This idea just wouldn't leave me alone. It was based on a tumblr post about how Kurt and Blaine are almost never depicted in future fics without any kids. I wanted to explore that a little bit because I think it's a fair point.
Come say hi on tumblr! practical-amanda
"What was the artist we saw last time we were here?" Kurt mused, looking contemplatively at the Picasso in front of him. The placard on the side said it was called Woman Playing With a Small Cat. "It was Paul something. I think it started with a K."
"I look it up," Blaine offered, fishing his phone out of his pocket.
"No, no," Kurt insisted, "we should try to remember. We can't let our brains get lazy."
"Kurt, we're not that old," Blaine teased. This was an argument they had fairly regularly, Kurt insisting that they shouldn't rely on technology for things they could probably remember if they tried hard enough, and Blaine insisting that completing the weekly Sunday Times crossword puzzle was enough for now. They were only forty nine. They were in the few months of the year where they were the same age. Blaine was secretly dreading the day when Kurt was fifty and he was still forty nine. He's hoping that if he buys his husband a good enough present, it will keep the panic at a minimum. "Just let me..."
"Klee!" Kurt shouted suddenly. "It was Paul Klee! I told you we didn't need to look it up," he said triumphantly.
Blaine rolled his eyes, but gave Kurt a kiss on the cheek anyway, "well done, deer," he said with a laugh. "I'm going to go down to the permanent collection for a bit. Meet me there when you're done?" Kurt nodded in agreement and watched his husband retreat down the long ramp that made up the entire museum.
They were currently at the Guggenheim in New York City. There was an exhibit there called 'Picasso in Black and White' currently, and Kurt had always had more patience for cubist art than Blaine. For almost thirty years now, the two of them had made a weekly trip to a New York City museum. Kurt thought fondly back on when they had started the tradition.
"Blaine, Blaine!" he said in a stage whisper, wiggling his boyfriend's shoulder in an effort to wake him up. "Blaine, get up!"
"I'm sleeping," Blaine replied, voice muffled by the pillow. "It's too early."
"It's almost eleven o'clock," Kurt said impatiently.
"That's early for a Sunday," Blaine said, attempting to pull the blankets out of Kurt's grip and over his head.
"But we're in New York City!" Kurt implored. "We could be out exploring!"
"Kurt, you've been living here for a year already," Blaine said, but he could feel his resolve slowly slipping. Blaine and Kurt had moved into and apartment on the upper, upper west side. Kurt was sick of living all the way in Brooklyn and Blaine had busted out of Ohio almost before the ink was done drying on his high school diploma. Their apartment was much closer to the Vogue offices and Columbia, where Blaine was starting in a month.
"Yeah, but I haven't been here with you so it didn't count," Kurt said, giving Blaine a look that always got him his way.
Blaine sighed. He knew when he had been beaten, "Okay, just give me twenty minutes and we can go wherever you want."
They had taken the subway all the way to Chelsea that morning. They got breakfast at Murray's Bagels and spent the afternoon window shopping until they happened upon the Rubin Museum of Himalayan Art. They had spent almost every Sunday since then in a similar way, slowly visiting every museum and gallery in the city. The Guggenheim was one of their favorites.
A lot had changed about their relationship in so many years. They were still fundamentally the same Kurt and Blaine. They loved each other just as much if not more than they did when their relationship was still new, but Kurt had grown to appreciate and love the experience of having spent more of his life with Blaine than without him.
Gone were the days where it seemed like the world would end if they weren't touching each other in some way. Gone were the days of absurdly grand gestures of love that shouted their relationship from the highest roof tops. And gone were the days of waxing poetic with words like 'soul mate' and 'forever'. Kurt had come to appreciate the quiet intimacy of a warm hand on his back, guiding him through a crowd. He realized at this point in his life that the sweet little notes that Blaine slips into his lunch a few times a week make him happier than any song in the courtyard of their old high school ever did. And there was no need to talk about 'soul mates' and 'forever', they were just facts. Those words had long been tattooed on both of their hearts.
Some things hadn't changed, though. It still annoyed Blaine when Kurt snapped his fingers at waiters, they were still just as heavily addicted to their daily dose of caffeine, they still liked to watch crappy reality TV together, and they still spent hours lying in bed, usually after a round of sex, dreaming about retiring to Provincetown and buying a lighthouse. The only difference, was that those dreams were a lot more real.
They weren't rich, per say, but Blaine had a sizable inheritance from his grandfather that they had barely tapped into, and they both had good jobs and sensible saving habits. It didn't hurt, that they were still comfortably living in a cozy one bedroom on the Upper west side (a little bit further down and closer to Central Park, but Upper west side none the less) and they didn't have any kids to put through college.
That was something else that didn't change. In all their hours of imagining their futures, they had never thought of themselves becoming parents. They were the extremely proud uncles of three beautiful little girls and if anyone asked Blaine if he had any kids, as a kindergarten teacher, he always said yes: he had twenty five of them. After they had married, however, they had a conversation about kids and they had both decided that it wasn't for them. Kurt often worked long hours for the clothing line he owned and Blaine thought that taking care of their two terriers was quite enough work for him.
"Ready to go, love?" Kurt asked, slipping his hand into Blaine's and taking a look at the Kandinsky that he had found him standing in front of. He tucked a stray salt and pepper curl behind his ear. "I was thinking we could go to Sarabeth's for lunch. I'm craving one of their sandwiches."
"Sounds good to me," Blaine said, allowing himself to be led out of the museum and out onto the sidewalk.