Tuesday, January 25, 2022

Blaine Anderson-Hummel whistled quietly to himself as he walked home from Bean Me Up Coffee, his favorite local shop in the East Village. His breath came out in puffs of fog against the frigid winter air, and he tucked his chin deeper into his soft cashmere scarf. His mood didn't match the bleak weather, the corners of his mouth curling upward as he conjured an image of Kurt puttering around their condo in socked feet, boots placed neatly in the shoe rack by the door, showtunes playing in the background. Just the thought of Kurt made him feel warm and cozy in the midst of the bitter wind.

He quickened his pace, eager to be home. Rounding the last corner, he waved to the kids who were just getting out of after-school care at the Catholic school down the street, and opened the door of his building for one of his elderly neighbors, also just getting home. A welcome whoosh of warm air washed over him as he held the door while she hobbled inside. Following behind her, Blaine pulled his scarf down and unwound it from his neck. "Can you make it down the hall okay, Mrs. Cohen?"

"Yes, darling, thank you," she said, giving him a sweet smile as she patted his arm. "Say hello to that dashing husband of yours for me, and tell him I'm waiting for more cookies."

"Yes ma'am," he said, tipping his head at her as he made his way to the elevator. He watched her shuffle down the hall as he hit the button, and sighed as he tried to rub some warmth back into his hands.

Four floors later, he was home. "Kurt? Are you home yet? I'm back," he called, easing their door open.

Romeo, their 10-month-old Maltese, came running up to him as he set his bag on the shelf by the door. He picked the puppy up and gave him a cuddle, inhaling deeply as Romeo licked his face with his pink tongue. He loved to bury his face in their puppy's fur – it reminded him of his old dog, Sport, a sweet golden retriever who was his constant companion in childhood, who'd licked Blaine's tears away the day he came out to his family. Romeo whined to get down and as Blaine set him on the floor, another scent hit him. Kurt was home, and by the smell of things, he was cooking something sinful.

"Kurt?" he repeated, ambling into the kitchen. Romeo's nails clacked on the hardwood floors as he followed after him.

"Oh, Blaine – you're early! I wasn't expecting you for another half hour at least! Oh, this was supposed to be a surprise ..." Kurt was flitting around the small kitchen, juggling whisks and spoons and a carton of chicken broth. He had an apron tied around his waist and his normally perfect hair was just the slightest bit mussed. Blaine smiled to himself, resisting the urge to ruffle it even further.

"Hey, you. I am surprised. Whatever you're making over there smells incredible – what is it?" He walked over to the stove, where several pots sat simmering. Kurt turned and faced Blaine, wiping a tiny bit of glistening sweat from his forehead.

"Oh, nothing really. Just dinner." Kurt's face was casual, his tone nonchalant, but his eyes glimmered and Blaine knew that he'd spent hours in the kitchen already.

"Oh come on Kurt, you never make just dinner."

Kurt sighed. "Well, I wanted it all to be ready and on the table when you got home, but we're having Cornish game hens with sweet potato risotto and cranberry sauce." His brow furrowed. "It's not too Thanksgiving-y, is it?"

"God no, that sounds delicious." Blaine pulled Kurt into his arms, fingers snaking through Kurt's hair, and slowly kissed him. "I missed you today."

"I missed you, too," Kurt murmured, gazing up into Blaine's eyes. "But we're going to have to miss each other for a little longer, because I'm kicking you out of the kitchen. I can't work my magic with you in here distracting me, can I?"

"No," Blaine answered, giving Kurt's hair one more affectionate tousle. "I guess you can't."

* * *

Twenty minutes later Blaine and Kurt were sitting at the table, soft music playing in the background, moaning as they tasted the first bites of Kurt's carefully prepared meal.

"Kurt, this is ... oh my god," Blaine said, closing his eyes, tipping his head back. "It might be better than sex."

Kurt gasped. "Take that back," he said with a laugh, smacking Blaine's arm.

Blaine grinned at him. "So, what's the occasion? Did you hear something from my agent that I haven't? Or – Kurt, have they made you in charge of the fall line?"

Kurt cleared his throat. His leg was jiggling so hard that their wine glasses were wobbling a little on the table, and Blaine narrowed his eyes. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes. Everything's fine," Kurt answered, clearing his throat again. "And no, you didn't miss anything important. I actually ... I want to talk to you about something. Important."

Blaine hesitated for a split second. "Okay. I'm listening."

"I've been thinking lately," Kurt started, his foot still bouncing under the table. "Our life is pretty settled at this point, I think. We're pretty stable – hopefully I'm in with Marc Jacobs for the long haul, at least until I get brave enough to try for my own line, and I think your writing career is actually going to be a career..." he trailed off.

None of this came as news to Blaine. "Yeah, I know. I'm really happy," he said, taking one of Kurt's hands in his own. "I can't believe how good we've had it lately."

"I love you, Blaine, so, so much. You know that, right? That I love you more than anything else in this world?" Kurt almost sounded desperate.

"Of course. Of course I know that," Blaine assured Kurt, his voice soft and gentle, but a tiny wave of panic rose up in his belly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Kurt smiled at him. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just – lately I've been feeling like there's something missing. Like there could be more for us. Blaine..." He paused and sucked in a breath of air.

Blaine swore his stomach was rolling around somewhere under the table. "Kurt – you – are you getting bored with me? Is this – oh, god, do you want to open our relationship or something? Because we can talk about that, but I'm not sure –"

Kurt burst into nervous laughter. "What?" he gasped. "No! No, not at all! Blaine..." he choked out, trying to catch his breath. "Listen," he said, suddenly serious. "When I said there could be more for us – I meant a baby, Blaine. I – I want to raise a child with you. I'm ready to have a family."

"Oh," Blaine breathed, relieved.

"I can't believe you actually thought –" Kurt sputtered.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Blaine apologized, laughing, then paused. "A baby, huh?" he asked softly.

Kurt stilled. "Yeah. A baby. What do you think?"

Blaine cocked his head to the side. They'd talked about it before, whether they wanted kids (they did), how many they wanted (usually up in the air), when they wanted it to happen (always 'not yet'). But if Kurt was ready ...

He tried to picture what their life could look like: Kurt shushing him as he rocked their child to sleep, he and Kurt playing with a toddler, zooming around the room like airplanes and making blanket forts in their living room. He pictured trips to Broadway, trips to the zoo, trips to Ohio where Burt and Carole's faces would light up with the sight of their first grandchild.

Maybe 'not yet' wasn't the right answer anymore.

Kurt was still waiting patiently for him to say something, looking more nervous by the second. "I think..." Blaine started slowly. "I think that sounds much better than a threesome."

Kurt snorted.

"But seriously, Kurt – how long have you been thinking about this?"

"A while," Kurt admitted. "I just – I keep zeroing in on adorable kids everywhere I go. I sketch baby clothes when I'm supposed to be designing suits. I almost cried at a Johnson & Johnson commercial the other day. But, Blaine – if you don't want this, or if you're not ready, I understand. I did just kind of spring this on you..." he said, his knee still twitching nervously.

"It's not a no, Kurt," Blaine told him gently. "You know I love kids – you know I want kids. I love the idea of raising a baby with you. And I don't feel like you've just sprung this on me with no warning – we have talked about it before. I just don't want to make any rash decisions, okay? I mean, is it even feasible for us right now?"

"It is, actually. I looked at the numbers already, and we might have to cut back on a few things –"

"Like your ever-growing shoe collection?" Blaine asked innocently.

"That, and also your penchant for expensive bow-ties," Kurt teased back.

"Touché."

Kurt grinned at him. "But yes, I do think that with a few changes, we can make it work. I can show you the spreadsheet I made after dinner."

"Of course you made a spreadsheet," Blaine said fondly.

"What? They're very efficient and easy to read!"

Blaine just smiled and kissed Kurt's hand. "Well, I guess the only other thing to figure out, then," he said, "is where your sewing machine's going to go."

When Kurt's face began to form a question, Blaine continued. "I mean, we're gonna have to convert the workspace to a nursery, right?"

Kurt's face lit up at Blaine's words and he launched himself out of his chair, throwing his arms around Blaine's neck. "You," Kurt said, fiercely kissing him, "are the most wonderful man..."

"Only and always for you," he whispered in Kurt's ear, a smile stretching across his face as he pulled Kurt into his lap in the too-small kitchen chair.

* * *

"You know the only bad thing about being gay?" Blaine asked later that night as he was sprawled on the bed, Kurt's deliciously unclothed body hovering over him.

"From where I'm sitting, there are no bad things about being gay," Kurt said, his voice low as he licked a line up Blaine's neck, then covered over it with kisses.

"Okay, point. But wouldn't it be so much easier if we could – ohhh – just do this, and – mmmm – boom, there's a baby?" he groaned as Kurt dragged his fingers over Blaine's nipple. "It's not fair."

"Boom, there's a baby? Is that how it works?" Kurt asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean. You're – ahh – you aren't exactly helping with my coherency, here," Blaine panted.

Kurt smiled. "I know." He reached down between Blaine's legs, stroking lightly over his cock and making Blaine's chest heave. "But if we went with the 'boom, baby' scenario, one of us would have to get fat. And it sure as hell wouldn't be me," he said, bringing his hand back up to Blaine's chest.

"Kurt," Blaine moaned, his hands coming up to latch onto the small of Kurt's back, pressing their hips together. "I'd let you, you know. Get me pregnant," he whispered. "If we could." He gasped as Kurt traced his thumb over Blaine's nipple again. "Is that weird?"

Kurt's hips lifted up and he rolled to the side, facing Blaine. "No," he said softly, smiling. "No, I think it's sweet. That you'd sacrifice your body like that."

"It's not that much of a sacrifice, considering what we'd get out of it. And besides, there are lots of things I'd give up for you."

"You've already given up plenty," Kurt said, his gaze turning stern as he placed a firm hand on Blaine's hip.

Blaine pouted a little. "Kurt – are we talking, or making out? Because you're kind of being a tease ..." He gestured toward his body, his cock now half-hard.

"Can we talk?" Kurt asked. "Just for a little bit, and then we can pick up where we left off. I'm sorry – I just feel like this is important."

"Yeah," Blaine said, trying not to feel disappointed as he let his head flop back against his pillow. "So, what were you saying I've given up?"

"Your family?" Kurt said, lying down next to him. Blaine caught Kurt's hand in his between them.

"They gave me up first," Blaine said quietly. "And that was about me, not you."

Kurt turned his head, raising an eyebrow. "Dating a boy who sounds like a girl couldn't have helped much."

Blaine rose up on his elbow, his forehead wrinkling with his frown. "You don't sound like a girl," he said firmly. "Have you heard yourself? And besides, you think if I'd dated a guy who could've hit a double low G, it would've helped? Kurt, they formed their opinions about me – and my sexuality – before you ever came into the picture."

"I know, but –"

"But nothing. You're the only family I need." Blaine forced a smile.

"Bullshit."

It was always strangely comforting to Blaine that Kurt could see through him like a ghost. He shrugged. "Well, you're all I've got, so I make do."

Kurt slipped his fingers in between Blaine's, dragged them down, his knuckles catching, his fingernails scraping against Blaine's palm. It sent shivers up Blaine's arm. "I'm sorry it's always been that way," Kurt said. "Hard. Unfair."

"It's hard to think of my life as hard and unfair when you're naked in my bed," Blaine murmured. "Besides, now we get to make our own family. And this time we get to decide what it looks like."

Kurt rolled on top of him, resting his chin on top of his hands, so close to Blaine's face that Blaine's eyes nearly crossed trying to look at him.

"I hope," Kurt said, soft and sweet, "that it looks like love."

Blaine caught Kurt's lips in a heady kiss, his hands coming to rest on the small of Kurt's back. "How could it look like anything different," he murmured against Kurt's mouth, "when I'm doing it with you?"

When Kurt let out a breathy moan in reply, Blaine closed his eyes and let Kurt lick love into his skin, slippery tattoos of wetness raising goosebumps on his neck and chest in their cool bedroom.

A pop of a bottle cap, and Blaine breathed, letting himself relax as if he were floating, opening himself for Kurt with each breath in and out like the tide lapping at the shore. Kurt's slicked fingers trailed back, then in, then deeper still. He moaned softly into Kurt's mouth as they kissed, Kurt's lips firm on his mouth assuring him I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.