A/N: So this started out me and one of my best friends Sreya and I decided we should write awkward stories to test each other's awkwardness abilities... then this happened...

I'm not entirely sure how, but I do know that it didn't go the way I'd originally planned it to... ah well :')

It's not been beta'd so if there is any mistakes... I'm sorry...

This is dedicated to Noéliie, whose birthday it is tomorrow, so Joyeux Anniversaire, Noe! :D

And also to Darren Criss, in congratulations of his Broadway debut being announced :D

Word count: 2972

Enjoy :)

He just heard those 5 words that every parent dreads.

"Where do babies come from, Daddy? Daddy?" Large brown eyes stared up pleadingly at him through blonde locks.

To the outside world it was clear he wasn't their son, but to them, Oscar was as much theirs as they could've ever hoped and they loved him no matter what.

The man sat in shock at the 4 year old perched on his knee, praying that his husband would turn up soon and find a way round the question.

"Daddy? Will Papa know?"

With that, Kurt was snapped out of his haze and looked down at his son. He wrapped his arms tightly around the boy and held him close, one hand holding the little head to his chest, and he rocked gently back and forward muttering.

"Papa will be here soon; Papa will be here soon…" he repeated just as a curly mop of hair, then a pair of glasses, and finally a goofy grin appeared around the door frame.

"PAPA'S HOME!" the little child squealed, as he squirmed from one father's lap to run to his other father's welcoming arms.

Another little voice was heard, increasing inn volume, the child clearly running towards the room.

"Daddy!" It sounded, dragging the last syllable on far too long, as the girl ran into her seated father's arms.

"Hello my darling!" the man smiled, as he scooped his daughter up into a hug and placed her on his knee where her younger brother had just vacated. "And how was school today?"

Her smile grew wider as she began explaining the day's events – in way too much detail, but Kurt didn't care – and he noticed the couch sink slightly as his husband and son joined them.

He leant over and pecked Blaine on the lips, before returning his attention to his daughter, who was currently describing her lunch, and he leaned down, kissed her temple and sighed.

Everything was perfect.

He had a beautiful husband, a gorgeous daughter and the most handsome son. They lived in a small picturesque village in North West England, where no one cared that they were two men in a strong, loving relationship, raising their two children. It was everything he'd ever wished for as soon as he'd first laid eyes on Blaine on the grand staircase at Dalton Academy.

He felt a small sharp elbow nudge him, followed by another, and soon he realised he was (yet again) day dreaming.

He shook his head, as if to waft away the fog in his mind, and turned to smile at his daughter, who had now finished her epic novel of a description.

"Papa, Papa, Papa!" Oscar whined, whilst repeatedly hitting his father's – although, the small arm didn't pack much power.

After 10 seconds and several more calls of 'Papa', Blaine turned his gaze from his husband down to his son – he was clearly also lost for that small moment. "Yes Oscar?" he asked.

"Papa, I asked Daddy a question before you came home, but he didn't tell me the answer, and-" he was looking slightly upset, so Blaine cut in.

"And what was that question?" he queried, whilst brushing his son's hair from his forehead and kissed the newly revealed skin.

"Where do babies come from?" he asked confidently and Blaine turned to Kurt.

As was usual, the two men had an unspoken conversation through their eyes, Kurt pleading to keep their children's' innocence for as long as was physically possible, and Blaine conveying the need to do this, but that he would do the main talking.

Blaine knew how awkward his husband felt talking about sex – he was still that sixteen year old boy who squirmed happily at the touch of fingertips – so he knew this would be the worst conversation he could (and possibly ever would) have with their children. Kurt even struggled at times to talk to Blaine about sex – Blaine, his best friend, his partner of 19 years, his lover.

Kurt was freaking out. Why on earth are we giving 'the talk' to our children? Surely Blaine must want to keep their innocence! They're kids for god's sake! Not teenagers! They don't need 'the talk'… at least, not from me… Papa can give them the talk while I make tea… Kurt went to stand, but Blaine held his arm and gave him a stern look, as if to say 'No, stay. We both have to do this; together.'

Nine year old Amelia then added "Yeah, Daddy, Papa, where do babies come from? 'Cause in 'Dumbo', the stalks give the baby animals to their mummies and daddies… do stalks bring baby people too?"

Blaine chuckled at his daughter's reference to Disney: Friday nights were movie nights at the Hummel-Anderson residence, and not surprisingly, the movie was often a Disney film. 'Because what child's life is complete without Disney?' Blaine would reason, and Kurt would offer the same excuse for DVDs of musicals.

"Amelia," Blaine started, "it's a bit more complicated than stalks bringing babies. And Oscar, why do you ask? Did you play dollies today at nursery school?" he asked, smiling at his son.

"No…" Oscar began, suddenly looking worried.

"Hey, hey! What's wrong Oz?" Blaine soothed, stroking the boy's head. "You're not in trouble! Come on, tell Papa what's wrong."

"I- I j-just heard you and Daddy talking last night…" he said sheepishly.

A small 'oh' was all Blaine could muster, and Kurt felt this was his time to (admittedly reluctantly) step in. "Why were you up so late, Oscar? Did you have a bad dream?" he asked comfortingly.

He nodded and whispered "I was coming to get Papa to chase the monsters away, but then the door was locked, and I heard you and Papa were screaming some bad words… so I went to go back to bed, but then it went quiet again. I- I was going to knock on the door but then Papa said something about another baby and then I heard him snoring…" Oscar trailed off, his eyes now avoiding both his fathers' and his sister's.

Kurt and Blaine wore identical blushes on their faces at what their son had heard last night.

It was one of their infrequent moments of intimacy together, and Blaine was crying out Kurt's name followed by a string of expletives, Kurt matching his cries just a few moments later.

Collapsing onto the bed, intertwined with one another, Blaine had whispered (or so he thought).

"I want another one, Kurt… I want another baby…" but Kurt didn't have the energy to verbally reply. He simply nodded and nuzzled his head into Blaine's bare chest before almost immediately drifiting off to sleep, because Kurt Hummel was well and truly exhausted after that!

"Amelia, Oscar," Blaine started, "why don't you two go and play for a bit whilst your Daddy and I start your dinner, okay?" Kurt sent Blaine a relieved (and yet again unspoken) 'thank you', but their children were less convinced.

"But Daddy! Papa! Why won't you answer Oscar's question?" Amelia whined.

"Please, Papa… why won't you just tell us?" the little boy added.

"We will, Oscar," Blaine began, sternly, "but later. Right now, Daddy and I need to make your dinner."

Kurt noticed something different in Blaine's voice, so took that as his cue to lift his daughter from his lap and stand up, giving her one last tight hug before reconnecting her feet with the floor.

Always observant, Amelia could tell when her fathers needed to talk in private, so grabbed her brother by the arm and said "Come on Oscar, let's go play. We can play princes and princesses if you want? Or we can play cars!"

At the thought of playing cars with his sister, he leapt from his father's lap and the two ran screaming happily down the hall towards the once-study-now-play room, and both men looked at each other and silently agreed 'Kitchen'.

Blaine was the first to talk.

"Kurt, we have to do this… we always knew we would have to at some point, even if we were expecting it later…" he looked up at Kurt who was stood with his back straight and stiff, clearly drowning in the awkwardness and tension filled air. "Kurt, come here." But he didn't move; couldn't move in all his embarrassment. "Kurt…"

Blaine almost ran around the island, and held his husband in a warm, comforting embrace, stroking his hair softly to try and relax him. "Kurt, come on." He begged. "I know it's incredibly awkward, and I know you want to keep their innocence… I mean, Oscar's 4 for god's sake… but in year or two, Amelia's going to get Sex Ed classes at school, and that's just going to cause more awkwardness… I mean, yeah sure, they'll teach her about puberty and sex, but remember, they don't teach about gay sex… even as accepting as they are, they would never…"

Kurt sighed. "I wish we were back in the US, where they didn't have compulsory Sex Ed… and I mean, at 10? It's so young Blaine! Too young! And Oscar is only 4… please Blaine! Not now… not yet…"

"I know, Kurt, I know…" he paused. "I know how much you hate talking about all this stuff" Blaine said, pulling out of their embrace to look straight into Kurt's eyes "but we need to do this." He connected their lips for a short, encouraging kiss, before continuing.

"I'm not afraid to admit that I'm dreading this too, because I am, I mean, who wouldn't?"

"I- I- I can't B-Blaine." Kurt whimpered. "I just c- can't!"

Blaine was at a loss. My husband is blubbering in my arms, and my children are practically demanding 'the talk'. I knew we would get to this stage at some point, but I hate that it had to come so soon. Why can't we just leave it for another day? But then he remembered. Oh yeah… the kids… Seriously, why do kids have to be so nosy and inquisitive all the time? His thoughts battled. But I love them, how could I say no? I mean, just seeing Oscar's eyes tear makes me want to too! I mean, how could I live with myself if I made my kid cry, just because of something I didn't want to do?

His thought train felt like one of those Japanese bullet trains, hurtling at 200 miles an hour trying to logically figure out the situation at hand – how to stop his husband crying; how to cure his husband's prudishness; how to avoid answering his children's question. And then the bullet hit a metal plate and broke in two.

"Blaine? What are we going to do?" Blaine was relieved that his husband had slowed down his tears (but they were still there nevertheless) and replied as honestly as he could.

"I'm not sure, Kurt; maybe we could…" the train started up again, delivering thoughts and ideas, as to how this could, would, should go, and even though both men knew he really didn't need to (for Kurt and Blaine were one – their minds were one – and they knew exactly what each other was thinking whenever), he voiced his suggestions, staring deep into his husband's blue-grey eyes.

"Well there's the obvious – suck it up and just tell them… You can explain about love and romance, because you're the expert on that, and I can tell them the… mechanics… Or we could call our parents? I'm sure Carole would be good at that sort of thing, no? I mean, we could get her on video call? Or then there's always the "you don't need to know, it doesn't matter" approach." Blaine listed endless ideas. "We could tell them that 'Dumbo' really is right and babies come from stalks… Or that mummies and daddies pick them up from the hospital?"

Blaine felt hopeless – none of his ideas were any use, and Kurt was certainly not warming to any of them.

Then about 1000 trains stopped at the station in Blaine's head all at once, all delivering their own small (but useful) part of the puzzle that was Blaine's best idea yet.

Kurt noticed the change in Blaine's head and was immediately impressed with the idea. "But you have to go and get it, give it to them, and I get to stay well away…"

"Kurt…" Kurt turned his head from Blaine's burning eyes, and stared down at the floor, resting his chin on his husband's shoulder, where it always had, and always would fit perfectly. "Kurt, look at me." But he didn't. "Kurt, I love you. I love you so much, and I hate to see you like this, and I wish I could stop it. But I hate even more that it's me making you feel like this, pressuring you again. Kurt, look at me."

This time his husband complied and said more words than he had in the last 10 minutes combined:

"I- I love you too, Blaine. So, so much I can't even express. It's like my heart is so much yours that I don't even know if it's still in my chest at all, or whether it's in yours, with your heart… You could be Dr Who and I wouldn't know it…" Blaine giggled at his man, who continued. "And I understand that we need to do this, that it needs to be done. As much as I know I'm going to seriously dread it… But if you're there, and if you hold me through it, I may just manage. Can we just put this off for maybe a week or two? At least let's properly think this through? If we think this through, and plan out an answer to all the possible questions they're going to ask, and if you hold me, I can do this… Will you, Blaine? Will you hold me?"

Blaine had never (okay, maybe once or twice before) felt this strong an urge as to want to hold his husband, protect him, encompass his in a bubble that no one can pop. A bubble of love that no one can break, or touch him – because Blaine wants to keep his husband happy and hates, hates, hates knowing he is sad, or upset, or worrying about anything at all! From whether they have the money that month to buy the latest designer jacket he so desperately wants, to what to cook the kids for dinner, Kurt worried about almost everything. And it killed Blaine every time.

So Blaine lent in and placed his lips firmly, yet still softly, against Kurt's, in that way that he'd seemed to have perfected for whenever Kurt was upset. It was sweet – not forcing Kurt into anything he didn't want to do; gentle – conveying his love; and strong – attempting to shield Kurt from everything he could.

Kurt felt himself melting into Blaine's arms – he had never kissed him with this much emotion, ever and Kurt was overwhelmed by the feeling, though not kissing back. He felt his legs give way, and the tell-tale wetness dripping down his cheeks.

Blaine panicked. What was happening to Kurt? He was holding his husband up, and the only thing he could think to do was sink down to the floor with him, holding him tightly, and never wanting to let go.

He shuffled til his back was against the counter and held Kurt on his lap, as if he were a small child, holding his body close, and hugging him, with one arm under his knees holding them in towards his chest.

Oscar was getting bored.

Yes, he loved playing cars with his sister, because it was a very rare occurrence, but he was bored. And now she had left to try and find another car of hers, he was all alone, and began thinking.

Daddy and Papa won't tell me where babies come from. He thought to himself. And that makes me scared, because they always tell me when I ask them questions… And then Papa sounded mad at me. The small boy's lip began to quiver at the thought of being in trouble.

He didn't know what to do. Tears were billowing out of his eyes and his sister had still not returned, so he did what was natural – what he always did when he was upset.

Tiny footsteps were echoing in the quiet amidst sniffles and the occasional sound of a kiss being pressed to a forehead.

Footsteps became louder, quicker, more frantic. Then they stopped.

Weeps eluded the small child's mouth as he clambered over a jumble of limbs to seat himself on the lap of his crying father, who was in turn in the lap of his husband.

Blaine sat in silence, feeling completely useless: his husband – still crying – sat with his head buried into his shoulder, his whole body rapidly rising and falling as he sobbed; and now his son was mirroring his father's actions, nuzzling his head into Blaine's other shoulder.

Shit. What the fuck am I supposed to do? My husband is still crying, my son is now crying, so soon I will be a mass of tears and then what would I do? Blaine felt like his brain was about to implode. Too much going on. Too many tears. Too much pressure. Too much stress. Too much to think about. Too much; too much…

His brain was throbbing at the stress induced headache. He was fighting back the need to cry out in pain. He was fighting back the need to cry. He was fighting back the longing to run.

He was fighting. For Kurt. For Oscar. For Amelia.

He would always fight, he had always fought, but this one was an impossible battle. And Blaine was tragically losing.

And there you have it... the inner workings of my brain when left to wander free... hope it wasn't too bad!

I think Kurt is a bit out of character here... I doubt he'd get that worked up about sex, but ya know... who knows? (:

Please review! :D