Work Text:
Kurt likes listening for Michael Jackson songs on the pop stations on Peter’s boombox, splayed out on his bed, lying so his head hangs off the bed, reading a library book.
Peter comes back from class to see Kurt looking so casually handsome, listening to his stupid pop music and reading thick books. Kurt’s such a nerd. Peter’s so lucky that Kurt is his nerd. “Blueberry,” he says, bending down a ridiculous amount just to kiss Kurt’s forehead.
Kurt grins up at him. “Hallo, Liebe.”
“Anything good on?”
“Whitney Houston and Cyndi Lauper.”
Peter sits next to Kurt. Kurt shifts so he can lay his head in Peter’s lap, fitting there perfectly. “I asked if there was anything good.”
Kurt pokes Peter’s chest. “Pop music is Gut!”
“If you say so.” Peter shakes his head and leans back on the bed, stretching out. Kurt has to adjust himself again, sort of spooning against Peter’s side, still trying to read his book. “They play any shit on the radio.” Peter wiggles his fingers into Kurt’s hair, running his fingers through the carefully gelled-down strands. The gel feels terrible against his fingers, sticky in an awkward and gross way, but once he gets past that, it feels like Peter’s hands were designed to be in Kurt’s hair.
“Pop music is Gut,” Kurt repeats, closing his eyes at the feeling of Peter’s fingers in his hair with the same small sigh he makes when they, uh… “do stuff”, and it makes Peter’s dick “do stuff”, too, if you catch his drift. Ignore it. Ignore it. “You don’t like that the music you like is not played on the radio.”
“Baby, they don’t play the good stuff on the radio. It’s a conspiracy or some shit.” Peter kisses Kurt’s forehead again. “Talking Heads and Lynyrd Skynyrd and Pink Floyd and Rush. The good stuff. Like, why do I gotta put in a tape to listen to Pink Floyd?”
“Not every song is Michael Jackson. On the radio.” Kurt finally pushes his book to the side so he can cuddle closer. Peter kinda instinctually wraps an arm around Kurt’s waist and pulls him closer, grinning against Kurt’s forehead when Kurt hooks a leg around one of Peter’s.
“Michael Jackson’s okay, for a pop singer.”
Kurt gasps. “Michael Jackson is Gut!”
Peter laughs a little against Kurt’s forehead before he pulls back to see Kurt’s hilarious expression. Then he laughs more. He should feel bad about that, probably, but Kurt’s face is just adorable.
“Peter! You are laughing at me!”
“Your face,” Peter wheezes. “Your face, oh my- oh my G-d, Kurt, blueberry, your face.”
Kurt crosses his arms at Peter, a little defiant, but he still can’t stop himself from smiling a little at Peter’s laughter, even if he does have his teeth buried in his bottom lip.
Peter gets himself under control (after at least a minute of ridiculous laughter) and snuggles up closer to his boyfriend. “Sorry, blueberry,” he says to Kurt’s forehead.
“You are mean to me.” Kurt tries to glare at him, still fighting off a smile.
“Aww, don’t say that! You’re gonna make me feel bad.”
“You should!” Kurt’s arms are still crossed, voice still a little petulant, but the corner of his mouth is quirked up, so it’s okay.
Peter kisses Kurt’s forehead, and then all over the rest of his face. It makes Kurt squeal with a little laughter, struggling to get away.
“Peter!”
“Mm?” Peter continues to kiss all over Kurt’s face, sometimes dipping down onto his neck, letting his hands drift down Kurt’s sides to rest just above his hip bones.
That makes Kurt squeal a little more, a little louder. It’s a beautiful sound. Peter smiles at him, his fucking blueberry, his love, his baby, and he can’t do anything except flop onto his side and fold his arms around Kurt’s waist, still peppering his skin with light kisses. The boombox plays on in the background.
“I am still mad,” Kurt mumbles, arms wrapped around Peter’s neck. “They are playing Michael Jackson,” he says, idly. He traces a finger down the back of Peter’s neck.
“Radio’s fine, but I prefer you.” Peter watches Kurt go a little purple across his nose and bury his face in Peter’s chest. He loves saying things that make Kurt blush and hide his face. That tell is how he knows he’s doing it right. “You’re my taste in music.”
“That does not make sense.” Kurt peeks up from Peter’s chest, looking way too cute for his own good.
“Does anything I do ever make sense?” One of Peter’s hands slips into Kurt’s back pocket like it belongs there, thumb idly rubbing against the skin above his jeans.
Kurt shakes his head, smiling a tiny little smile up at Peter before cuddling closer to him.
“Mm, exactly.” Peter kisses the top of Kurt’s head. “Blueberry?”
“Ja?” Kurt looks back up at him.
“I like this song.” It isn’t a lie, because “P.Y.T.” is a good song, and it makes him think about Kurt. Peter liking a pop song is kinda rare, and them liking the same pop song is kinda a miracle.
Kurt smiles. “It is a good song.”
“But I like you more.” Peter’s smiling like an idiot at his own stupid, “clever” wordplay. Cue Kurt tucking his head under Peter’s chin and mumbling something into his chest. Peter kisses Kurt’s hair again and closes his eyes. Yeah, this is the good life.