Glee Fic: Children & Chanel

[out_there]

Children and Chanel (9125 words) by out_there
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Glee
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Characters: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Santana Lopez, Quinn Fabray, Cooper Anderson, Tina Cohen-Chang
Additional Tags: Kidfic AU
Summary:

As much as Kurt loves fashion, as much as working for Vogue is his dearest dream made real, sometimes he needs some peace. Sometimes, he needs to sit on those carefully-lit white couches and let that reserved grace soak into his pores.

He does not need to be disturbed by the squawking of children. Chanel is not a place for children.

Chanel should be a haven of restrained taste and delicate sensibilities. It should be elegant and understated; a quiet, calm oasis in the middle of Manhattan’s rush. As much as Kurt loves fashion, as much as working for Vogue is his dearest dream made real, sometimes he needs some peace. Sometimes, he needs to sit on those carefully-lit white couches and let that reserved grace soak into his pores.

He does not need to be disturbed by the squawking of children. Chanel is not a place for children.

And yet, there goes a small dark-haired boy galloping up the stairs, yelling that this isn’t as much fun as the park. Kurt looks around for the irresponsible parent, or more likely an inefficient nanny, and spots a little girl with dark hair to her shoulders. She’s tugging insistently at a man’s hand and crossing her legs in an unmistakable way.

The man is far more worthy of Kurt’s attention. He’s cute and tanned, not too tall, with nice shoulders if you ignore the Dora the Explorer bag hooked across them. He’s standing in a Chanel store with scuffed Sketchers and a Henley rolled up at the elbows, so Kurt figures he’s the inefficient nanny in this scenario.

The nanny is talking to Alain, the assistant manager, and he keeps smiling hopefully, nodding at Alain’s replies. Kurt’s spent enough time in this store to know Alain’s Parisian background is sheer embellishment but his dedication to maintaining standards within the store is impenetrable.

Kurt stands up and wanders closer. He catches Alain’s not-at-all-apologetic tone insisting, “The facilities are only for store customers. It is store policy,” and the nanny’s earnestly polite voice saying, “I understand that, I really do, but surely there’s room for extenuating circumstances?”

“I’m sorry,” Alain says, chin rising with a well-timed sniff. “I don’t have the authority to change store policies.”

“I’m a customer,” Kurt says. Beside him, the nanny turns in surprise, brown eyes widening before his face splits into the biggest smile Kurt’s ever seen. “Maybe you could bend the rules, Alain. For me.” Kurt adds a tiny flirtatious smile because he’s used his looks to get access to new season stock and heavily discounted samples. This is almost charity in comparison.

Alain’s gaze narrows, but he asks “Pour toi?” as if they’re the best of friends.

“They’re my cousin’s kids.” Kurt tries to look like a fond relative, but he can’t help wincing when there’s a yell and a clatter from the mezzanine level. Children and Chanel should not mix. “They were supposed to meet me at the park—”

“But we thought we’d surprise you here,” the nanny butts in, “and now the situation is urgent. I know it’s a lot to ask, but we have a window of about five minutes before this is a disaster.”

At that, Alain glares at the little girl in horror. Kurt carefully keeps a very straight face.

“Go ahead,” Alain says, shooing them with a hand. “Kurt knows where it is.”

Kurt nods his thanks. He wonders if he should take the girl’s hand or the nanny’s hand and which would be more convincing. The nanny solves the issue for him, leaning down to say, “Rose, wait just a little longer, honey,” then standing up to grab Kurt’s wrist and whisper, “Thanks so much, but I wasn’t lying about the disaster timeframe.”

“This way,” Kurt says, leading them upstairs. On the way, they pass the little boy, who seems to be pretending to be invisible beneath a rack of skirts.

“Jack,” the nanny says, quiet but firm. “Stay with us and don’t misbehave.”

“But Blaine,” is the petulant reply. Kurt can’t believe someone’s whining in Chanel; it goes against all laws of man and nature. “I wanna play.”

“If you want to play in the park, you’ll stay by my side and be good,” Blaine says firmly and the little boy scrambles to catch up. Looking closer at the kids, Kurt guesses they’re about four and too similar to be anything but siblings.

Frowning, Kurt wonders aloud, “Jack and Rose?” and Blaine laughs under his breath.

“I think it was a coincidence. Their dad isn’t a Titanic fan.”

“And yet those names,” Kurt says, stopping as they get to the bathroom hidden near the back of the store.

Blaine shrugs. “Blame cultural osmosis. I can’t think of any other reason you’d name twins Jack and Rose.”

After a slightly awkward few minutes of waiting outside the closed bathroom door, Blaine emerges with the unfortunately named pair. Jack looks bored and Rose looks calmer, no longer fidgeting from side to side. Blaine looks… well. The smile he’s giving Kurt isn’t exactly family friendly. “Thank you,” Blaine says. “We needed a knight in shining armor. I’m Blaine, by the way.”

He actually offers his hand, so Kurt shakes it. “Kurt. And since I lied to Alain, I should probably accompany you out of here.” Belatedly, Kurt realizes he’s still holding Blaine’s hand. He lets go.

“The more, the merrier,” Blaine says and he reaches down to hold a tiny hand in each of his. “Isn’t that right, guys?”

***

Kurt exchanges numbers with Blaine but they can’t find a night they both have free. Blaine suggests a lunch date and mentions that Kurt can finally show him the cravat collection he’s raved about amassing.

“So you made plans to meet at your place?” Santana asks when Kurt mentions it. Mentions or gloats: it’s somewhere in that realm of communication. “Wanky.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “It’s not wanky. And that’s not even a real word.”

Kurt likes Santana. As far as the staff photographers go, she’s the least pretentious. She understands that the most buttoned-up fashions still sell on the concept of glamour, success and sex. She can take the bitchiest criticism without batting a heavily mascaraed eyelash, and her photos carefully walk the line between sexy and skanky.

But she also says things like, “It’s a nooner. Totally wanky.”

“Lunch date. There will be conversation and there will be food. Not everyone schedules sex in every available hour.”

“Because most people aren’t as hot as I am,” Santana says, clicking the lens closed on her camera. “And the only thing you’ll be eating tomorrow is his salami.”

Kurt’s still spluttering at the horrible euphemism as Santana sashays away. Halfway to the door she spins on her heel, adding, “Let’s hope it’s not a frankfurt!” while holding up two sarcastically crossed fingers.

***

As with the most gauche and terrible things Santana says, she turns out to be right.

***

The date starts well. Kurt steps out of the office building at precisely twelve-thirty, and Blaine’s perched at the edge of the water fountain, bare ankles crossed, face tilted up in the sunshine. His eyes are closed and they don’t open until Kurt’s shadow falls across him. When he squints up, dark eyelashes shadow his cheeks.

Blaine smiles easily. “Hi,” he says, “Is it far to your place?”

Usually, Kurt takes the subway. Today, he hails a taxi before he overthinks it.

He’s so busy trying not to overthink it that he opens his door on autopilot and leads Blaine to the bedroom. His bed is right there but the door’s open and so are his drawers, showing ties, cravats and scarves neatly folded and arranged by color. Blaine’s drawing one short, square-cut fingernail across the silk of his most prized cravat. He laughs under his breath and shakes his head.

“What?” Kurt asks, because scarves should always be taken seriously.

“When you invited me up here to see your cravats, I thought you meant it in a come up and see my etchings way.” Blaine’s smiling and he gives another little head shake. “You actually meant cravats.”

“I never joke about fashion,” Kurt replies absently, suddenly aware that he has a very cute guy in his apartment who came here to sleep with him. He was expecting sex and he came here wearing a Brooks Brother cardigan and a short-sleeved shirt with a bowtie. Kurt suspects there’s a very small group of people that would find that conservative and youthful combination sexy.

Luckily, Kurt’s one of them.

“Now that you’ve seen my etchings,” he says and Blaine’s face breaks into that big, boyish grin again, “and since my bed’s right there…”

Blaine steps closer, hooking a finger between the buttons of Kurt’s waistcoat. “Be a shame not to take advantage of the situation.”

***

“Not a frankfurt,” Kurt hisses at Santana, running past her in the rush to get this month’s final draft to the printer.

“See?” Santana calls back. “Wanky!”

***

Their schedules still clash, but Tuesday and Thursday lunchtimes seem to work. The anticipation keeps a bounce in Kurt’s step all morning, despite looming deadlines and procrastinating writers and absent models.

Or it does until he gets a text message from Blaine saying he has to cancel. Kurt calls him back immediately.

“What happened?” he asks as soon as Blaine picks up.

There’s a nasty sounding cough and then Blaine says, voice low and rough, “’m sick.”

“Actual sick or is this man-flu, and you’re dying of a cold?”

“Mild cold. Not dying,” Blaine says, but the following cough doesn’t support that claim. There’s a yell somewhere in the background and Blaine whispers, “Rose, honey, just a minute,” and then says in a normal tone, “I’m fine, but contagious. We should reschedule for next week.”

“Give me your address,” Kurt says.

“What?”

“I know this great little deli that delivers. Give me your address.” Kurt knows how much it sucks to have to work while sick, and looking after two four year olds is the antithesis of restful. “I’ll get them to send over some chicken soup.”

***

“I thought you were too busy to eat with us on Thursdays,” Tina says when Kurt sits down in the lunch room. Kurt shrugs, taking a bite of his vending machine sandwich, and Quinn looks up and smirks.

“Did you have a fight with your booty call?” Quinn asks sweetly. She got back from India yesterday and owes the magazine a piece on surrogate mothers and fertility farms. Jetlag and looming deadlines haven’t taken any visible toll on her clear skin and rosy cheeks. Kurt’s petty enough to be annoyed by that.

“You’ve been back in the country for thirty hours,” Kurt says after he swallows. “How do you possibly know about my love life?”

Quinn smiles. She’s smart and writes great feature articles, but that doesn’t make her a nice person. “Santana told me.”

“He’s not a booty call.”

Tina frowns sympathetically. Unlike Quinn, Kurt knows Tina genuinely cares. “Are you sure? Because we wouldn’t judge you. I know how easy it can be to date a guy for his abs alone.”

Kurt doesn’t scowl at her because that causes the kind of wrinkles he’s trying to avoid later in life. “I’m seeing a guy. We have sex like two consenting adults. That doesn’t make it a booty call.”

“Let’s see,” Quinn says, narrowing her eyes. “You have standing arrangements to meet at someone’s place for sex. There’s no conversation before, there’s no cuddling afterwards and you’re never seen in public with him. Is that true?”

Kurt loves the girls he works with, he absolutely adores them, but right now he doesn’t like them very much. Curse Santana’s gossiping heart. “It’s true-ish,” he admits.

“Oh, Kurt,” Tina says earnestly, blinking suspiciously bright eyes at him, “that’s a booty call. It really is.”

“No, it’s one editor who needs a sub-editor so he can have more free time. If I were using him for sex, I wouldn’t be going over to cook for him while he’s sick.”

Quinn smirks like she recognizes that as the hastily thrown-together lie it really is, but Tina seems to believe him.

***

Regardless of good intentions and a slightly guilty conscience, Kurt isn’t going to show up without warning. It’s only polite to call first.

Plus, the delivery address Blaine gave Kurt might be in Battery Park City but Kurt has no idea where Blaine actually lives. Being a nanny wouldn’t be too well-paid so for all Kurt knows, Blaine might spend hours commuting every day; Kurt isn’t going to commit to unnecessary train time if Blaine’s feeling better.

“Hey, Kurt,” Blaine says, voice rough and low, and just sexy enough to make Kurt wonder at himself. A gravelly, sick voice shouldn’t be a turn-on. “Thanks for the soup.”

“I was wondering if you were feeling any better, but I guess not.”

“Not better yet.” There’s a rustle as Blaine moves the phone down, and then blows his nose. It’s disgusting.

Kurt grimaces in distaste, but it’s good to know he hasn’t suddenly developed a fetish about illnesses. “I thought I could come over and cook for you. If you’re still feeling terrible.”

“Thanks for the thought, but I’m probably contagious. I’ll text you on Tuesday, okay? Hopefully, I’ll shake this by then.”

“If you’re sure,” Kurt says, trying not to sound relieved. He really is busy. He has better things to be doing at the end of a long day. Like sleeping.

“I’ll see you then,” Blaine says and in the background there’s a yell. A familiar voice calling something about Jack and pillows. “I’ve got to go.”

Then he hangs up. Kurt spends a moment staring at his phone and wondering what sort of nanny is still looking after kids after 8pm.

***

He doesn’t hear back from Blaine until Tuesday, when Blaine sends:

Today, 1pm? We should talk over food :)

Kurt agrees, of course, and makes reservations, but he keeps thinking about it. He can’t help worrying.

Santana’s supposed to be shooting six different models today, but she pauses for a moment at Kurt’s desk. “Prepared and limber for your nooner?”

“We’re meeting at Six-Oh for lunch,” Kurt replies. “Apparently, we need to talk.”

Santana’s eyes light up with glee. She loves good gossip. “I can’t believe you’re being publically dumped by a booty call. That’s pathetic, even for you, Hummel.”

Sometimes, Kurt thinks fondly of the first few months he knew Santana. Back when he disliked her enough to call her Satan to her face, and Santana called him Hum’n’Swallow. Back when he didn’t know her well enough to spot the hidden concern in her smug insults.

Kurt flicks a pen between his fingers, and convinces himself to be optimistic. “We’re finally getting around to a proper date. It doesn’t mean I’m being dumped.”

“Whatever,” Santana says, rolling her eyes. “I’d lay good odds you won’t be tasting his salami again.”

***

Quinn gives him a sharp smile as he leaves for lunch. No matter what happens, Kurt vows to stride back into the office with his smuggest grin in place. He’s not going to be dumped on his first real date with Blaine. He’s sure of it.

Mostly sure.

At least sixty percent sure.

***

Blaine’s waiting at Six-Oh wearing a navy cardigan and a grey shirt that look like they’ve been liberated from the wardrobe of Father Knows Best. He’s already at the table Kurt booked, toying with the linen napkins and staring holes through the tablecloth.

Kurt reminds himself that he’s not about to be dumped, and then walks over to the table. “Hi,” Kurt says, with a smile that hopefully doesn’t look as forced as it feels. He sits down, and shoos the hovering waiter away with one hand. Conversation first, food orders later.

“Hey,” Blaine says, polite and civil. “Was the traffic okay?”

“Traffic was fine,” Kurt says, wondering if and when they’d ever discussed traffic before. “But the city’s flirtation with gridlock and the impossibility of finding a clean, reasonably-driven cab on a weekday aren’t topics that need a whole lunch hour to discuss.”

“I wanted to thank you for the soup.” Blaine says it simply and confidently; Kurt wouldn’t believe he’d been twisting napkins between his fingers only minutes ago if he hadn’t seen it. “And while I appreciated the offer to cook, it made me realize I haven’t been as honest about my living situation as I could have been.”

“Okay,” Kurt says carefully, taking a sip of water to calm his nerves.

Blaine slides over a photograph of two men and two children. The children are clearly Jack and Rose, straight dark hair and big smiles, but they both look younger. It must have been taken months ago. The man on the left is Blaine, in a plain black t-shirt and simple jeans, and the man on the right… Kurt knows that boyish grin. He knows that striking dark hair and fantastic bone structure and ridiculously blue eyes.

“That’s Cooper Anderson,” Kurt hears himself say, breathy and a little too excited. He’s standing shoulder to shoulder with Blaine and has one hand on Rose’s shoulder and the other tucked behind Blaine’s back. It’s close and too familiar, and oh my god. Kurt’s dating Cooper Anderson’s ex. He’s now one degree of separation from Cooper Anderson.

Cooper Anderson has been Kurt’s biggest celebrity crush forever. Squirreled away somewhere on his laptop, Kurt still has the first national commercials Cooper Anderson did. He once had the jingle as his ringtone.

And the way he’s standing against Blaine in that photo, so close they have to be familiar, well… Kurt can’t deny it’s a very attractive mental image.

But Blaine didn’t want him to come over, and that makes no sense for an ex. Maybe it had nothing to do with being contagious…

Kurt’s never seen himself in the role of The Other Woman but he has a sinking suspicion that he might be playing it now. “Why are you and the twins in a photo with Cooper Anderson?”

“He’s their father,” Blaine says, reaching out to take the photo back.

“And why isn’t this all over the tabloids?”

Blaine pulls a face, eyes wide and brows drawn comically close. “You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you? We’ve tried really hard to keep them out of the press.”

Of course Kurt wouldn’t tell anyone. He hates the idea of making someone else’s life difficult. The occasional idle threat can still be effective. “Tell me everything, and I promise I won’t tell anyone else.”

“They had the twins before Cooper was really known,” Blaine shrugs, pausing for a sip of water, “and when they broke up, she moved back out East with them. Cooper stayed in LA and it took him another year before he got his first lead.”

“In Azure,” Kurt says, thinking about how many times he saw that movie and how the DVD is still sitting on the shelf below his TV. “I remember it.”

Blaine nods encouragingly. “They’d been filming for two months when Cooper got the news. There was an accident, a car crash, and Cooper got custody. But it was his first break and he couldn’t take time off without losing the role, so I went over to help him out.”

“Why?” Kurt asks, turning his water glass with nervous fingers. He nearly takes a sip, and then thinks better of it.

Kurt’s expecting Blaine to talk about some whirlwind romance, but Blaine shrugs. “I was a junior and I figured taking a year off college wouldn’t make much difference in the long run. And Cooper needed me. I’d be a pretty lousy brother to ignore that.”

“Brother?” Kurt repeats slowly, certain he must have misheard. “Cooper Anderson’s your brother?”

“I thought you might have guessed that from the shared surname,” Blaine replies.

Kurt might have, if he’d known Anderson was Blaine’s surname. Blaine had mentioned it once but Kurt hadn’t asked him to spell it or anything. Kurt only listed him as “Blaine A” in his phone; he could have sworn his surname was Andrews.

Brother. Family. Not an ex. It would be bad form to grin at that news, so Kurt keeps his expression calm and polite. It’s the ‘I’m listening’ face he wears at staff meetings. “So that makes Rose and Jack your niece and nephew?”

“Yeah. Technically, I’m their nanny. Cooper says it’s better for his accountant to pay me that way – I don’t really get it. Cooper got one role after the next, and he was worried that being hounded by paparazzi in LA would be a horrible way to grow up. So we decided I’d move the twins back to Manhattan.”

“It’s just you looking after them?”

“Well, no. Their mom’s sister is here, and Cooper comes and visits. Sometimes my mom comes out and stays…” Blaine trails off, taking a slow breath. He looks down, tugging the cuff of his shirt and smoothing the cardigan sleeve over it. “But most of the time it’s me, and I don’t like the idea of leaving them with babysitters. So if you’re asking if I have many free nights, I don’t. Mine are taken up with bath-time and making sure everyone eats their dinner and reading bedtime stories.”

Kurt nods, and Blaine continues, “I know this is a lot to take on, so I’d understand if you didn’t. Want to take it on, I mean.”

“Is that… what you wanted to talk about?” Kurt asks carefully. He doesn’t think he’s being dumped but he feels like it’s right on the edge of a breakup.

“I like you, Kurt.” Blaine’s hand twitches like he wants to reach out but stopped himself. He has lovely hands: strong and wide, always softly moisturized with neatly trimmed nails. “But dating me involves the twins and that’s usually too complicated for most guys. So I figure we can keep doing what we’re doing, we’re both having fun, or if it’s too much, you can stop calling me. I’ll understand, really.”

“I’m astoundingly talented when it comes to complicated,” Kurt says, doing what he’s always done: throwing himself in the deep end and learning how to swim. “So you should tell me all about the twins.”

***

Kurt might be a little late back to the office, but it’s Blaine’s fault. His eyes light up when he talks about Jack and Rose, and his easy smile is contagious. For all that he insists that they’re not really his, that they’re Cooper’s kids, it’s clear that he adores them.

He talks about Jack’s current love of space and his desire to be an astronaut when he grows up. He talks about Rose’s favorite color and how difficult it can be to find children’s clothes in green. He tells Kurt about the first time he took them to Central Park, hands flying enthusiastically and nearly knocking Kurt’s glass over.

***

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Kurt, still contemplating his mug of coffee, replies, “I was thinking about the best dates for children.”

“Were you going to date children?” Tina asks.

Kurt catches himself when he looks up and sees Tina’s expression. She’s got her supportive, friendly smile plastered on but her eyes are wary. She might love him like a brother but it won’t stop her calling police if she feels it’s necessary.

“I’m not dating children,” Kurt hastily assures her. “The guy I’m dating looks after children. I’m trying to think of kid-friendly dates.”

Tina laughs. “Is this the lunch-time booty call?”

“He’s not a—” Kurt starts, but it’s a lost cause. He knows there’s no power in the galaxy that can overpower Santana with gossip. In this office, Blaine will probably forever be known as Kurt’s Booty Call. “It’s that guy, yes.”

“How about dinner at his place? Bring a Pixar DVD and you might find enough privacy for some more adult entertainment.”

***

The date is a disaster. It starts badly with Kurt showing up on time and being left on the other side of Blaine’s closed door. From inside, Blaine yells, “I’ll be there in a minute,” and someone much smaller starts crying. The crying turns into wailing, and Blaine’s voice can barely be heard. Kurt stares at his watch, watching the second hand tick along while the cries turn into a muffled sob. He keeps his shoulders back and his head high, even though he feels terribly conspicuous standing on the doorstep, listening to footsteps and the soothing hush of Blaine’s voice as he carries someone away from the hall.

When Kurt does get let in, Blaine’s wearing jeans and a ratty old tank top, faded blue with grease stains down the front. There’s a damp patch on one shoulder, wet with someone’s tears. Not even Taylor Lautner could work it, and he made ratty facial hair look appealing.

Kurt steps in wearing Feragamo shoes (last season), a burgundy Chanel shirt (vintage) and apricot slacks (this season, bought on ridiculous sale). He’s understandably underwhelmed by Blaine’s ensemble. The messy bed hair might work for Blaine, but that’s not an outfit that should be seen in company. It’s certainly not the costume of a great first date.

Kurt supposes it’s technically a second date, but that doesn’t excuse the outfit.

“Sorry, Jack fell over,” Blaine says with an apologetic smile. He may be incredibly underdressed for the occasion, but Kurt can still appreciate a nice pair of biceps. “But thankfully no crowns were broken.”

Kurt frowns for a moment, until he gets the reference. It’s hard to have witty repartee when you’re joking about nursery rhymes. “I brought this,” Kurt says, holding up a children’s movie. He vaguely recalls it being advertised with cutely animated dragonflies and some pseudo-environmental message about preserving ponds or something.

Blaine gives a short, urgent shake of his head. “It has frogs,” he says.

“And dragonflies,” Kurt replies.

“Rose is terrified of frogs. She’ll have nightmares.”

“Oh, I thought…” Kurt sighs. If there’s a respectful way to say, ‘I wanted the kids distracted so I could make out with you,’ he can’t think of it right now.

“It’s fine. They’ve got plenty of stuff to watch,” Blaine says, shifting and looking over his shoulder. “Can you smell something burning?”

That something turns out to be their dinner – lemon roasted chicken with roasted vegetables and steamed greens – so Kurt ends up eating frozen pizza that tastes like cardboard and anchovies. They sit at the table but there’s no romantic lighting and very little conversation. Blaine spends most of his time picking anchovies off Jack’s plate and mushrooms off Rose’s, pouring drinks and insisting that crusts are eaten before leaving the table.

Rose watches him with big blue eyes (with Cooper Anderson’s big blue eyes, Kurt can’t help thinking) and doesn’t say a word. She only tugs on Blaine’s sleeve and whispers to him. It’s enough to make Kurt uncomfortable.

Kurt tries to start an innocuous discussion of the weather and gets a long, rambling tale from Jack about the last sunny day they spent in the park and the number of ducks they saw and chasing the pigeons, until Blaine reminds him about his pizza.

Kurt’s hoping the night will improve when they’re both in front of the TV, but Blaine’s restless and tense as they do the dishes. He keeps walking to the kitchen doorway to check on the kids, and the conversation is stilted and delayed.

When the movie ends, Blaine puts the kids to bed. And reads them a bedtime story. Twice.

It’s a dismal date. Kurt can’t remember the last time he was so ignored and overlooked. The only good part of the night is the end: standing on the porch, stealing a goodnight kiss. He has Blaine pressed against the closed door, a firm grip on Blaine’s bare biceps. Blaine’s hands are resting on Kurt’s hips, nothing too risqué. Kurt bites at the corner of his mouth, and Blaine’s fingers clench, the blunt edge of nails pressing through Kurt’s slacks.

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers, angling his head up for another kiss, “we should—”

And then there’s a plaintive “Blaine!” from inside the house, and Blaine starts fumbling with the door handle. He pries the door open enough to call back, “In a minute, Rose,” and turns back to Kurt with a hopeful and apologetic smile.

“Tuesday?” Blaine suggests. “We could have lunch?”

“Tuesday,” Kurt agrees, “my place,” and then steals one more kiss before Blaine disappears inside.

***

Tuesday is easier. It’s familiar, even if Blaine looks a little nervous as Kurt steps out of the office. It’s a comfortable cab ride to Kurt’s apartment, and he doesn’t think twice before leading Blaine to his bedroom and tugging his bowtie loose.

Blaine’s face lights up, eyes twinkling as he grins and starts stripping layers.

***

“Fun lunch?” Santana drawls when Kurt gets back to the office.

“Cardio and endorphin rush?” Kurt smirks. “Better than yogalates.”

“My kind of workout.”

Kurt pointedly ignores the high-five Santana offers.

***

Thursday, they tumble into bed, still half-dressed. It’s ridiculous and impractical, pawing at each other like horny teenagers, but it’s also undeniably hot.

Afterwards, Kurt catches his breath with one arm resting above his head. He’s acutely aware that his shirtsleeve is pushed up to his forearm and he doesn’t know where his cufflinks are. Not that it matters. He’s sweaty and his pants are sticking to his legs… He’s going to need to change before he goes back to the office.

“So,” Blaine starts, and there’s laughter caught in his tone, “Same again next Tuesday?”

Kurt waves a hand, pointing from his head to his toes. “Except with undressing first.”

“Undressing would probably be best.”

Kurt clamps down on his giggle. Endorphins are great; hysterical sniggering less so. “You know, we haven’t made plans for this weekend.”

“Did you want to?”

Kurt rolls over, propping up his head on his palm and raising an imperious eyebrow.

Blaine blinks at him, brows drawn and confused. “I mean, given last week.” Blaine shrugs. “You know…”

“No,” Kurt says. “I’m not sure I do.”

Blaine looks away. “Maybe we should stick to what we do best. Less… awkward for everyone.”

“As a boy, I took ballet lessons in Ohio. That should tell you something about me.”

Blaine’s face melts into a rather doting smile. “That you must have been adorable in a tutu?”

“That I’m not the type to let a minor setback stop me,” Kurt says, pecking a kiss to Blaine’s shoulder for the adorable comment. “We’ll figure out how to do this.”

***

“Honestly, Hummel,” Santana says, interrupting the quiet of the lunch room with the click of vicious heels and a sharper smile, “spit or swallow isn’t a decision that requires this much thought. Just go with your instincts in the moment.”

Beside her, Quinn gives the sweetest and least sincere smile Kurt’s ever seen.

Kurt rolls his eyes at both of them. “I wasn’t thinking about sex.”

“You weren’t thinking about work,” she replies and the back of his neck flushes. She’s right – he was thinking about Blaine and the twins and what to do this weekend – but there’s no earthly way she could know that. “And there aren’t any decent sales at the moment, so it’s probably sex.”

“I was thinking about dating,” Kurt allows magnanimously. “Or how to factor for kids on dates.”

“Go to his place, bring a bottle of booze and a bottle of Nyquil. One’s for you, one’s for them.”

“I’m not dosing the kids with unnecessary medication,” Kurt says firmly. He isn’t. Not even if it’s the only way to spend time with Blaine without a constant whine of interruption. That would be ridiculous.

It isn’t tempting at all.

“Hey, you came to Auntie Tana for help. Auntie Tana says Nyquil.”

For a moment, Quinn’s smile looks a little less superficial. “You’re dating someone with kids?”

“It’s the lunch time booty call,” Santana supplies. “He’s got kids on the weekend.”

Kurt glares at her. “This is why the rumor mill in this office never dies down. You keep it constantly fuelled, Santana.”

Shrugging, Santana says, “Just doing what I can for morale.”

“Babysitting’s easy. Do something that the kids will enjoy. Make an effort to keep them occupied and entertained. Try to do something active, watch out for their sugar levels and wait for them to fall asleep before you try anything adults-only.” Quinn smiles. “Don’t let them get too hungry or too tired, and most kids will be fine.”

Occasionally, Kurt forgets that behind the sweet cheerleader-blonde façade and occasional backstabbing, there’s an investigative reporter who has stepped into difficult situations and always come out unscathed. Quinn not only survives, she survives with style.

“Any specific suggestions? We’re supposed to be doing something this weekend.”

“Picnic at the park? It’s supposed to be good weather.”

***

Kurt takes control of the next date. He arranges the time and place (midday, Central Park) and he packs the picnic. There are mini quiches, salads and a cheese platter for him and Blaine; there are fruit slices, carrot sticks and crust-less sandwiches for the twins. He spreads the big picnic blanket under a tree and sets up plastic plates while Blaine pretends to play hide-and-seek.

(Blaine counts loudly and peeks. He watches where Rose and Jack hide, but his performance of looking everywhere for them is Oscar-worthy.)

The lunch is fine. Rose doesn’t eat her carrot sticks and Jack has to be reminded to chew and swallow before he tries to talk. Afterwards, Blaine lets the twins play catch with a soft red ball and Kurt clears away, packing everything back into the stylish linen-covered picnic basket.

Sprawling back against the tree trunk, dappled sunlight catching on Blaine’s cheek and neck, watching two small kids run after each other joyously, Kurt finds himself surprisingly… content. Blaine’s watching the twins, but his head is on Kurt’s shoulder and his fingers have somehow twined around Kurt’s.

It feels a lot nicer than Kurt expected.

***

After one success, it gets easier. Kurt might enjoy a challenge, but it’s much more comfortable to have some guidelines for dating Blaine and Co. He needs somewhere not too crowded, not too distracting (lest someone wander off) and somewhere it’s easy to watch them. It’s best if there’s somewhere for the twins to sit and rest if they need it. Too much stimulus makes for an exhausting day (Kurt is never trying Coney Island again) and too little means no time spent with Blaine.

It's trial and error, but he’s working it out. At first, Kurt mostly liked the challenge of proving he could get it right but it’s slipped into something more. It started as paying attention to good places for family-friendly dates but now Kurt notices kids around him when he walks from the office. Families seem to be everywhere, and he finds himself giving a smile and nod of recognition. Occasionally, he sees the kind of family he and Blaine would make, two well-dressed kids walking between them.

It makes an appealing picture.

Kurt knows he’s getting something right when Blaine asks if it’s possible for Kurt to take an early lunch next Friday. “It’s not a big deal,” Blaine hedges, running one hand through his sweat-dampened curls, “but the preschool is having a concert. If you’re not busy.”

Kurt rolls over to his side, propping his head on his hand as he admires the view. Blaine is stretched out across his bed, gloriously naked and tempting enough that Kurt almost wants to call in sick for the afternoon. “Terrible production values, amateur talent? How could I resist?”

Blaine beams at him. He takes Kurt’s hand in his, and then presses a kiss to Kurt’s palm. His eyes speak volumes.

***

The school concert is worse than Kurt feared. The sets are rickety, the costumes are uninspiring and despite the parental cooing, most of the children barely remember the words, let alone the tune. But out of very unimpressive competition, Rose and Jack are easy to watch. They stand next to each other, Jack wide-eyed and serious while Rose sings with more enthusiasm than Kurt thought was physically possible.

“Aren’t they incredible?” Blaine leans over to whisper, his hand slipping into Kurt’s.

“They’re adorable,” Kurt replies honestly, keeping hold of Blaine’s hand. He doesn’t let go until the song’s finished and they both applaud.

***

“You look like the cat that got the cream,” Santana says, watching him over the edge of her espresso. “And if that’s true in a sexual sense, I want details.”

“You’re gay,” Kurt points out, “and even if you were interested in guys, I still wouldn’t gossip about my love life with you.”

Santana rolls her eyes extravagantly. “Prude. Look it up. In the dictionary, there’s a picture of your face doing that expression. Like my abuella just bit into a lemon. Or Lindsey Lohan taking a sip and finding her drink isn’t alcoholic.”

Kurt tries to hide his snort.

“You look far too happy,” Santana continues. “That kind of happy suggests orgasms and naughtiness.”

He has been happy, but it’s the happiness brought by meeting his biggest childhood crush. He stood beside Blaine at the airport when Cooper Anderson walked through those doors. Cooper Anderson had shaken his hand, and put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “So you’re the guy the squirt’s been gushing about? Kurt, right? It’s not Kirk? You’re not dating a Kirk, right, Blainey?” and Kurt had beamed and tried not to babble. He’d traitorously thought that Cooper Anderson was even more attractive in person.

If he tells Santana any of that, it won’t just be office gossip. She’ll find a way to get it to tabloids and TMZ.

“I got to meet the family,” Kurt says, which is partly true.

“Booty Call has family?”

“An older brother.”

“Huh,” Santana says, clicking her red talons together as she thinks. “That’s bordering on serious. But it doesn’t explain the goofy grin you’ve been wearing all day.”

“Did I mention his brother is babysitting this weekend? And I’ve got Friday off?”

“See, orgasms. I totally called it.”

***

As tempted as Kurt is to drag Blaine to his apartment and refuse to let him wear clothes for the weekend, he isn't nineteen. There are other things he’d like to do with his we-haven’t-officially-discussed-it boyfriend. He considers taking Blaine to his favorite stores, but Chanel would be awkward and he’s really not in the mood for the quiet grace of couture. He wants noise and life and Blaine’s arm hooked into his.

They go to lunch and wander through the markets of China Town, picking up tasteless knock-offs and surviving the din.

He insists on taking Blaine out that night to a fancy restaurant where there isn’t a single child to be seen. The lighting is soft and romantic, and the table setting is lovely but Kurt can’t relax. As much as Kurt was looking forward to an adults-only date, he finds himself scanning the menu for what the kids will and won’t eat, and occasionally listening for Jack’s inane chatter. The food isn’t great and the service is condescending, and Kurt lets his opinions be known through the size of the tip.

At least the wine was good. It leaves Blaine flushed, eyes dark and a little glazed as he presses up against Kurt outside the restaurant. “Take me home,” Blaine says, sweet and tempting. “Take me to bed.”

***

They do spend Saturday naked in Kurt’s bed. Well, naked except for a thirty minute interlude when Kurt gets dressed to cook vegetable frittatas for lunch. (No cooking in the nude. It’s a house rule.)

Blaine uses the time to call his place and talk to Rose and Jack. He looks upset when Kurt brings the plates back to bed.

“Are they okay?” It’s a stupid question. If they weren’t, Kurt’s sure Blaine wouldn’t be sitting in bed, staring at his phone.

“They’re fine. It’s all good,” Blaine says, and he smiles and eats, and compliments Kurt’s cooking, but there’s still something a little distant in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asks gently.

“They’re having a really good time,” Blaine hedges, and then he sighs. Gives a tiny hopeless shrug. “I’m feeling sorry for myself, that’s all.”

“Because you’re stuck in bed with a gorgeous guy? Poor you,” Kurt teases, tapping the tip of Blaine’s nose.

“It’s my cross to bear,” Blaine leans forward, pecks a kiss to the corner of Kurt’s mouth, “but somehow I manage.”

Kurt has dealt with conceited photographers and procrastinating journalists; he knows how to stick to a point. “So what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” At Kurt’s look of disbelief, Blaine adds, “I mean it, Kurt. Nothing’s wrong. The twins are having fun with Cooper, and I want them to know their dad loves them and loves spending time with them. I just… worry. A little.”

“About?”

There’s another little shrug. A twist to Blaine’s generous mouth that makes Kurt want to hold him tight. So he does.

Blaine drops his head to Kurt’s shoulder. “Every time Cooper visits, I worry that he’ll realize how great they are. Someday, he’s going to cut back on his schedule and move them out to LA with him, I’m sure of it.”

“Is that likely?” Admittedly, Kurt’s been a little blinded by his own adolescent crush but Cooper doesn’t strike him as someone keen on taking on permanent responsibility. Or anything that might restrict his ability to do what he likes whenever he chooses to do it.

“I don’t know. Sometimes, Cooper seems like the same big brother who was always out with friends or on dates and didn’t have any patience for little kids. But every time he visits, he spends so much time with them…”

“But visiting isn’t the same as being a parent full-time.”

“He’s their dad. This was only ever supposed to be temporary. I can’t object to him wanting to play a bigger role in their lives.” Blaine snuggles in closer to Kurt’s side. “It’s just… they’re going to school next year and I was thinking about going back to college part-time, and… I’d miss them. It’d be great for Cooper and I want them to be happy, but I’d miss them. And…”

Blaine trails off, the last few words muffled against Kurt’s skin. “I didn’t actually understand that,” Kurt says, pulling back enough to kiss the thin skin at Blaine’s temple.

“And everything seemed to be going so well. You and the twins.” Blaine shrugs one shoulder. “After the last guy, I’d given up on dating or finding anything serious until the kids were older. A lot older. Then I met you.”

Kurt doesn’t quite know what to say to that. “Serious, huh?”

“Last Saturday, you spent an hour shopping for a new green dress with Rose and didn’t lose patience when she tried on the same thing three separate times.”

“Shopping’s easy,” Kurt replies because it is. He’s spent hours trying on clothes and finding the right fitting and combination to bring an imagined outfit to life. There’s something relaxing about searching for that perfect piece, flicking through racks and changing under fluorescent lights. And it’s not like Blaine and Jack hadn’t been there the whole time.

“You let Jack tell you all about his new truck, and then told him about the difference in engine power between different trucks.”

“Dad’s a mechanic. That stuff sinks in.”

“Kurt, you spent time with them. Not because you had to put up with them. You could have kept this as lunchtimes and sex, and instead there’s been shopping and weekend plans and it feels like…” Blaine looks down, courage failing him at last.

Kurt guesses that it’s his turn to be brave. “Like family?”

“Like something I want permanently. If you do,” Blaine adds quickly.

Kurt can feel the grin stretching his face. “I think I do.”

***

Kurt’s received a string of suggestive texts from Santana this weekend, so he ignores the chime of a phone in favor of focusing on lathering shampoo into Blaine’s curls. Kurt’s bath is hardly generous, and they both have knees poking out of the water and getting cold, but there are compensations. Like warm, wet skin and Blaine’s contagious laughter.

When he does check his phone, there’s only a picture from Santana – definitely X-rated and not something Kurt would ever suggest. Kurt deletes it quickly.

***

Blaine gets a message a little while later. It reads: “Ran into an old friend. Left the kids at FAO Schwartz. Pick them up for me?” It’s even signed with a smiley face and a capital C.

Kurt reads it over Blaine’s shoulder. “That’s from Cooper, right? Is it a joke?”

Blaine blinks at the screen. Slowly, his dark brows draw together. “I don’t think so. I’ll call him and check.” He dials Cooper’s cell, but it goes to voicemail. “Cooper, this is Blaine. Call me back,” Blaine says and then hangs up.

“I have to go,” Blaine says in a slow monotone. He looks like he can’t believe what he’s saying. “I have to get dressed and collect the twins because my brother might have abandoned them in a toy store.”

“I’ll help,” Kurt offers, even though he’s not sure what he can do right now.

***

On the good side, the twins are fine and have taken over the Lego pit upstairs. On the not so good side, there is no sign of Cooper at the store and still no answer when Blaine calls. The kids don’t seem upset; they’re happy to keep playing.

Blaine smiles and charms the staff. He buys Lego kits and fusses over the kids, and does an excellent job of pretending life is fine.

There’s a second on the subway, with Rose under one arm and Jack under the other, when Blaine looks at Kurt and everything shows. For a moment, he looks lost and hurt, brown eyes soft and so vulnerable.

Then Jack asks something, and Blaine’s smile returns.

***

Kurt’s pretty sure that if anyone gets to be mad in this situation, it’s Blaine. Kurt’s nothing more than a glorified bystander but he’s so furious that he has to say something when Cooper swans in, hanging his bag with a dramatic wave of his arm.

“Before you ask,” Cooper says, smile wide and cheesy, “it was an absolute success. Not only did the director like what I showed her, but there’s talk of franchises. Secondary character today, spin-off main role next year.”

Kurt throws forks into the drawer with slightly more force than necessary. “Are you going to ask about your kids?”

“They were having a ball,” Cooper replies breezily. He gives a smile that was made for billboards and high-definition screens.

“So you decided to leave them? In a toy store in the middle of Manhattan?”

Cooper shrugs, like there’s nothing wrong with that situation. “Blaine got them.”

“Blaine got a text message at a very inopportune time and had to dash across the city to get them.”

“Oh, sorry, man.” Cooper at least looks apologetic now. “Didn’t mean to cockblock you.”

“That’s not the point!” Kurt flings the dishtowel towards the sink and spins around on one heel. “You were supposed to look after them.”

“I knew Blainey would come and get them. They’re in good hands.”

“But it’s not fair. It’s not fair to swan in when it suits you and then dump them the second you get a better offer. Blaine has been worrying that you’d ask for them back, that he’d have to give them up and then you freak him out like that.”

Cooper gives a snort that’s condescending and amused. He rolls his ridiculously blue eyes. “Blainey worries about that?”

“That you’ll step in and demand to be their dad again?” Kurt asks, because it’s obvious. It breaks his heart that Blaine’s biggest fear is something Kurt can’t protect him from at all. “Of course he does.”

“I am their dad,” Cooper says, as serious as if they’re discussing his career, “and part of being a parent is wanting the best for your kids. I’m not taking them back to LA with me.”

Kurt doesn’t get it. “You think New York City’s a better place to raise kids?”

“It’s not the place, it’s… Blaine’s not like me,” Cooper says and Kurt snorts. “He worries about what everyone else thinks, he’s always trying to please them. He will do whatever it takes to make other people happy, even if he doesn’t want to. He’s a pushover and a pleaser, and he’d be swallowed alive by Hollywood.”

Kurt wants to defend Blaine, because Cooper makes him sound spineless and needy, when Blaine is so much more than that. “He’s a better person than you are.”

“He’d never make it in showbiz. The constant rejection would crush him.” Cooper shrugs airily, and then glances away. “But he’s a better parent than I’ll ever be. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sacrifice what I want just to make some little kid happy, but Blainey does it without a second thought.”

“Because he loves them.”

“I love them too, but the plain fact is that I’d begrudge giving up my life to look after them. Three years, max, and I’d be bitter and angry. Blaine… He was born for it. It’s how he loves everyone.”

“Selfless and generous,” Kurt agrees.

“Potato, po-tah-to,” Cooper says, brushing one perfect fall of dark hair from his forehead. “Where is the squirt?”

“He’s upstairs, putting the kids to bed,” Kurt says and then goes back to the dishes.

***

When the kitchen is spotlessly clean, Kurt can’t justify hiding in there any longer. Cooper’s on the phone with someone, pacing back and forth as he makes enthusiastically interested noises. Kurt walks right past him and heads upstairs. He finds Blaine standing at the doorway to the kids’ room, leaning heavily against the wall.

“This really wasn’t how I pictured tonight,” Blaine says apologetically.

Kurt shrugs. “Cooper’s downstairs if you wanted to talk—”

“No,” Blaine interrupts. “Not right now. I…” He sighs, taking a deep breath and rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m sure it’ll be easier in the morning.”

Kurt’s dad always told him never to go to bed angry, but he doesn’t want to criticize Blaine. Not while Blaine’s watching him with hurt brown eyes and a tightly held jaw. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Could you stay the night?”

It’s the first time Blaine’s suggested staying over at his place, and while the situation might not be ideal, Kurt’s not about to say no. “Easily done.”

***

If Blaine and Cooper argue about it, they don’t do it in front of Kurt. Kurt leaves in a slightly unorganized rush on Monday morning, ransacking Blaine’s wardrobe for acceptable accessories to dress up a mostly casual outfit and then taking an unfamiliar route into the office. He breezes into the weekly meeting with only a few seconds to spare and ignores Santana’s low wolf-whistle and the pointed glance Quinn gives her Fendi watch.

He calls Blaine at lunch, with no excuse at all.

“Hey,” Blaine says as he picks up, and then adds, “Jack, inside voice, please.”

“Everything okay over there?”

“Cooper’s in the middle of packing. He has to take an earlier flight back,” Blaine says calmly, as if Kurt doesn’t know about yesterday’s panic. “Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.” Kurt glances at the closed door to his office. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now, but if you wanted to come over tonight, I wouldn’t say no.”

***

Blaine opens the door and pulls him into a lingering hug, face pressed tight to Kurt’s shoulder for a long moment. Blaine steps back, and it’s time for baths and dinner, putting the twins to bed and clearing the kitchen. It’s busy and domestic, but it’s also weirdly comfortable. More comfortable than he realized, Kurt thinks as he puts away dishes, knowing which cupboards hold the mugs and plates.

He knows Blaine’s kitchen. It feels like it should be a big deal.

“So, Cooper?” Kurt asks, before he thinks too much about the importance of Blaine’s kitchen.

“He says you two ‘dialogued’ yesterday.” Blaine uses his fingers for air-quotes.

Kurt shrugs. “We talked.”

“About me being scared of him taking the twins back to LA?” Blaine asks, but he doesn’t seem upset. He sounds curious.

“It might have been mentioned.”

“We talked about… a lot of stuff. The twins and their future, and we decided I’m going to adopt them. Cooper will always be their dad, but New York with me will be their home.”

“That’s great,” Kurt says, meaning it.

Blaine’s smile is hopeful. “You really think so?”

“You and New York and the twins?” Kurt muses, stepping into the circle of Blaine’s arms. “Sounds like home to me.”

***

Kurt loves Vogue and the girls he works with and the incredible issues they pull together. He’s not so in love with printers suffering technical glitches and photos tinting skin tones to Jersey Shore orange and subeditors on maternity leave. He would like to go home tonight at a decent hour, but instead he’s going to be up half the night making sure all the errors are fixed.

He may be misery incarnated, but at least he has company.

“Why am I doing this?” Santana says again, peering down at film of the last photo shoot.

Kurt replies without looking away from his pages. “Because you took the photos and if you don’t want your name connected to anorexic Oompa Loompas, you have to help.”

“And the more people helping, the sooner we all get to go home,” Tina adds.

Santana rolls her eyes. “I had a hot date tonight.”

“How is that different from any other night?” Quinn asks, smile sweet and sharp.

Santana’s answering grin is all teeth. “She’s hot by my standards. She’d be radioactive by yours.”

“Yes, ladies, we all have other places we’d like to be,” Kurt interrupts, trying to stop this escalating to an outright war, “but this needs to be done tonight. Regardless of what we’d rather be doing.”

“Or who,” Santana says. “Hey, how’s it going with Booty Call?”

“His name is Blaine,” Kurt says, even though it has to be the twentieth time he’s pointed that fact out. He knows it’s pointless and the nickname has stuck, but he has to try. “And it’s going well. We’re talking about moving in together.”

“Kids? Full time?” Tina asks carefully, her own opinion clear in her tone of voice.

“Are you sure hot and cold running sex is worth it?” Santana asks.

Kurt could say that they’re good kids, because most of the time they are, occasional temper tantrums excluded. He could say that he thinks he’s found what he wants in his future, love and family and a gorgeous, loving guy beside him. Instead he says, “Actually, Santana, the sex is more than worth it,” and grins at her answering cackle.