Fic: From Body Paints to Finger Paints: An Anderson-Hummel Christmas
Title: From Body Paints to Finger Paints: An Anderson-Hummel Christmas
Word Count: 2,907
Rating: PG (For suggestive commentary… LOL)
Summary: I wanted to write Christmas fluff. The aforementioned anon asked for: Future Kurt and Blaine sneaking around on Christmas Eve pretending to be Santa Claus and trying to be quiet so as not to wake their child and be discovered. This is the result.
Notes: It’s Christmas. Therefore, too much fluff is allowed. Thanks as always to WhenIdance for both beta, and encouragement. (No, really, guys. You can blame her for the fluff-she encourages it constantly.)
“I thought we agreed not to get the dollhouse,” Blaine whispers over his shoulder as he makes his way carefully and quietly down the stairs in the darkness. He shifts said dollhouse in his arms, juggling it with the bags hooked over his arms filled with more gifts. “What was it you said when I wanted to get London the PS6? Oh, yes, now I remember ‘Blaine, honey, we don’t want to spoil them at such an early age’.”
“He’s three, Blaine,” Kurt responds softly behind him. “You wanted that system for yourself. I told you to ask Santa for it but no, no. For once you decided to pretend that you were mature, or something.” Maturity Kurt knows won’t last for long when Blaine opens the wrapping on the game system in the morning.
“Right.” Blaine rolls his eyes, foot slipping slightly on the last step, and he pauses, wobbling slightly as the boxes his husband is carrying press into his back. Ignoring Kurt’s resulting cuss words at Blaine’s abrupt stop, he looks over his shoulder and adds as he holds the dollhouse box up, “And you didn’t buy this because you fell in love with the… oh, how did you say it? ‘The fleur de lis design so intricately patterned over the walls on the second story’.”
Kurt sniffs, and raises his chin slightly so that Blaine can see his blue eyes glittering at him in the dark over the top of the boxes. “I overheard Lainey telling her uncle Finn the other day that if she had to give up every gingerbread cookie for the rest of her life for that dollhouse, she absolutely would do so.” He shoves the boxes into Blaine’s back, indicating for him to keep walking. “And considering she gets her eating habits from you, I think you know what a declaration like that means.”
Blaine’s brow furrows as he steps off the stairs and angles past the couch into the living room. “All the gingerbread cookies ever? I’m not even certain sex is worth that…. Ow!” He nearly drops the dollhouse as he reaches up to rub the side of his head that Kurt had smacked on his way past him to the tree. “What was that for? You know I’m kidding. Even food is worth sacrificing for sex.”
“You’re getting loud,” Kurt whispers over his shoulder as he sets his load of boxes down and turns to waggle a finger at Blaine. “We don’t want to take the chance and wake them, do we? You look nothing like Santa Claus, and my days of dressing as an elf ended after that Christmas party my senior year in college.”
“That was a good party.” Blaine sighs happily as he quietly places the gifts in his arms on the floor, and turns toward the end table, smiling as he spies the plate of cookies and glass of chocolate milk. “Sometimes I think Laine and London are onto us. How many kids know to put chocolate milk out for Santa?” He asks as he lifts the glass up to take a sip. “Oh! And she included some of the rum balls. Good girl!”
“Blaine.”
He turns, a couple of rum balls in hand to find his husband giving him one of those looks, arms akimbo, eyebrows arched sharply. “What?” Blaine grins as he tosses one of the candies into his mouth and takes another sip of milk before placing the glass back on the table.
“The presents.” Kurt waves his hands over the bags and boxes scattered at his feet. “You can eat when we’re done. I’ll even let you eat cookies in bed.”
“I love it when you’re filled with the holiday spirit. I love it even more when I’m filled with-“
“Blaine.”
“What? I was going to say Christmas cookies,” Blaine says innocently. He waggles his eyebrows at Kurt. “Why? What did you think I was going to say? Dirty old man.”
“Call me old again, and you’ll be eating those cookies while sleeping on the couch.” Kurt kneels beside the bags, smoothing the silk of his robe over his pajama pants before reaching in to begin removing presents. He pauses for a moment before sighing louder than necessary as he reaches in and pulls out one of the gifts inside. “A football, Blaine? Really?”
“You’re just going to have to deal with the fact that our son loves football,” Blaine says, picking up the dollhouse and stepping over the tree, where he pauses as he determines where to set it.
“He’s three, Blaine. This football is the size of his head.”
“He’ll grow into it.”
Kurt sighs again, shaking his head, a smile twitching on his lips as he sets the gift beneath the tree. “And the only reason he seems to love football is because he loves to mimic Daddy. If you were sitting on the couch every Sunday, cheering for Deadliest Catch, he’d love fishing instead of football.”
“Grandpa Burt tried that the last time we were visiting,” Blaine points out, pulling a stuffed T-Rex from one of the bags and hugging it to his chest before placing it in a standing position beneath the tree. “Lonnie saw the fisherman pull the hook from a salmon’s mouth and ran from the room screaming.”
Kurt snorts with suppressed laughter. “God, I think I did the exact same thing the first time my dad tried to make me watch it.”
“I still think this is the most adorable thing in the history of all things adorable,” Blaine says as he pulls the fuchsia zebra print tutu from a bag and holds it up. “When you first described it to me, I thought it had to be the most hideous thing ever. But the other little ballerinas are going to be pea green with envy.”
“Since when would I ever make our daughter wear something hideous? And did you really just quote Scarlett O’Hara?”
“Gone with the Wind is a holiday classic.”
“The Wizard of Oz is a holiday classic. Gone with the Wind is just your excuse to stare at Ashley Wilkes and pretend you’re Rhett Butler.”
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t-“
“How many cookies did you have after dinner?” Kurt asks with a sigh as he gazes up at his husband from the floor.
Blaine grins and leans down to press a kiss on the top of Kurt’s head. “Come on. You know Ashley and Rhett would have made a far more interesting couple than Rhett and Scarlett.”
Nodding slightly in agreement, Kurt pulls the box of finger painting supplies from another bag beside him and lets out a small laugh. “This gift is still the worst idea ever.”
Blaine leans around the tree to see what he’s talking about and his eyes widen. “It’s the best idea ever!”
Kurt shakes his head as he tucks it beneath the tree next to T-Rex. “At least it claims that the paint is easy to wash out.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. Laine and London are both fairly neat. And they never color outside the lines.”
“It’s not the kids I’m worried about,” Kurt replies as he attempts to hide a smile, and fails miserably. He glances up to see Blaine sticking his tongue out at him from between the branches. “Or, at least, not the little kids.”
“I’m a champion finger painter, I’ll have you know.” Blaine kneels beside Kurt where he pulls out the box with My First Computer, and lays it gently against the silver and gold tree skirt. “Case in point, those finger paints Rachel gave us for our first year anniversary I created a work of art with!”
“As I remember correctly, the purple took two weeks to wash off of my dick,” Kurt whispers, glancing toward the staircase as he does so, just to make certain it’s empty of tiny ears. “And my arms broke out in hives from the red.”
Blaine gives a visible shudder. “Thank god I hate the flavor of cherry. Though I swear parts of my tongue are still purple…”
“And I cannot believe we are discussing this beneath our family Christmas tree as we set out our children’s toys. What would Santa think?”
Lifting his gaze up at the tree with its sparkling colorful lights winking between the haphazard placement of every kind of ornament imaginable, a red and green paperchain, half-eaten caramel popcorn string and tinsel that somehow gets tracked all over the house (Blaine found a thread of it in the cheese drawer the other night), Blaine smiles and reaches up to touch one of the Baby’s First Christmas ornaments that hang from the branches.
“Remember our first Christmas in New York? I think right around this time that night I was on my hands and knees on the tree skirt as you-“
Kurt places his hand over Blaine’s mouth, shushing him. “To be fair, that tree skirt was far too big for our first tree. It did come in handy for other… activities.” He smiles, cheeks flushing as he pulls his hand away and his husband leans over to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I think of that Christmas all of the time. Our little two foot tree, skating at Rockefeller Center-“
“Where you proposed to me on the ice.”
“How could I not? Everything was so romantic with the trees and the lights and the music,” Kurt looks over at Blaine, laughing softly as he adds, “and you, sprawled on your back, looking up at me and swearing that you used to be a fantastic skater. I knew right then I had to marry you. Nothing else mattered.”
Setting the last of the gifts beneath the tree, Blaine tucks the empty bag into a larger empty bag, and then reaches out, wrapping his arms around Kurt and pulling him close. “Every year I think Christmas couldn’t possibly get better than the last, and then it does.” He places a kiss against Kurt’s forehead as his husband nuzzles his cheek against Blaine’s shoulder.
“You don’t mind our life of domesticity? The lack of sex marathons beneath the tree?”
“The lack of pine needles stuck to my ass cheeks,” Blaine adds, feeling Kurt shake with silent laughter against him. “Absolutely not. I have nothing but fabulous memories of our years alone together-along with sex marathons beneath the tree, in front of the fireplace, amidst torn wrapping paper and bows-and now I’m making new and even better memories. Like the snowman the kids and I built yesterday, who apparently wasn’t complete without a McQueen scarf.”
Kurt shrugs and smiles, pressing closer to Blaine. “He needed a little color. And did you see the look on old man Carlson’s face when he realized it was covered in skulls? Priceless!”
“I knew you did that just to piss off our neighbors.”
“Well, when he stops letting that obnoxious poodle of his piss on my Lady Emma Hamiltons, I’ll stop doing everything in my power to give him a heart attack.”
Blaine pressed his face into Kurt’s hair as he giggled. “Come on. Let’s get these bags picked up. I have cookies to eat and a husband to make love to upstairs.”
“Hopefully not at the same time,” Kurt mutters as he begins to gather the bags into his arms, ignoring Blaine’s apparent interest in figuring out how to make cookies and sex work.
A creak on the floorboards above causes Kurt to freeze. He glances over at Blaine, who has likewise stilled, a cookie poised at his mouth, an armful of empty bags at his side. They stare at one another in silence at the sound of another creak, and then the footfalls of tiny feet pattering across the second story floor.
“They’re awake!” Kurt hisses. “I’m sure this is somehow your fault-the whole cookies and sex thing.”
“Place blame later!” Blaine whispers back, glancing around quickly for a place to hide. “Quick! The coat closet! Don’t forget any bags!”
“I know, I know!” Kurt dashes in a circle around the tree, almost tripping over his robe twice as he scoops up the empty bags and chases after his husband toward the hall closet.
Blaine is just pulling the door open when he whirls around, knocking Kurt with his shoulder into the door frame. “The cookies!” He exclaims softly, shoving his armful of bags into Kurt’s pile and vaulting over the couch to snatch up the glass of milk, drinking it down as hurriedly as possible while shoving the cookies into the pockets of his robe.
Once it appears that Santa truly enjoyed the libations set out for him by Laine and London with care, he grabs the folded note laying beside it and races back to the closet, sliding in beside Kurt as they tug the door almost closed. Kurt tries to pull it further but Blaine shakes his head, peering an eye through the slit and then ducking down slightly as Kurt tries to peer through as well over his head.
“Santa’s here!” London exclaims from the top of the stairs where his older sister quickly shushes him.
“Don’t be so loud!” she says in an equally loud voice. “If Papa and Daddy hear us up, they’ll take away our toys.”
“Santa’d be mad,” London argues, making his way carefully down the steps as he clings to the railing with one hand, his worn Triceratops in the other.
Laine hurries down beside him, taking his arm and guiding him the rest of the way down the steps. “You can look but you can’t play with anything, Lonnie.”
At the bottom of the staircase, Laine pauses and looks around, and Blaine and Kurt both duck back behind the door when her big hazel eyes sweep toward the closet. She stares at it a long moment before her attention is pulled away by her little brother as he sprints toward the tree.
“Laylay, look! T-Rex!” London drops Triceratops to the floor and immediately scoops up the new and apparently far more important dinosaur, hugging him to his chest in the same manner his Daddy had earlier.
“Poor Triceratops,” Blaine whispers quietly, shaking his head as he watches his son place kisses over T-Rex’s head. “You were once king of the playground. Now you’re just tomorrow’s fuel.”
Kurt pokes him hard in the ribs.
“I told you, no playing with the toys,” Laine admonishes as she attempts to pull the T-Rex from her brother’s embrace but gives up when he pouts and stomps his foot. He’s two years younger but already close to her size, so she quickly gives up. Shaking her head exasperatedly in a manner far too much like her Papa, dark curls falling over her shoulders, Laine turns away from London to inspect the empty plate and glass. “Santa ate the cookies we left for him. And took our note!”
“I wanna stay here with T-Rex,” London announces, flopping himself onto the floor.
Laine sets her hands on her hips and glares down at him. “I told you, Papa and Daddy will take away our-oh! My dollhouse!” She jumps over her brother and practically throws herself on top of the box, hugging it tightly. “I got it! I got it! I told Santa it was the only thing I wanted in the whole world and I got it!”
“Is she actually opening the damn thing?” Kurt whispers into Blaine’s ear.
Blaine winces slightly at the ripping of cardboard. “Apparently,” he whispers back, sighing a little as he leans against his husband’s chest.
“We’re stuck in a closet while our children play with their toys on Christmas!” Kurt points out as if Blaine has no idea.
“It’s okay,” Blaine says quietly, soothingly, reaching behind him to pat Kurt’s hip. “We’ve come out of the closet before. We can do it again.”
Kurt huffs in his ear. “And to think I was going to do that thing you like with my tongue…”
Blaine’s mood falls a little at that information, and he pouts, much like their son had earlier. “Maybe… they’ll fall asleep soon, and then we can sneak out?”
“One can only hope.” Kurt sighs softly, dropping his forehead against Blaine’s shoulder as they both shift slightly in an attempt to get more comfortable among the coats. “My arms are going to cramp from holding these bags. And I can’t move, or they’ll make noise.”
“Look! The walls in the bedrooms have the flowers duh leaves that Papa loves so much!” they hear Laine exclaim.
Blaine has to suppress his laughter as he feels Kurt stiffen slightly behind him.
“Our daughter just said duh instead of de.”
“She’s five, Kurt. In a few years, she’ll be speaking French as fluently and beautifully as you.”
Sighing softly, Kurt turns his head and places a gentle kiss against Blaine’s neck. “This is not how I imagined us spending Christmas Eve together.”
“Not much longer now.” Blaine peers back through the opening in the door. “I think Lonnie’s already passed out. Laine will wear herself out-oops. Nope. She’s opening the Lego set.”
Kurt giggles softly against his neck. “We’re going to be stuck in here for hours.” Sighing happily, he closes his eyes and lays his head against Blaine’s. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Anderson-Hummel.”
“And Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Anderson-Hummel,” Blaine whispers back with a smile as they both grow quiet and listen to the soft click-clack of Lego construction.
Word Count: 2,907
Rating: PG (For suggestive commentary… LOL)
Summary: I wanted to write Christmas fluff. The aforementioned anon asked for: Future Kurt and Blaine sneaking around on Christmas Eve pretending to be Santa Claus and trying to be quiet so as not to wake their child and be discovered. This is the result.
Notes: It’s Christmas. Therefore, too much fluff is allowed. Thanks as always to WhenIdance for both beta, and encouragement. (No, really, guys. You can blame her for the fluff-she encourages it constantly.)
“I thought we agreed not to get the dollhouse,” Blaine whispers over his shoulder as he makes his way carefully and quietly down the stairs in the darkness. He shifts said dollhouse in his arms, juggling it with the bags hooked over his arms filled with more gifts. “What was it you said when I wanted to get London the PS6? Oh, yes, now I remember ‘Blaine, honey, we don’t want to spoil them at such an early age’.”
“He’s three, Blaine,” Kurt responds softly behind him. “You wanted that system for yourself. I told you to ask Santa for it but no, no. For once you decided to pretend that you were mature, or something.” Maturity Kurt knows won’t last for long when Blaine opens the wrapping on the game system in the morning.
“Right.” Blaine rolls his eyes, foot slipping slightly on the last step, and he pauses, wobbling slightly as the boxes his husband is carrying press into his back. Ignoring Kurt’s resulting cuss words at Blaine’s abrupt stop, he looks over his shoulder and adds as he holds the dollhouse box up, “And you didn’t buy this because you fell in love with the… oh, how did you say it? ‘The fleur de lis design so intricately patterned over the walls on the second story’.”
Kurt sniffs, and raises his chin slightly so that Blaine can see his blue eyes glittering at him in the dark over the top of the boxes. “I overheard Lainey telling her uncle Finn the other day that if she had to give up every gingerbread cookie for the rest of her life for that dollhouse, she absolutely would do so.” He shoves the boxes into Blaine’s back, indicating for him to keep walking. “And considering she gets her eating habits from you, I think you know what a declaration like that means.”
Blaine’s brow furrows as he steps off the stairs and angles past the couch into the living room. “All the gingerbread cookies ever? I’m not even certain sex is worth that…. Ow!” He nearly drops the dollhouse as he reaches up to rub the side of his head that Kurt had smacked on his way past him to the tree. “What was that for? You know I’m kidding. Even food is worth sacrificing for sex.”
“You’re getting loud,” Kurt whispers over his shoulder as he sets his load of boxes down and turns to waggle a finger at Blaine. “We don’t want to take the chance and wake them, do we? You look nothing like Santa Claus, and my days of dressing as an elf ended after that Christmas party my senior year in college.”
“That was a good party.” Blaine sighs happily as he quietly places the gifts in his arms on the floor, and turns toward the end table, smiling as he spies the plate of cookies and glass of chocolate milk. “Sometimes I think Laine and London are onto us. How many kids know to put chocolate milk out for Santa?” He asks as he lifts the glass up to take a sip. “Oh! And she included some of the rum balls. Good girl!”
“Blaine.”
He turns, a couple of rum balls in hand to find his husband giving him one of those looks, arms akimbo, eyebrows arched sharply. “What?” Blaine grins as he tosses one of the candies into his mouth and takes another sip of milk before placing the glass back on the table.
“The presents.” Kurt waves his hands over the bags and boxes scattered at his feet. “You can eat when we’re done. I’ll even let you eat cookies in bed.”
“I love it when you’re filled with the holiday spirit. I love it even more when I’m filled with-“
“Blaine.”
“What? I was going to say Christmas cookies,” Blaine says innocently. He waggles his eyebrows at Kurt. “Why? What did you think I was going to say? Dirty old man.”
“Call me old again, and you’ll be eating those cookies while sleeping on the couch.” Kurt kneels beside the bags, smoothing the silk of his robe over his pajama pants before reaching in to begin removing presents. He pauses for a moment before sighing louder than necessary as he reaches in and pulls out one of the gifts inside. “A football, Blaine? Really?”
“You’re just going to have to deal with the fact that our son loves football,” Blaine says, picking up the dollhouse and stepping over the tree, where he pauses as he determines where to set it.
“He’s three, Blaine. This football is the size of his head.”
“He’ll grow into it.”
Kurt sighs again, shaking his head, a smile twitching on his lips as he sets the gift beneath the tree. “And the only reason he seems to love football is because he loves to mimic Daddy. If you were sitting on the couch every Sunday, cheering for Deadliest Catch, he’d love fishing instead of football.”
“Grandpa Burt tried that the last time we were visiting,” Blaine points out, pulling a stuffed T-Rex from one of the bags and hugging it to his chest before placing it in a standing position beneath the tree. “Lonnie saw the fisherman pull the hook from a salmon’s mouth and ran from the room screaming.”
Kurt snorts with suppressed laughter. “God, I think I did the exact same thing the first time my dad tried to make me watch it.”
“I still think this is the most adorable thing in the history of all things adorable,” Blaine says as he pulls the fuchsia zebra print tutu from a bag and holds it up. “When you first described it to me, I thought it had to be the most hideous thing ever. But the other little ballerinas are going to be pea green with envy.”
“Since when would I ever make our daughter wear something hideous? And did you really just quote Scarlett O’Hara?”
“Gone with the Wind is a holiday classic.”
“The Wizard of Oz is a holiday classic. Gone with the Wind is just your excuse to stare at Ashley Wilkes and pretend you’re Rhett Butler.”
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t-“
“How many cookies did you have after dinner?” Kurt asks with a sigh as he gazes up at his husband from the floor.
Blaine grins and leans down to press a kiss on the top of Kurt’s head. “Come on. You know Ashley and Rhett would have made a far more interesting couple than Rhett and Scarlett.”
Nodding slightly in agreement, Kurt pulls the box of finger painting supplies from another bag beside him and lets out a small laugh. “This gift is still the worst idea ever.”
Blaine leans around the tree to see what he’s talking about and his eyes widen. “It’s the best idea ever!”
Kurt shakes his head as he tucks it beneath the tree next to T-Rex. “At least it claims that the paint is easy to wash out.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. Laine and London are both fairly neat. And they never color outside the lines.”
“It’s not the kids I’m worried about,” Kurt replies as he attempts to hide a smile, and fails miserably. He glances up to see Blaine sticking his tongue out at him from between the branches. “Or, at least, not the little kids.”
“I’m a champion finger painter, I’ll have you know.” Blaine kneels beside Kurt where he pulls out the box with My First Computer, and lays it gently against the silver and gold tree skirt. “Case in point, those finger paints Rachel gave us for our first year anniversary I created a work of art with!”
“As I remember correctly, the purple took two weeks to wash off of my dick,” Kurt whispers, glancing toward the staircase as he does so, just to make certain it’s empty of tiny ears. “And my arms broke out in hives from the red.”
Blaine gives a visible shudder. “Thank god I hate the flavor of cherry. Though I swear parts of my tongue are still purple…”
“And I cannot believe we are discussing this beneath our family Christmas tree as we set out our children’s toys. What would Santa think?”
Lifting his gaze up at the tree with its sparkling colorful lights winking between the haphazard placement of every kind of ornament imaginable, a red and green paperchain, half-eaten caramel popcorn string and tinsel that somehow gets tracked all over the house (Blaine found a thread of it in the cheese drawer the other night), Blaine smiles and reaches up to touch one of the Baby’s First Christmas ornaments that hang from the branches.
“Remember our first Christmas in New York? I think right around this time that night I was on my hands and knees on the tree skirt as you-“
Kurt places his hand over Blaine’s mouth, shushing him. “To be fair, that tree skirt was far too big for our first tree. It did come in handy for other… activities.” He smiles, cheeks flushing as he pulls his hand away and his husband leans over to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I think of that Christmas all of the time. Our little two foot tree, skating at Rockefeller Center-“
“Where you proposed to me on the ice.”
“How could I not? Everything was so romantic with the trees and the lights and the music,” Kurt looks over at Blaine, laughing softly as he adds, “and you, sprawled on your back, looking up at me and swearing that you used to be a fantastic skater. I knew right then I had to marry you. Nothing else mattered.”
Setting the last of the gifts beneath the tree, Blaine tucks the empty bag into a larger empty bag, and then reaches out, wrapping his arms around Kurt and pulling him close. “Every year I think Christmas couldn’t possibly get better than the last, and then it does.” He places a kiss against Kurt’s forehead as his husband nuzzles his cheek against Blaine’s shoulder.
“You don’t mind our life of domesticity? The lack of sex marathons beneath the tree?”
“The lack of pine needles stuck to my ass cheeks,” Blaine adds, feeling Kurt shake with silent laughter against him. “Absolutely not. I have nothing but fabulous memories of our years alone together-along with sex marathons beneath the tree, in front of the fireplace, amidst torn wrapping paper and bows-and now I’m making new and even better memories. Like the snowman the kids and I built yesterday, who apparently wasn’t complete without a McQueen scarf.”
Kurt shrugs and smiles, pressing closer to Blaine. “He needed a little color. And did you see the look on old man Carlson’s face when he realized it was covered in skulls? Priceless!”
“I knew you did that just to piss off our neighbors.”
“Well, when he stops letting that obnoxious poodle of his piss on my Lady Emma Hamiltons, I’ll stop doing everything in my power to give him a heart attack.”
Blaine pressed his face into Kurt’s hair as he giggled. “Come on. Let’s get these bags picked up. I have cookies to eat and a husband to make love to upstairs.”
“Hopefully not at the same time,” Kurt mutters as he begins to gather the bags into his arms, ignoring Blaine’s apparent interest in figuring out how to make cookies and sex work.
A creak on the floorboards above causes Kurt to freeze. He glances over at Blaine, who has likewise stilled, a cookie poised at his mouth, an armful of empty bags at his side. They stare at one another in silence at the sound of another creak, and then the footfalls of tiny feet pattering across the second story floor.
“They’re awake!” Kurt hisses. “I’m sure this is somehow your fault-the whole cookies and sex thing.”
“Place blame later!” Blaine whispers back, glancing around quickly for a place to hide. “Quick! The coat closet! Don’t forget any bags!”
“I know, I know!” Kurt dashes in a circle around the tree, almost tripping over his robe twice as he scoops up the empty bags and chases after his husband toward the hall closet.
Blaine is just pulling the door open when he whirls around, knocking Kurt with his shoulder into the door frame. “The cookies!” He exclaims softly, shoving his armful of bags into Kurt’s pile and vaulting over the couch to snatch up the glass of milk, drinking it down as hurriedly as possible while shoving the cookies into the pockets of his robe.
Once it appears that Santa truly enjoyed the libations set out for him by Laine and London with care, he grabs the folded note laying beside it and races back to the closet, sliding in beside Kurt as they tug the door almost closed. Kurt tries to pull it further but Blaine shakes his head, peering an eye through the slit and then ducking down slightly as Kurt tries to peer through as well over his head.
“Santa’s here!” London exclaims from the top of the stairs where his older sister quickly shushes him.
“Don’t be so loud!” she says in an equally loud voice. “If Papa and Daddy hear us up, they’ll take away our toys.”
“Santa’d be mad,” London argues, making his way carefully down the steps as he clings to the railing with one hand, his worn Triceratops in the other.
Laine hurries down beside him, taking his arm and guiding him the rest of the way down the steps. “You can look but you can’t play with anything, Lonnie.”
At the bottom of the staircase, Laine pauses and looks around, and Blaine and Kurt both duck back behind the door when her big hazel eyes sweep toward the closet. She stares at it a long moment before her attention is pulled away by her little brother as he sprints toward the tree.
“Laylay, look! T-Rex!” London drops Triceratops to the floor and immediately scoops up the new and apparently far more important dinosaur, hugging him to his chest in the same manner his Daddy had earlier.
“Poor Triceratops,” Blaine whispers quietly, shaking his head as he watches his son place kisses over T-Rex’s head. “You were once king of the playground. Now you’re just tomorrow’s fuel.”
Kurt pokes him hard in the ribs.
“I told you, no playing with the toys,” Laine admonishes as she attempts to pull the T-Rex from her brother’s embrace but gives up when he pouts and stomps his foot. He’s two years younger but already close to her size, so she quickly gives up. Shaking her head exasperatedly in a manner far too much like her Papa, dark curls falling over her shoulders, Laine turns away from London to inspect the empty plate and glass. “Santa ate the cookies we left for him. And took our note!”
“I wanna stay here with T-Rex,” London announces, flopping himself onto the floor.
Laine sets her hands on her hips and glares down at him. “I told you, Papa and Daddy will take away our-oh! My dollhouse!” She jumps over her brother and practically throws herself on top of the box, hugging it tightly. “I got it! I got it! I told Santa it was the only thing I wanted in the whole world and I got it!”
“Is she actually opening the damn thing?” Kurt whispers into Blaine’s ear.
Blaine winces slightly at the ripping of cardboard. “Apparently,” he whispers back, sighing a little as he leans against his husband’s chest.
“We’re stuck in a closet while our children play with their toys on Christmas!” Kurt points out as if Blaine has no idea.
“It’s okay,” Blaine says quietly, soothingly, reaching behind him to pat Kurt’s hip. “We’ve come out of the closet before. We can do it again.”
Kurt huffs in his ear. “And to think I was going to do that thing you like with my tongue…”
Blaine’s mood falls a little at that information, and he pouts, much like their son had earlier. “Maybe… they’ll fall asleep soon, and then we can sneak out?”
“One can only hope.” Kurt sighs softly, dropping his forehead against Blaine’s shoulder as they both shift slightly in an attempt to get more comfortable among the coats. “My arms are going to cramp from holding these bags. And I can’t move, or they’ll make noise.”
“Look! The walls in the bedrooms have the flowers duh leaves that Papa loves so much!” they hear Laine exclaim.
Blaine has to suppress his laughter as he feels Kurt stiffen slightly behind him.
“Our daughter just said duh instead of de.”
“She’s five, Kurt. In a few years, she’ll be speaking French as fluently and beautifully as you.”
Sighing softly, Kurt turns his head and places a gentle kiss against Blaine’s neck. “This is not how I imagined us spending Christmas Eve together.”
“Not much longer now.” Blaine peers back through the opening in the door. “I think Lonnie’s already passed out. Laine will wear herself out-oops. Nope. She’s opening the Lego set.”
Kurt giggles softly against his neck. “We’re going to be stuck in here for hours.” Sighing happily, he closes his eyes and lays his head against Blaine’s. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Anderson-Hummel.”
“And Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Anderson-Hummel,” Blaine whispers back with a smile as they both grow quiet and listen to the soft click-clack of Lego construction.