A/N: THIS STORY GOBBLED UP MY BRAIN AND COMPLETELY OVERTOOK IT! IT IS THE REASON I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO GET ANYTHING DONE FOR A WEEK! Ahem. I apologize to anyone reading this story that reads me normally, because this is the reason they've been waiting for fic updates. For anyone reading me for the first time, my author's notes have a lot of caps. I apologize.

This story is based on the movie The Accidental Husband, because I was watching it and Klaine popped into my head. This is mainly Klaine with Kurt/Sam and Blaine/Sebastian being the minor couples (it makes sense, I swear). This story is also already mostly written, because it stole my head. Therefore, new chapters of about 5,000 words will be up every 2-3 days. I have at least 6 chapters for you guys already.

Rated M for sex-mentions and implied sex and eventual sex. All of the man-on-man variety. Don't like... what the fuck are you doing here? Go hide your dumbass homophobic head in some quicksand. Oh, and bad language too. Underage peoples, GO AWAY!

I don't own Glee, or The Accidental Husband.

Kurt Hummel smirked to himself in the privacy of his office as he made red marks on one of the most hideous dresses he had ever laid eyes on. He would remember each mark as a comment to be made in his review. Honestly, he did not understand why some people insisted on creating designs when they have no talent for it whatsoever.

"Kurt, my dear, are you done taking the fashion world by storm? Your soon-to-be hubby is on line one!" Charlie announced, and Kurt sighed. Charlie was the absolutely loveable best friend he'd never had in an assistant, but sometimes his eternal optimism and childish ways of irritating people rubbed Kurt the wrong way, so to speak.

"Do me a favor and tell him I have a horribly feathered high-low dress with more colors than all the birds of the Amazon in one square inch of fabric to tear apart, and I'll call him back in ten?" Technically, Kurt was Charlie's boss and he could choose to treat his assistant however he so chose, but nicely-treated employees worked overtime for free.

"And that you love him?" Charlie asked.

"Of course." There would never be a day that Kurt wasn't in love with Sam Evans. Though the greasy mechanic type wasn't exactly who he had pictured himself falling in love with, partly due to the fact that he grew up with a mechanic as a father and partly due to the fact that he was himself a high-fashion critic, the dorky charms and dirty blonde hair of his fiancé never failed to set his heart fluttering.

"Will do," his assistant called back. "Oh, and there's some new designs in for you from a small company called Smythe. Probably some newbies hoping to get a good review and kick-start their careers."

"How do you think that will work out for them?" Out of all the fashion opinions on the earth, he trusted Charlie's the most (besides his own, of course). Charlie was well-versed in the trends of the time. As if he would hire someone who was bubble-brained and clueless.

"Haven't looked. Want me to give them a one-over or just drop them in The Pile?" Kurt grimaced at the mention of The Pile, their office codename for the endless stack of: letters he had to respond to, counter-critics he had to reduce to crying balls of mush, clutching in their fingers the dredges of their careers, offers he had to formally turn down, and, of course, fashions he had to either destroy or put on a platinum pedestal. In the world of New York fashion, Kurt Hummel's word was law.

"Drop them in The Pile, on the top. I love looking through new ideas." Despite the rather harsh criticisms of the vitriol dolled out in Kurt's weekly blog, Kurt loved finding new talents to showcase. He didn't look to ruin people's careers, he just really cared about finding true talent, and new lines were the best chances of that.

"You love destroying them," Charlie muttered, loud enough that they both knew Kurt could hear him, but he didn't comment. No one really understood the intentions behind his often-scathing reviews.

Giving up on trying to list all the issues with this dress and deciding it was a lost cause, Kurt turned to his phone, calling up his lovely fiancé at his garage, knowing he was early, but being able to talk to your fiancé anytime was a bonus of running your own company. Another bonus would be not having to depend on any other idiots to run your life.

"Hey, baby," Sam's soft voice answered immediately. Kurt felt all the tension seep out of his shoulders and a smile settle on his face at those simple words. He had never loved anything as much as he loved this man.

"You know, I do have work to do. I can't just spend all day on the phone with you," Kurt teased his fiancé, knowing that he would happily do just that if he could. Standing up to stretch the tense muscles in his back after a few long hours of sitting hunched forward, Kurt headed automatically for the Smythe designs, deciding to ignore the rest of The Pile for just a few more hours.

"Surely you can spare just a few minutes for someone that loves you more than life itself." Kurt absolutely melted at Sam's words, letting a soft 'aw' slip from his throat.

"Anytime. You know that," Kurt said seriously. Sam never let himself be teased for long.

"Of course." Kurt heard a faint thudding and quite a bit of yelling in the background before his fiancé groaned. "They have to mess up everything. I have to go, my love, but I'll see you tonight."

"Of course. I missed you while you were in California." Kurt let his voice take on a sultry tone, imagining his fiancé's expression.

"I, uh, I missed you too," Sam managed to get out, clearing his throat. Kurt chuckled softly to himself before he flipped open the Smythe folder.

"Oh my..." Never before had he seen such horribly amateur designs presented to him. Normally, people only sent in their very best, experienced-looking pieces to the most critical and well-respected fashion critic in New York. These looked like children's drawings.

"Something wrong, love?" Sam asked immediately, clearly have abandoned all thought of hanging up if Kurt was upset.

"Just some horrible folder upset my stomach with the insipid designs contained inside. Don't worry, I promise to you that no one will ever lay eyes on these insults to my industry." Kurt was already planning what could be his biggest piece since he first went viral.

"Try not to crush some young designer's dreams, love," Sam said softly. "You were that young and naive once. I love you."

"I love you too, Sammy." Only the faint, continuous buzz of an ended call responded to Kurt's statement.

The smile from his admittedly-short conversation with his fiancé lingering, Kurt looked over the Smythe collection with a sight. Here he'd been hoping for talent. Rolling his eyes at foolish hopes, Kurt began marking the pictures with his red ink, smiling to himself as he realized he'd automatically reached for the quill Sam had gotten him in Harry Potter World. He loved his fiancé all the more for his tendency to be a nerd, the quill always gave him a sense of calm, clear-headed focus.

Deciding to use to quill and being very careful of the feathers, he broke three red pens over an ornamental shot glass (simply there for decoration) to give himself some ink and began destroying any hopes Sebastian Smythe had for a successful future.

"Mm," Blaine hummed contentedly as he woke up, wrapped in his fiancé's arms and splattered in dry come. Feeling relaxed enough to stay in bed for the moment before he had to get up and cross the cold tile floor towards the shower (he was not looking forward to the trip), he took a moment to appreciate his fiancé's mussed hair, the light brown natural highlights glowing in the sun streaming in through the window. He knew the pale eyelids were covering the most amazing pair of green eyes he'd ever seen. Sebastian Smythe was an amazing man.

Blaine groaned and stretched, rolling over to climb out of bed only to be stopped by Sebastian's arms tightening around him and dragging him back. "Seb," he fake-complained, more than happy to stay in the strong embrace but knowing he would have to be at work soon.

"Last night was amazing," his fiancé whispered against his neck, ignoring Blaine's complaints in favor of kissing the skin there.

"Trust me, I know. I'm not exactly excited to go to work either, but I have to be there in- Jesus!" Blaine shoved away his fiancé's arms as he noticed the time. He had a meeting in Astoria in half an hour. "I have to be in Astoria in half an hour." Blaine hurried out of bed, ignoring how cold the tile was on his bare feet and the air was on his bare skin.

"Why do you call it Astoria? Everyone else in New York calls it Queens. You sound like a tourist." Sebastian made no move to follow his boyfriend out of bed, preferring to remain in the warm cocoon of sheets.

"Aren't you getting out of bed?" Blaine asked, grabbing the outfit he'd thankfully chosen the night before off the hanger and racing for the shower, turning on the water before he remembered to turn on the heater.

"I plan to remain right here, thank you. I don't have anything to do at the office until I get a review from Hummel dot com, so I don't plan to be there." Sebastian did exactly as he said he would, simply rolling over and bringing the sheets up to his neck, covering the area that he once been warmed by his fiancé's body heat.

"When did you send your designs in to Kurt Hummel?" Blaine asked worriedly from under the cold water. Honestly, at this point he was beyond caring about his body temperature, even if his toes looked a little blue. The water heater took too damn long.

The reason he was worried? Sebastian was an amazing, beautiful man with a bright future ahead of him, but Blaine wasn't quite sure that his fiancé's future lied in fashion. He had seen some of Sebastian's work, and he'd seen some of Hummel's criticisms, and he had a feeling the two would clash. Not badly, but enough to hurt Sebastian's chances of getting Smythe off the tarmac. That being said, his fiancé's last name doubled excellently as a brand name. Blaine groaned mentally as he realized that if Hummel helped Sebastian's line as 'Smythe', he would become Blaine Smythe, and their little, teasing war over last names would be over. Sebastian Anderson sounded better.

"A few days ago. I'm hoping it'll be up today, but I know how busy he is. I tried to get a personal appointment with him, to have more of a pitch than an actual submission, but he was booked up years in advance. I don't have that kind of time, Anderson." Blaine rolled his eyes at his fiancé's silly ideas. Sebastian may be lazily working on his fashion designs, but Blaine was a tycoon, and a rich one at that. Hence, the penthouse suite they were in at the moment. The couple had nothing to worry about.

"I hope you get the reviews you deserve, baby," or better, Blaine added mentally, finished washing everything vital and hopping out of the shower just as the hot water kicked in. Cursing his luck under his breath, Blaine began on his mop of hair, praying that he wouldn't be late.

"What could go wrong?" Sebastian replied cockily, and Blaine just huffed under his breath. Taming his hair as best he could and throwing on his clothes, he rushed out of the apartment, only stopping to give his fiancé a quick kiss (and push Seb away when he tried to make it a longer kiss).

A lot could go wrong. In fact, Kurt Hummel's cold words on the Smythe fashion line made Blaine's whole work crack in half.

The Symthe clothing line, I can hardly bring myself to dignify the collection by calling it as such, lacks originality, presentation, and, to be frank, talent. When my assistant first placed the files on my desk I thought that they were either a prank from my colleagues or the drawings of a five-year-old that had been incorporated into serious designs by childish mayhem. I was appalled when I discovered that the man who had drawn these designs truly believed they were good enough to sit on my desk, never mind make it in the fashion world.

The article went on to dissect everything that was wrong with Sebastian's clothes, from the lines to the colors to the cuts. None of this interested Blaine, because those three sentences were the ones placed by Sebastian on top of the note that tore Blaine's heart into a million pieces and spread them in the cold wind outside of his window.

Dear Blaine,
Writing this letter is the hardest thing I've ever done. That being said, this is also the last time you will ever hear from me. I know you can read, so you know my review by Kurt Hummel scheme didn't go over well. Serves me right for thinking I could actually do this.
The thoughts and plans that popped into my head when I first read this review would appall you, so I won't share them. Needless to say, I didn't go through with any of them. Instead, I sat down and tried to decide between my two great loves: fashion and you.
Earlier this week, I'd gotten an offer from a Japanese clothing company whose name sounds something like Warui fasshon. I decided to wait until this article came out. Now that I've been publicly embarrassed by the most revered name in New York fashion, I have accepted that offer. By the time you read this I will be in Tokyo, in my Vice President's office, trying desperately to understand what my assistant is saying.
I've always wanted to live in Japan. You know how much living in Paris when I was younger made me love fashion. It was the most difficult choice I've ever made, but I know I chose right when I came to Japan. I wish more than anything that you could have come with me, but this is something I needed to do alone. I hope you can understand that.

I love you,
Sebastian Smythe

This series of events was exactly why everyone is advised against saying 'what could go wrong?' A fucking lot, obviously.

Blaine sat down with a sigh, staring at the letter he had almost memorized, knowing Sebastian had always been a little bit of a schemer and very independent. So yes, he understood why his fiancé had left him. Did that make it any easier? No. Did that make him feel any better? Of course not. Did he still feel like curling up in a ball and crying until he died of dehydration? Yes. Had the letter helped? Fuck no.

Blaine took another deep breath, placing down the letter from his... ex-fiancé, treasuring their last connection, as much as it hurt to look at. The tears would start any moment, he knew, and he wouldn't be at work tomorrow. He had just lost his fiancé, for Pete's sake. The company could run for one day without him.

As the tears started to well up in Blaine's eyes, he looked at the signature on the letter. It wasn't the sweet signature he used to sign notes passed in class with during high school. It was his formal signature, the one he used for credit cards and bank notes and all that jazz.

Perhaps he had gotten a hint of scheming from his ex-fiancé, but a plan began to form in Blaine's mind even as tears obscured his vision of the signature. That signature could be used for anything with the right push-and-pull. Even, if Blaine pulled the right strings, a marriage license. If they were legally bound, what choice would Seb have but to come back home and live their happily ever after with Blaine?

Leaning back to avoid getting any tears on the precious, precious signature, Blaine decided right there and then that he would join them in holy matrimony. He did resolve himself, however, to a day of crying, watching bad romantic movies, and eating ice cream at the loss of his fiancé. Not only did he seemingly not control his emotions at the moment, but he deserved the break.

"God, I love you," Sam murmured into Kurt's bare shoulder, kissing at the exposed skin as he spooned behind his fiancé.

"I love you too," Kurt whispered, contorting his neck, and thanking all that is holy (McQueen, Prada, and Jacobs, of course) that he was flexible, to kiss his fiancé as they snuggled in for bed. Their tongues twined in a way that was familiar but still sent sparks racing to every corner of Kurt's body. The fashionista twisted in his fiancé's arms to make the angle easier, relaxing as one of Sam's hands slipped up the back of his shirt, a solid, warm, familiar presence on his back.

"Can we talk about something?" Sam asked, speaking the words so close to his lips that Kurt could barely understand him.

"Does it have to be right now?" he whispered back, because talking wasn't really what he had in mind for the evening, if you catch his drift...

"It's important," Sam said firmly, and Kurt sighed but nodded, pulling away enough that they could talk, but making sure Sam's hands stayed just where they were. "I was wondering if you'd ever considered taking up those offers on writing for a magazine."

Sam's comment, as simple as it was, completely blind-sided the younger man. Ever since Kurt had started with his blog Sam had been nothing but supportive of the independent route he had decided to travel. He didn't make the greatest money, but he did well for himself, and they had Sam's garage.

"Of course not," Kurt replied, and he couldn't help but be indignant. "Why would I write for some yuppie, fashionably-challenged magazine that would try to curb my strong views?" Sam ran his hand still beneath Kurt's shirt up and down his back, soothing the obviously annoyed man.

"I'm not trying to insult your individualism, baby. I'm just thinking that economically it might be a good move for us. The recession has hit the garage a little harder than I like to admit," Sam said sheepishly, looking at Kurt with soulful eyes, obviously hoping for forgiveness.

Kurt sighed as he realized working for Vanity Fair may become his life for the good of his marriage. "I'll talk to some people in the morning, if it's really that important." Secretly he hoped it wasn't really that important, but he would do whatever he needed to in order to be with Sam.

"It's not important right now, but you would do it if it was necessary, right?" Sam asked, and Kurt smiled as he realized that was all his fiancé had wanted. The conformation that Kurt would help out if he needed to. The conformation that Kurt loved Sam more than he loved his blog. Well, Sam could rest assured, there was no competition.

"Of course, Sammy." Sam leaned forward to press a kiss to his fiancé's lips, which started out loving and became much dirtier and passionate. "Can we get this night back on track please?" Kurt asked, looking wrecked and sounding out-of-breath.

"Yes, please," Sam replied, rolling over so that he was on top of his fiancé.

A night of ice cream and crying behind him, Blaine walked into his office the next day with dark shadows under his eyes and a short temper, something very unusual for the relaxed tycoon. He had lost his sangfroid.

"Ever heard of SE Garage?" he demanded of a surprised looking secretary who was technically supposed to be his, but he had never actually spoken to her in his life. He was a self-sufficient man, he didn't need a secretary: the adult equivalent of a babysitter.

"Yes, sir. Extremely popular uptown, a small, non-chain business run by Sam Evans, the fiancé of fashion critic and icon Kurt Hummel." Blaine resisted the urge to growl at the name. He would get his revenge on the man who had taken his sweetheart from him. An eye for an eye, they say. Let's see how quickly Hummel gets married when his fiancé's business goes under. Maybe they'll even split up and Hummel will understand what he does to people.

"I want it sunk. I want all it's assets liquidated, and I want Sam Evans more broke than the hobo who always pisses in our fountain." He didn't offer a word of explanation or help to the surprised woman, who immediately went to her phone.

Sam Evans was collateral damage in his mind at the moment. Anyone who would willingly fall in love with someone who tore apart good men's lives for fun deserved to be ruined. No, Blaine wasn't getting a God complex, but he knew that Evans and Hummel would both pay for the fact that his first and only love is in Tokyo.

Blaine sighed, placing his feet on his desk as he had seen some of his lackeys do and finding the position incredibly comfortable. No wonder they did this all the time.

Sometimes his power felt a bit addicting, but he would do anything to get his baby back... and if the revenge lit a fire under his soon-to-be not-so-ex fiancé's skin, that was just a bonus.

Kurt Hummel's life was turning to dust around him and he was unfortunately dealing with this in the very way that had caused him to puke on a mysophobic guidance counselor's shoes during his sophomore year of high school: alcohol. Kurt had taken the accursed drug in the form of every shot he could get his hands on, and at this point he thought 'take that, liver!' every time he threw one back.

How did a once-great fashion critic reach this point? Well, it seems Sam had a more valid fear of the garage losing economic ground than he realized. It was only four days after they had that accursed talk that the garage fell under beyond repair. Sam couldn't salvage any assets as their stocks suddenly tipped in the wrong way and customer consumption went down by almost eighty percent.

How this had happened? Kurt had no idea.

Vanity Fair had been more than happy to take on the most critically-acclaimed writer in the business, but since life seemed determined to screw him over in as many ways as possible, they claimed he had to start on a beginning level, meaning that the salary he got was barely enough to cover their current lifestyle.

Long story short: he was not getting married in two months, as they had planned.

Kurt flicked his shot glass towards the wall, watching with satisfaction as it shattered into small flakes of glass, little bits of vodka spraying in a small circle, masquerading as water.

Why had life never worked out the way he wanted? He got out of Lima! He found a man he loved that supported everything he did and ignored the fact that he had gone to an expensive and prestigious music school (the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts) and then decided to be a fashion writer. He'd had a great, stable life, and he was happy. Apparently, that was not life's plan for him.

"Cranberry vodka," he heard his voice order even though he knew more alcohol would not be a good idea.

"I think you need to sober up a little," the bartender said, glancing at the stain his vodka glass had left on the wall with disdain. "How about some water?" The bartender gave Kurt exactly that, and Kurt flicked the glass again, water spilling all over the bartender.

"How about you give me my fucking vodka?" The bartender ignored him, tapping the bar twice before turning his back on the very angry man. Kurt didn't realize what was happening until the security guard escorted him out of the bar. He didn't have the equilibrium to fight back, so he didn't try.

Tossed out of the bar, thoroughly steamed, and not at all sobered up, Kurt headed for the city hall. He had been the idiot. He had wanted to big wedding. Now he knew: all he wanted was Sam, and he was pretty sure that the answer to his problem was in the big city hall building on... Worth Street. It was near Chinatown... or maybe even in Chinatown.

So, he was at Anotheroom, Inc. The address was 249 West Broadway. So, he could walk there. Good plan.

Somehow, New York seemed much bigger and scarier when the shadows looked like muggers. Or maybe there really were that many muggers. He was somewhere between Manhattan and Brooklyn. So... maybe. Well, scary shadows or scarier muggers, none of them bothered Kurt.

The lights in the Big Building to Solve All His Problems hurt Kurt's eyes, but he trudged up the stairs, noticing that quite a few of them moved and wondering if this was part of Hogwarts.

"'Scuse me, lady," Kurt said to the lady at the desk, and somehow his words sounded far away, but hers were very, very close.

"Can I help you, sir? Do you need a cab?" Kurt ignored the second question. Of course he didn't need a cab. He needed a husband, and he said so.

"I need a husband." The words sounded very clear, but they were so far away that Kurt couldn't tell if they were the right ones.

"Well, sir, do you need to fill out a marriage license?" Aha, that's what the words had sounded like earlier. When he'd had less vodka.

"Uh-huh." Kurt nodded sagely, but regretted it when the room nodded with him.

"Sir, you do realize these licenses must be filled out by two people, correct?" The lady was very annoying. Of course he knew that. "We can keep a single-filled one on hold for ten days, but it cannot be submitted without the signatures of two, marriage-eligible people." Kurt nodded again.

"I fill it out, then Sammy fills it out later?" he asked, and the lady nodded. The room didn't nod with her.

"Yes, that." The lady's tone was mean now. Kurt snatched the paper and filled it out, using his Sammy quill, barely able to remember his address. He could always remember his phone number though, because it had his and Sammy's birthdays in it. His name was... Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. Soon-to-be Kurt Elizabeth Evans. He liked that.

Kurt slapped the paper back down on the lady's table and left without another word, annoyed with the lady's mean-tone. She'd had a nice-tone before.

"Whoops," he mumbled as he bumped into a tie with a guilty look. Huh. Tie had a pretty face... and a guilty one.

Now. He needed a cab. And it was cold. Drat it. Winter.

Blaine was perfectly centered when he walked into the marriage bureau. It was a bit late at night, sure, and the only other client was a very tipsy looking, if not flat out drunk, man with chestnut hair and eyes that squeezed his heart because they were so similar to Sebastian's. This man seemed to be filling out the papers with a quill, the lady helping him looking at him with disgust.

Blaine hadn't touched the liquid courage before he got here, knowing drink would only make the forgery harder. True, what he was about to do was illegal, but he was doing it for love, and that's all that mattered to him.

Approaching the desk next to the now clearly drunk man, Blaine smiled charmingly at the woman helping him. "Hello, ma'am. My name is Blaine Anderson and I need to file a store-away marriage license."

"Pity a young charmer like you needs a store-away," the woman flirted back, getting the paper as she spoke. Blaine glanced over at the drunk man, the perfect idea forming in his head.

"She's not getting in from Japan until Friday, and she wanted to do this as soon as she arrived. Unfortunately, she's arriving while I'll be away on conference, so a store-away is the only way." He didn't feel bad about lying to her, considering she was flirting with an engaged man. However, he lied about the genders to make it easier for her to flirt. All part of the plan.

"Is there any chance I could take this away from him?" Blaine asked, jerking his head towards the drunk man who was still filling out his sheet as ink dribbled from the end of his quill, forming unsightly splotches.

The woman smiled again and nodded. "I'm not supposed to bring you back here," she whispered and giggled, obviously feeling freed by the forbidden act. She ushered Blaine into a small closet. Oh, the irony.

"Take your time, sweetheart. I have a feeling drunky's going to be out there for a while." The woman gave Blaine one last smile before leaving him alone.

Having planned this efficiently ahead, Blaine filled out his information and Sebastian's, remembering to sign only his name. Taking the heart-breaking letter from his pocket, he quickly forged the signature from the perfectly executed example, actually tracing it through the paper, and then stuffing the letter back in his pocket.

It was easy for Blaine to find his way back to the desk he was being helped at. He handed the paper over to her with a winning smile, knowing that it would find it's way into the processing pile, and he would soon be legally married to his Prince Eric.

"Have a wonderful day," Blaine said to the lady helping him as he left. The drunk idiot at the desk next to him swung around and bumped into him as he did.

"Whoops," the drunk muttered under his breath before stumbling out of the building. Blaine just sighed and headed down the same steps easily, hoping that he found a cab instead of becoming a blood splatter on the New York City street.

A/N: First chapter finished. I hope you guys enjoyed. All the addresses and things in this fic are real (not that you probably care, but all the New Yorkers out there know that it's true).

Reviews are Love. Please, no character bashing in reviews, it's really not appreciated. (Okay, so you can Sebastian-bash. I really hate that guy. But no Blaine or Sam bashing, all right?)