Moondust and Starlight

By: Mytay

Rating: T – 'Cause while there's definitely conversation, there's also a bit of action :)

Summary: A post-Original Songs fic. Kurt reflects on a few happy, happy things, spends some time doing those same happy, happy things . . . and then gets interrupted by his father.

Spoilers: Everything up to and including Season 2, Episode 16, Original Songs.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own, anything Glee related; not the characters or situation presented in this one-shot, or the very brief mention of The Carpenter's song (They Long to Be) Close To You. And yay for that! The shiny may wear off in a few days, the flaws becoming apparent, but for now I'm just going to bask in some happiness . . . just like I have Kurt doing here – it's about time our baby got some happy! :D

Warnings: None, unless ridiculous, insane amounts of fluff count. Seriously. If ludicrous amounts of happy sappiness aren't your cup of tea . . . well, give it a shot anyways, since I did warn you. ;D

So, enough of this long note – sorry for that – on with the story!

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It is entirely possible that Kurt has been elevated to some higher form of existence. There is no other way to explain the utterly dazzling euphoria that has been constantly pressing in on him, despite the loss at Regionals and poor Pavarotti's sudden death. He aches still, knowing that he won't be going to New York with his friends at McKinley, but he manages to temporarily bury that down for later consideration (and maybe even plotting), because there's something far more pleasant to be thinking about.

He burrows in closer to his boyfriend (he has a boyfriend!), and tries to focus on Julie Andrews and the seven von Trapp children. But his mind keeps drifting, trying to make sense of his happiness, because it's been so long since he's been this sweetly and simply over the moon.

He goes over the loss at Regionals, his duet with Blaine . . . The duet had been amazing to partake in, and God, it was so, so incredible to finally be in the spotlight in front of a crowd, but it felt like maybe, in retrospect, it could have been performed better, vocally speaking. It wasn't as well rehearsed as it should have been.

But he wouldn't take back the 'non-rehearsal' time for the world. For the universe. For everything that can and ever would exist.

His eyelids flutter as he re-calls one such rehearsal, the day after the afternoon (The Kiss) that changed everything.

"Okay, I think maybe you need to go up a little more there, Kurt," Blaine suggested, leaning against the back of the couch.

Kurt tilted his head, frowning. "Really? Because I think a little lower might be better – our voices sound more complimentary when we sing in the same key."

Blaine shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck, watching Kurt from beneath impossibly thick, dark lashes. "All right – let's try it both ways, and see which one sounds best."

Kurt nodded in agreement, moving to press play on the CD player just as Blaine did so. Their fingertips brushed.

It was like nothing Kurt had ever felt before. At least not until yesterday. Yesterday . . . And his mind went into incoherent babbling and noise as he rewound and replayed every. Single. Moment.

Blaine hadn't moved his hand – nor had he pressed play. He just looked down at their now entwining fingers, and then up Kurt's arm to his shoulder, neck . . . then face. He lingered on his lips. Kurt saw it. Hell, he practically felt it. He wondered, dimly, if Blaine had chosen to rehearse in this room because it was the same common room they'd sung their 'Baby, It's Cold Outside' duet. The CD player was in the same spot, Blaine had been posed against the back of the couch in the same way. And yet, Kurt didn't feel any hint of déjà vu. Mostly because everything felt new to him. He did not care one whit how incredibly sappy and pathetic and teenage-like that was. He was operating under a whole new outlook.

"Kurt?"

Kurt followed Blaine's same path – he let his eyes drop to their fingers, then trail slowly, achingly slowly, the path up Blaine's arm, his neck, that old-fashioned movie star hair . . . and those lips. They were parting, and breath was escaping from between them rather faster than was normal.

They were still standing about two feet apart. Kurt looked into Blaine's eyes at last, letting out his own breathy version of the boy's name. "Yes, Blaine?" He moved one step closer.

And was that . . . It was. That was an ever so slight shudder Kurt felt and saw shivering through Blaine. The implications of that made him dizzy.

"Maybe . . . we've been rehearsing for an hour . . . maybe a short recess is in order?" Blaine sounded uncertain, but unmistakably eager.

Kurt smiled tentatively, edging in closer again. "Right. Shouldn't strain our voices too much."

Blaine's laugh could barely be called that, abrupt and near soundless, and he was leaning in now, finally. Kurt's heart made an impressive leap up into his throat, pounding away hard enough to make him tremble. Holy hell, was his verging on hysterical thought, is it going to be like this every time?

And then Blaine closed his eyes, Kurt following suit, and the only thing that mattered was the warm breath on his lips, then the tingling, lighter-than-air brush of Blaine's mouth. And, well, enough of this – Kurt lurched forward, pressing Blaine back against the couch, kissing him with a small gasp – or maybe that had been Blaine?

One hand found its way to the back of the other boy's neck, his left making a slower journey up, sliding underneath the lapels of the blazer, resting on Blaine's heart. And that would be when Blaine pressed his own body closer, a definite noise of some kind vibrating out of his throat, his lips parting more.

Kurt whimpered and let himself get carried away – it was remarkable. Why the hell weren't people doing this twenty-four seven with their various spouses, significant others, or whatevers? If it felt even half as good for everyone else as it did for Kurt in that moment, then it was a miracle that anything, from pyramid building to flights in space, ever got accomplished in the long history of humanity.

Fifteen minutes of making out later they finally decided to call a halt. Blaine was reluctant and fumbling a bit as they pulled away.

"Um . . . we should . . . do some more singing now. I think that was enough of a . . . rest."

Kurt's grin could not be contained. "So, then, shall we make this an hourly occurrence?"

Blaine rubbed at his lips, reddened and glistening, eyes incredibly dark and glazed over. "Hourly?"

"Half an hour, then," Kurt amended, nodding sagely.

Blaine looked like he wanted to kiss him again (oh, someone, this someone, this amazing, amazing boy, wanted to kiss him), but he smiled, chuckling to himself. "Right. How about we just . . . see."

They smoothly chased each other around the room, singing their hearts out, though Kurt was definitely not paying as much attention as he should have been to their voices and the pitch and key and all that.

They lasted about five or six more renditions of 'Candles' before they went tumbling onto the couch, kissing as if it was the final, swooning scene in every cheesy, black and white romantic movie ever made since film was invented.

No, really.

As they sang out the final line, Blaine had grabbed him and dipped him, Kurt instinctively reaching up to wrap his arms around Blaine's neck. They had passionately kissed until Kurt leaned back too far, and they fell onto the leather cushions. Their noses smashed together, and it hurt . . . It also took less than ten seconds of giggling for them to rearrange their limbs and get right back to the making out.

And that's exactly how every single rehearsal went until the day of Regionals.

"You're not singing along." Blaine nudges Kurt, and he in turn blinks his way back into the present, glancing up at Blaine from his position on his shoulder.

"Oh, sorry – let me rewind, I love this song," Kurt says, blushing and reaching for the DVD remote. Ready for a less than perfect version of 'Sixteen Going on Seventeen' to pass through his lips because lately it feels like he can never get enough breath into his lungs – and he's starting to get mildly worried about it, actually.

Blaine pulls him back against his chest, burying his face in Kurt's hair. "Never mind – don't want you to move. Ever."

Right, well then, screw singing for now. Kurt closes his eyes and just basks, as if he hasn't been doing this – the basking – nearly every time he and Blaine have a moment alone, in-between other enjoyable activities.

Blaine keeps on nuzzling his hair (free of product for the evening) and Kurt's so warm, comfortable and content that he could just fall asleep. A giddy smile tugs up the corners of his mouth – he could hear Mercedes in his head, having an absolute fit about this – the good kind. Similar to the one she had when Kurt called her after school, demanding that she meet him at his house.

Safely ensconced in his room, Kurt had to contain the explosion that had been threatening to blow as soon as he dialed Mercedes' number. But he had to see her, face to face. Had to have her in front of him to hug, and squeeze, and squeal at. Now here she was, sitting down on his bed, watching him curiously and more than a little impatiently. He ducked into the hall one more time to make sure his dad and Finn were still stationed in front of the TV, yelling at some baseball game or maybe a football game – whatever, they were out of the way.

"Okay, boy, what is it? Don't make me smack it out of you – you look like you could use it." She scrutinized him worriedly then. "You look high. Are you on something? Because I swear to Jesus, Kurt, I will –"

"Blaine kissed me!" He burst out, unable to restrain the joyful squeak at the end of that declaration.

Mercedes broke off as soon as Kurt spoke. Her eyes went wide. Then she was jumping off the bed and grabbing him by his upper arms. "Kurt! Kurt, are you . . . of course, you're serious, you wouldn't . . . well, it's about time that boy got his head out of his ass!"

Kurt cracked up, very nearly crushing Mercedes' ribs as he wrapped her up in a hug, incapable of holding back happy tears. "I don't care how long it took – I didn't think it would ever happen. And then it did and . . . oooooh, Mercedes." Kurt exhaled into her hair. "It was . . . glorious."

She pulled away, holding him at arm's length again, her eyes snapping and sparkling with happiness for him, her wide smile gorgeous and sincere. "All right, gimme the details, I know you're dying to. Let's have it all, beginning to end."

Kurt started from 'Misery', and worked his way up from there. Mercedes snorted and applauded him for his telling off of Blaine for hogging the solos. Then she hugged him close again as he got to the part about Pavarotti – of that she already knew; Kurt had called her as he'd been putting together his fabulous mourning outfit, and digging around for his old tape of 'Blackbird,' but the gesture was welcome all the same. Kurt did still miss the cheerful little bird that had been his steadfast companion for these past few, difficult months at Dalton. He then launched into a blow-by-blow account of Blaine insisting not only that he would not sing the lead on one of the songs, but that Kurt sing a duet with him, without any auditioning.

"Pfft, as if you wouldn't have totally beat out everyone there," she said proudly, and if Kurt weren't already the happiest he could possibly be, that would have definitely done it. "Okay, so the boy demands to sing with you. Which is going to be amazing. Now, tell me the good stuff!"

Kurt knew he was already blushing to his ears, but he couldn't help that. He described everything, down to the smallest of details, such as Pavarotti's bedazzled coffin, and the exact ways in which Blaine's tone changed as he spoke – the pauses, the rougher quality to his voice. Mercedes was hanging on his every word, gesturing at him to go on every time he stopped to take a breath. There was a moment where she erupted into giggles and started singing 'Wild Thing,' with special emphasis on the 'you move me' line. He threatened to leave her hanging in suspense, and she visibly swallowed down her mirth, attentive once more. He picked up his narration of Blaine's dialogue, his voice cracking.

"And then, after that stunning declaration, worthy of a John Hughes film, he leans in and stands at the same time, slow enough for me to see it coming – I couldn't believe it was happening Mercedes, even when he finally kissed me."

"How?" was Mercedes' immediate question. She poked his arm. "Like, a peck? Slightly more? For how long?"

Kurt shook his head, grinning like a fool. "Not a peck. Definitely more. And it lasted a . . . while. Enough for me to able to get over the shock, get control of some hand spasms, and . . . kiss him back. Which is when he really got into it, and I had to put my hand on his face, I couldn't not. And it was . . ." He faltered, mouth open, trying to describe everything that was incredible about that kiss. His first real kiss. Oh God.

"Oh God, that sounds . . . will you think I'm weird if I say I wish I'd been there to see it?" She bit her lip, grabbing his hands. "I'm so happy for you, baby. God, you deserve this so much. And Blaine is pretty damn cute – I guess I'm a creeper, 'cause the idea of you and him makin' out doesn't really bother me like it would if it were my brother macking on his girlfriend." She winked. Kurt shook his head, laughing out loud again.

"Yeah, well, I don't think he would've been able to work up the nerve to kiss me in the first place if anyone else had been there . . . and we most certainly would not have been able to make out for the next hour if you had been in the room." He winked back and she squealed – which was incredible. Mercedes was not the squealing kind of girl.

"Oh. My. God. Get it, Kurt!" She nudged him in the shoulder with her own, giggling along with his helpless laughter. "Guess those pamphlets your dad gave you really helped then."

"Mercedes!" He shrieked, now positively burning all over. He reached for a pillow and smacked her with it as she rolled all over his bed, hysterical. "That is the last thing I needed to be picturing now! You know how . . . oh. Oh, my dad!"

"What about him?" she wheezed, trying to control her breathing between hiccups.

"I . . . I don't know how to tell him . . ." He flailed uselessly. "I mean, I know he'll be okay with it. I think. But there's going to be another talk. Oh hell, what if he decides he needs to talk to Blaine! I'll die. Blaine will break up with me as soon as he starts talking about how he and his dad used to go down to the shooting range . . . I better warn Blaine now . . . or maybe I can tell dad later. Like, after our honeymoon –"

"Kurt, quit being such a freakin' drama queen," Mercedes groaned, hitting him with the same pillow he'd flung at her. "Your dad is awesome, and yeah, maybe he'll put the fear of God in Blaine, but then everything will be fine. You better tell him, Kurt. He's your dad and he's going to find out eventually. Better it comes from you."

Kurt had considered that long and hard, but made no comment on the matter to Mercedes. Instead, he decided for more squealing over his boyfriend, telling her about Blaine basically running into the door on his way out of the room, after their hour-long make-out session. Mercedes had just managed to get rid of her hiccups, but they returned with a vengeance as Kurt demonstrated Blaine's dazed expression and the rather painful (and loud) slam of his door shoulder-check.

"Kurt, you're giggling and Mother Abbess is singing 'Climb Ev'ry Mountain.' That's wrong. It verges on blasphemy." Blaine pokes his ribs teasingly, and Kurt flinches away, still giggling.

"Sorry. Just remembering something random. Funny. Apologies to the deities responsible for musicals, it shall not happen again."

And Kurt does feel a twinge – 'Climb Ev'ry Mountain' is one of his favourite songs. It always gives him tingles down his spine to hear it – both the words and the splendid singing. Blaine all but presses his lips to Kurt's ear as he murmurs, "How much of this movie are you actually watching? Because if you're not paying attention, then maybe we could be doing something else."

Kurt might have played coy, had he not just been reliving all the lovely moments of the past week, and thus been so completely infected by joy and want.

He turns off the TV without preamble, tilting his head and brushing his lips against Blaine's almost within the same second. Blaine meets him half way, and everything outside of their little bubble on the couch dissolves into nothing. Kurt focuses entirely on Blaine, committing every moment to memory so he can later relive this with as much clarity as possible.

Kurt loves how Blaine immediately seeks to be closer, but doesn't insist that Kurt does so – he always wraps an arm around his back, but just lets it rest there, with only the faintest hint of pressure until Kurt moves in. Then Blaine allows himself to hold Kurt to him tightly. Another hand comes up to his face, going up into his hair, taking advantage of the lack of hairspray. It's something Kurt would never have thought he'd like, but a desperate noise escapes him when they take a millisecond to breathe before diving back in again. He wishes, as much as he loves Blaine's 40s hair, that he could tangle his own fingers into those black curls. He groans in frustration as he brushes against stiff, unyielding locks.

Blaine laughs against his mouth. "I'll go without gel tomorrow."

Leaving both his hands where they had ended up on the back of Blaine's neck, fingers stroking back and forth where skin met hair, Kurt pulls back, but only slightly, arching an eyebrow. "You'd go out in public without your hair helmet for me?"

His fingers have kept moving, and Blaine's eyelashes are fluttering (so close Kurt thinks he can feel them on his cheeks), though there is a familiar, dorky grin stretching shiny lips. "Kurt, I think you'll find there's a lot I'm willing to do for you." He's so sincere that Kurt blushes, his smile hopelessly wide and probably just as dorky. Then Blaine ducks his head, not unlike the first time, whispering, "As long as . . . you keep doing that."

He actually arches into it then, as Kurt strokes along his neckline more firmly. There's a sense of power that goes along with Blaine's glazed over eyes. His mind flashes to Blaine's clumsiness after their first make-out session. He wants to see that again, he thinks with an evil, hidden smirk.

He goes back to kissing Blaine with everything he has, and more that he didn't even know he did. Blaine melts into him, a surprised moan sounding out, and Kurt's scheme to reduce Blaine into a klutzy mess is forgotten in the face of that delectable noise. More of that, please.

So, naturally, the sound of someone clearing their throat, loudly and persistently, doesn't register right away. In fact, he has no idea for how long it's been going – he hears it in-between the heaving breaths and other random noises he's been working on coaxing out of Blaine, and a few of his own that Blaine has managed to claim for himself.

He hears it, pulling off of his boyfriend (boyfriend!) reluctantly – Blaine tries to follow his mouth for a moment, and then freezes. Kurt opens his eyes, and sees Blaine's panicked expression – and there's only one thing Kurt can think of that would cause that much fear in Blaine in this moment.

He sighs without turning around. "Hi, dad. I guess it was a short day at the garage?"

A beat. "Hi, Kurt. Yeah, I wanted to be home early . . . I see Blaine came over."

"Uh huh. We're watching . . . we were watching The Sound of Music."

Blaine visibly manages to reign in the terror, smiling shakily and saying, "Hi, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt finally turns, bracing himself. His father looks . . . blank. No, wait. This would be his 'I'm trying really hard to think of the right thing to say' expression. It brings up a surge of affection from Kurt to see it, though the dread comes in on its heels – because he loves his father, but the last thing he wants is to watch Blaine get brained by a wrench.

His dad zeroes in on the tense boy sitting next to Kurt. "How long has this been going on?"

"One week, three days and – I mean, just over a week," Blaine hastily corrects and Kurt is clenching his jaw, pursing his lips, staring up at the ceiling, trying his damnedest not to laugh and gush over Blaine's little slip. One week, three days and nine hours.

His dad stares hard. "Is this why you came to talk to me, Blaine?" He looks like he regrets saying it as soon as it leaves his mouth, grimacing and rubbing at his jaw.

Kurt's instantly confused and alarmed. "What? When was this?"

He turns to Blaine, who is simultaneously bursting out with, "No, no sir, I swear! I didn't even realize I had feelings for Kurt until several days after that."

Burt stems the tide with a single, raised hand, since it seems that Blaine is over-anxious to prove that . . . Kurt's not sure what, but the other boy is grabbing onto Kurt's hand, and holding tight, and looking so earnestly at him, it just about makes him fall in love all over again.

"Before anything else is said, Kurt, I want you to know that when I went to talk to your dad, it was out of concern and caring for you. Okay? It may have been . . . inappropriate, and an over-step, but I just, I had to make sure you were safe. That's what that was about."

Kurt's blinking because he really doesn't know what's going on, and he shoots a glance over at his father, who looks marginally more relaxed. He smiles at Kurt, though he looks uncertain about what he's saying, "Blaine came by to ask . . . he wanted to make sure I was doing my job as a father. And it was an over-step, and I did tell him that. I know you're probably embarrassed Kurt, but he did light a fire under my ass to make damn sure you were educated and ready for the world in that . . . regard. So don't be too pissed at him."

Kurt is putting things together as his father haltingly explains, and by the end of the speech, he's recoiling from Blaine, staring at him incredulously. "You went to my father behind my back to make sure he would give me a sex talk!"

Blaine winces. "Yes, yes, I know. But I was worried about you. My . . . I don't have the same opportunity you do, to share things with my father. You were so freaked out about sex, and so sincere and amazing about your love for romance – I had to be certain that you were informed, so that no one would ever take advantage of that."

"Like I said – over-stepping," his father breaks in before Kurt can decide whether he's touched or horrified. "And kinda what I want to know, now – Blaine, you be straight with me, because I have access to all kinds of tools that can cause all kinds of pain – you really feel something for my boy? And don't you try to charm me, kid – I'll know it if you're lying to me."

"Dad!" And apparently Kurt isn't as embarrassed and angry as he thinks if his first instinct is to defend his boyfriend from his father.

"Your son is incredible, Mr. Hummel," Blaine says quietly, studiously avoiding looking at Kurt. "I've felt privileged to know him since the beginning, and he's been a great friend to have . . . but now . . ." His voice cracks, and he gives Kurt this small smile. It makes his heart flutter, his eyes widen, and a grin to rival all of Blaine's geekiest show-faces threatens to take over his face.

There's silence, because Blaine apparently is trying to speak with just his eyes. And amazingly, Kurt gets it. Were it not for the presence of his father in the room, Blaine would be getting kissed into the cushions as of five seconds ago.

"Okay." His father rubs his whole face with a single hand. "I'm . . . going to head to my room. Carole is on her way home, and Finn called – he'll be back from Puck's in half an hour. Blaine, you staying for dinner?"

Blaine nods before his father finishes asking the question, then cringes, glancing over at Kurt. "That's okay, right? I mean –"

"I'll need you in the kitchen, Kurt – in about twenty minutes."

Kurt nods. "Thanks, dad."

His dad hesitates for a second before leaving them alone, disappearing past the kitchen, heading towards his bedroom. Kurt watches him leave before facing Blaine again, shaking his head as he does.

"God, Kurt, I should've told you –"

"And I should've told my dad about us the day that it happened. Because you're right – I have this amazing father, and he loves me, and he already knows that I'm gay, as evidenced by the talk he gave me a few weeks back. Prompted by you."

Blaine groans, shutting his eyes. "I know. I know. It's weird and probably creepy, and definitely disrespectful of our friendship –"

"Shut up, Warbler Blaine, your boyfriend is trying to tell you it's all right." Kurt raises his eyebrows as the other boy's jaw drops.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You had good intentions, and you clearly feel like you crossed a line, and my dad told you that you have, and you feel horribly guilty – I don't think my telling you to never do it again is going to change any of that. And I'm sure you won't in the future – you'll talk to me first, am I right?" Kurt is staring hard at him now.

Blaine nods with ridiculous enthusiasm, "Yes, of course! I'm so sorry, it should –"

"Right, awesome – we have just over fifteen minutes before I need to help my dad with dinner." Kurt leans in, playing with the collar of Blaine's shirt, which he so smartly layered with a deep green sweater that does wonders for his hazel eyes.

Those eyes have very little greenish hazel in them now. Kurt laughs as Blaine swoops in with no other encouragement necessary. Kurt's plan to kiss him into the cushions is somewhat thwarted as he leans back, letting Blaine take the lead and he ends up being the one splayed out on the couch, but he couldn't care less. Endless minutes go by, and Kurt should really put a stop to this, his father would be coming back in any second and was Blaine humming?

"What is that?" Kurt whispers into his jaw line, eyes still closed.

He can sense the smile, though, and Blaine hums a notch louder. Kurt snaps open his eyes so he can roll them. "Oh my God, be more cheesy, why don't you?"

" 'So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair, of gold and star light in your eyes of blue.' "

Kurt muffles his reaction to this into Blaine's neck, secretly thrilling over it as he sings/murmurs more of the song into Kurt's ear. He's laughing without even trying to hide it soon enough, and Blaine keeps right on whisper-singing while holding Kurt as close as he can.

"Hey, I'm back! We makin' pizza tonight 'cause –"

Blaine's leaping up, Kurt is now giggling, and Finn is abruptly silent as he no doubt is confused from his vantage point, seeing Blaine suddenly pop up into his field of vision.

"Uh, hey Blaine!" he says, and Kurt hears him drop his school bag. "Uh, is Kurt –"

Kurt sits up slowly, peering at his step-brother from over the back of the couch; he knows that his hair is a total disaster, and his lips bear every indication of the serious making out he's been partaking in. And he really, really can't stop giggling. "Hey, Finn," he says between his highly undignified laughter, smiling brightly.

Finn gapes for a long moment, which is when Kurt's dad finally walks back in. He takes in the scene for a second, his mouth twitching, before announcing, "Pizza making time! C'mon Kurt, you know this won't be edible unless you help. Finn, wash up, you're going to top your own pizza – God knows no one else will touch anything with anchovies on it."

Finn blinks. "Right. Exactly."

Kurt and Blaine are making their way to the kitchen, and Finn crosses in front of them, pausing directly before Blaine. Kurt hangs back, watching. His father is pretending to ignore them, banging cabinets open and closed, and clanging cutlery onto the kitchen island.

Finn puts a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Rachel told me you were sure about being gay and stuff. Which is cool, I'm happy for Kurt. But, uh, you kinda need to make sure not to hurt him. See, Burt will kill you. Then, I'll help him bury your body. So, yeah. I think you're cool, Blaine, just, you know. Be good to Kurt, and we'll be cool." Finn nods as he finishes his rambling speech, shooting Kurt an easy grin as he heads upstairs.

Blaine stares up after him. "Great. Now all I need is your stepmother to threaten me, and we'll have it all covered."

Kurt bites his lip to keep from bursting out laughing at the forlorn look on Blaine's face. "Technically, my dad hasn't threatened you. Yet."

"Yet," Blaine sighs, and Kurt forgets all his own anxieties about his father's reaction.

"Oh, c'mon, let's get things set up. I'm starving. I may actually beat Finn out and eat two entire pizzas tonight – though mine will be significantly more healthy, and not have half a fridge's worth of toppings."

Blaine chatters as they start laying out ingredients, and then Kurt's dad and Finn join them, and things are shockingly easy between all of them. Carole comes home to greetings from all four of them. Kurt can see the moment when she figures out things between him and Blaine – it's less than five seconds from her own entry into the kitchen to add toppings onto her half of the pizza she shares with his dad. She winks at Kurt, and he grins back.

And as he's instructing his father on the best way to spread tomato sauce on a crust, he spots Carole leaning into Blaine, whispering in his ear. Blaine nods seriously as she pulls away, and when her back is turned, he seeks Kurt out immediately, mouthing, 'I told you so!' from across the kitchen. Kurt cracks up, Finn demands to be let in on the joke, and Blaine launches into the truly ridiculous (but true) tale about his Gap Attack.

By the end of the night, after a thorough albeit brief goodnight kiss, Kurt is waving Blaine off into the darkness, his mouth hurting from all the endless smiling, grinning, laughing, and yes, kissing. He glances back towards his house, sees his father standing on the porch, and if he didn't know any better, he'd swear that his dad was trying to hide some tears, quickly wiping at his cheeks.

Kurt turns back to watch Blaine's car disappear around the corner, feeling a brief pang, but cheering up at the thought of calling him later that night to make sure he got home all right. Because it's not like they'd been calling each other every night since they first kissed.

"C'mon back in, kiddo. I've got some Dirty Jobs saved up on the TiVo I wanted to watch. Wanna join me?"

"Yeah, dad." Kurt walks up the driveway. "Sounds great."

As soon as he's within arm's length of his father, he gets pulled into a halfway hug. They walk into the house together, just like that.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt believes his day to be over once he's getting ready for bed. There's been school, and homework, some semi-watching of a movie, lots of making-out (with his boyfriend, Blaine), revelations, family bonding, and Mike Rowe. So his father knocking on the door sort of throws him off. He whips around in surprise at the sound, almost falling off his bench. "Dad, you scared me!"

His father says nothing for a long minute, just sits down on his bed, staring at his own knees. Kurt's stomach drops. Oh. Right. This day had been going far, far too perfectly. The universe had to drop kick him now, remind him of his place. Well, so be it.

He sits down next to his dad, and waits. After roughly another five minutes, he can't take the silence anymore, and just asks, "Dad, what is it?"

His father sighs, bracing his hands against his thighs and staring up at the ceiling. "Kurt, I just want make sure you . . . you really feel something for this kid. I believe him when he says he ain't taking advantage of you. I can tell he's crushing on you. But Kurt, just because some cute guy likes you, doesn't mean –"

"I know, dad, I know. I mean, now I do." He leans into his father's side, smiling softly. "Maybe a year ago it would've been different but . . . I really, really like him. And it's him that I like. Not his orientation. It was . . . overwhelming, at first, knowing another teenage boy like myself, but trust me when I tell you that the veneer of charm and perfect manners Blaine has, it wears away when you really get to know him. Particularly when he screws up or puts his foot in his mouth," Kurt says ruefully. "Not that I haven't had my own moments. But it's not that he's the first gay guy I've ever met, it's that . . . he reads Patti LuPone's biography, and he has a spectacular voice, and he likes football. And many, many other reasons."

"You hate football," his father points out, sounding oddly congested.

"But you like it," Kurt explains gently. "And it's important to me that anyone that I like be able to get along with my family. Especially you, dad."

For the third time that night, his father reaches over to pull him close, and Kurt hasn't had this many hugs since he was eight years old, but he'll take them, gladly. He never feels safer than he does when he's in his father's arms. He closes his eyes.

When they're pulling away, his father reaches up to pat down his hair, and he cocks his head at Kurt, half-smiling. "Next time, tell me yourself, okay? I mean, I figure we've pretty much gotten to the point where you can talk to me, Kurt. And I wanna make sure it stays that way."

Kurt nods. "I know, I know. And I really was going to tell you, but I was . . ." He blushes. "Well, I didn't want you to scare Blaine away. Because death threats aren't as romantic as some might think."

His father narrows his eyes, and Kurt inhales sharply, cursing himself for his slip. But then his dad eases back, and takes a hand. "I wouldn't try and scare the kid away unless I really thought he wasn't good enough for you. Actually, there isn't a man in the world who I think is good enough for you, but Blaine . . . he'll do. For now."

"For however long this lasts." He doesn't know where that bit of melancholy comes from, but he does know how to combat it. He throws up every memory of Blaine he has from this past week, and he's smiling again in no time. "I promise we won't make out on the couch anymore."

"It's okay, Kurt," his father says, a small smile on his face. Kurt knows he's not talking about the couch thing. "You're allowed to be happy. Good things do happen, kiddo. And that's what I want for you. Good things and happiness."

Kurt bites his lip, trying to restrain happy tears for the fifty-billionth time in just over a week. "Dad . . ." And this time he opens his arms, wrapping them around his father, burying his head in the man's shoulder.

His dad automatically reciprocates, and tops it with a kiss to his temple. "Kurt, you be happy for me. Have fun. Uh. The good, wholesome kind. Because, personally, I don't think you should rush things with Blaine, even if –"

"Dad." Kurt leans away, raising an eyebrow. "You and I, we've kinda already had that conversation, and we're having a really great, heartfelt father/son moment – can we please not ruin it with abject humiliation and awkwardness?"

His dad sighs heavily, but his eyes lighten. "I guess so. I'll save it for when Blaine's over again."

Kurt whines, "Daaaaad." But he's grinning around the word, and then laying his head on his father's shoulder again, inhaling deeply.

An hour after that, he snuggles under his cover, clutching his phone in one hand. It vibrates and he answers, "Hi."

"Hi."

Then nothing but breathing, and Kurt huffs. "So, it's your turn to tell me something interesting about yourself. Or sing. I went last night, if you recall."

"I know. Mostly right now I . . ." There's a quiet snuffling sound, and blankets moving. "I wish you were here, with me. I mean, not in my bed. Well, of course in my bed, because that's where I currently am – just not for any . . . not that you're not attractive, Kurt, because you very much are, I –"

"I love it when you ramble," Kurt cuts him off, momentarily ignoring the nice, tingling sensation he gets from Blaine's verbal avalanche. "But, you sound off, Blaine. What's wrong?"

A long pause. "Nothing. Your family is awesome, you know that?"

Kurt thinks for a second, feeling the lingering warmth of his father's embraces, hearing the laughter from their dinner conversations. "Yeah. I guess they are."

Blaine breathes out slowly. "You hold onto that, Kurt – it's a precious thing."

Kurt frowns. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he says in his overly charming tone. "Don't worry, at least not tonight. I've had such an amazing day with my boyfriend, you see, and I really want to end it on a high note – pun totally intended!" Kurt is snorting, grinning, but he's also making a mental note to ask about this as soon as tomorrow. For now it's late, and he's definitely getting sleepy – and he wants to be wide awake and ready to really be there for Blaine, if so needed. "How about a lullaby, Kurt? Any requests?"

"That little ditty you were singing earlier might do the trick," Kurt teases.

"No problem." Blaine laughs. "As long as you return the favour tomorrow night?"

"You can most definitely count on it." Kurt yawns, hating his body for betraying him.

Blaine starts to sing, and Kurt is amused at how he alternates between singing 'all the girls/all the boys in town, follow you, all around' and he's already half-way dreaming, meshing real memories with what he plans to do tomorrow after they have their coffee – was it a date? Did Blaine make it sound like a date? Was any outing from now on automatically a date if it was just the two of them?

Kurt turns on his side, listening, drifting, and Blaine keeps on singing, even though the song is over – he just hums along to the tune, and Kurt recalls how that sounded, felt, just this afternoon.

He thinks he hears Blaine murmur, "Good night, Kurt."

But he doesn't hear him hang up, and he might have mumbled something like a 'good night' back. He falls asleep to soft, regular breaths in his ear. The last part of him that's still faintly lucid is already looking forward to doing this tomorrow night. And the night after that. And the night after . . .

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Author's Note: Gah, fluff! SO much. *chokes* And wow, kissing is harder to write than I thought . . . hopefully that wasn't too painful for any of you reading this . . .

With a presentation/mini-paper due (and only just begun after the episode aired), a lingering chest-cold, three WIPS hanging over my head, as well as various essays, and oh yeah, sleep, as in none . . . I did this.

I am a crazy person.

And judging by the continuous 'squee' all over the Internet that kept me company as I laboured all through the night on schoolwork and this . . . I am one amongst many :)

I waited to post so I could check for errors, 'cause yeah, late night write-a-thons are not conducive to grammatical correctness. While many, many people must be writing and have written for this episode, I couldn't resist taking a stab at it myself. Apologies to any and all those who wrote superior post-episode one-shots!

To those of you who know me from my other stories: So much love and apology sent to those of you waiting on those aforementioned WIPs! I promise I'm still writing for them, it's just things have been rather slow due to reasons mentioned already – Real Life, in other words, has been kicking my ass :) Aside from this random burst of energy, I haven't had much time for serious writing, but give me some time to shake off all this school stuff, and I'm all yours!

Thanks again, to any and all who stop by and read this! Comments and critiques are much appreciated!