A few weeks after their wedding and subsequent honeymoon, Kurt and Blaine were back in Philadelphia, packing up their apartment for their move to New York City. Kurt had found a cute little storefront where he could sell his designs, and the place just so happened to have an empty apartment above it, perfect for the two of them. Meanwhile, he could audition for any Broadway shows he wanted to. It had been lucky he'd taken a costuming class during his first semester in college; he'd been able to add costume design to his major, and Blaine was proud to say that his husband was following all of his dreams.

Pulling out a box from the top of their closet, Blaine carried it over to the bed. He and Kurt had agreed that anything that was already in a box should stay there, but that each box needed to be labeled. They had a great system in place, one that was color-coded and all, and they were both hoping this move would be easy. So, Blaine opened the top of the box, ready to assess its contents quickly and close it back up. However, a folded piece of paper on the top caught his attention, and he grabbed it, opening it up.

It was a letter from Kurt to...Blaine's bike?

His eyes quickly ran over the words on the page.

Dear Blaine's Bike,

How dare you? He looks so incredibly sexy whenever he sits on you, and I just want to jump him and kiss him silly, take him right there on your seat. God, he'd look so hot, all moans and pants, needy and ready for me to claim what is rightfully mine.

Honestly, fuck you! Every time he sits on top of you, he's headed out somewhere, somewhere important, and there's nothing I can fucking do about the massive boner growing in my pants. Nothing I want to do, anyway. I'm stuck with a lonely existence of coming back in the house alone and taking care of myself, cumming alone. Someday, I'm going to live out my fantasy. Someday, no matter what he's doing, I'm going to go out there and do what I want. Screw what society thinks.

You know what, Blaine's bike? I'm going to name you. I'm going to name you Nancy. Nancy, you're a nasty bitch, and I hate you for making me need my soulmate at the worst possible times. Someday, Nancy, I'm going to kick your ass. Then, we'll see who's more deserving of my man's attention.

Eat shit, Nancy!

Kurt H.

It took all Blaine had not to laugh outright when he reached the end of the letter. What in the world was Kurt thinking? he asked himself, giggling into his hand as he turned to lean on the bed, reading through the letter again and chuckling silently into his hand. So, he's got a bike fetish, hmm? Maybe I can do something about that.

Rummaging through the box some more, his curiosity piqued, Blaine discovered two more letters.

Dear Blaine's leather,

Why do you do this to me? Every time he puts you on, it's all I can do to keep my hands off of him, and I certainly can't keep my eyes from lingering and my thoughts from wandering to exciting ways that that leather could be used.

Do you remember that night where we both dressed up in our uniforms, Blaine's leather? God, he was so fucking hot, and I was so freaking jealous that you were touching him, and I wasn't. Sometimes, I want to just rip you right off his body because he's mine. He's mine and not yours; you don't deserve him, Blaine's leather.

Sometimes, I hate how you're able to hug each and every one of his curves so perfectly in a way that I never can. You accentuate his perfect body, and you drive me so fucking mad every time he puts you on. I can't even stand it.

I hate you and love you at the same time, Blaine's leather.

Fuck you!

Kurt H.

Blaine chuckled, unfolding the last one, surprised to find that his husband had, at some point, written an angry letter to his curls as well.

Dear Blaine's curls,

How can you be so fucking perfect all the time? You just sit so pretty on top of Blaine's perfect head, and no matter if he's just gotten up or he's been working all day, you still look so fucking perfect! God, I hate you!

My hair looks a mess no matter what time of day, but you're always so perfect! Even when he gels you into place, you're beautiful, and fuck if I don't want to just wrap my fingers up in you and tug at his scalp during sex, lace my fingers through you when I kiss his perfect blushing face, or twirl one of you round and round my finger as we lie there in bed and talk about everything and nothing. It's not fair that you're so fucking perfect! I hate you!

But I love you so much.

Kurt H.

After reading through them each one more time, Blaine scooped up the box, dropping the three letters back on top of the rest of the contents and carrying the box along with his packing materials out to the kitchen where Kurt was working on packing up anything they hadn't deemed as "essential." Setting the box down within perfect view of his husband, he said, "Hey, Kurt. I was just wondering if you knew what was in this box so I could label it."

"Where did it come from?" Kurt asked, not bothering to look up from what he was doing.

"The top of the closet. It doesn't say anything on the outside."

"Um, I don't know," Kurt replied, but Blaine could hear the trepidation in his voice. "Just, uh, just wait for me a second. I can look in just-"

"You're busy. I'll just open it; it's no big deal," Blaine said, a huge grin on his face as he flipped the flaps out of the way. "Um, it looks like a few pieces of paper here on the top. Let me just read one…"

"No!" Kurt was up from where he'd been kneeling beside a box, at Blaine's side in an instant. But it was too late. He'd already collected all three of the letters in his hand and was beginning to read the first one.

"Dear Blaine's bike," Blaine read. "How dare you? He looks so-"

"Blaine, stop!" Kurt begged, doing his best to grab the letters from his husband's hands. He was too slow, however, and Blaine held them just outside of his reach. "You were never supposed to see those, let alone read them out loud!"

Blaine couldn't hold back his grin. "Just tell me what they're for," he said. "Because I never once in a million years thought I'd find a hate letter my soulmate and husband had written to my bike of all things." He chuckled. "And, I would never name her Nancy. That's way too plain and...bitchy sounding."

Unable to hold back, Kurt let out a defeated sigh. "You already read them all, didn't you?"

"I did," Blaine confirmed. "And, I thought they were cute. But what are they for?"

"They were just, just an outlet!" Kurt replied, tossing up his hands. "They were just a way for me to deal with all my damn sexual urges when we were first starting out! I wrote all of those before we even graduated high school!"

"Hmmm…" Blaine said, setting the letters back down at the top of the box. "Before we graduated high school? So, like, five years ago?"

"Yes. Five years ago when I was a dumb, sexually frustrated teenager. Things are...different now."

"How different?" Blaine asked, snaking an arm out to pull his husband tight against his body, his hand lingering Kurt's ass as he brought the other one up to frame his cheek.

Kurt swallowed hard. "Just a little different…" he breathed out, his gaze fixed on his husband's lips, the lips that were coming closer and closer to his own.

"So, are you still sexually frustrated?" Blaine whispered, nipping at his husband's lower lip with his teeth, his words merely warm breath ghosting across Kurt's face.

"Right now? Yes...yes, I am…"

"So, maybe we should take this...to the garage...sir?"

At that name, a shiver flew down Kurt's spine, and he shuddered just a bit before surging forward to claim Blaine's lips in a deep, lustful kiss. When he finally pulled back, both their lips kiss-swollen and gleaming with spit, he said, "I think that's an excellent idea. I still have so much frustration and anger to work out toward that infernal bike of yours."

Blaine nodded, a tiny smile flirting with his lips. "Should I dress in my leather so you can 'rip it right off' my body, sir?"

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Kurt's face, and he nodded despite the hint of color running up his cheeks. "And, make sure those curls are nice and springy," he replied, leaning in to whisper in Blaine's ear, "I've got plans."

This time, a shiver ran down Blaine's spine, and he nodded.

"Go get changed and meet me in the garage," Kurt said. "I'm going to take you on Nancy."

It was impossible for Blaine to control his snort at that, and they both ended up holding their stomachs as they roared with laughter, tears streaming down their cheeks and gasping for breath. In the end, though, when he was finally able to straighten up and form a sentence, Blaine replied, "Yes, sir," and turned to go into the bedroom again, leaving the letters and the box on the kitchen counter.

Kurt watched him go, admiring his ass as he walked. Then, he turned back to finish packing his box. "I'm coming for you, Nancy, you fucking bitch," he muttered under his breath.