A/N: I didn't mean for what happens in the first section to happen. I genuinely didn't. But I was just writing away and it appeared and I was like 'oh, you're not supposed to be there', and I can honestly say I've had a plan in mind for this for-fucking-ever and then my own fingers betray me and write an alternative. But it fits in so well I really couldn't bring myself to edit it out. So I apologise if it isn't what you had in mind or it doesn't happen how you wanted or whatever, but I can honestly say this isn't even how Iimagined it so... we're all in the same boat here really...

ENJOY...

Wednesday 25th December 2019

Kurt

I can smell bleach.

Strong and harsh, cutting the back of my throat and making my head spin. Unrelenting and unignorable and it burns my lungs and my brain and absorbs into my heart before evaporating through my body. My hands are cold, my arms and shoulders and torso cold. Cold right down to my toes and up to the tips of my ears. So cold I'm shaking. Achingly cold. I whimper, I try to move but can't, shackled by unknown forces, the stench of tooclean infesting my body, bright, white dazzling fluorescent lights burn my irises and hold me down.

I feel something stir behind me but my body won't allow me to move, I can't crane my neck to see, my eyes locked in place within their sockets, wide and open but blind. I'm scared. Scared beyond words and I can't move. Why can't I move?

"Kurt?" a voice says behind me. But the voice is different, contrasting with every unwelcome sight of too bright, the taste of too bitter, feeling weak and hearing screaming silence and the smell of bleach which leaves gashes on your oesophagus. The voice is warm and familiar and deep with sleep. Gruff and a little hoarse and so beautiful as I feel a point of heat press against my chest, seeping into my skin and spreading slowly like the creeping vines of ivy. I whimper again, but it isn't from fear this time; it's relief. It's Blaine. "Kurt?" he says my name again and I will myself to wake up. Please can I just wake up?

The thick cloud begins to lift and the cold is replaced by heat. Soft sheets and a heavy duvet, a wide hand on my chest, pressing gently as a body lays flush along my spine. Curved and curled and caressing me from head to toe as I feel fear vanish from within me. Because I'm safe. I sigh heavily, lips falling open as I take a deep breath, the last of the bleach disappearing from my sleep addled mind as my eyes blink willingly open. I see our room swathed in darkness. The outline of the vanity, ceiling reflected in mirror, the open bathroom door and the few pictures against the wall.

"Are you okay?" he whispers against my hair as I feel him settle back down behind me from where he'd leant up, arm tightening around my waist as he shuffles impossibly closer. I nod, words dry on my tongue as my eyes fall shut and every aching, straining, protesting muscle and nerve and bone in my body relaxes. I allow myself to lean back against him, needing to feel his heat and his solidity to completely believe he's real.

But he is. Deliciously warm from sleep and so close I can feel each breath and beat of his heart against my spine. "I'm fine. Just a nightmare," I finally say, gliding one hand over his which rests around me, lacing our fingers together and pulling the cover right up to my chin.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" he asks gently, lips pressing dry against the bone at the tip of my spine. I shake my head, pulling him tighter, closer, despite there being no space left between us. "Kurt?" he speaks after a silence of rhythmic breathing.

I hum, smiling a hidden smile as I feel him shift and lean up behind me, soft breath tickling the downy hairs behind my ear.

"Merry Christmas," he murmurs against my skin, lips grazing gently as I shudder against him, turning to look over my shoulder. Our eyes lock, hazy with sleep and heat and love as a slow smile stretches across my face, mirroring his perfectly.

"Already?" I ask, lifting my head to look at the clock beside me.

"Just," he tells me, moving to lie on his back. I smile as I roll over, curling into his shape, lips against his skin beneath my body, supple and sleep warm.

"Merry Christmas," I say back, words almost silent as I breathe him in. He smells of the shampoo I bought him for 'unruly' hair and my shower gel. He smells faintly of aftershave, a hint of sweat and then the rest is just him;unnameable and unplaceable but completely unforgettable. He smells masculine and I stifle a groan as I nuzzle my nose along his chest, up his neck, burrowing into the hollow beneath his ear as I try to commit his smell to memory. As if I haven't already.

Finally my eyes open and meet his, shining bright and honest in the dark, gleaming with the slither of moonlight through the window. He leans down, closing the gap, lips against lips as we both sigh and stretch. I lean up while he leans down and it hurts but the pain is so goodas we hold still and silent and unbreakable in that moment. The only movement on Christmas morning is the press of our lips together as we move in a well practiced dance.

I push myself up further, an elbow above his shoulder as the kiss deepens, tongues pushing between lips, small moans meeting in the middle, silenced by the night and the thump of hearts. His hand is in my hair, soft but rough and perfect, one around my waist, down to the base of my spine as I tremble and fist his curls with my free hand, holding him still as I pull back and take a deep breath.

I rest our foreheads together, catching my breath, eyes closed as I lean with one arm against his bare chest, rising and falling and I can feel his eyes on me. I hear him lick his lips and I wonder if they taste of me. I inch forward, eyes still closed until I feel the swell of his lips against mine, and then I speak between breaths, "I want this… with you… forever," a secret between us before I kiss him, swallowing his gasp before he has a chance to speak.

My heart feels like a frenzied bird caught in the cage of my ribs, frantic for flight but contained as a second passes of him unmoving. And then he's kissing back, making my toes curl as his tongue presses against mine, teeth around my bottom lip, noses bumping as his nails claw at my skin and hold me tighter, closer, unmoving against him as his body literally quakes beneath me and then he pulls back, my lips dipping to follow his, scared of what he might say, trying to silence him the only way I know how.

But he ducks his head to the side and my face falls into the dent he's left in the pillow, and now I'm scared. Because I've spoken the truth and there's no taking it back and he's no longer kissing me and what if-

"Please," he swallows, "please tell me you mean that and aren't just saying it to get in my pants?" he asks quickly, voice steady but words shaky around the edges. Doubtful but hopeful. Eyes wide, hands tight, body fragile.

I lean up, looking at him properly, the line of his hair and the swoop of his brow. Bright searching eyes, trusting but a little untrusting as I smile, the bird in my chest thrashing for freedom as I manage to nod, "I mean it," I manage to whisper through a nervous laugh before I bury my head in his neck. Hiding myself from his eyes which search my soul for the truth, but I guard it away, I close and bolt the doors and hope to god that he has the key.

He's motionless beneath me. I can feel his heart heavy and uncontrollable beneath my palm, I can feel his muscles quiver with tension. And then he's sweeping away my worries, rolling me forcefully but with caressing hands onto my back as he takes my breath away. Literally and metaphorically as he sucks the air from my lungs and makes my head spin because he has the key; he's had the key all along. He has a million keys to unlock a million different parts of me, and I'm all his. Every part of me is his for the taking.

So he takes my heart and holds it in his hands and suddenly the bird is calm, scared and tentative as his lips press against mine, tongues sliding together, hands fisting my t-shirt, tugging it over my head as he arcs me into the mattress. He holds me down with all his weight, strong with thick muscles, heavy and unmoveable and solid on top of me as he speaks words which make my heart skip a beat, my hands tremor against his shoulders and my eyes widen, staring unblinkingly up. "Marry me?" he asks, barely a whisper against my lips as his eyes remain hopeful but scared on my own.

I feel my own eyes widen, his words sinking through my skin and into every cell of my body as I try desperately to comprehend them. But then I'm nodding, a second too soon and a second too late but I'm nodding and there are tears in my eyes and they're falling too quick down my face, disappearing into my hairline as my face breaks in two with the force of my smile. And he's smiling, watching with parted, wet lips as I nod beneath the solid weight of him. "Y-yes!" I finally stutter, "Yes! God yes!" I practically gasp before his hands are rough but sogentle against my cheeks and he's holding me still as he kisses me breathless.

And I'm soaring. Higher than the house and into the sky, beyond the clouds, lighter than air as I float, float, floataway. Far away into a world of hot, tender skin and wide smiles, tears in eyes and hands on hips. The slide of cotton down thighs as I laugh, his face in my neck, words whispered between bodies. "I want this too," he keeps saying as his lips decorate every inch of my burning skin, "forever," he repeats as he thumbs beneath my eyes, his own tears dripping a tattoo against my chest. And then his fingers are brushing along my thighs and I'm literally shaking with happiness, his body leaning briefly over mine as my lips press against his chest.

My legs part on instinct as his hand settles between them, mouth murmuring words against my lips, words intertwined with other words, and sentences colliding and collapsing because there is just somuch to be said but so much more to be felt. And then he's inside of me, fingers slick and familiar and perfect and I can't remember how we got here. I can't remember the shedding of clothes or the slicking of fingers but I remember those words. I remember my promise. Our promise.

As he crooks his fingers inside of me I keen, hips arcing high off the mattress as his lips draw the noise from within me and he's pulling back, sweat beading at his temple and talking again. I force myself to at least try to listen but his sentences mix and form nonsense but even his nonsense makes sense, and I know exactly what he's trying to say, "doesn't need to be… can be years… one day… properly… I just had to know… love you… since the start… you're beautiful… fuck… Kurt!"

"I know, I know," I try to tell him; "I love you, so much. Too much," I try to explain, but words don't mean anything anymore. Words aren't enough. Maybe they've never been enough. Nothing is enough,I think as his fingers slide from within me, lips dancing desperate against flushed skin and I'm literally shuddering with need. "Please," I beg, cock achingly hard against my stomach as he just stares down at me with wide disbelieving eyes, fingers stroking absently along my inner thigh, eyelashes clumping with tears and he's so beautiful.

I bring my shaking hands up to his face, holding him delicately, feeling his jaw work as he swallows and his cheeks change shape beneath my palm as he smiles. Corners of his eyes wrinkling as his they fall shut with a gentle laugh and the tears clinging to his longest lashes fall and mix with my sweat, dripping down my sternum. He leans forward, head buried in my shoulder, bracing himself against my chest as I kiss the taut column of his neck, stifling a moan as his hands grasp my thighs, sliding sweat streaked up to my knees, hooking them around his neck as he steadies his arms.

"Kurt," he sighs against my lips, my neck, my chest, one hand sliding down my body, fingers tickling and leaving in their wake a trail of goose bumps over my stomach. Gently tracing over my cock, my balls and I whimper, thrusting uselessly up into air, grazing my perineum before disappearing. My body shuddering as his lips press wet and swollen and sweet against mine.

Then I feel his cock press against my hole, blunt and hard and I gasp and whimper, forcing my hips from the bed, rubbing against him as with one hand he holds me down, the other lining himself up. He stills, just resting there before he nudges my face up with his head, making me look at him instead of our almost joined bodies. He's flushed, red painted high on his cheeks, rough patches down his neck from my slight stubble, lips swollen with words which aren't enough and eyes bright with tears.

"Forever?" he stutters, as if I haven't already agreed. But I nod, knowing he needs reassurance that this is real because so do I, because this is nothing like I imagined. Waking up from a nightmare on Christmas morning, my entire family in the house, his weight on top of me, two words whispered like a lifeline and I cling to them with both hands, with everything I have because they're everything I've ever needed or wanted and it isreal. It has to be real because it's better than anything my mind could have created.

I nod, mouth opening to speak but unable to, breathing shallow and ragged, throat sore from crying and body aching and trembling to be touched. But he smiles, lips against lips, sharing breath and unspoken words as I feel him push gently, slowly sinking into me and drowning because neither of us can breathe. His hip bones meet my ass and I shudder with the feeling of stretched and open but completely wholeand full and complete. His hands dance back up my chest, forearms either side of my head, caging us together before our lips drag apart, a gasp ripped from within me as I feel him pull back slightly before sinking achingly slowly back in, my spine arching and shuddering with waves of desire.

He whispers words against my skin, too soft for my ears but sinking into my bones as I quiver and moan silently beneath him, my hips rolling up to meet his, hands tight around his neck, over his shoulders, nails down his back as he moves within me. I can feel my body trembling, toes curled, ankles locked around his neck, thighs quivering, body rolling up, up further, deeper; desperate.

"Every second of forever," I manage to sigh against his collarbone before I gasp, eyes rolling back, head pressing into the pillow, mouth gaping as his cock presses repeatedly against my prostate, sending jerks and waves of hot liquid unfurling up my spine, fingertips tingling, nails branding him like hot irons as my spine unfolds and forms a bridge above the bed. Our chests press together and I don't miss his smirk and gentle moans of pleasure as he cants his hips over and over again, picking me apart at the seams as I crumble beneath him.

My legs begin to slip as they weaken; boneless around him as sweat slicked they drop from his shoulders. He lets them fall, arms moving quickly to hold my neck, one dipped to cradle my hip, the sudden change of angle making me keen and gasp and shudder, hips juddering as my legs regain strength and knot tight around his waist, cries of pleasure ripped from my chest as he kisses me, wet and hungry and delicious. Our teeth clink and noses bump and we both moan into one another, bodies fallen into rhythm, meeting in the middle with hard, solid thrusts and wet slaps of skin.

"Fuck Kurt," he groans into my mouth, his hand on my hip moving to close tight around my cock, smearing the beads of pre-come down the shaft before beginning to stroke in slow, steady movements. So different from the rapid grind of his hips that I can't take it, my body conflicted, to thrust into his hand or down on his cock I can't decide but it doesn't matter because he's everywhere. Solid and unmoving and perfect, teeth closing along my collarbone as my entire body shudders and I whimper, hands tightening and loosening around every part of him I can reach, lips swollen and wet with his saliva, every nerve screaming for attention.

He groans deep in his chest, the vibrations sparking shivers through my body where we touch as I jolt beneath him, and it's too much. I can't take it, hands and lips and limbs tangled and joint but not close enough as I feel my skin rip and my body fall apart beneath him. My bones are breaking and my heart is soaring, breath caught in my throat as my body tightens, every muscle taut and straining as I stretch off the mattress, his body heavy above me as for a second I'm frozen. Held up by my hips, legs around him as I split and break open and come, his hand moving over me as I streak our chests, my ass tightening around him as he continues to thrust deep within me, lips painting words against my body.

And then I slump all at once, eyes closed, arms falling from around him to lie stretched above my head, legs dropping to the bed as he slows, movements becoming gentle. Both his hands move up to my face, a finger along my lips which open beneath his touch, a whimper falling from within me as he continues to slide inside me, too sensitive but perfect. My eyes flutter open, met by shining hazel, honey and caramel and everything sweet in the world. He smiles. It's slow and languid and stretching across his face as I feel him begin to rebuild me. Stitching together my sides with gentle strokes and forcing my heart back into my chest, fluttering and completely his. My lips sealed with a kiss as with a few final sporadic but careful thrusts he comes deep inside of me, a moan of pleasure torn from his chest to settle against my lips.

He falls, broken but whole on top of me with a grunt, head heavy beside my thumping pulse as our chests swell with much needed air. We settle into the shape of one another, skin wet and hot and limbs weak; bodies sated. We're still for a long time, still joined at the hips, unmoving but for deep breaths and my hand moving to trail up and down the dip of his spine. Eventually I look down, I see his eyes closed, lips parted, heart bared and I smile, head falling back against the pillow with a smile. Mine, I think, all mine.

Eventually he stirs, groaning as he lifts his head, temple sticking slightly to my chest with sweat and I wince as he moves inside of me unintentionally. "Sorry," he says quickly, stilling against me, angling his head to look at me, chin against my chest as my half smiles, eyelids heavy, hair tangled and wild.

"S'okay," I say, moving a hand to card through his sticky curls. He hums against my chest, eyes drifting shut again.

"I feel asleep a little there," he finally says through a laugh.

I snort quietly, "I noticed," I tell him, unable to wipe the wide grin from my face as I stare into his face.

"I'm gunna have to…" he trails off, manoeuvring his arms to steady himself as he shoots me an apologetic look.

I flinch again, biting my lip before nodding, "I know, it's okay," I tell him, screwing my eyes shut as his weight lifts from on top of me, cock sliding out with a tinge of oversensitivity and pain, leaving me empty and my skin prickling with cold.

But then he's back on top of me, warm and still a little sweaty, "I'm sorry," he tells me again, pressing soft kisses against drying skin.

I just hum in response, stretching my arms out either side of me, feeling the bones crack before wrapping them around him, rolling us to one side, face to face and heart to heart as we both smile and shuffle into the same space.

"So…" I begin eyes wide as I watch his open, questioning as one hand rises to curl around my neck, stroking behind my ear.

"So…" he replies, causing me to roll my eyes and push at him playfully. He laughs, smiling so wide his gums show as he fights back, tangling his limbs around me and holding us together. "So what?" he finally asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"You asked me to marry you," I say, barely louder than a whisper as I swallow and force myself to look into his eyes

He smiles a little, confusion creasing his brow before speaking, "I'm aware," he says, voice bursting with happiness.

I push at him again, pinching the skin of his waist beneath my hand and making him jolt, "stop being a dick and talk to me properly," I say as he stifles a laugh and rubs at his skin.

"I am!" he protests, perpetual grin plastered across his face, eyes shining bright.

"Well…" I take a breath, "did you mean it?" I manage to ask, all playfulness gone from my voice, replaced by badly hidden doubt.

His eyes widen instantly, smile dropping, mouth opening in shock, "what?" he asks, eyes darting between mine frantically. "Yes! Of course I meant it!" he pulls back slightly, hands loosening around me before he speaks, voice wounded and pained, "W-why? Didn't you mean it when you said…" he trails off helplessly.

"Of course I did!" I instantly reassure him, "I just… wanted to make sure," I tell him, pulling him back against me as his body slumps with relief.

I feel him relax with a sigh, "you idiot!" he chastises, simultaneously pushing me away and pulling me against him. "You scared me," he tells me, shaking his head. I smile a little and am relieved when he smiles back, leaning forward he presses his lips to mine, bittersweet with evaporating fear and returning laughter. "I don't just propose to anyone y'know," he finally laughs again, pulling back to stare at me for a long moment. "I'll do it properly one day," he finally says when I shuffle against him, my eyes falling closed against his neck.

"What properly?" I ask against his sternum, nose nuzzling into his throat, inhaling that familiar smell.

"The proposal," he whispers above me, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.

"That wasn't a proper proposal?" I ask confused.

"No no, it was! I just… you deserve something perfect," he promises, pressing a kiss to my hair beneath his lips, lingering there a moment longer I hear as he inhales, humming gently with pleasure.

"That was perfect," I assure him, unable to imagine a more perfect proposal.

I feel him shake his head, one leg pressing between mine, forcing mine over his, hooking around him. "It wasn't. But it will be," I hear the smile in his voice and roll my eyes.

"Blaine, seriously… it was perfect." I lean back to look up at him, "you don't have to do anything," I try to tell him, rubbing my palm up and down his side, around his back and along the curve of his spine.

He's shaking his head again, eyes still closed as he speaks the thoughts rushing through his mind "…I didn't even have a ring, or get down on one knee…"

I silence him with a kiss, revelling in his little jolt of shock before he sinks into me, lips firm and unrelenting against mine. "I don't need those things," I say as I pull back, his eyes flickering open, hazy with sleep and warmth and love, "just you," I tell him truthfully.

He hums again, leaning forward to rub our noses together, "we'll see," he says, eyes closing.

"Blaine!" I groan, elongating the syllable as I kick at his shin beneath swathes of fabric. I feel him laugh, cradling my head in his hands as he presses closer.

"Shh, go sleep, Ava will be up in a couple of hours," he mouths the words against my neck as I shiver, giving up fighting because I've never been able to stop him when he gets an idea stuck in his head.

The night is suddenly thick around us. Dark and quiet. Cold outside our bed and the warmth of each others arms. I let my mind wander momentarily, imagining all the ways he might decide to propose 'properly', my mind working over all the ways I've imagined doing it myself. Flowers and dinners and sunsets, words and speeches and unavoidable clichés, promises and tears and smiles. Every imaginable situation dulls in comparison to tonight though; real and honest and everything you can't possibly plan in advance.

I smile into the darkness of morning and speak three words I can't imagine ever not being true, "I love you."

"I love you too," he instantly replies, surprising me because I'd thought he'd be asleep. "Even though you won't let me get down on one knee and serenade you," he adds with a smirk against my neck, a kiss against my pulse, a promise against my heart.

"Shut up," I tell him, unable to wipe the smile off my face as I fall into a dreamless sleep, because everything I've ever dreamt of is now reality.

/

Our bedroom door bangs open, swinging on its hinges, squeaking in the night before a voice screams, "daddy!" and I bolt upright, pulling the covers up my chest despite already being covered. My eyes blink open, staring into darkness, fuzzy with sleep and confusion as Blaine wakes beside me, a hand on my thigh, reassuring as I search the room for the voice.

"I'm here Av," he mumbles, voice gruff and deep as my mind hurries to catch up with my body.

"He's been!" She practically screams and I wince, her voice high pitched and excited, tiny silhouette just visible in the doorway where she's literally bouncing with excitement.

"What is she talking about?" I ask, turning to Blaine who's sitting up beside me, stretching his back and rubbing at his eyes.

He turns to stare at me, brow furrowed before he speaks, "Santa… duh!" he snorts, laughing when I groan and fall back heavy against the mattress, uncomfortably aware of my come smeared chest, the slight damp of the bed sheets and the wetness between my thighs.

"Get up!" She yells, impatient and shockingly loud for a person of her size. Feet stomping on the floor as she jumps from one leg to the other.

"We are!" Blaine shouts back with laughter in his voice, and I can't help but groan, all too familiar with the shouting matches him and Ava have before they both burst into giggles. I try to stay as far away as possible when that happens. "Go and wake Finn!" He tells her, although I doubt anyone in the house is still asleep.

"Oh my god!" She suddenly exclaims, her body stilling with shock, "I bet Finn doesn't know Santa's been yet! He'll be so excited," she squeals as she bolts from our doorway, foot steps heavy in the otherwise silent house as she flies down the hall.

Blaine's laughing when he turns to face me, spread out on my back, rubbing tiredly at my eyes. I peer at him through my fingers, grinning when he leans over me, "hey fiancé," he says against my lips, a spark of electricity racing up my spine and through every nerve of my body as I smile into the kiss.

"I like the sound of that," I say when he finally pulls away, hearing in the distance a deep laugh, Finn, followed by a scream of shock, Rachel.

"It's four in the god damn morning, what is going on!" I then hear my Dad's voice shouting from his and Carole's room, no doubt confused, not having had a child in the house for Christmas since I was young.

"Burt!" I hear Ava scream, followed by the bang of another door and Carole's laughter drifting through the house.

Blaine and I exchange smiles before I pull him back down, angled strangely our lips meet and I lick between them, wanting to taste him in my mouth later today. Eventually he pulls back, groaning at the ache in his back, swinging his legs off the bed I reach a hand up and run it down the nodules of his spine. He hums beneath my palm.

"Do you mind if we don't mention this to dad and Carole, not just yet anyway?" I ask nervously.

His head turns slightly, leaning back into the palm of my hand as my fingers tangle in his hair, "course not," he hums. "I sort of guessed you wouldn't want to," he then says.

Guilt washes through me, "No! It's not that, it's just-" I try to assure him before he turns smiling to face me.

"I know Kurt, I get it. They'll think it's too soon and all the usual stuff parents say," he rolls his eyes with a laugh. I nod, glad he understands, "and anyway, I like it being our secret for a while," he tells me, turning around and taking my face in his hand. "Plus… if they don't know I have an excuse to do it again properly," he teases.

I laugh as I nuzzle into his palm against my cheek, "you're impossible," I tell him, smiling before he leans down and presses his lips against mine, gentle and chaste and not nearly enough. "And anyway," I say as he pulls back, "maybe I'llpropose before you get the chance," I tease.

He chuckles, shrugging a little, whispering a "maybe," through his smile.

We stare at each other for a second, momentarily lost before I force myself back to reality. "I need to shower," I say, grimacing when I move against the sheets, "will I have time before Ava drags us all down?"

"If you hurry," he says, glancing absently towards the door where the gentle tinkle of Ava's laughter is floating through the air.

I reluctantly sit up and slide over next to him; slipping an arm around his waist I press a kiss below his ear. His face scrunches with a smile as my fingers tickle over his side before he turns and captures my lips in his. I laugh as I pull back, "are you going to join me?" I ask, kissing his shoulder.

"I think when your entire family comes looking for us and we're both in the shower we might be subjected to another conversation about 'house rules', which is something I'm sure we'd both rather avoid," he says through a laugh, referring to the speech my Dad had given us years ago, the first night Blaine stayed the night, on the couch of course. Or at least that's what we lead him to believe.

I laugh against his skin, warm beneath my face, "but you're covered in come," I tease, unable to resist a smile at his slightly disgusted face as he runs a finger absently over his chest.

I stand, my spine cracking slightly before making for the bathroom. As I walk by he slaps my bare ass, making me jump, my hand automatically shooting round to rub the reddened skin, frowning at him over my shoulder. "Love you," he says, eyes twinkling in the dim light, smile unmoving from his face.

"Fuck off," I call over my shoulder as I close the bathroom door behind me, I hear him practically roar with laughter as I turn the light on. Blinking in the too bright light I flick the shower on, turning the temperature a little higher before briefly glancing at myself in the mirror. My left clavicle is bruised and bitten blue and black, neck a little red from Blaine's stubble, the smile in my eyes unmissable.

I shower quickly, foregoing most my routine in the knowledge of just how impatient Ava can get and before long I'm shuffling into the bedroom. I notice immediately that the entire house is wide awake now. I can smell coffee in the air, my mouth watering as it infests my nose. I can hear laughter and voices, the stereo in the background playing generic Christmas music. I pull a jumper over my bare skin, grateful that it covers my bruised collarbone and too lazy to find a shirt, relatively loose jeans adorn my legs before I pad bare foot down the stairs, bags of presents in my hands as I listen for the lilt of Blaine's voice.

I wander into the living room, kicking my dad's feet off the coffee table and getting a grumble in response. I drop the bags by the sofa where Rachel is curled in a ball, dark hair loose and tangled around her head. I smile at her half sleeping form before following the sound of Ava's laughter. I find them in the kitchen. Blaine's dressed in a loose t-shirt and equally loose jeans, hair a little wet, probably having showered quickly in the family bathroom. Ava's on his hip as he talks to Carole who's preparing coffee, Finn rummaging in the fridge, both still in their pyjamas, hair wild and eyes slow from sleep. "Hi," I say as I walk in, instantly drawn to Blaine, Ava squirming in his arms towards me.

"Did you see all the presents Santa brought?" she asks, reaching towards me with eager little hands. I take her from Blaine, nodding and assuring her that I had.

Blaine takes a step closer to me, hand moving to rest on the small of my back, pressing warmth against my skin even through my clothing. "You boys go and sit down, make sure Burt's not fallen asleep again," Carole tells us with a fond smile. We try, and fail, to hide our grins when we look at one another, turning to leave the room we hear her speak again, "not you Finn, you're helping me," she tells her son. We hear him groan as the fridge door falls shut.

We walk together into the living room, Blaine moving to take a seat on the sofa beside Rachel while I shake my Dad awake again in his chair. He grumbles as he wakes up, arms reaching to push me away but missing, making Ava giggle in my arms, and suddenly I have an idea. I drop her onto him, a mess of limbs and giggling child onto his lap and he huffs, eyes bolting open as his arms grasp her on instinct. She's laughing manically as he stares for a moment before his face splits into a smile, his hands finding her tummy and tickling her breathless.

I smile and walk over to Blaine, perching myself on the arm rest beside him, pushing my cold, bare feet between and beneath his thighs, flexing my toes against the roughness of the denim. I lean side ways against the back of the sofa, arm falling behind Blaine's head, leaning down I rest my face against my bicep as my free hand falls to curl over his shoulder closest to me. He tilts his head the smallest amount and smiles at me out of the corner of his eye, one hand rising to curl around my calf, fingers stroking down my shin.

After a minute Finn and Carole walk in, steaming cups in their hands. Rachel stirs at the delicious smell of coffee and pushes herself up, straightening in the middle of the sofa next to Blaine, allowing Finn to hand her a cup before he falls into the space next to her, his arm instantly around her as she snuggles against him. Her feet rise onto the sofa and rest against Blaine's thigh but neither seem to notice. Then Carole hands us both a cup, both thanking her before taking a sip of our drinks.

We both instantly grimace, mine far too bitter and his far too sweet as we try to rub the taste from our tongues against the roofs of our mouths. We then look into our cups, almost in unison before our eyes meet and we smile a little, switching cups with a shared laugh and the graze of drink warmed fingertips. We each take a more tentative sip of our new drinks, and both hum in contentment, his black and bitter while mines milky and sweet.

Eventually everyone begins to wake up properly, the caffeine stirring within us until we're all wide eyed and smiling, no longer flinching when Ava talks a little too loud and her cries of excitement no longer grate inside our skulls.

We exchange presents with snorts of laughter and the occasional eye roll, Ava being used as a courier between adults, all too lazy to hand out our own. But she accepts the job with enthusiasm and gleefully reads the labels of each gift, handing them out with hands practically shaking from excitement, squealing when she comes across one with her own name.

Each time she gets a present of her own she falls to the floor in a heap wherever she's standing, legs folding beneath her, hands running desperately over it, shaking it delicately beside her ear with closed eyes as if the gift itself will reveal it's secrets. She then tears the smallest rip at a corner, peering beneath the paper, tongue between her lips in concentration before interrupting whatever snippet of conversation's filling the room with a cry of joy, followed by the frantic, frenzied ripping of paper. A scream of happiness and a wide eyed, gummy smile for whomever the current gift in her hands is from, a rushed 'thank you' and a wet kiss on their cheek. The sleeves of her slightly too big pyjama top fall over her hands repeatedly, each time being pushed up to her elbows as her eyes glow in the light of the Christmas tree.

We hadn't been able to bring all her presents here, the bigger ones like her bike and mini kitchen are still wrapped up in my spare room for when we get home. But the lack of those had quickly been replaced with presents from my parents, as well as Rachel and Finn surprisingly. Neither I nor Blaine had anticipated just how many presents the only child in a house of adults would get on Christmas day, both exchanging worried smiles at how we're supposed to get it all back to England.

But that's a problem for later, I think, pushing it to the back of my mind as my face begins to ache with how wide I'm smiling. My insides swell with happiness as I take in the people in front of me, the people I love most in the world. Outside our window the morning is cold, dark and barren, but inside the sound of laughter and familiar voices fills the air, the smell of food already in the oven and Blaine's palm warm beneath the fabric of my jumper, resting heavy on the base of my spine.

I can honestly say I've never felt so loved.

"Kurt!" Finn calls from across the couch, throwing a thin, rectangular present towards me. It hits me square in the chest, my free hand instinctively coming up to catch it flush against myself, my other hand remaining against the back of Blaine's neck, fingers tangled loosely in his hair and tracing patterns along the exposed skin of his shoulders absently.

"What's this?" I ask dumbfounded, turning the paper thin rectangle in my hands, brow furrowed.

"It's a present you idiot, for Christmas," Finn replies through a deep laugh.

I respond with a scowl, "I know that!" I say indignantly, earning a giggle from Rachel, "it's just not very… conventionallypresent like," I try to explain, offering it to Blaine to examine.

"Well we apologies for not making it more 'conventionally present like'," Finn manages through another deep laugh and a shake of his head, the grin on his face undeniably pleased with himself.

"Well what is it then?" I ask, rolling my eyes at his childishness, realising that the room is now quiet but for our bickering and the soft music in the background.

"Why don't you openit and find out?" he tells me, still smiling wide.

"It's for you and Blaine," Rachel adds with a grin as large as her husbands as I take it from my boyfriend, fiancé,who's head snaps round in surprise.

"For me too?" he asks, voice confused but unmistakably happy. "But you already got us both presents," he frowns, cocking his head adorably to the side.

"Are we not allowed to get you more than one present? Why're you both so surprised?" Finn's laughing but sounds genuinely confused, looking over at Burt as if for an explanation of our strange behaviour. But my dad just shrugs his shoulders, motioning for me to open it.

"Alright," I say, "calm yourself," I tease Finn who laughs again; catching my eye with a familiar half smile. I reluctantly remove my hand from Blaine's hair to run a finger under one of the taped down edges. Ava's also become unusually silent, suddenly appearing at the edge of the sofa, climbing onto Blaine's lap, an arm around my leg to steady herself before peering over my shoulder as I pull paper from within wrapping paper.

My breath catches in my throat, mouth gaping, eyes widening as I slid the tickets the final few inches from the thin paper, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor with the rest. "What is it?" Blaine asks, unable to see from where he's seated beneath but in front of me.

But I don't reply, I just look up at Finn and Rachel, a small disbelieving smile stretching across my face, "you bought us…" I trail off; glancing from one to the other in search of answers they look only too willing to give. They're both beaming, laughing and catching each others eye before Rachel's nodding, shaking a little with excitement.

"Only if you want to… I mean, we got them for the summer because of term times and stuff…" she trails off with a shrug of her small frame.

Blaine's still completely clueless, glancing with wide eyes from me to the couple on the other side of the couch, Ava staring over my shoulder but completely baffled by the three pieces of paper. "What is it Kurt?" Blain finally asks, trying to stretch to see the paper in my hands.

I hold them out to him, "tickets," I say, "plane tickets to Chicago in the summer," I manage through a laugh, smile bursting over my face as floods of love wash through me. His eyebrows shoot up, eyes darting to Finn and Rachel who're still beaming beside him before taking the tickets from me, laughing quietly before looking back up at me, his wide smile mirroring mine. "Guys…" I say through my smile, elongating the word, preparing myself to thank them profusely before telling them they shouldn't have, trying to force them to get their money back, insisting we pay for our own flights.

But Rachel's just shaking her head and sitting up a little straighter, "I know what you're going to say Kurt so I'm going to stop you now," she says promptly, holding up a finger to silence me. I see out of my peripheral vision as Blaine hands the tickets to Ava with words of care, before she disappears, running over to Burt and Carole who've asked to see. "Now that me and Finn and settled in the city of our dreams," I don't mention her previous dreams of New York, only too familiar with her penchant for dramatics, "we would be honoured if you and Blaine, and Ava of course," she says pointedly, glancing over at the young girl who is only just beginning to realise what those papers mean, "would come and spend some of our first summer with us?"

I'm shaking my head and laughing, glancing covertly at Blaine who is staring shocked between Finn and Rachel. "You really shouldn't have," I say, "we-" I begin before she predictably speaks over me.

"Well it's too late. We have, and the tickets are non-refundable so really it would just be an awfulwaste of money if you were to refuse and we both think that-" now it's my turn to cut her off.

"Fine!" I shout over her, hands rising in defeat, silencing her immediately. Her eyebrows raise, expression expectant as her lips freeze around her words. "Of course we'll come," I finally say.

She squeals in excitement, pushing herself into a kneeling position and stretching towards me as I simultaneously lean over Blaine. We meet in the middle with shared smiles and laughter, but my knees fall into the dent where the cushions meet in the middle of the sofa. It sinks further than I expect, my hand not finding purchase against the back rest and it's too late when I fall slightly, my ankles caught awkwardly between Blaine's legs. His hands fly out too late to steady me as Rachel's arms close around me in a hug, my body falling further than anticipated, face landing flush against Rachel's boobs.

I'm instantly laughing into the fabric of her pyjama as her arms close around me, still hugging me, my hands flailing for something to push myself up on before they settle on her thighs. And then suddenly there's laughter around us, Finn's loud and guffawing, choking on the drink he was sipping as mine escalates into uncontrollable laughter and Blaine chuckles behind me. And then Rachel's laughing above me, her delicate hands coming to cup my face still buried in her chest, the laughter rippling through my body making it near impossible for me to move.

She gently pulls my face away from her chest, and I can feel tears of laughter in my eyes as she pulls me into a proper hug, one of my hands gripping her thigh maybe a little too tightly before I manage to steady myself with one curled around the back rest, Blaine moving to free my ankles. Finn's still choking behind her, fresh peels of laughter bursting from within him when he catches my eyes and slightly dazed expression.

"Well that was a whole new experience," I say through renewed laughter, watching Finn thump his fist against his chest as he continues to cough a little. I hear my Dad snort in agreement in the background, but out of the corner of my eye I see him grinning wider than the sun. "But thank you Rachel, thank you both," I say, finally thanking them for their present.

"You're more than welcome," Rachel assures me as she pulls back, "but we'll have none of that funny business in Chicago please," she teases, waggling a finger at me and playfully pushing me away. "I'll have you know I'm a happily married woman," she tells me in mock seriousness as she settles back down against Finn, who's finally been able to stop coughing, although gentle laughter still falls from his lips every time his eyes fall on me.

"I promise I will try to control the raging heterosexual within me," I joke back, shuffling back against Blaine, his hands strong against my sides as I settle back down on the arm rest, one hand skirting back beneath the hem of my jumper as mine automatically falls against his neck. "And I'll have youknow that I'm a happily e-relationshiped man," I say back as casually as I can, my heart skipping a beat at the secret that just almost slipped from my lips.

But no one seems to notice as more laughter fills the room, intercepted by a snort from Finn, no doubt reliving the almost molestation of his wife by his brother. As conversation falls back into rhythm and present opening resumes, Blaine moves his hand around to my waist and pinches the skin a little. Not enough to hurt, just enough to get my attention as I turn to face him, mouthing 'sorry' in response to his questioning eyes, but he just shakes his head and smiles, leaning forward to press a kiss to my jean clad knee.

The rest of the day passes blissfully drama free and happily. The house returns to some level of normalcy; wrapping paper is cleared away, clothes changed, the table set for dinner, everyone put to work while Ava weaves excitedly in and out of bodies, bashing shins and knees with whatever toy she's currently carting around. And there are toys literally everywhere. In true Ava fashion she's opened every single box and played with each toy for a matter of minutes before moving onto the next. She also appears to be in a constant state of undress, switching between sparkly new dresses and fluffy jumpers before anyone can stop her.

So it's with a startled gasp that I yank the marker pens out of her hand when I walk into the living room, her new white Armani dress only centimetres from destruction, "Ava, no!" I shout, maybe a little too loudly. Her wide, confused eyes find mine as I recap the pen in my hand, eyes scanning the satin and velvet for marks. She pouts a little, lip quivering and my heart breaks, "I'm sorry baby," I groan, falling to the floor to kneel beside her, tucking a curl behind her ear. "But you can't play with pens or paints when you're wearing this dress, okay?" I ask.

She sniffles a little, blinking back tears before nodding, "Okay Kurty, I won't play no more," she says before swallowing.

"No, Av, of course you can still play!" I tell her, wondering absently where Blaine is because he'd no exactly how to deal with her quickly reddening eyes and slumped shoulders. "Just- you just can't in this dress. This is for going to parties in and for looking beautiful, not for playing with your whiteboard," I try to explain, noticing the whiteboard easel she's dragged out its box.

"M'kay," she sighs little, looking down at the white fabric with a lost look in her eyes.

"Here, how about you change back into these," I say, holding up the t-shirt and jeans she'd slung in a pile, "and then we can do some drawing, yeah?" She looks up at me out of the corner of her eye, hesitant and maybe a little suspicious before shrugging, lip caught between her teeth. "Okay?" I ask, wanting to make sure.

She turns to face me properly then, lifting her arms above her head with a half smile. I grin back, holding the hem of the dress and pulling it swiftly over her head, the sick feeling in my stomach receding now she's smiling again. I quickly fold the dress and put it out of her reach before redressing her. I lean around her to prop up the whiteboard, grabbing the other pens before kneeling behind her. She shuffles until her back is flush with my chest, turning she smiles over her shoulder at me, taking the red pen from my hand. "Sorry Kurty," she says with a flutter of her long eyelashes.

"It's fine Av, you didn't know," I assure her, pressing a kiss to her cheek, fingers tickling her stomach. She giggles, wriggling in my arms before I release her. She begins doodling absently, something that might be a tree and what looks like a green giraffe. I cross my legs and lean back on my hands behind her, listening as she hums under her breath and watching her tiny hands hold tight to the pens.

After a few minutes I hear the door groan behind us, turning I smile at Blaine as he walks silently into the room. He greets Ava with a fond smile and a kiss before settling quickly behind me, his back against the sofa as he straightens his legs and drags me into the space there, arms around my waist and a kiss behind my ear.

"Where've you been?" I ask, folding my legs beneath myself before scooting and settling into his familiar shape.

"Just around," I feel him shrug, fingers touching the delicate skin of my inner elbow, trailing down the blue veins before skimming round to the backs of my hands. He glides his fingers between mine before locking both our arms around my waist. I feel his chin rest against my shoulder, eyelashes tickling my neck when he blinks, a sigh ghosting beneath my shirt.

"Well, lucky I was here," I say, "Ava was just about to marker pen her dress," I nod towards the folded white bundle and feel his lips bow into a smile against my skin.

"I keep telling you not to buy designer clothes for a four year old," he teases, and I can feel the vibrations of his laughter against my back. I turn to look over my shoulder, ready to reply when I'm interrupted by Ava's pleading voice.

"Kurty, please can you help me? My tree has got too bushy and my birds don't like it, that one especially," her head is cocked adorably to the side as she points to a bird with a comically exaggerated sad face. I control my laughter before speaking.

"Course," I smile, scrambling back up onto my knees and over to her. I kneel behind her, taking her hand in mine, unable to stop myself laughing at the state of her ink splotched hands and arms.

We stay like this for a few minutes, her hand delicate beneath my own and so tiny that I worry I'll break it if I hold too tight. She laughs when I slip and my palm gets smeared with green, then screams when I move to wipe it on her face. Eventually though I feel a hand tugging on the back of my shirt, accompanied by a short whine.

I turn, glancing over my shoulder and rolling my eyes as Blaine stretches towards me, one hand fisting the back of my clothes while his feet try desperately to hook around my thighs. His eyes are wide, pleading and warm and I can't help but chuckle. "It's like having two kids," I joke as Ava takes the pen from me and I finally allow him to pull me back flush against him.

He hums a little into my neck as he realigns us together, taking my hands in his and tilting them palm upwards. I'm not really paying attention, more focused on Ava's careful drawing as he idly fiddles with my hands in his.

I feel him turning them in his own, the gentle sweep of his thumbs over my knuckles and the shiver inducingly light press along the bones. His thumb and middle finger tightening briefly around my wrists before dropping them to my lap. I don't respond to these movements, or the increased press of our bodies together as he leans forward, nor do I hear the pop as he uncaps a dark blue marker.

I'm vaguely aware of him lifting my left hand in his, turning it palm down, spreading my fingers a little before I glance down. Just in time to notice the marker pen held steady, the gentle warmth of his hand as he holds mine still, his stilted breath in my ear.

"Blaine!" I screech his name, jerking my hand away but it's too late, or maybe he's just too fast and I'm too slow, or maybe I don't really want to stop it because as my hand slides from within his and his laughter rests heavy against my skin I can't help my heart pounding a little faster in my chest as I look at my left hand. A simple, thick navy line pressed dark and neat above the knuckle of my ring finger, smudged in one corner from my jolt but unmissable.

He's still laughing, chest rocking against my spine as I rub at the unmoving blue line feverishly. "I cannot believe you!" I growl, pressing my tongue against it before rubbing again.

"It's just a little line Kurt," he finally says, hooking his chin over my shoulder and running a thumb over the irremovable line, the skin around it now red. "I just wondered what it'd look like," he tells me when I turn to look at him.

But his smile is so wide and honest and open, his happiness unmistakable as he gazes at my ring finger that I just can't force myself to remain angry. So instead I sigh, tilting my head to rest cheek to cheek with him, his eyelashes tickling where they sit beside my own. "And when my dad sees it?"

He snorts beside me. "He won't see it," he assures me, "and even if he does he won't think anything of it," he adds, "and even if he does there is no wayhe would assume the truth," he tacks on the end, arms tightening around my waist as I allow my hand to fall against my lap, my eyes unable to stop staring at that simple line.

"It'll take daysto wash off," I complain half heartedly, over the initial shock and instead just trying to make him feel guilty.

"Well the real ones a lot more permanent," he instantly replies with a chuckle and a wet kiss against my neck.

"You're awful," I reply, turning away so that he doesn't see my face splitting grin as floods of foreverwash over me. But he knows,he always knows when I'm grinning so wide my cheeks hurt. So instead I ball my left hand into a fist and punch him hard in the thigh, making him laugh even harder, deep in his chest as it fills the room, fills my heart.

/

Not long later dinner is served with almostno accidents, Finn receiving mild burns after trying to steal a roast potato fresh from the oven, fingertips burning before he throws it stupidly into the sink. It lands with a splash, water decorating the window and surrounding surfaces. Everyone's eyes move to focus on him, all in various states of disbelief and utter shock, even Ava looks mildly confused as silence settles over our family for once.

"I didn't think they'd be that hot," he says in his own defence, looking from one expression of shock to the next before examining his fingers closely.

I catch Blaine's eye and try not to laugh too loudly at his slightly gaping mouth and raised eyebrow, removing myself to the dining room just in time to muffle my laughter.

Finn is then forced to eat his dinner with a plaster on the tip of each finger, even those he didn't burn, under Ava's carefully advice; earning a stern look from her each time he makes to remove one.

So dinner is eaten and crackers are pulled. Paper hats adorned, begrudgingly on my part as Finn holds my hands by my side and Blaine places it atop my hair with an eye crinkling grin and a kiss to my nose. Bad jokes are told, most of which Finn, and occasionally my dad, find hilarious and which have to explained to Ava. At one point Carole laughs so hard she dribbles wine and stains the tablecloth a dirty ruby red, and Ava's hair dangles in her gravy for god knows how long before Rachel sees and ties it back for her with a sparkly hair band, promising she'll wash it later for her.

At one point, in between the laughter and the teasing and the rolls of eyes, my dad takes a hold of my wrist as I put down my glass, making me jump a little as I turn to face him, our exchange lost among the much louder conversation for everyone else.

"I'm so happy for you Kurt," he says after a moment, quiet enough to not draw attention to us. I see his eyes dart briefly to Blaine beside me, "for both of you," he adds before refocusing on me, a glimmer in his eyes which could just be the lights.

My eyebrows arc in surprise before a slow, unstoppable smile spreads across my face, the warmth of Blaine's palm against mine beneath the table rushing through me as I feel red stain my cheeks, "I'm happy for us too," I manage through a nervous laugh, swallowing the rising lump in my throat.

We stare at each other for a second, just smiling before I look away with another stilted laugh. "Love you son," he then says, squeezing my arm slightly before releasing me.

I turn to face him, smiling back, "love you too dad," I manage, biting my lip and subconsciously squeezing the hand heavy in my own, my hand tattooed with my future.

For the most part I try to keep my left hand out of sight. I doubt anyone would notice, and like Blaine had said, even if they did I doubt they'd think anything of it. But there's still a part of me that worries, maybe unnecessarily, about how my dad would react, especially when the 'real' proposal could be years from now. The navy line represents more the inevitability of us one day getting married, not the pending date.

That being said Blaine's right hand remains warm and heavy on my knee for most of the meal, only lifting when really necessary, occasionally lacing with my left, his fingers running, probably subconsciously, along the knuckle which he's marked. A strange chill washes over me each time his palm lifts from my own and I shiver involuntarily, and then before I know it he's back, fingers familiar and rough and gentle in my own, stealing a sideways glance with his honey-gold eyes.

I watch him conspicuously out of the corner of my eye for the rest of dinner, watching his face scrunch with a smile, listening to the thrum of his laughter and feeling his pulse beat steady beneath my fingertips as they curl around his wrist. And I hold on. I hold on tight and imagine a Christmas ten years from now, the same hand laced with mine, the same family and the same indescribable happiness.

The only difference being two matching gold bands, by then probably long forgotten in the rush of life and the regularity of it. Old news maybe, but at this moment, picturing that future, I can't imagine anything better to look forward to.