"I can't believe you're making me do this."
"Kurt, come on, just get out of the car, you're being ridiculous." Blaine's pleading was to no avail. Kurt was glued to the passenger seat of the car, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. The younger man glared up at his husband, hoping it would clearly convey the thought currently running through his head: If you do not back down, I will kill you in your sleep.
Judging from the way he immediately took a step away from the car, it appeared Blaine had received the message. Unfortunately, Blaine was not one to give up easily, especially when it came to things like this.
"Listen, I know you hate sports, but you don't have to do anything. I promise. I'll do everything. Just stand on the side of the field and cheer the kids on every once in a while. You don't have to play, you don't have to ruin your outfit, but you need to come out of the car, Kurt." The softer approach seemed to be working better, as Blaine was now looking into two steel blue eyes instead of at the back of his husband's perfectly coiffed head. "Please. For Toronto."
At the mention of their son, Kurt's resolve finally began to crumble. He stared Blaine down for a moment, trying to hold his ground, but eventually reached for the handle of the door and pushed it open. His gaze slowly lifted from the ground to Blaine as he stepped onto the pavement.
"If, when we get I home, I find even so much as a speck of dirt on this uniform, you. Will. Pay." Despite Kurt's patented death glare, Blaine's mouth curled up into a slight smirk. Though not at all thrilled about the idea of coaching a baseball team, his husband had, not unexpectedly, taken the opportunity to expand his seemingly never-ending wardrobe. A shockingly white ensemble currently covered his body; the tapered jersey, skin-tight, calf-length pants, and shimmering cleats were nearly blinding. Luckily, Blaine's eyes had been able to adjust and were currently trailing over Kurt's silk knee socks and up to the perfectly tailored waist of his triple-buttoned uniform pants. He subconsciously licked his lips, not at all worried about what Kurt might do to him as long as he was wearing that.
"Looking forward to it." He winked, turning away before Kurt could react and calling behind him, "Let's go! The whole team's already on the field." With a huff, Kurt ran to catch up and began gingerly making his way out to home plate.
Before he could reach his destination, however, a young voice cried out to him.
"Daddy!" Kurt turned to see his son bounding towards him from left field. Dressed in his brand-new, pinstriped baseball pants, shiny black cleats, and slightly too big blue-and-gold team jersey, Toronto could barely contain his excitement at seeing his father. His gloved hand awkwardly attempted to keep his hat on his head, the other arm reaching out for a hug.
Forgetting about his outfit for a moment, Kurt bent down to scoop up his son. He reached under his arms, lifting the boy high into the air before pulling him in tight.
"Hey, Tor, excited for your first day of practice?" Toronto's legs wrapped around Kurt's waist, free arm going behind his father's neck to keep his balance.
"Yeah! I got to play catch already and Dad said he'd teach me to hit the ball and now you're here and it's gonna be so much fun!" Kurt smiled at how quickly Toronto spoke, barely stopping to take a breath between words. He gazed down lovingly at the boy in his arms, a grin spreading over his face.
"Well, it looks like Dad's about to start batting practice, so you'd better run if you want to hit!" Over Toronto's shoulder, Kurt could see Blaine rounding up the kids in the outfield and heading towards them, bat in hand.
"Oh, yay! I gotta go!" Toronto squirmed around in Kurt's arms, dropping down to the ground and running towards his dad with the same energy as before. Kurt marveled for a moment how much his son had grown; it seemed like he'd gone from a baby in his arms to a crazy five-year-old overnight. Standing next to Blaine, just barely tall enough to pass his waist, Toronto looked remarkably grown up. It was hard not to think about how quickly this had all happened; Kurt often found himself wondering how he and Blaine had gone from newlyweds to proud fathers in such a short amount of time.
The clatter of metal against metal snapped Kurt out of his moment all too soon. His gaze flew to the crowd of five- and six-year-olds suddenly surrounding him, all chattering, squealing, and running around each other as they waited for Blaine to get out the bats and set up the tee. Realizing he couldn't find his husband, Kurt slowly turned around, eyes scoring the field for a sign of the curly-headed man.
"Kurt?" A tap on his shoulder startled Kurt, causing him to jump and come face-to-face with Blaine. His hand flew to his chest, breathing fast and heavy.
"God, Blaine, you know you can't just sneak up on me like that!" He took a few deep breaths, calming himself before speaking again. "What's up?" Blaine was clearly holding back laughter, an amused expression covering his features.
"You're standing on home plate." Kurt looked down at his white-clad feet. He was, indeed, standing in the very place Blaine needed to get to.
"…right. Well. If you're starting, I guess I'll just head over to the bleachers." He turned to go, but a strong hand took hold of his shoulder before he could begin moving.
"Actually… I was hoping you might be able to help me out a bit?" Blaine's pleading brown eyes took on their signature "puppy" look; he knew Kurt couldn't resist the puppy dog eyes, and Kurt was not happy with him for whipping them out at a time like this.
"Blaine, we made a deal. You coach the team, I show up, look fabulous, and stay out of the way. That's it. I'm all for supporting Toronto, but I am not playing baseball and I am most certainly not ruining this outfit. It's white, Blaine. If you get white dirty, it never goes back. Ever. No exceptions. This took far too much of my time and looks far too good for me to risk ruining it." Expecting his husband to react this way, Blaine chose to smile at his little speech; Kurt was always so dedicated to his appearance. But that wasn't going to be enough to stop Blaine's request.
"I know, and I plan on keeping that deal intact. Mostly. Listen, all you have to do is stand by first base and cheer the kids on when they get a hit. Please?" Again, Kurt visibly fought with himself over what to do. His efforts were to no avail, however, and once again he decided to give in. With a sigh, he looked directly at his husband.
"Fine. But I swear, Blaine, I wasn't kidding earlier. If this outfit gets messed up, you'd best be very scared for what's going to happen when we get home." Blaine's thoughts regarding this statement were clear, and Kurt silenced them before they could make their way out of his mouth. "No, Blaine, that is not what I mean. Stop. Stop it right now. No. I'm leaving. I'm going to first base, and you are going to stop thinking about that, because it is not what I meant and I-" His ramblings resulted in nothing but a sly raise of his eyebrow from the shorter man. Frustrated by Blaine's clear choice to completely ignore everything he was saying, Kurt huffed off to take his place on the far side of the foul line.
With a slight chuckle, Blaine quickly set up the tee and gathered his team around the plate.
"Alright, guys, we're going to take turns hitting the ball off the tee. If you don't know how to hold the bat, just ask me and I'll show you, alright?" The kids all nodded excitedly, clearly having difficultly staying quiet as their coach spoke. "Great! Now this half of you, line up, and everyone else, go spread out in the field." The players did as told, their young voices rising through the air as they realized Blaine was done instructing them.
Kurt watched as the first batter went up to the tee. This boy obviously had no idea what he was doing; even Kurt could tell he was standing on the wrong side of the plate, and he didn't even play the game. Judging from this observation, Kurt assumed it would be quite a while before the boy got a hit, and if he did, it would be highly unlikely that the ball would come anywhere near the first base line. With this frame of mind, he began to inspect his impeccable outfit for any damage. He really hadn't been kidding when he'd told Blaine he'd kill him if these clothes got ruined; the fabric cost a hell of a lot of money and it took him days to sew it all together. If anything happened to all his hard work, no one would be happy. No one.
As Kurt had suspected, batting practice went fairly slowly. It was understandable; after all, this was tee-ball, and most of the kids had never played a day in their lives. Each at-bat went generally the same way: they'd hold the bat upside down, Blaine would teach them the proper way to swing, it would go right over the player's head, and after a few painful attempts to whack at the ball on the tee, they'd finally make contact. Of course, the ball never went very far; most of the time, it would roll off the tee and slowly make its way towards the pitcher's mound.
He finally focused on the action at home plate when Toronto's turn was up. A giggle escaped his lips at the sight of the small boy wearing a batting helmet that was clearly far too large for his head; the front kept slipping down and covering Toronto's eyes when he tried to get in his batting stance. Blaine knelt down next to Toronto, gentle hands adjusting the helmet before wrapping behind the boy to adjust his hands around the back. Kurt's heart warmed at the sight of his husband slowly bringing their son through the motions, adjusting his elbows and twisting the young boy's hips to help him get used to the action. When it was finally time for Toronto to take a swing himself, Blaine stepped back, excitement clear in his eyes even from Kurt's position.
Remarkably (at least from what Kurt had seen before), Toronto made contact on his first try and the ball was sent rolling towards the pitcher's mound.
"Run, Tor, run!" Kurt was surprised to find himself jumping up and down, clapping and cheering as his son scrambled his way to the base. When Toronto victoriously jumped on the base, knocking his helmet off in the process, Kurt bent down to pick it up and ruffled the boy's hair in congratulations. "Great hit, buddy! You were fantastic!" Toronto's eyes were shining proudly as he listened to his dad.
"I did it, Daddy! I hit the ball!" He bounced up and down as Kurt attempted to put the helmet back on the boy's head.
"You did an awesome job, Tor! But you better run back to Dad, it looks like he wants to tell you how great you did, too." Blaine was still by the plate, gesturing to the two as he set up for the next player. A huge grin was spread over his features, hands giving Toronto a thumbs up before calling over.
"Toronto, that was awesome! Come on back, you can grab your glove and play in the field until it's your turn to go again." Toronto flew over to his father, who enveloped the boy in a hug before handing him a glove and sending him out to third base.
As he watched Blaine turn to his next player, Kurt groaned at the sight of how many more kids had to go before Toronto could take his turn again. And at the rate most of these players were going, it was going to be a long, long time before he had any reason to get too involved.
This was why Kurt didn't feel the need to pay too much attention. He stood in his place, thinking up new ideas for his wardrobe, trying to decide what the three of them should have for dinner, letting his thoughts wander until he heard the telltale sound of a metal bat making contact with the ball. Then, he would glance up, cheer on the kid running to the base, and go back to his thoughts. He only really got involved when Toronto was at bat. Kurt might be a bit biased, but from what he could tell, his kid was a natural; the young boy always seemed to hit the ball farther than anyone else, and he had the proper batting stance down pat.
Kurt was still lost in his thoughts as batting practice drew to a close. He should have heard his husband's voice as it called out to the team, telling everyone waiting to hit to take their positions for some fielding practice; however, he was too preoccupied with the idea of replacing the eggshell-colored curtains in his and Blaine's bedroom with cream-colored ones to listen. After all, it could completely throw off the color scheme he'd so painstakingly put together when they moved in. But then again, they'd had the same décor since they'd moved here six years ago, and they could both use a bit of change in their-
"Heads up!"
It took Kurt a moment to realize that the scream coming from home plate was directed to him, and by the time he turned his head to see what was going on, he was already flying to the ground. A surprisingly fast foul ball made contact with his head, sending Kurt sprawling on his back in the middle of the muddy grass.
"Kurt, oh my god, Kurt, are you okay? Kurt? I'm so sorry, that was meant to go to the first baseman. I must have misjudged the angle a bit… oh god, are you all right? Can you hear me?" A frantic Blaine ran to Kurt's side, kneeling down and carefully supporting Kurt's head as he attempted to sit up. "Kurt, can you hear me right now?"
Kurt's mind was groggy; he couldn't quite make sense of what was happening. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that Blaine was talking to him, but it wasn't quite clear why. He slowly tried to make sense of what was going on. His head was throbbing, his back felt like he'd been hit by a train, and his outfit- oh no. No. This was not happening. He was seeing things; his mind was playing tricks on him, because there was absolutely no way those mud-splattered pants were his.
Vision still swirling, Kurt looked up from his legs to see what appeared to be three sets of young, worried brown eyes staring at him from behind his feet.
"Daddy?" Toronto spoke tentatively, as confused about what was happening as his father. "Are you okay? You got hit pretty bad…" His head was still swimming, but Kurt made an attempt to calm his son.
"No, Tor, I'm fine… It's not too bad, I promise." Unfortunately, as soon as he began to speak, a wave of nausea overtook him and Kurt's head was sent falling back to the ground. Luckily, Blaine was still cradling him and stopped Kurt's head from colliding with the grass yet again.
"Yeah, your daddy's tough. He'll get through this." Blaine gazed at his son, comforting him before turning back to his injured husband. "Do you think you can get up if I help you?"
Kurt considered the benefits of simply lying on the ground for the rest of his life, but the thought of what it might do to further destroy his outfit quickly changed his mind. Speaking of his outfit, he'd have to bring up that damage to Blaine as soon as he could think coherently – but right now, he had more important things to worry about.
"I think so… Just go slow," Kurt managed to mumble.
"Alright, Tor, why don't you tell everyone to go to their parents? Practice is pretty much over, anyway. And tell them we're here same time next week, alright?" Blaine instructed his son, now alert and ready to take on his newfound responsibility.
"Sure, Dad!" His voice rang out, carrying through the cool air as he turned to face his teammates. Blaine placed his focus on Kurt again, adjusting his arms to securely wrap around the man's shoulders and pulling him up to a sitting position.
"You ready?" Kurt nodded slightly, clearly disoriented from the movement but determined to get up. "Alright, easy there… Careful with your feet, it's muddy and I don't want you to slip again." The two worked together to slowly lift Kurt until he was standing, resting against Blaine's shoulder for support. "And we're all set! Come on, let's head over to the car and get you an ice pack."
Kurt allowed Blaine to lead him to the car, watching his feet carefully to make sure he didn't take another fall. It was this precautionary action that drew his attention to the state of his uniform – his cleats, which had taken days to find and a two hour drive out of town to finally acquire, were completely drenched in mud. Any sign of their original stunning white was now obstructed by dripping mud and grass. This only seemed to get worse as Kurt's focus moved to his silk socks; they were clearly damaged beyond repair. He couldn't bring himself to assess the damage of the pants and jersey. Kurt had a fairly good idea of how they looked, if the state of his lower half was able to foreshadow anything.
They stopped at the back of the car. Blaine went to help Kurt lean against the vehicle for support, but he was prevented from doing so.
"Kurt, where are you going? You've got to sit down while I go find that ice pack for you." His confusion was met with an icy glare, greatly contrasting the look of pain that had been in his husband's eyes only moments before.
"Look at me." The command was soft, but the force behind the words sent chills up Blaine's spine.
"But Kurt, I'm already looking at you… are you feeling alright? You need to sit down."
"Look at this outfit, Blaine. Look at it." Starting to realize where this was going, Blaine's gaze slowly dropped towards Kurt's body.
Oh.
In the panic of the moment, Blaine had completely forgotten about Kurt's insistence that this outfit not be ruined. He'd promised nothing would happen, and this… This was far, far worse than he ever would have imagined. He gulped. This wasn't going to be good.
"Kurt… I know what you're going to say, and I just… I'm sorry, I really am! I didn't mean for this to happen-"
"Blaine Hummel-Anderson, do you know how long it took me to make this?" Oh no. Nothing good ever came from a discussion that started with Kurt asking questions like this.
"…a long time?"
"Two weeks, Blaine. Do you know how long it usually takes to make an outfit like this?"
Blaine didn't answer; he simply stood in place, trying not to anger his husband further.
"Three days. Three. The fabric for this cost me money you don't want to know I spent, these cleats took a week to locate, and sequined baseball jerseys take a lot of hand sewing. You promised this outfit would be safe. Look at it, Blaine. It's ruined." Seeming to have gained quite a bit of strength during his rant, Kurt now stood definitely with a hand on his hip.
"Kurt, I swear, I'll make it up to you. It was an accident, and I know you put a lot of time into this, and I'm so sorry this happened. Just tell me what I can do."
Kurt considered this statement for a moment. A gleam appeared in his eye, but before he could voice his request, Toronto came running over.
"Ready to go?" He called out, opening the door and bouncing in. Blaine could see as Kurt filed away his idea, saving it for later that night when Toronto would be asleep. Instead, he came up with a somewhat different request.
"Well… This hit to my head has got me pretty weak on my feet, and I'm going to need time to make a replacement for these clothes… So you can start by making dinner."
Though this was far from the worst thing Kurt could have suggested, Blaine still groaned at the idea.
"But tonight was supposed to be lasagna night! You know I always look forward to your lasagna, and I can barely boil water properly, much less make it to your standards!" Kurt smirked, throwing a wink at his husband before turning away to make his way to the passenger side of the car. He called over his shoulder,
"I guess you're going to have to learn quickly then, huh?"
A bewildered Blaine stood still for a moment, contemplating whether he should reply before sighing and shaking his head. He made his way to the driver's seat, starting the engine and glancing at his son through the rearview mirror. Toronto, noticing his father's gaze, stuck his tongue out, laughing at his reflection. Blaine returned the gesture, twisting his features and making Toronto giggle uncontrollably before pulling the car out of the parking lot. Kurt watched the two, smiling at Toronto's antics and giving Blaine a knowing grin.
He had no idea what he was in for when they got home.