Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rated M for language, sex.


Blaine was, without a doubt, in a funk. He was in a funk, despite the crisp fall air that seemed to invigorate with every breath and the vibrant oranges and yellows beginning to dot the leaves on the tree-lined streets around the idyllic suburban home he shared with his husband Kurt. The season put Kurt in a playful, romantic mood, but Blaine found it impossible to get in the spirit as the couple took their regular evening walk through the neighborhood.

"Ahh, I just love the sound of leaves crunching under my feet," Kurt sighed, wrinkling his nose into a truly adorable expression. "Don't you?"

"Mmmm," was Blaine's noncommittal reply.

"Oh Blaine, what's the matter?" Kurt asked.

"I don't know," he said, frowning as he realized he truly didn't.

"C'mon, let's go home and have some tea."

A bright yellow school bus came rumbling past, interrupting the peaceful scene. It was empty of its precious cargo, but the sight was still enough to trigger one of Kurt's domestic fantasies.

"Just think, Blaine, maybe someday we'll be putting kids of our own on that bus. Packing their lunches, making sure they remembered their homework…"

"Yeah, maybe," Blaine said, more in surrender than in agreement. He had his own ideas about educating their potential future children, but he definitely wasn't in the mood to discuss them now.

As he and Kurt returned to the house, the catalogs splashed with prominent back-to-school advertisements strewn across the coffee table combined with the recent bus encounter to trigger, for the first time, a question in Blaine's mind: had he peaked in high school?

Although he certainly wasn't a stereotypical jock gone to seed, the fact remained that at Dalton, and at McKinley, Blaine had been almost universally recognized as the shit, and things had been going slowly but steadily downhill since then. Sure, he did his share of drinking and partying at NYU, but any potential for sexual exploration was seriously dampened by his very committed and serious long-term relationship with Kurt, who was an inarguably perfect boyfriend. While Kurt actually achieved moderate off-Broadway success once the pair graduated, Blaine remained unable to land a steady gig. Finances became a more and more pressing issue, and he found that his enthusiasm for the artist lifestyle faded as the cupboards emptied and the bills came due.

What Blaine longed for more than anything else was security, and so after numerous heated conversations and tense, silent evenings (but never a night sleeping on the sofa; Kurt refused to go to bed angry), he convinced Kurt to take a teaching job at a small college upstate. As a compromise, Blaine agreed to look for a real job that would generate steady income, and he found one easily enough once he gave up the idea of getting paid to do what he loved and accepted that performing would never be more than a hobby.

So he punched the clock at Ithaca Insurance, 9 to 5 Monday through Friday spent sitting in a cubicle fielding calls from customers who wanted to save money on car insurance, or pet insurance, or RV insurance. Really it was only half a cubicle, the three-foot-high wall not nearly tall enough to shield him from loudmouth Lindsay in the next stall over. She was always having some mind-numbing conversation with her boyfriend, whose name, as far as Blaine could tell, was either "Sweetie" or "Asshole." On the days they fought, Blaine would have given anything for the top half of that cubicle wall.

But it wasn't bad, really. He got health insurance, even dental, and 10 paid vacation days a year. And at the end of the day he got to go home to his sweet, considerate husband and make sweet, considerate love in the candlelit bedroom as jazz music played softly in the background. Afterwards Kurt would nestle under Blaine's arm with a sigh of contentment and fall asleep with a smile on his face, leaving Blaine to stare futilely into the darkness and try to box out the doubts threatening to flood the empty, silent space. This was a good thing he had going, Blaine tried to tell himself.

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice jolted him out of his reverie.

"Hmm?"

"Did you even hear what I said?"

"No, sorry," Blaine admitted. "I must have spaced out."

"Well I can't say I blame you," said Kurt. "Conan was definitely off his game tonight." Kurt planted a gentle kiss on Blaine's lips, preventing him from confessing that he had also spaced out through dinner, and The X Factor, and the local news.

"Are you ready to go to bed?" Kurt asked in a tone that was slightly huskier than his normal voice, letting Blaine know there was jazz music in his near future.

Blaine nodded his consent and followed Kurt into the bedroom. He allowed Kurt to undress him, assisting when required and mechanically reciprocating Kurt's acts of affection. After being together for so long, Blaine knew he could get Kurt off without even thinking about it, and a telltale twitch in Kurt's boxers demonstrated that his ministrations were already proving effective.

Blaine's own erection was on full display as Kurt lay down on the bed and prepared himself. After a perfunctory kiss on the lips that left Kurt gasping for more, Blaine swiftly and unceremoniously penetrated him. Kurt's mouth opened and his eyes lit up, but as usual he remained almost eerily quiet, letting out only a soft cry to punctuate each of Blaine's thrusts. Blaine stopped immediately once he was spent, rolling onto his back and breathing hard as he listened to Kurt finish himself off.

"I love you," Kurt said breathlessly.

"I love you too," Blaine replied absently, already steeling himself against the dark.


A/N: Uhm yeah IDK about this one so def let me know what you think. I kind of have the whole thing planned out in my head, and it's mostly just really sad. So that should be fun. K byeeeee.