Hello~ May I prompt klaine in 'Are a singer and a blind person who falls in love with their voice' please? And then they meet and actually fall in love and all is right in the world :D
Anonymous said:I think I would die of pure squeals if you wrote: Klaine AU - Are a singer and a blind person who falls in love with their voice
“And this week, just like the past four weeks, Kurt Hummel’s third album, Unicorn, is topping the charts. To see the singer lead the charts with an album of covers, giving a new energy to old classics like Sinatra’s and the Beatles’ as well as more recent hits from Lady Gaga and Ke$ha, a new identity really, is truly a surprise.”
“I agree, Colin. I think Hummel’s usual targeted audience is showing an appreciation for oldies and goodies, beyond the studio expectation.”
“Precisely, Heather. And now, just for the kicks of it, let’s listen to the latest single from the album, Hummel’s duet with none other than Mercedes Jones, the cover of Madonna’s Four Minutes.”
Blaine bites on his lower lip to keep himself from being too obvious as the song starts in his headphones.
His phone beeps in his pocket, and he stands up, unfolding his cane.
As much as he loves–adores, worships–Kurt Hummel and his voice, he still needs to get off the subway to get to work.
“Good morning Blaine,” Santana calls when he comes in through the back alley’s door. “Careful, the Motta croquembouche is on your left.”
Blaine takes a careful step to his right to avoid the left counter entirely. “Good morning boss.”
For the past two years, Blaine has been working for Santana’s event planning agency, “Boppidi-Boo”, and though they seemed to butthead on everything, they make for a powerful duo nowadays.
“Santana, I needed to talk to you about Puckerman’s napkins,” he says immediately, folding up his cane and putting his satchel on his desk.
“He’s stealing from you.”
Blaine can actually feel the air swirling when Santana rushes to get next to him. “Speak.”
From his satchel, Blaine pulls out two napkins. “See, those,” he says, lifting one, “are the ones we initially ordered from him. Black Bengaline, high thread count. And those,” he lifts the other one, “are the ones he delivered for the Abrams-Cohen Chang engagement party.”
Blaine unfolds then, running his fingers down both seams. “The thread count is completely different. One is high-class, smooth and chic, what you wanted and what represents your brand; the other is …”
“I’m going to kill him with a rusted spoon, the damn cabron.”
Blaine reaches up to pet her arm. “Maybe I should handle Puckerman,” he says soothingly. “You just make sure that everything else is ready.”
Santana huffs and puffs, but she does calm down under his careful touch. “Sure,” she grumbles. “Diplomacy is better. But I’m still going to ruin his reputation.”
“Naturally,” Blaine replies, already dialing Puck’s number. “And I’ll look out for other providers. Hello, Noah? Good morning, it’s Blaine Anderson, from “Boppidi-boo.” Tell me Noah, did you think your little scheme would just fly by?”
In the background, he can hear Santana turning up the radio, and he smiles as yet another song from Kurt Hummel’s album plays.
As long as he has Kurt’s voice to cheer him up, Blaine’s day can’t go completely wrong.
The engagement party is in full-swing, and Blaine carefully sits on the edge of it to keep from bumping into someone when a familiar voice gets his attention.
“Like I would miss your engagement, Artie!”
Blaine stands up abruptly, and he almost knocks his chair down.
“I know you RSVP’d, Kurt, but given your busy schedule …”
Santana knew that he was on the guests list and she didn’t–? Oh, the … the …
Better let that sentence unfinished.
“Still, Artie, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Blaine gulps down, puts one hand on his chest to smooth down his jacket and keep his heart in his chest as he gets closer to his client. “Everything okay, Mr. Abrams?” He asks softly, trying to keep a professional façade before making a fool of himself.
“Perfect, more than perfect now that my good friend Kurt is here. Kurt, let me introduce you to the man who created this magical wonderland, Mr. Blaine Anderson.”
“So you’re the one who managed to combine the lovebirds vision into this masterpiece?” Kurt asks, and Blaine nearly chokes on the nervous giggle that threatens to escape.
Blaine turns towards Kurt’s direction and lifts his hand. “Good thing when you don’t see is that you hear what is not said,” he replies with a smile.
Kurt lets out a whispered “oh” as he shakes his hand–he’s shaking hand with Kurt Hummel, holy shit his skin is soft.
What? It’s not creepy, it’s just that Blaine … notices those details.
It’s not like he can really judge other physical attributes, either–so yeah, soft hands, strong hold, and a speaking voice that is just as enticing as the man’s singing one.
Oh, Blaine could let himself fall for that kind of voice.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt Hummel–Kurt. Hummel. !!!!–says, letting go of Blaine’s hand. “I didn’t know that you, um …”
“Was lacking in the vision department?” Blaine supplies, willing to use humor to diffuse the tension.
“I beg to differ,” Artie chimes in. “Maybe you can’t see it, my man, but you did wonders.”
“I’m a professional, Mr. Abrams. I love making art and helping people, such as yourself and your bride, get the best celebration they–”
“Oh please,” Artie says with a laugh, lightly hitting Blaine’s arm, “the contract is done, call me Artie and get yourself a drink.”
“Let me,” Kurt says in a rush. “I can get you that drink–any preference?”
Blaine thinks it through–but really, who is he to deny his idol the right to fetch him a drink?–before nodding. “That would be nice. Um, what about a cucumber mojito?”
“Sounds perfect. A cucumber mojito, coming right up. You just–just stay here?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Blaine can hear Kurt’s footsteps on the boarded floor–long strides, must mean he has long legs …
“We have at least ten minutes before my good friend returns with your drink, so let me give you some advice, man to man.”
Blaine frowns as he sits down next to Artie’s chair. “…Yes?”
“You can’t see it, but Kurt was devouring you with his eyes.”
Blaine snorts a laugh. “Good one,” he says, hiccuping a laugh. “Kurt is a star, I’m pretty sure he can date whoever he wants, why would he–”
“You’re a fine piece of man, Blaine.”
“Should Tina be worried?”
“I wondered if I should be worried,” Artie counters, “though if you were not as gay as you are, I would offer a threesome …?”
“Had to ask, but back to Kurt. He is a star, but I’ve never seen him looking at a man the way he was–still does, actually. He keeps looking back at you from the bar, just so you know.”
Blaine blushes, and he bows his head to hide it from the guests.
“Honestly, you two could make a great couple.”
“Artiiie,” Tina says, jumping from behind them and pecking Artie’s face with kisses, “are you still trying to play matchmaker?”
“Matchmaking whom?” Kurt asks, because of course he’s back.
“The waiters,” Blaine replies, hurrying to stand up and get closer to Kurt’s general direction.
“Oh,” Kurt says simply, reaching to cup Blaine’s hand in his palm and put the glass in it. “There you go, I made sure to ask for extra slices of cucumber.”
Blaine smiles at him and takes a sip of the only cocktail the two fiancés agreed on. “And extra rum, too?”
Distantly, Blaine can hear Artie and Tina rolling away to take over the dancefloor, and the knowledge that he’s left alone with Kurt–Kurt. Freakin. Hummel–makes him more than a little bit tongue-tied.
“So, tell me about you, Blaine,” Kurt says, standing close enough to Blaine that he can smell his Cologne–woodsy, rich without being overwhelming, perfect.
“Nothing much to tell,” he replies, twirling the ice in his glass to make it tinkle. “I’m good at organizing things, and at hearing what people really want, made sense to go in the event planning industry.”
“You have your own company?”
Kurt seems genuinely interested, and for the life of him Blaine can’t understand it.
“No, I’m the second in command.”
Blaine lets out a small, depreciating chuckle. “Sure. Want my card?”
“Why not,” Kurt replies, and there is a distinctive coldness now in his voice.
Worse, he moved away and Blaine is already in love with his warmth.
“I mean, just so you know how to contact me–I mean us–I mean,” Blaine wants to stop putting his foot in his mouth this moment. He can only imagine the look Kurt is giving him.
But Kurt slid back next to him, their arms brushing once more. “In that case, I would love to get your card.”
His voice is down to a purr, and it goes straight to Blaine’s heart–and other organs.
“Because we can make everything magical,” Blaine says with a flourish of his hand.
Days pass, weeks even, and at some point, Blaine convinces himself that it was all a very vivid daydream.
“Sooo,” Santana asks when she comes back from one mission in the Caribbean–Blaine suspects she made sure to be very involved in it to get some tanning time–, “did you meet the Unicorn?”
“Hummel!” Santana exclaims, stealing Blaine’s Danish from his hand. “I saw he RSVP’d for the engagement party two weeks ago, aaand I know you just looove his sweet voice. Surprise?”
“I … did,” Blaine replies, replaying the evening.
“And what? Did you expect us to fall in love and run into the sunset, under the adoring gaze of the paparazzis?”
“Minus the creepy addition of the paparazzi,” Santana deadpans, munching on yet another pastry Blaine brought to the office. “I mean, I saw you in that suit, Anderson.”
“Sapphism doesn’t deprive me of a sense of aesthetic, birdie.”
“Still, we just met and talked a little, and that’s it.”
“Nothing to see, and get your hands of my cronut!”
Blaine smirks as he walks to the table and snatches the pastry. “I learned from the best.”
“Boppidi-boo, we’re here to make your event magical. Blaine speaking, how can we help you today?”
Blaine almost drops the phone before straightening up. “H-hello Mr. Hummel. I mean, Kurt. I mean …”
A small laugh stops his rambling. “Let’s start again. Hello Blaine.”
Blaine takes a deep breath, smiling against his better judgment. “Hello Kurt.”
“How have you been since the party?”
“Good,” Blaine replies, swivelling in his chair to turn his back on the rest of the office. “Busy, it’s wedding time.”
“Too true. I have three invitations, this week alone.”
“Actually, this is the reason of my call.”
Blaine is on fire today, what the heck.
“Allow me to lay all my cards on the table,” Kurt says, a light shaking in his voice that betrays his emotions, and it does a little to calm Blaine’s own nerves. “I really liked meeting you at Artie’s party, and I … I want to get to know you better.”
Is he saying what Blaine thinks he’s saying, because if he is, Blaine likes it very much.
In the meantime, he’ll enjoy Kurt’s voice in his ear, because he truly loves that voice.
“Would you–would you agree to be my date? To a friend’s wedding? It’s on Saturday.”
“Y-yeah, I’m–I’m here. I’d love that … Kurt.”
Blaine puts as much emotions as he can in Kurt’s name, his tongue curling around it and, he hopes, conveying his joy and want.
“Great. I can’t wait to s–”
“You can say ‘see’, you know, I won’t be offended.”
“See you. You … made an impression.”
Is he flirting? That’s flirting.
Platinum-record holder Kurt Hummel is flirting with him, and truth be told, it’s delicious.
“You made an impression long before that party,” Blaine hears himself replying, and Santana coos loudly (and lewdly) from her side of the office.
“Your voice is very addicting, Mr. Hummel.”
Another chuckle, deeper this time. “We’ll have to make sure you don’t go into withdrawal then.”
Blaine can feel his cheeks heating up. “Oh.”
“Now, what about we meet up to coordinate our outfits?”
Blaine laughs, letting Kurt’s mood influence him. “You just want to play dress up with me, don’t you.”
“I have an excellent taste for fashion.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“Is this your magic carpet?”
A honk comes from the street. “How did you know?”
“I was just–the Aladdin quote…,” Blaine says, opening and closing his mouth. “Never mind.”
“Can you come with me now?”
Blaine turns back to face the room, but Santana took the time to cross the distance, her hand on his wrist and his bag on his shoulder. “Go.”
“Yes,” he replies in the phone. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Blaine hangs up, frozen for a second until Santana wakes him up, snapping her fingers under his nose.
“Come on, Blaine, there is a superstar waiting to buy you expensive clothes!”
“Who said anything about expensive–” Blaine starts, but Santana slaps his ass to make him move faster.
“That man is going to buy you the finest suit available, and you’re going to enjoy it.”
“Don’t I have a say in it?”
One thing can be said about expensive men’s clothing.
They have a very fine thread count, and Blaine never wants to wear anything else.
“You like it?” Kurt asks, walking around Blaine and smoothing down the jacket over his shoulders.
“It feels very nice,” Blaine replies, fighting against his instincts to just lean into Kurt’s touch. “How do I look?”
Blaine turns his head towards Kurt, who stands behind him, and he takes a strengthening breath. “Takes one to know one,” he whispers, closing his eyes as he feels Kurt leaning closer to him.
The press against his lips is not a surprise, but Blaine gasps in it nonetheless.
Kurt’s mouth is just like his voice–strong and soft, light but sure–and Blaine doesn’t want it to leave him.
Kurt has one hand on Blaine’s waist, the other tipping his chin lightly in another direction to deepen their kiss, his tongue brushing against Blaine’s lips in a request, a playful demand.
One that Blaine is only too happy to agree to.
They pull apart, and Kurt takes a step back.
“Are you gentlemen finding the suit to your liking?”
There is a smugness in the tailor’s voice, but Blaine is too busy smoothing down the jacket and the legs of his pants to worry about him.
“It’s fine,” Kurt replies, his voice a little bit hoarse and Blaine’s smile widens–he did that, he troubled Kurt Hummel that much–, “but I spotted a lighter blue suit on our way in. If you could bring one for my friend to try?”
The door closes, and Blaine can’t keep his giggle in any longer.
Kurt joins him, and they’re laughing like schoolboys for a while until Kurt puts his hand back on the small of Blaine’s back.
The gesture sobers them both instantly.
“Do you really want to see me in that blue suit?”
“Not particularly, this one is perfect.”
“May I invite you for dinner?”
“Yes,” Kurt says, pressing a small, closed-lips kiss to Blaine’s mouth. “Yes, you may.”
