site of impact still stings, and when he twists his arm around to feel the back of his coat he comes across a hard lump of wet snow stuck to the fibers. Immediately he knows what it had been.
"Blaine! You ass," he says, going for angry but ending up more amused. He's never actually been in a snowball fight before and he feels a childlike sense of excitement wash over him as he stoops down and scoops up a handful of snow, crudely shaping it into something resembling a sphere.
"You'd better watch your back, Anderson," he calls, turning around on the spot and whipping it at Blaine. It hits him in the chest and he stumbles back with an oomph, dropping his own snowball in the process as the muted thwack rings out. Kurt blinks in surprise: he hadn't actually thought that his aim would be so true. He almost wants to laugh, but now Blaine's pouting and staring at Kurt with wide eyes and creased forehead.
"My chest," Blaine whines, still pouting and rubbing over the area. "I just recovered from one injury and now you're trying to give me another one."
Kurt's heart plummets and he takes a step forward, feeling tears well up in his eyes because he's such a jerk, oh my god, how could he and notices too late Blaine's smirk, notices too late that he's picked up his forgotten snowball and is winding up to throw it.
It stings when it hits, more so than the first one, and Kurt can't help but let out a little noise as it makes contact with his shoulder, snow exploding around him and hitting his cheek in icy daggers. "You fight dirty," he gasps out as he shakes his head, glaring at Blaine and receiving that same smirk in response.
"Everything I do is dirty," Blaine says with a wink, and even as Kurt rushes forward and tackles Blaine to the ground, the snow cushioning their fall, he's laughing harder than he has in weeks.
"I don't know how I put up with you," Kurt says, staring down at Blaine bracketed between his arms, dark hair curly and gel-free for the moment as it fans out across white. Hazel eyes sparkle, red lips are stretched into a wide grin, and Blaine's cheeks and nose are adorably tinged red. Their breath puffs out white mist between them that curls and writhes away. Kurt can't help himself when he leans down and presses a kiss to the tip of Blaine's nose with cold-chapped lips before nuzzling it with his own.
It briefly occurs to him that this is the type of ridiculous scenario that occurs in every teen movie or cheesy romance movie, the kind he's been watching for years while wondering why his own life couldn't be like that, why he couldn't have the man of his dreams pinned under hm while they kissed in the rain or snow or whatever type of weather.
He hovers a moment over Blaine's mouth, debating, eyes darting from the fence to Blaine's parted lips and half-lidded eyes a few times before he goes for it and presses their mouths together. His hands have sunk deep into the snow and it's wormed its way up under the sleeve of his coat and cardigan to soak and chill his arms and fingers. His toes are numb inside his boots and thick socks, and he's pretty certain that his ears will shatter at the slightest touch, but he doesn't care.
He can't care when Blaine's under him; he never can. He only focuses on how warm they are pressed together, how Blaine's lips feel against his as they peck and he pulls back to stare into each other's eyes, smiling, and diving back in. He doesn't notice when more snow begins to fall.
They eventually roll off each other, Blaine insisting that they make snow angels, and they do, laughing and speaking their elation to the sky and falling flakes. They hop up as carefully as they can when Blaine deems them done and stand back to admire their handiwork. Blaine bends down to draw a halo above Kurt's, and Kurt shoves at his shoulder when he straightens back up but feels oddly proud nonetheless when he looks down at their imprints left there for everyone to see.
Their jackets and jeans are soaked, so they go through the garage to de-robe there, sharing smiles that still manage to be shy and slightly awkward even now. They shiver in their t-shirts and boxer-briefs and clutch their soaked clothes in hand as they step into the house and Kurt heads to the laundry room to open the dryer, then upstairs to threaten Finn with bodily harm to stay in his room. He brings Blaine a spare pair of sweats a few minutes later, already clothed in his own, and fills two mugs with milk before putting them in the microwave and getting out the hot chocolate mix.
When the fire's roaring and the afghan's swathed around them, steaming mugs resting on the coffee table, Kurt leans against Blaine's shoulder, and after a beat Blaine whispers, "I want to spend every snow day for the rest of my life with you."
Kurt squeezes his hand in their warm cocoon and presses his lips to Blaine's shoulder and says, "I want to spend every day with you."
Blaine kisses the top of his head and rubs his thumb in circles on the top of Kurt's hand. "I believe that can be arranged, too."