chatterboxrose:

blainetheasspirate:

pencilpushingenthusiast:

*muah*

#It looks like Blaine’s the photographer for a big-wig newspaper in the twenties #and Kurt’s the no-nonsense hard-hitting reporter #and every night after everyone has gone home from work #Blaine sneaks into Kurt’s office while he’s working on an article and steals seven minutes in heaven with his sweetie #oh god #somebody write this please

reblogging again becaUSE DEAR GOD SOMEONE WRITE IT

"It’s getting kind of late."

The noisy clacking of keys ceases; a disgruntled look is shot at Blaine from over the top of the large typewriter perched on an even-larger desk. “Yes, and…?”

Blaine shrugs at Kurt’s clipped words, smiling to himself as he slides his tan jacket back on. He fixes his tie, arranges his hat on his head as he rocks on his heels, thinking about the next day’s photography assignments. “Everyone’s already gone.” Blaine’s voice drops slightly, going from casually playful to something a bit darker, more intimate.

The sound of keys pauses, then starts up again until there’s a ding. Kurt slides the platen over and looks up, an eyebrow raised. Blaine strides further into the office, checking behind himself to make sure they’re completely alone, and shuts the door behind him, turning the blinds down as an afterthought. The small lamp at the corner of Kurt’s desk casts a yellowish light over the room and the air holds the smell of smoke even though Kurt’s one of the few guys in the office who doesn’t.

"Hi," Blaine finally says, stopping next to Kurt. There’s a chair in the corner for visitors; Blaine grabs it and pulls it closer before sitting down. He casts a glance at the paper piled neatly next to the typewriter. "Working hard?"

Kurt rolls his eyes, but a small smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, bringing into play the faintest of lines dimpling his cheek. “I didn’t get to be the number one reporter in the Times for nothing, Mr. Anderson. I treat every deadline like it’s the last conflicting facts of the Titanic's sinking.” He slides the paper currently loaded into the typewriter out, slipping it underneath the hefty stack; he grabs the whole thing next and taps them against the desk a few times to make sure they're all in order.

There’s a moment of silence before Kurt turns in his chair, the stack of paper set down and momentarily forgotten. Blaine uses the next few seconds to take in Kurt’s work-rumpled shirt and impeccably-knotted tie before he smiles, picking up the garment and running his fingers over the silk blend. Kurt’s breath catches, though it’s nearly inaudible. “I like this color,” Blaine says coyly, looking up to find Kurt staring at him with focused blue-gray eyes.

"I should hope so." Kurt’s voice softens along with the hard lines of his face, his eyes losing the flint-like quality they get when he’s focusing on work. "You did buy it for me, after all." He gently takes the light green fabric from Blaine’s hands, linking their fingers together instead.

"Hi," he says, repeating Blaine’s initial greeting. The smile he sports now is soft, genuine, meant only for Blaine. "Did you have a good day?"

"As good as I can have." Blaine presses their foreheads together, the brim of his hat getting pushed back slightly. "Now I’m just ready to go home. My eyes are burning."

Kurt lets go of Blaine’s hands, resting his elbow on the desk. He closes his eyes briefly and sighs, prompting Blaine to scoot even closer. Blaine leans forward and rests his hand on Kurt’s back, feeling a tingle run through his arm as the warmth of Kurt’s skin seeps through to his own, the slight movement of muscles as Kurt shifts making Blaine swallow hard.

Kurt’s eyes blink open, his lips parted slightly. “C’mere,” Blaine whispers, reaching up to cup Kurt’s face briefly before closing the distance and pressing their lips together. Immediately it’s like all the tension runs out of Kurt’s body; he’s pliant, willing, and his mouth opens eagerly under the damp pressure of Blaine’s tongue.

Nearly every night at the paper is spent like this and Blaine lives for it, lives for the precious few seconds he gets with Kurt after-hours where they can forget everything else and exist through touches and noises. No one’s around to know, to pry, and that might be Blaine’s favorite part.

They break apart a few seconds later, laughing softly. Kurt’s lips are beginning to redden and Blaine can’t help but gently touch the pad of his thumb to Kurt’s lower lip, pressing and pulling down slightly. Kurt never breaks their gaze, even after Blaine’s dropped his hand. The air between them is thick, crackling, and Blaine shifts anxiously in his seat. Kurt follows the movement silently.

Seconds later they’re kissing again, Blaine’s hat knocked to the floor as Kurt rises up out of his seat, raising a knee to rest on the chair beside Blaine’s thigh. He shifts his weight to that as he tangles his fingers in Blaine’s curls, kissing him deeply as Blaine’s hands settle at Kurt’s waist, itching to work up under the shirt but knowing that getting too out of hand is an inconvenience so far from their apartments.

It’s Kurt who breaks the kiss this time, ducking his head to press their foreheads together again. Blaine can feel their skin stick slightly with the beginnings of sweat. “I need to finish this article,” Kurt breathes, his voice still smooth but now also slightly gravelly. “Sorry, but stories about sled dogs saving a town are a bit more important than kissing you senseless.”

Blaine pouts—which always works after they’ve been kissing—but Kurt’s having none of it tonight. Kurt smiles, shakes his head and presses his index finger to Blaine’s lips. “We’ll continue this. Later.” He throws in a wink and sits back down in his own chair, feeding a new piece of paper to the typewriter.

Blaine sighs resignedly, stooping to pick his hat up off the floor. Kurt’s already begun typing, fingers working quickly and agilely over the keys in ways Blaine’s hopeless about. “My place?” he asks as he opens the door.

Kurt looks up briefly to nod before resuming his typing. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Blaine bites his lip, contemplating, and, finally, says so softly it’s a wonder Kurt hears him: “I love you.”

And without hesitation, without faltering, Kurt says back, “I love you, too.”


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