Klaine Oneshots

School Spirit

"You what?" Blaine demanded. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, laughing hard. Breathing was next to impossible, and his uniform was being creased in a particularly destructive way, but at the moment everything seemed less than important, at least when compared to what Kurt had just told him. "I find that very hard to believe."

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest, his arms obscuring a designer label. For Kurt, the uniforms at Dalton were both a gift and a curse. After all, he certainly enjoyed the way the gray slacks made his boyfriend look, especially when he bent for something, and Kurt had spent hours slipping his fingers under Blain's jacket, running his fingers around the crisp, white shirt underneath, and then pulling it slowly from his body while they kissed. Kurt had never been a sucker for uniforms, and yet he could hardly glance at Blaine in the Dalton uniform and not feel flustered.

The downside, however, was that any kind of creativity and individuality disappeared, at least during the school week. Kurt wore the same uniform day in and day out, and after only a few weeks into his stay at the Academy, the entire thing had started to feel repetitious to a sickeningly boring degree. That was why Kurt lived for the weekends. On the weekends he went home to Lima. Sometimes his father came and picked him up, and other times Blaine drove him. Once, Finn had come alone and they'd had a very long and very awkward talk about their parent's sudden explosion of teenage hormones.

Coming home meant getting to see all of his friends, going shopping at the mall, hovering over his father during mealtime, and most importantly, getting to exercise his expansive closet.

"They're just clothes," Finn had remarked to him one Saturday morning, the teen hanging back while Kurt rooted through his closet. "You've got a million."

Kurt turned back, eyebrow raised, "You'll understand the moment that variety is taken from your life. A restricted dress code is wonderful in theory, in order to promote a level field for all students at a school, but as one who expresses himself through his wardrobe, it's very difficult for me."

"Oh," Finn said a bit dumbly.

Kurt sighed and fingered the pleats on a navy blue kilt. With a pair of leggings, he was certain he'd found his Saturday night outfit.

It was the limited at wardrobe at Dalton that had Kurt going a bit over the top when he did come home. Carole was always respectful, and kept a firm hand on the back of Finn's neck to keep him that way as well. His father complained, but good naturedly, just happy to have him home for whatever period of time. But above all else, it was Blaine's opinion, with his wide smile and firm kisses that Kurt cared most for.

They'd often spend Sunday afternoons laying across Kurt's large bed, fingers hooked easily together as a movie played on. There would be lazy kisses, and fingers brushing lightly against barely exposed skin, and the always lurking Burt Hummel to make sure there was never any kind of satisfaction exchanged of a more than innocent degree.

It was one such Sunday when Blaine discovered truly one of the last things Kurt had forgotten to mention about his stay at William McKinley High School. They were scheduled to catch a late lunch with Mercedes and Tina, and Kurt requested, "Can you look in my closet and see if you can find my Armani gray fleece?" It was February, and going outside was still a bother to Kurt who hated the cold.

Blaine rolled from the bed and remarked, "I'm certain by now you understand that I don't have a clue about these labels and designers. I'm seventeen and my mom still buys most of my clothes for me."

Kurt propped a hand under his chin. "Which continues to stun and disappoint me. If you would just pay attention during my lessons we wouldn't be stuck at this impasse."