blueshredsofribbon
Sept. 23, 2014, 7 p.m.
Sea-Swallowed: Chapter 14
E - Words: 749 - Last Updated: Sep 23, 2014 Story: Complete - Chapters: 14/? - Created: May 10, 2014 - Updated: May 10, 2014 133 0 0 0 0
Author's Notes: okay this is the final chapter its been a long journey but finally done.
Kurt wakes first, shifting Blaine so he slides face first into the pillow. He needs his rest and Kurt needs time to think.
The Anderson kitchen is spotlessly white but he knows his way around it enough to pour himself a glass of orange juice. It sweetens his dry mouth perfectly, and then he remembers where his mouth was last night and just how good it felt. They'd never done anything like that before. It had been Blaine, pressing for another kiss, gently edging them forward but still dancing around. There is something now that there wasn't before. Something better.
His phone startles him so much he almost chokes on a mouthful.
It's Quinn.
“I didn't know if you'd still be asleep,” she starts as soon as he picked up.
“I'm awake,” he replies, hooking the phone beneath his ear and dumping the glass into the dishwasher. It's sort of cold and he wishes he'd grabbed a sweater instead of some boxers.
“You sound…” she starts, “more content?”
“Blaine I had a talk,” he clears his throat, flushing,
“actually we didn't quite get to the talking part yet.”
“Kurt,” Quinn sounds scandalized, or at least like she's
trying to, “Where are you right now?”
“I'm in his kitchen,” he murmurs almost guiltily and then interrupts himself, “Not that there's anything wrong with that right, I mean, we're boyfriends, we've been dating for a year and a half. You slept with Puck before you even got together!”
There's a pause down the phone line.
“I'm sorry I didn't mean that, I'm just nervous,” he slumps against the sink, dipping his hand back into the water and fiddling with the faucet.
“Like you said, you're boyfriends, you have nothing to worry about,” Quinn reminds him, kindly dismissing his awful comment.
“It just feels…different?” he sighs and reaches for
another glass and filling it with water before looking out into the garden. It reminds him of how he and Quinn fell asleep in her yard the day before.
“A good different?” she asks.
“Yeah, it feels better almost,” he takes a sip of water, “Is that horrible to say?”
“Going through terrible shit together that's how we survive and change, so no that's probably a good sign.”
“I just don't want to lose him again,” he almost whispers.
The shadows in the garden are shifting again, the washing line swings against the breeze, sunlight filters sweet crosshatches onto the patio. Mrs Anderson's roses are in bloom.
“Then don't,” a voice from behind him says.
And Quinn coughs a sweet goodbye and hangs up. Blaine's hand falls over his where it grips the edge of the sink.
“Your mom's roses look great,” Kurt says awkwardly, “Would you tell her for me?”
“Sure,” Blaine replies.
Kurt can feel the soft cotton of Blaine's sweatshirt against the bare skin of his arm. He tugs Blaine in front of him so he can press his own chin into his boyfriend's neck, feel his warm.
“I love you,” Kurt tells him.
“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” Blaine asks, tilting his head back against Kurt's shoulder so their faces are pressed together.
“I guess I just want you to talk about all this stuff with me, or at least be talking with someone. And I want to make these choices together, I know you said before that you didn't know if you'd perform again. We can go to NYADA together, or we can look into other options or we can stay here another year. I just don't want to ignore it anymore. Everything that happens to us is part of the choices we make and I'm with you. I refuse to let you push me away again.”
“Okay,” is all he gets in return.
“Okay?”
“Yeah okay, let's talk about it,” Blaine turns in his arms and presses a quick kiss against his lips, “But can we please go back to bed, this sink is really cold and I've missed you.”
The wind picks up, whistling against the window panes and down through the garden. The same wind picks up the waves and deposits them on the sand.
There will be days when all the here is wind and all they feel is grasping hands in the mist, there will be days when they drown all over again. Days when sand is brittle against their bones and they are weary. But they are not lost only fighting to find a way out. They are not broken only fighting to be better. Beating together as the moon pulls them to the surface once more.
The Anderson kitchen is spotlessly white but he knows his way around it enough to pour himself a glass of orange juice. It sweetens his dry mouth perfectly, and then he remembers where his mouth was last night and just how good it felt. They'd never done anything like that before. It had been Blaine, pressing for another kiss, gently edging them forward but still dancing around. There is something now that there wasn't before. Something better.
His phone startles him so much he almost chokes on a mouthful.
It's Quinn.
“I didn't know if you'd still be asleep,” she starts as soon as he picked up.
“I'm awake,” he replies, hooking the phone beneath his ear and dumping the glass into the dishwasher. It's sort of cold and he wishes he'd grabbed a sweater instead of some boxers.
“You sound…” she starts, “more content?”
“Blaine I had a talk,” he clears his throat, flushing,
“actually we didn't quite get to the talking part yet.”
“Kurt,” Quinn sounds scandalized, or at least like she's
trying to, “Where are you right now?”
“I'm in his kitchen,” he murmurs almost guiltily and then interrupts himself, “Not that there's anything wrong with that right, I mean, we're boyfriends, we've been dating for a year and a half. You slept with Puck before you even got together!”
There's a pause down the phone line.
“I'm sorry I didn't mean that, I'm just nervous,” he slumps against the sink, dipping his hand back into the water and fiddling with the faucet.
“Like you said, you're boyfriends, you have nothing to worry about,” Quinn reminds him, kindly dismissing his awful comment.
“It just feels…different?” he sighs and reaches for
another glass and filling it with water before looking out into the garden. It reminds him of how he and Quinn fell asleep in her yard the day before.
“A good different?” she asks.
“Yeah, it feels better almost,” he takes a sip of water, “Is that horrible to say?”
“Going through terrible shit together that's how we survive and change, so no that's probably a good sign.”
“I just don't want to lose him again,” he almost whispers.
The shadows in the garden are shifting again, the washing line swings against the breeze, sunlight filters sweet crosshatches onto the patio. Mrs Anderson's roses are in bloom.
“Then don't,” a voice from behind him says.
And Quinn coughs a sweet goodbye and hangs up. Blaine's hand falls over his where it grips the edge of the sink.
“Your mom's roses look great,” Kurt says awkwardly, “Would you tell her for me?”
“Sure,” Blaine replies.
Kurt can feel the soft cotton of Blaine's sweatshirt against the bare skin of his arm. He tugs Blaine in front of him so he can press his own chin into his boyfriend's neck, feel his warm.
“I love you,” Kurt tells him.
“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” Blaine asks, tilting his head back against Kurt's shoulder so their faces are pressed together.
“I guess I just want you to talk about all this stuff with me, or at least be talking with someone. And I want to make these choices together, I know you said before that you didn't know if you'd perform again. We can go to NYADA together, or we can look into other options or we can stay here another year. I just don't want to ignore it anymore. Everything that happens to us is part of the choices we make and I'm with you. I refuse to let you push me away again.”
“Okay,” is all he gets in return.
“Okay?”
“Yeah okay, let's talk about it,” Blaine turns in his arms and presses a quick kiss against his lips, “But can we please go back to bed, this sink is really cold and I've missed you.”
The wind picks up, whistling against the window panes and down through the garden. The same wind picks up the waves and deposits them on the sand.
There will be days when all the here is wind and all they feel is grasping hands in the mist, there will be days when they drown all over again. Days when sand is brittle against their bones and they are weary. But they are not lost only fighting to find a way out. They are not broken only fighting to be better. Beating together as the moon pulls them to the surface once more.