borogroves
June 3, 2013, 11:09 a.m.
Polaroids: Homespun
T - Words: 439 - Last Updated: Jun 03, 2013 Story: Closed - Chapters: 9/? - Created: Apr 26, 2012 - Updated: Jun 03, 2013 150 0 0 0 0
Author's Notes: sight.
Furrowed crease between Blaine's eyebrows, drawn together as he scratches lyrics onto the paper of his notebook; the first clean page after the first few have already been torn out and thrown away. The title at the top of the page: Storm House.
KHA & BHA inside a steam-shaky heart on the bathroom mirror of their honeymoon suite; glimpses of Kurt kissing his way from one shoulder to the other.
Grouchy midnight employee taking their order; a quirk in the corner of Blaine's mouth that silently asks if Kurt also wants to partake of a Fourthmeal.
Manicured fingernails disappearing between links of the chain, then between the buttons of his own shirt; a new ring on his ring finger, platinum against the sunblush left on Kurt's skin.
A smile; the last before sleep.
sound.
Soft glug of Chateauneuf-du-Pape into the second wine glass; tinkle of the porch wind chime carried through to the kitchen on a summer evening breeze.
McQueen's aircraft-loud purr as he lies half on Kurt's shoulder; tap-tapping of the keyboard while Kurt outlines his design statement.
Rumbling from Blaine's stomach where he sits at the island, audible even over the clattering of plates as Kurt retrieves them from the cupboard.
Landline cord pulled from the wall, rustling sheets and a soft, musical laugh beneath rain pit-pit-pattering against the window.
Self-deprecating huff of breath as the radio plays Waking, accompanied by a whispered hello; the first of the day.
taste.
Silk, thick and damp on Kurt's tongue and between his teeth.
Licking the salt from pale ocean-drenched skin; across freckled cheekbone, jaw and shoulder.
Ice and metal in the Christmas air; a chaser of nutmeg and cinnamon from warming up after skating.
Overpowering heat as the spices kick back; soothing milk to cool the burn and Kurt promising he'll put in less paprika next time.
Brush of chocolate-coffee lips; an unexpected midday kiss.
smell.
Raspberry, sweet and tangy, over barely-scented detergent and polyester; the beginning of the rest.
Wool; peppermint; lilac essential oil drip-dropped into castille soap--this is where winter begins.
Sweat and saltwater taffy; sand and tar and seaweed.
The same cologne year after year after year; citrus and wood undercut with high fashion and hairspray.
Through the door and home; Blaine's dinner night and the evening is chicken and mango and cumin.
touch.
Embossed metal casing, skin-warm even through shirt and blazer; a light grip on Blaine's shoulder.
Layers and layers and layers, peeled back one by painstaking one; a tremble, not from the cold.
Fingertips skimming Blaine's hip, then Kurt pressed chest to thigh against him in the confined space of the kitchen.
Eyelashes, feather-light over the apple of Kurt's cheek; song-chapped lips, and a bundle of scarf in his fist.
The first and last hand to hold; once, present, and always.
Furrowed crease between Blaine's eyebrows, drawn together as he scratches lyrics onto the paper of his notebook; the first clean page after the first few have already been torn out and thrown away. The title at the top of the page: Storm House.
KHA & BHA inside a steam-shaky heart on the bathroom mirror of their honeymoon suite; glimpses of Kurt kissing his way from one shoulder to the other.
Grouchy midnight employee taking their order; a quirk in the corner of Blaine's mouth that silently asks if Kurt also wants to partake of a Fourthmeal.
Manicured fingernails disappearing between links of the chain, then between the buttons of his own shirt; a new ring on his ring finger, platinum against the sunblush left on Kurt's skin.
A smile; the last before sleep.
sound.
Soft glug of Chateauneuf-du-Pape into the second wine glass; tinkle of the porch wind chime carried through to the kitchen on a summer evening breeze.
McQueen's aircraft-loud purr as he lies half on Kurt's shoulder; tap-tapping of the keyboard while Kurt outlines his design statement.
Rumbling from Blaine's stomach where he sits at the island, audible even over the clattering of plates as Kurt retrieves them from the cupboard.
Landline cord pulled from the wall, rustling sheets and a soft, musical laugh beneath rain pit-pit-pattering against the window.
Self-deprecating huff of breath as the radio plays Waking, accompanied by a whispered hello; the first of the day.
taste.
Silk, thick and damp on Kurt's tongue and between his teeth.
Licking the salt from pale ocean-drenched skin; across freckled cheekbone, jaw and shoulder.
Ice and metal in the Christmas air; a chaser of nutmeg and cinnamon from warming up after skating.
Overpowering heat as the spices kick back; soothing milk to cool the burn and Kurt promising he'll put in less paprika next time.
Brush of chocolate-coffee lips; an unexpected midday kiss.
smell.
Raspberry, sweet and tangy, over barely-scented detergent and polyester; the beginning of the rest.
Wool; peppermint; lilac essential oil drip-dropped into castille soap--this is where winter begins.
Sweat and saltwater taffy; sand and tar and seaweed.
The same cologne year after year after year; citrus and wood undercut with high fashion and hairspray.
Through the door and home; Blaine's dinner night and the evening is chicken and mango and cumin.
touch.
Embossed metal casing, skin-warm even through shirt and blazer; a light grip on Blaine's shoulder.
Layers and layers and layers, peeled back one by painstaking one; a tremble, not from the cold.
Fingertips skimming Blaine's hip, then Kurt pressed chest to thigh against him in the confined space of the kitchen.
Eyelashes, feather-light over the apple of Kurt's cheek; song-chapped lips, and a bundle of scarf in his fist.
The first and last hand to hold; once, present, and always.
sight.
Furrowed crease between Blaine's eyebrows, drawn together as he scratches lyrics onto the paper of his notebook; the first clean page after the first few have already been torn out and thrown away. The title at the top of the page: Storm House.
KHA & BHA inside a steam-shaky heart on the bathroom mirror of their honeymoon suite; glimpses of Kurt kissing his way from one shoulder to the other.
Grouchy midnight employee taking their order; a quirk in the corner of Blaine's mouth that silently asks if Kurt also wants to partake of a Fourthmeal.
Manicured fingernails disappearing between links of the chain, then between the buttons of his own shirt; a new ring on his ring finger, platinum against the sunblush left on Kurt's skin.
A smile; the last before sleep.
sound.
Soft glug of Chateauneuf-du-Pape into the second wine glass; tinkle of the porch wind chime carried through to the kitchen on a summer evening breeze.
McQueen's aircraft-loud purr as he lies half on Kurt's shoulder; tap-tapping of the keyboard while Kurt outlines his design statement.
Rumbling from Blaine's stomach where he sits at the island, audible even over the clattering of plates as Kurt retrieves them from the cupboard.
Landline cord pulled from the wall, rustling sheets and a soft, musical laugh beneath rain pit-pit-pattering against the window.
Self-deprecating huff of breath as the radio plays Waking, accompanied by a whispered hello; the first of the day.
taste.
Silk, thick and damp on Kurt's tongue and between his teeth.
Licking the salt from pale ocean-drenched skin; across freckled cheekbone, jaw and shoulder.
Ice and metal in the Christmas air; a chaser of nutmeg and cinnamon from warming up after skating.
Overpowering heat as the spices kick back; soothing milk to cool the burn and Kurt promising he'll put in less paprika next time.
Brush of chocolate-coffee lips; an unexpected midday kiss.
smell.
Raspberry, sweet and tangy, over barely-scented detergent and polyester; the beginning of the rest.
Wool; peppermint; lilac essential oil drip-dropped into castille soap--this is where winter begins.
Sweat and saltwater taffy; sand and tar and seaweed.
The same cologne year after year after year; citrus and wood undercut with high fashion and hairspray.
Through the door and home; Blaine's dinner night and the evening is chicken and mango and cumin.
touch.
Embossed metal casing, skin-warm even through shirt and blazer; a light grip on Blaine's shoulder.
Layers and layers and layers, peeled back one by painstaking one; a tremble, not from the cold.
Fingertips skimming Blaine's hip, then Kurt pressed chest to thigh against him in the confined space of the kitchen.
Eyelashes, feather-light over the apple of Kurt's cheek; song-chapped lips, and a bundle of scarf in his fist.
The first and last hand to hold; once, present, and always.
Furrowed crease between Blaine's eyebrows, drawn together as he scratches lyrics onto the paper of his notebook; the first clean page after the first few have already been torn out and thrown away. The title at the top of the page: Storm House.
KHA & BHA inside a steam-shaky heart on the bathroom mirror of their honeymoon suite; glimpses of Kurt kissing his way from one shoulder to the other.
Grouchy midnight employee taking their order; a quirk in the corner of Blaine's mouth that silently asks if Kurt also wants to partake of a Fourthmeal.
Manicured fingernails disappearing between links of the chain, then between the buttons of his own shirt; a new ring on his ring finger, platinum against the sunblush left on Kurt's skin.
A smile; the last before sleep.
sound.
Soft glug of Chateauneuf-du-Pape into the second wine glass; tinkle of the porch wind chime carried through to the kitchen on a summer evening breeze.
McQueen's aircraft-loud purr as he lies half on Kurt's shoulder; tap-tapping of the keyboard while Kurt outlines his design statement.
Rumbling from Blaine's stomach where he sits at the island, audible even over the clattering of plates as Kurt retrieves them from the cupboard.
Landline cord pulled from the wall, rustling sheets and a soft, musical laugh beneath rain pit-pit-pattering against the window.
Self-deprecating huff of breath as the radio plays Waking, accompanied by a whispered hello; the first of the day.
taste.
Silk, thick and damp on Kurt's tongue and between his teeth.
Licking the salt from pale ocean-drenched skin; across freckled cheekbone, jaw and shoulder.
Ice and metal in the Christmas air; a chaser of nutmeg and cinnamon from warming up after skating.
Overpowering heat as the spices kick back; soothing milk to cool the burn and Kurt promising he'll put in less paprika next time.
Brush of chocolate-coffee lips; an unexpected midday kiss.
smell.
Raspberry, sweet and tangy, over barely-scented detergent and polyester; the beginning of the rest.
Wool; peppermint; lilac essential oil drip-dropped into castille soap--this is where winter begins.
Sweat and saltwater taffy; sand and tar and seaweed.
The same cologne year after year after year; citrus and wood undercut with high fashion and hairspray.
Through the door and home; Blaine's dinner night and the evening is chicken and mango and cumin.
touch.
Embossed metal casing, skin-warm even through shirt and blazer; a light grip on Blaine's shoulder.
Layers and layers and layers, peeled back one by painstaking one; a tremble, not from the cold.
Fingertips skimming Blaine's hip, then Kurt pressed chest to thigh against him in the confined space of the kitchen.
Eyelashes, feather-light over the apple of Kurt's cheek; song-chapped lips, and a bundle of scarf in his fist.
The first and last hand to hold; once, present, and always.