Untitled (Glee, G, Kurt/Blaine, gen)
Gen fic, ~1000 words I imagine. Written for day 7 of Klaineweek2012 on tumblr. Prompt was 'Domestic/Daddy!Klaine'
"We've been invaded again," Blaine tells Kurt when he enters their shared office.
"Oh, I heard them all come in. Hard to miss five teenagers trampling into a Manhattan apartment. You'll be safe from the horde?"
"I'll make sure they're fed. That seems to be enough, generally."
"Ok," he says, pulling Blaine in for a quick farewell kiss. "Wait up for me?" As of late their schedules have seldom aligned for more than two or three hours at a time, and Kurt misses long uninterrupted stretches of time with him. Sometimes he feels somewhat guilty, but he knows there's no resentment between them; neither of them begrudges the other his success.
"Of course," Blaine says. "I'll come see you out, give me a second."
"I'm just going to say goodbye to the kids," nods Kurt.
He opens the door to the living room and like most other afternoons sees that it has indeed been taken over by Aidan and his four closest friends, inelegantly sprawled over all available surfaces and playing videogames that Kurt stopped trying to make sense of a long time ago.
"Aidan," he says, "I'm off."
"Ok," his son shrugs without looking up. Kurt looks at him, and can't help but see the three year old boy they'd brought home, small and terrified of them, or the seven year old boy whose biggest interest was powering every lightbulb in the apartment with a potato battery at the same time as the somewhat impertinent adolescent that's definitely not impressed by either of his fathers at all anymore. He can't resist - he enters the room fully and walks up to Aidan. He knows Aidan hates it, but over the years he's come to understand that that is exactly the point, and anyhow, it's his prerogative as a father to occasionally succumb to the urge to ruffle his child's hair, whether they like it or not.
Someone dies and the screen is momentarily covered in blood splatters. "Ugh, dad," Aidan drawls, smoothing his hair and putting his controller down. "Oh but since you're here could you please sign this for Eric, since he's your biggest fan ever and the fact that you've sat on the same sofa is ruining his concentration." He reaches into one of the bagpacks on the floor and shoves a playbill into Kurt's hands. "Which means I get my ass kicked every day for about thirty minutes after you come in to say goodbye, until he recovers."
Kurt looks down at the playbill. It's for his current show, and it's hardly in mint condition; from the way Aidan knew exactly where to find it Kurt guesses it's been there for a while. Eric is blushing, face downcast, and Aidan is staring at Kurt impatiently until he realises that Kurt has no pen. "Here," he says again, this time shoving a Sharpie into Kurt's grip. "Sign it."
Blaine has been ribbing Kurt about Eric's obvious crush on him for a while now, although Kurt has insisted that it's nothing of the such. On those rare occasions when he's not too busy being embarrassed by his fathers Aidan chimes in to remind them that Eric doesn't have a crush, just an obsession and a girlfriend, but they're going to have a talk about putting someone on the spot all the same. He signs the playbill, unsure of how personal to make it.
"Thanks, dad," Aidan says, and returns the playbill to Eric, whose eyes widen dramatically. Kurt wonders if offering him a pair of tickets next time he's stars in something would be considered appropriate by all parties, or whether it'll just make things worse. "Now let's get back to this." He picks up his controller and gameplay resumes, Kurt having clearly been dismissed.
The door to the living room slams shut again right behind him, but he hasn't finished bundling himself into his coat and scarf before it cracks open and Aidan shouts, "Hey pa, are there any of dad's cookies left? The ones with the walnuts. I hope you haven't eaten them all!"
Blaine bites his lip to keep from laughing while Kurt sighs. Sometimes he wonders what would've happened if they'd adopted a girl instead. "Hey," Blaine tells him, "at least he's found an use for you. I'm not sure he's managed that for me yet."
"We've been invaded again," Blaine tells Kurt when he enters their shared office.
"Oh, I heard them all come in. Hard to miss five teenagers trampling into a Manhattan apartment. You'll be safe from the horde?"
"I'll make sure they're fed. That seems to be enough, generally."
"Ok," he says, pulling Blaine in for a quick farewell kiss. "Wait up for me?" As of late their schedules have seldom aligned for more than two or three hours at a time, and Kurt misses long uninterrupted stretches of time with him. Sometimes he feels somewhat guilty, but he knows there's no resentment between them; neither of them begrudges the other his success.
"Of course," Blaine says. "I'll come see you out, give me a second."
"I'm just going to say goodbye to the kids," nods Kurt.
He opens the door to the living room and like most other afternoons sees that it has indeed been taken over by Aidan and his four closest friends, inelegantly sprawled over all available surfaces and playing videogames that Kurt stopped trying to make sense of a long time ago.
"Aidan," he says, "I'm off."
"Ok," his son shrugs without looking up. Kurt looks at him, and can't help but see the three year old boy they'd brought home, small and terrified of them, or the seven year old boy whose biggest interest was powering every lightbulb in the apartment with a potato battery at the same time as the somewhat impertinent adolescent that's definitely not impressed by either of his fathers at all anymore. He can't resist - he enters the room fully and walks up to Aidan. He knows Aidan hates it, but over the years he's come to understand that that is exactly the point, and anyhow, it's his prerogative as a father to occasionally succumb to the urge to ruffle his child's hair, whether they like it or not.
Someone dies and the screen is momentarily covered in blood splatters. "Ugh, dad," Aidan drawls, smoothing his hair and putting his controller down. "Oh but since you're here could you please sign this for Eric, since he's your biggest fan ever and the fact that you've sat on the same sofa is ruining his concentration." He reaches into one of the bagpacks on the floor and shoves a playbill into Kurt's hands. "Which means I get my ass kicked every day for about thirty minutes after you come in to say goodbye, until he recovers."
Kurt looks down at the playbill. It's for his current show, and it's hardly in mint condition; from the way Aidan knew exactly where to find it Kurt guesses it's been there for a while. Eric is blushing, face downcast, and Aidan is staring at Kurt impatiently until he realises that Kurt has no pen. "Here," he says again, this time shoving a Sharpie into Kurt's grip. "Sign it."
Blaine has been ribbing Kurt about Eric's obvious crush on him for a while now, although Kurt has insisted that it's nothing of the such. On those rare occasions when he's not too busy being embarrassed by his fathers Aidan chimes in to remind them that Eric doesn't have a crush, just an obsession and a girlfriend, but they're going to have a talk about putting someone on the spot all the same. He signs the playbill, unsure of how personal to make it.
"Thanks, dad," Aidan says, and returns the playbill to Eric, whose eyes widen dramatically. Kurt wonders if offering him a pair of tickets next time he's stars in something would be considered appropriate by all parties, or whether it'll just make things worse. "Now let's get back to this." He picks up his controller and gameplay resumes, Kurt having clearly been dismissed.
The door to the living room slams shut again right behind him, but he hasn't finished bundling himself into his coat and scarf before it cracks open and Aidan shouts, "Hey pa, are there any of dad's cookies left? The ones with the walnuts. I hope you haven't eaten them all!"
Blaine bites his lip to keep from laughing while Kurt sighs. Sometimes he wonders what would've happened if they'd adopted a girl instead. "Hey," Blaine tells him, "at least he's found an use for you. I'm not sure he's managed that for me yet."