A/N: This one shot was written for the following prompt I received...
1gleefan prompted: I would love to read [With A Cherry On Top] from Kurt's pov, especially if we're treated to the aftermath of little Jacob's sugar rush. :-D
*I have never attempted anything like this before, so I hope it's okay and not totally boring - because, yes, this is essentially the same story as WaCoT (only it's not really the same at all). I also want to thank everyone who has been sending me prompts! :)
I know I didn't think I would get to this so quickly, but I was feeling inspired. So...here it is!
Splat.
High-pitched, giddy giggles rang throughout the room.
Kurt had only looked away for a second - just one second - but it was one second too long.
Those giggles were the sound of a guilty child bent on making his weekends hell. But a summer of weekends spent in hell was worth suffering through when he'd be able to afford food upon his return to school in the fall. Kurt didn't feel right burdening his father with the cost of his education in New York as it was, so he'd secured a babysitting gig for the summer and would go back to waiting tables during the semester. It didn't cover much, but it did help.
So here he was with four-year-old Jacob whose favorite pastime was apparently tormenting the babysitter.
Kurt let out a frustrated groan. "The wall? Did you have to throw it at the wall?"
"White is boring!" Jacob squealed. He stood up on the chair he'd been sitting on, grabbed on to the back, and began to jump up and down, his bare little feet slapping against the wooden seat.
Up and down, up and down, up and down… How did the child have so much energy? Kurt was beginning to feel dizzy just from watching.
"Couldn't you have chosen a more appealing color than green, though? Clearly you've got a lot to learn about interior decorating."
"I like green," Jacob said, thrusting his tongue out at Kurt.
"I like green too, but every color has its time and place - like on one of my favorite Broadway heroines -, and every tube of playdough has its time and place - preferably on the placemat on the table and not on the wall."
"I wanna make purple." He grabbed at the playdough again, sinking his fingers into the red.
Kurt was about to protest when he heard the tinkling of the ice cream truck, faint at first but growing in volume as it approached. Change of plans, Kurt thought, and this one might actually work. It was like being saved by the bell, only it was the monotonous, familiar tune playing from a frozen dessert truck.
"I have a better idea. How about we get you some ice cream from Mister Softee?"
"Ice cream!" He quite literally screamed, and Kurt pressed his hands over his ears. If Kurt's lungs were that powerful, he'd be on Broadway by now.
"You have to clean up first, and then I'll take you outside. Hurry up though, or you'll miss him."
He wasn't sure the colors made it into the proper receptacles, but, boy, did Jacob make haste in his cleanup efforts. Soon almost every bit of playdough was safe in color-coded airtight cylindrical containers and sitting neatly upon the placemat. That was good enough for Kurt, so he took Jacob's little hand and led him outside to flag down the truck.
It was when the truck came to a halt and he approached the window that Kurt realized that ice cream was his best decision of the day.
Kurt hadn't purchased ice cream from a truck since he was eight or nine, but he remembered the timeless, lyricless jingle well. He'd remembered the ice cream being pretty good too, though it was mostly soft serve, but he didn't remember the drivers being so incredibly - hot. Kurt had seen many an attractive man, especially while walking the streets of Manhattan, but the young man who greeted him with a "What can I get you today?" along with a flawless, toothy grin gave Kurt chills in spite of the August heat - and then a million ideas crossed his mind of things the man could supply him with. Mister Softee was a knockout.
Kurt had felt like a crabby parent until he laid eyes on the dark-haired, golden-eyed man with the big charming grin, and now he found it impossible to feel anything but elation, a smile tugging up the corners of his own lips. As he watched the man who seemed rather flustered wave his hand in front of the menu on the side of the truck, Kurt finally remembered why he was standing there in the first place.
He cleared his throat. "I'll take a small vanilla and chocolate twist soft serve in a cone for this little guy here -"
"My name is Jacob, what's your name?" Jacob interrupted, and Kurt rolled his eyes.
"My name's Blaine. It's great to meet you, Jacob," the guy in the truck said, waving at the boy.
Kurt offered an apologetic look, but he was secretly glad that Jacob had saved him from having to ask for himself. Now there was a name attached to the man with the dimpled cheeks and expressive eyes and eyebrows. Blaine.
"Well, since we're doing introductions…hello, Blaine, my name is Kurt, and this is the -" he lifted his free hand up by his mouth to speak behind it, " - pain in the ass I have the privilege of babysitting this summer."
Blaine laughed. "I'm sure it's not so bad."
"Well, if I could finish ordering so that he has something to occupy his hands and mouth, then that might make this job more bearable. He might look like an angel, but that's because I promised him ice cream. As soon as it's devoured, I'm sure he'll go right back to his wily, playdough-flinging ways."
"What will it be then? What is Kurt craving today for a much-needed indulgence and reward for staying strong in the face of rainbow-colored non-toxic projectiles?" Blaine asked.
What was he craving? First, he thought something sugary would be enough, but now he'd been presented with a much more tempting option. Kurt couldn't say the first thing that popped into his head, what he would really like to indulge in, so he said: "Kurt would love a small cup of vanilla soft serve and a warm soft pretzel - but only if you have peanut butter sauce to drizzle over the ice cream - not on the pretzel. Please tell me you have it in that truck of yours, because you'll be my hero if you do."
Blaine's already exceedingly bright eyes lit up, and he immediately retreated into the truck to retrieve the items Kurt had requested. When he popped back up in the window wearing an expression of unease, Kurt peered at him curiously.
"Oh, jeez, I'm so sorry. I can get you the ice cream, but unfortunately all things peanut are forbidden. Can't risk being the cause of some deadly allergic reaction in some unsuspecting child. I'm sure the company's insurance isn't that great," Blaine jested.
Kurt felt his face fall a little at the comment, though he did appreciate the joke. "It's alright, I understand. I didn't even think about that, but that's no fault of your own." He sighed. If he couldn't have peanut butter, he supposed chocolate was the next best thing. "I'll still take the ice cream, but do you at least have fudge topping…?"
He braced himself for further disappointment, but was met with an enthusiastic "Yes! Fudge I have! Give me a moment to whip it up for you"…and a wink.
Kurt couldn't suppress a giggle this time, because this guy didn't only drive a truck from the 1950s, it was like he was plucked right out of time itself. Did people really wink anymore? If one thing was certain, Kurt at least knew that Blaine was in fact flirting with him. If the wink wasn't evidence enough, Kurt watched Blaine nervously fumble around with the ice cream, which he found quite endearing.
Kurt reached out for his own sundae which Blaine was about to hand through the window, but then the man pulled it back, stuck something on top, and then held it out for a bemused, and also amused, Kurt.
"For your troubles," Blaine said. "And because you deserve something special - you do like cherries…?" Blaine added quickly.
Though he preferred them on cheesecake and in danish, the intentions behind the gesture didn't go unnoticed, and he responded, "I love cherries." He really loved cherries from men who looked like Blaine.
Cup of ice cream and soft pretzel in hand, Kurt dug his wallet out of his pocket to pay for the goodies. Blaine hadn't mentioned the cost, but he handed over a ten along with a "thank you," knowing that it couldn't possibly be more than that.
Blaine seemed to be stirred back to reality after staring blankly at the bill for a moment as if it was a foreign object. He told Kurt his total as he took his money to enter it into the register. Kurt accepted his change and went to slide it back into his pocket, but he had noticed the tip jar and, not wanting to let Mister Softee get away or for the exchange to end at all, came up with a great idea.
He stepped to the side, grateful that there were two little girls behind them who would stall Blaine and give Kurt just enough time. He pulled out a blank card, one that had been in his wallet when he bought it and hadn't taken out for some reason, and pulled out the pen he always kept in his pocket. Kurt clicked the top and carefully wrote out his phone number on the card. He rested the clip of the pen against his lips for a moment as he tried to think of something to write beneath, something to show his gratitude and make his intentions clear. When it came to him, he scribbled something down and then wrapped a dollar around the card.
The little girls now gone, Kurt approached the window again.
"Did I forget something?" Blaine asked. "Please tell me I didn't screw up your order, because I will never forgive myself."
"You did nothing of the sort. In fact, everything was perfect, and that's why I have something for you." And then he reached up and dropped his tip into the jar.
"Oh! Thank you so much," Blaine said.
"It's no problem at all," Kurt said. And then he winked right back at Blaine.
"Enjoy the rest of your day, Kurt," Blaine said, beaming. "I hope it's relatively painless and playdough free!"
No amount of playdough could ruin the afterglow of that encounter.
"I will now," he said softly, shooting Blaine a flirty grin. Kurt took Jacob's now sticky hand and turned to walk away, leaving the idling vehicle with the man that now held all the cards, figuratively and quite literally. All he could do now was hope and wait for him to make the next move.
By the time they got halfway back to the house, Jacob was already munching away at his wafer cone, the melted ice cream dripping down his hand and smeared around his mouth. Seeing the mess he would have to deal with and knowing that there was bound to be a sugar high before he crashed, Kurt sat down on the front steps of the house.
"We're going to play outside for a bit," Kurt said. "Oh! I have an idea! How about we play a game! Do you wanna be Superman?"
"Yeah!" Jacob shouted.
"You're Superman, and the house is the earth. You have to fly around it as many times as possible in order to go back in time and save the world from the bad guys." This was probably the worst improvisation Kurt had ever done, but as soon as the boy nodded and began to take off as quickly as his little legs could carry him, Kurt knew his idea was genius.
Kurt chased him around the house, Jacob squealing, laughing, and screaming, until they were both out of breath. He scooped up the little boy and brought him inside and to the bathroom to get cleaned up. He poured Jacob a glass of water because he wasn't trying to dehydrate the little guy and then watched him drink it, making sure he didn't spill.
When he was done, he wiped his mouth with his arm and grinned at Kurt, that same mischievous glint in his eyes from earlier, and then he leaped onto the couch and proceeded to bounce up and down, up and down, up and down…
Kurt's head nodded with the movement, feeling too exhausted to not just let him get it out of his system. Eventually Jacob jumped up and then flopped forward, face-planting into the cushions. He lay there still for a moment, and Kurt stood up to check if he was alright. Then the little guy rolled over onto his side, sound asleep.
It was the moment he had been waiting for all day.
But by no means did it mean that he got a break. Kurt used the time to straighten up the house, clean up Jacob's toys, and eliminate any remnants from the day that were potential stressors so the mother could return home and relax. Thanks to that bald-headed hottie Mr. Clean and his magic erasers, Kurt managed to restore the white walls back to their original state, not a bit of playdough residue in sight. Cleaning was therapeutic at this point, and the exchange with Blaine was the carrot he continued to chase as he bustled about, humming and occasionally smiling to himself.
When Jacob's mom returned home, the little boy was still passed out on the sofa, sleeping like a perfect angel. The house was neat and clean, and there was no evidence of the day's struggle. She thanked him profusely and insisted on paying him back the money he'd spent earlier on the treats, but Kurt refused. What really was six dollars compared to the promise of a phone call from Blaine? For there wasn't a doubt in Kurt's mind that that silly, handsome fool would call.