So, sometimes I get bored some evenings or on journeys and I like to write little inconsequential things. I’m working on my longer stories at the moment but I like little breaks from the confines of their worlds and recently I’ve had a lot of people comment on how they like how I write their quieter/smaller moments (which is a little overwhelming for me. Too kind.) so I decided to start a sporadic little series of “missing secret moments” or as I like to call it… their “secret life of daydreams”. It’s all just a little bit of fun :)
I’ll tag them “fic: slod” and they’ll always be under my writing tag. Feel FREE to send me any prompts of teeny tiny little moments or things you want to see in my ask. Just begin the ask with “Prompt:”.
I hope you enjoy!
NUMBER ONE: Head massage
Kurt squirmed, neck wiggling and twisting under Blaine’s insistent fingers. Blaine didn’t stop though, his hands practised at this now and no amount of Kurt-like complaining would work.
“Do you understand how long it takes to get my hair to look like this?” Kurt whined, scratching word after word into the notebook before him on the bed, feet crossed neatly at the ankles as he lay on his stomach. Poetry analysis was thrilling – fascinating even – but the way Kurt’s hair curved ever so slightly against the elegant concave juncture of his neck was too distracting for the genius of complex imagery to take precedent. It was warm there – just above Kurt’s starched collar - and without a doubt the softest part of Kurt’s entire body.
Blaine knew. He’d explored a lot.
“I know the trials and tribulations of having unruly hair, Kurt.”
“Yes,” Kurt hissed but it had next to no bite, especially when he pressed a fraction into Blaine’s fingers. “But you somehow don’t look like some creature from the undergrowth if a hair is out of place. It somehow looks fitting on you. You just choose to be so neat. This,” – he pointed to his head, turning to look into Blaine’s eyes – “is a necessity, Blaine. I have a reputation to keep and it’s important. You don’t see celebrities going around looking anything other than their best. I’m in practice.”
Blaine’s brain flooded instantly with every candid photo he’d ever seen, including the recent naked Zac Efron photos he may or may not have saved on his laptop hard drive.
“Kurt, you’re gorgeous and I don’t see what the fuss is about. It’s only me here. I’ve seen you looking much more dishevelled and let me tell you, I do not mind in the slightest. In fact, it’s my favourite Kurt look.”
Eyes like daggers, Kurt turned, scurrying to sit. “Above my McQueen pants?”
Blaine’s heart hammered rapid in his chest. “Um…”
Looking scandalized, Kurt pursed his lips. “Even above my new shirt and neck tie trend because, Blaine, I’ll have you know that –“
“Ok. Kurt. Stop.” Blaine silenced him with a gentle finger to the very tip of Kurt’s mouth, the press of it lingering enough for Kurt’s words to die, face relaxing in defeat. The puckered bow of Kurt’s lips lay poised against Blaine’s finger for a moment.
Blaine raised his eyebrows and eventually, a breathy huff of resignation came in the form of a petulant, “Ok. What?”
“Just close your eyes, ok?”
Kurt didn’t deal well with succumbing to another person. It had taken months for him to just be around Blaine without feeling the need to preen or look pristine. It had taken even longer for him to completely relax and let his mind think about anything other than how others saw him. It was conditioned behaviour; it was behaviour Blaine felt proud to have helped eradicate. Well, in private anyway.
“Sylvia Plath isn’t going to analyse herself, Blaine.” Kurt’s expression was indignant but there was a quiver in resolve and Blaine recognised that as his in.
“She can wait,” Blaine said resolutely, turning Kurt’s shoulders and slotting behind him, knees either side of Kurt’s hips. “Just let me, ok? You commandeered my last study session to test out that cucumber face thing so now it’s my turn.”
“So bossy,” Kurt moaned but his voice faltered as Blaine’s fingertips slid from the nape of Kurt’s neck, up into his scalp, turning and swirling in figures of eight, his hair light and feathery to touch.
“That’s entirely your department and you know it.”
Kurt barked a laugh, humming in the affirmative and Blaine smiled secretly to himself. Another of those smiles that Kurt would never ever see.
There was nothing like Kurt in his natural habitat: comfortable, open and blooming with personality. People surely didn’t believe Blaine when he called Kurt a pussy cat but there was no other way to describe him when they were alone, especially as Blaine teased his fingers further towards the crown of Kurt’s head, firm and searching.
“You, um, you are, um…”
“What’s that?” Blaine laughed, giddy at Kurt’s undoing. “I didn’t quite catch that broken sentence.”
“I won’t give you the satisfaction of an answer,” Kurt said defiantly but as Blaine tipped his head, he caught the smile tugging at Kurt’s lips. His brow was furrowed in concentration, body curling into the gentle motion of Blaine’s hands.
“Then I’ll just carry on, shall I?”
Kurt sighed out, exhaling so deeply that his shoulders sagged causing his back to collapse into Blaine’s chest, limp, pliant and helpless like a basking kitten. “If you must,” Kurt breathed out.