Kurt decides to take a few phone calls while Sebastian and Thomas decorate the tree. Annoyed that Kurt won't get off the phone and decorate with them, they retaliate. Written for the Hummel Holidays prompts lights, decorations, tree, family, and carols.
"So, you're coming in on the 18th? That's … that's great! Of course we'll be home." Kurt plugs one ear with his finger as he tries to hold a conversation with his father while behind him, his husband and his son, trimming the Christmas tree, launch into an off-key rendition of Jingle Bells.
Seriously, how a man who spent as much time in show choir as Kurt can screw up a simple carol so royally is beyond Kurt's understanding.
"Yes, it's alright if you guys stay at a hotel," Kurt answers in response to his father's comment about the shenanigans going on in the background. "I won't be offended. I know you're an old man who needs his sleep … Thomas, not now, sweetie," Kurt mumbles, shooing away the little boy he feels tugging on his pants, probably to get him to join in on the fun. "Yes, noon," Kurt continues. "We can't wait to see you." Kurt feels another hand brush his ass, and he rolls his eyes. This time, it's his husband trying to get him off the phone. Jesus Christ! He's only been on for what? About fourteen minutes? And it's his Dad! "Yes … give Carole all of our love. Okay, then. Bye, Dad."
Kurt disconnects the call and pockets his phone with a sigh.
"Okay, okay," he mutters, "what was so important that you couldn't just let me …?"
Kurt goes to take a step, to join the giggling fiends behind him … except he can't. He can't walk. His legs are bound up (not tremendously tight, but still) by a string of unlit Christmas lights that, by all rights, should be on the tree. Kurt looks at the lopsided string clinging to his legs, and sighs more.
"Alright," he says, hopping to turn around and face his son and his husband, both huddled together, Sebastian holding the plug end, and laughing like a strung Kurt is the funniest thing they have ever seen in their lives. "Can I ask what prompted this?"
"Because," Sebastian says with a mischievous grin.
"Yeah, because," Sebastian's little mimic adds.
"Sebastian," Kurt says, trying to sound like the voice of calm in front of their impressionable son, "these lights are supposed to go on the tree. Not on me."
"We had an extra string, so we decided to decorate you, too. Didn't we Tom-Tom?" Sebastian says, and Thomas giggles. "I mean, all you've been doing is talking on the phone since we started decorating the tree."
"A-ha. To my Dad, making arrangements for Grandpa Burt to visit over Christmas," he says defensively, with mildly scolding eyes aimed at Thomas.
"Yeah, but before that, it was Isabelle, and before that it was Michael Kors," Sebastian points out. "I don't mind you talking to your Dad, but work goes away when we decorate the tree, remember?"
"I …" They had him there. They were right. Yes, his Dad was important, and yes, it was a short call, but Kurt had been on the phone with several other people before that while the boys brought down the boxes of ornaments from the attic, and then while they strung the lights and the garland. "I'm sorry, guys. I guess I just got caught up in the swing of things. You know what the fashion world is like at Christmas. And I telecommute. It's just so easy to work when all you have to do is pick up a phone." Kurt pulls his phone out of his pocket. "I promise I'll stop and do my decorating duty," he says, turning it off and tossing it on the sofa. "Can you possibly forgive me?"
"Hmm," Sebastian says, putting his hands on his son's shoulders, "what do you think, Tom-Tom? Do you think we should accept Papa's apology?"
Thomas nods without a thought, which warms Kurt's heart. "Yes," he says sagely. "Yes, we should."
"Thank you," Kurt says to his angelic son. "I appreciate your leniency. Now, can you please unwrap me?"
"Oh, we forgive you," Sebastian says, "but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be punished."
"What?"
"What do you think we should do to him, Tom-Tom?"
Suddenly, Kurt's sage little angel turns into the mirror image of his devilish father. "Light him, Daddy! Light him!"
Sebastian claps his son proudly on the back. "That sounds like an excellent idea, Tom-Tom."
"Sebastian!" Kurt glares at his husband, struggling to shimmy out of the wires while trying not to snag his pants on the sharp rear ends of the bulbs. "Don't you dare …!"
Sebastian already has the plug from the lights pushed in to the socket, and just as the unfinished threat leaves Kurt's mouth, the string of lights wound around his legs springs to red, yellow, blue, and green LED life.
Sebastian and Thomas look at a stunned Kurt glowing in twinkling lights, and they cheer. "Yay!"
"Sebastian!"
"Are you ready Tom-Tom?"
"Ready!" the boy chirps.
"What the …?" Kurt mumbles as they gather, Sebastian on one knee, linking arms with his son.
"Okay, Thomas – one, two, three! You … you light up my life! You give me hope … to carry on!"
"Sebastian!" Kurt snaps, irritated voice soaring over their singing. "For crying out loud, you …!" Kurt sees his son stop singing, stop smiling, watches his face drop and his eyes go wide in frightened anticipation of what his father might say. Kurt quickly changes gears from his NC-17 rant to a more G-rated version. "You are being naughty, Sebastian! Very very very naughty!"
Thomas gasps, but Sebastian bursts out laughing, doubling over and almost taking his son to the floor with him.
"Papa?" Thomas asks, looking horrified at the possible fate of his Dad. "Is Santa going to stuff Daddy's stocking with coal?"
"Probably not," Kurt grumbles, trying to find the fastest route out of his confinement, "but Papa's definitely going to stuff something else."
"Kurt?" Sebastian chokes, laughing harder and turning a very distinctive shade of cherry red. "Is that supposed to be a threat or a promise? Because I'm looking forward to it either way!"