Warnings for mention of sex and sex toys.
"So... " Sex-drunk Blaine rolls onto his side and gazes goofily at his husband "... what are our plans for today?"
Kurt wraps an arm around him and tugs him close. "I assumed we'd spend the day naked in bed enjoying our early Christmas presents." He rifles one-handed through their new toy box and the plugs, dildos, and massagers they have yet to open. He feels around for the one he's most excited to try out next and holds it up for his husband's approval. Blaine, close to salivating, grabs it and starts tearing into the plastic. "Considering the fam will descend on us in a few days, and we won't have a moment to ourselves until New Year's."
"A day of festive X-rated fucking then?" Blaine pops the vibrator out with a triumphant 'a-ha!' "Sounds blissfully blasphemous. Though we'd better be careful, or we'll get struck by lightning."
"Maybe we can do something PG later to offset the blasphemy. Like bake cookies."
"Have to be chocolate chip or sugar. Those are the certified non-blasphemous varieties," Blaine mutters, reaching around the bed in search of his phone when he hears it ring.
"What about oatmeal raisin?" Kurt counters. "Or double fudge chocolate chip?"
Blaine scoffs. "Now you're venturing into demon territory. You'd better repent your evil ways, or we'll both be sacrificed."
"Hmph. Demons are sexy," Kurt grumbles.
Blaine finds his phone and brings it to his ear. He doesn't check the screen when he answers with a sultry, "Hello?" but suddenly bolts upright, eyes springing open when Pam Anderson returns with her own husky, "Hello, darling."
"Mom!" Blaine's reaction to his mom's voice is instantaneous and comical. He shoots away from Kurt - his husband Kurt - as if she had barged into their room and caught them balls deep, quickly covering his crotch with another sheet and a pillow. "What's up? Is everything okay?"
Kurt shakes his head and reaches for his own phone. That's all the privacy he has to offer. He doesn't purposefully pay attention to their conversation, but Blaine's mom's voice is hard to ignore, even over the phone.
And she has just informed them that their festive fucking has been canceled for the afternoon.
"No, that's great! That's a wonderful surprise!" Blaine lies, smacking a frustrated palm to his forehead. "The sooner, the better. We can't wait to see you. Yeah. Bye." Blaine turns to look at Kurt, scrolling Instagram, a disappointed frown on his face.
"I'm so sorry." Blaine sighs. "But you know how my mom is. Spontaneous."
"So that's where you get it from?"
"Ha-ha."
"It's okay. Let's pack up the toy box, DoorDash some lunch, and start that batch of cookies, get rid of the smell of sex Santana claims lingers around here."
"Sounds good," Blaine agrees because there is no other option. Knowing his mom's luck, she'll catch the fastest Uber available and be there in an inhuman amount of time. Blaine doesn't need her finding condoms on the floor, flavored lube under their pillows, or a dildo on the...
It was a thought.
An errant thought.
A ridiculous thought.
It wasn't actually supposed to happen!
Blaine didn't even think it was possible. And yet, as he drops his head back to look at the light streaming in through the glass panel above his head, he realizes that some way, some how, he called his own absurd musing into existence.
"Uh, Kurt?"
"Yes, honey?"
"We have a problem."
"That's cliche. I thought we promised to avoid cliches." Kurt glances at his husband, then follows his gaze, tilting his head as he stares at the object suctioned to the window fifteen feet above their heads. He snorts. "How on earth did that get up there?"
"I have no idea."
"Whose ass was it in before it shot to the ceiling?"
Blaine swallows hard. "I think... that would be mine."
"I'm impressed. That must have taken some serious sphincter strength."
"I appreciate that, but how are we getting up there to get it down? Do we have a ladder that reaches?"
Kurt chuckles. "Do we have a ladder period?"
"We did. I think Sam borrowed it."
"What for?"
"To string lights. He was trying to win a contest, but he fell and broke his leg, remember?"
"Oh yeah. Figures." Under normal circumstances, Kurt would be fine leaving it up there. Blaine's mom will probably only be at their place for an hour or two before she checks into a hotel. (She believes too strongly in the sanctity of marital copulation to stay the night at their loft, or so she says. Kurt thinks it's an excuse not to stay in Bushwick.) If it were any of their other dildos, which are flesh-colored, odds are no one would notice. It would blend in with the wood. But this one was a special-order item in neon shades of blue, pink, purple, and green, made to look like an octopus's tentacle, and translucent. Light passes through, tossing a kaleidoscope of colors on the wood floor.
Stuck to the skylight, the snow behind reflecting the sun, it shines like a beacon from the ceiling above.
"Well," Kurt starts, "the way I see it, we have one of two options."
"Good!" Blaine breathes a premature sigh of relief. "Okay! What are they?"
"We leave it be and hope your mother never looks up."
"Not likely," Blaine says, toeing at a circle of pastel pink light on the floor at his feet. "What's option two?"
"The moment she gets here, we escort her out for lunch while Santana and Brittany stop by and scrape it off the glass."
Blaine pulls a face. "Would they do it?"
"Yeah. They owe me."
"If that's an option, why not just go with that?"
"Because afterward, everyone we know from high school, NYADA, and Vogue will hear about our neon tentacle dildo. It might even eventually get back to your mom."'
"So how is that a viable option!?"
"At least it's not her standing under our skylight and staring up at the thing that's been shoved up her son's butt for the past hour."
Blaine's lips part as he tries to come up with an argument, but he can't. His face goes blank, then red. "I'll make reservations."
"I'll give Santana a call."
