“Oh my God, I give up.” Pages fluttered as Kurt pushed the textbook away from him and dropped his head onto his folded arms. Blaine peeked over the edge of the bed and quirked an eyebrow at his adorably defeated boyfriend, who was laying on his stomach on the floor at the foot of his bed.

They had been studying for three hours. Blaine had been through his math, Italian, and was currently working on a history essay. Kurt had finished his French very early on and had been staring at his AP English textbook ever since.

“Burnt out?” Blaine asked. Kurt merely grunted in response, not even turning his head, so the sound was muffled. Blaine rolled off the bed, and picked up the discarded textbook, careful not to step on Kurt in the process. He was curious. He knew just how smart Kurt was and wanted to know what had stumped him. He flipped back to the pages just after the Burberry plaid print bookmark he had given Kurt as a welcome to Dalton gift. He scanned the introduction and was surprised when he got to the reading.

“Poetry?” Blaine asked, eyebrows raised. This time Kurt sat up and leaned against the foot of the bed.

“Not just poetry, I’m usually pretty good with poetry,” he stated indignantly, “This is Renaissance poetry. Some of it is barely even English.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Blaine soothed, “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

With that Blaine started skimming and paging through the chapter. Kurt sat and watched. Blaine looked so professional in that moment with his pressed pants and shirt, perfectly gelled hair, and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Granted his tie had been loosened, though it was still around his neck. Kurt smiled at that, he’d been the one that loosened it. Just as Kurt was about to start planning his next argument for why Blaine should stop gelling his hair to within an inch of its life, that very same boy’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“Would you mind if I read some?” he asked, looking down at Kurt.

“Out loud?”

Blaine chuckled softly, “Well, yeah. Poetry was created to be heard, it’s kind of like music that way.”

Kurt thought on that for a moment before leaning his head back against the bed and closing his eyes, ready to do nothing but listen.

“Knock yourself out.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Blaine quipped. He took a seat next to Kurt, close enough that their sides were touching. Kurt opened his eyes rested his head on Blaine’s shoulder, partially to read along, but mostly for the comfort of being close to Blaine, just because he could.

Blaine kissed the top of Kurt’s head and cleared his throat before starting to read.

O kisse, which doest those ruddie gemmes impart,
Or gemmes, or frutes of new-found Paradise,
Breathing all blisse and sweetning to the heart,
Teaching dumbe lips a nobler exercise.

O kisse, which soules, even soules together ties
By linkes of Love, and only Natures art:
How faine would I paint thee to all mens eyes,
Or of thy gifts at least shade out some part.

But she forbids, with blushing words, she sayes,
She builds her fame on higher seated praise:
But my heart burnes, I cannot silent be.

Then since (deare life) you faine would have me peace,
And I, mad with delight, want wit to cease,
Stop you my mouth with still still kissing me.

Kurt listened to him in wonder. He read the words so smoothly, as if it were nothing. Kurt often had to go through and phonetically sound out some of the words, occasionally resorting to rewriting the poems altogether in his notes. When Blaine finished Kurt pulled off his shoulder and met the hazel eyes staring down at him.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?” Blaine asked.

“Make it so effortless. I was trying to figure that out for ages, you read it once and I understand it, granted that was one of the easier poems but still…”

“My mom has a degree in Literature,” Blaine shrugged, “I just grew up around stuff like this.”

“Well it sounds amazing when you read it.”

“Thanks,” Blaine smiled, and went back to looking through the poems. Kurt on the other hand was dealing with a small internal debate. He hated asking for help, he had his pride. But the sooner he got finished with his homework, the more time he could spend cuddling with Blaine before he had to go back to his room for the nightly bed checks. Cuddling won out over pride.

“So does that mean you understand the poetry as well as you read it?”

Blaine was already a step ahead. “I would love to help you with your homework, Kurt.” He put down the book and shifted so he was facing Kurt.

“First question,” Blaine stated, mischievous glint in his eye, “What was this last poem about?”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. That poem was the most self explanatory one he had come across that semester. “Seriously?”

“Come on, Kurt. It’s not that complicated,” Blaine leaned in closer, “You said that you understood.”

Kurt caught Blaine’s meaning and smirked as he leaned in closer to his boyfriend’s lips, “I understood perfectly.”

He closed the distance between them. He could feel Blaine’s smile and the calluses from years of guitar playing as his hand came up to cradle Kurt’s face. Then a moment to soon Blaine used that same hand to separate them, though they stayed only inches apart.

“Perfect answer,” Blaine whispered. He took a breath to calm himself, “So what’s next?”

Kurt just smirked, and Blaine shook his head.

“I mean on your homework.”

A slight pout appeared on Kurt’s face and Blaine laughed lightly. He grabbed the now twice discarded textbook before shifting back so they were side by side again and wrapped his arm around Kurt’s side, pulling him impossibly closer. Kurt shivered at the feel of Blaine’s warm breath on the shell of his ear.

“Homework first, practice later,” he murmured and placed a quick kiss just below Kurt’s ear before pulling back and placing the textbook in Kurt’s lap.

Fin.