Yes, I know I'm supposed to be gone from the face of the planet until November. But this sort of felt like an obligation, because I did offer to write some extended pieces of my favourite drabbles.

This is based off Chapter 8: Anything Else? of my story You Had Me At 'Sesame Street'.

Yeah, it's the original mustard one. It's THAT one.

This is going to be a five-shot. One chapter for each item on Klaine's shopping list. No guarantees about how often I'll be updating. I guess it'll be whenever I figure out how ON EARTH I am going to write each of those items, especially given that, about a week ago, I was stressed about writing a kliss.


WARNING! Please notice the rating on this story. It is (inevitably) a bit more... um... mature than Sesame Street. Right now, there isn't smut, but I make no promises about upcoming chapters.

Blaine was one of those people – he always had been – who learnt best through praise. He never took well to being told what he was bad at, but if someone told him he was awesome, everything else somehow seemed to work itself out.

He could remember, admittedly rather vaguely, the time when the careers counsellor at school had met with his parents and told them exactly that...

"Your son is very talented," Ms Bristol had said, shooting Blaine a proud smile. "But his confidence needs some work. He needs you to help him realise just how talented he is."

"Talented? What? Our boy?" Mr Anderson joked, clapping Blaine on the shoulder as if positive Blaine would take it lightly.

And he tried to.

Blaine was used to the jokes. The mockery. The quips. The humour. In fact, he was very used to it. So used to it, that he couldn't remember the last time his father had paid him a compliment without it being paired with a deprecating wink or gesture.

But Ms Bristol had noticed the way Blaine's eyes had fallen, that humble, almost worried look that had pinched his forehead at his father's jibe. She, who had watched as that look faded from Blaine's eyes in these first few months at Dalton, watched it return now. She, who had helped Wes and David encourage him, nursing his singing, his dancing, but most importantly his confidence (which was all you really needed when it came to stage presence), was unable to prevent all that work coming undone. She, who remebered that one day, not so long ago, when Blaine had practically skipped into her office, babbling about having won the assembly solo fair and square, sat helplessly by as that confidence, that freedom, slowly dissipated.

But she didn't have to sit in silence.

"See, that's what I'm talking about," she'd quickly pointed out. "It's not my place to tell you how to raise your son, but I can tell you from what I know about Blaine that, sometimes, he needs you both to be genuine with him. He needs to know that you're proud, even if it isn't something you feel comfortable saying to him."

Blaine's ears had turned pink and he'd lifted a hand to cover his face, abashed. His mother, on his right, had glanced over him to meet his father's eyes. They'd noticed the difference between the boy sitting beside them and the one who'd transferred to Dalton six months ago. They'd noticed how this boy held his head high, smiled, laughed – behaved like any teenage boy should, gay or otherwise. Behaved like a boy who wasn't scared to be himself anymore. So then and there they'd made a silent agreement to encourage, not tease, him. Then and there, they'd decided that positive re-enforcement was the way to go.

Kurt, fortunately, needed no such discussion with the careers counsellor to get the hint. Blaine very clearly worked best with encouragement. For instance-

"Mmm, yes- more..."

-made him learn with uncanny speed that Kurt kind of loved it when Blaine's fingers, lips, tongue – any part really, Kurt wasn't fussy – dipped into his bellybutton, pulling at the last few flecks of whipped cream.

"That feels-" Kurt broke off with a moan, his fingers raking against Blaine's skull as Kurt clutched his head tighter, "-incredible."

Blaine chuckled, touching his tongue one more time to his boyfriend's impossibly addictive skin before pulling back, licking his lips.

"That tastes incredible," Blaine said, leaning over to snatch the half-empty bottle of whipped cream from Kurt's bedside table, pulling off the lid and shaking it. "You've got to try it."

Kurt sat up eagerly, distracted momentarily from the icky, sticky feel on his stomach. A wide grin decorated his face at the mere thought of fulfilling Blaine's offer.


"Open wide," Blaine ordered.


Kurt's confusion was short-lived, as Blaine wasted no time spraying a blast of cream directly at his mouth. Unprepared for the attack, Kurt hadn't thought to so much as part his lips, and as a result, the cream ended up smeared unceremoniously across his face. Blaine broke into a fit of laughter, falling forwards and burying his face in the messy bed sheets at Kurt's expression – part-perplexed, part-mutinous.

"You... meant to... I thought..."

Blaine was gasping out words, dissolving into hysteria before he could utter anything coherent.

"Your face!" he managed to say as his head emerged from the sheets. But, seeing the cream-covered Kurt again, he lost it, his head plummeting back down to try and smother his laughter.

Kurt, however was not amused.

But, knowing that his boyfriend learnt best through praise, his let out a long sigh, pushing his hair back from his face to ensure none of it got near the cream. This had already thrown out his moisturising routine for the next month – he wasn't about to let it mess up his hair-care regime too!

"Blaine?" he asked gently, when his boyfriend had stopped practically sobbing in mirth. "Do you want to help me get this off?"

Instantly, Blaine looked up from the sheets, the laughter still clear on his face. His gaze met Kurt's, his teeth gripping his bottom lip to stop another chuckle breaking loose, and he said, dapper-as-ever, "Yes, please."

Kurt made a gesture that seemed to say, 'Well, go on then!' and Blaine acquiesced, leaping forward to kneel with his legs either side of Kurt's, hands moving down to push his boyfriend back against the headboard, and spreading over his chest. Blaine enthusiastically licked, sucked at, practically ingested Kurt's skin – whipped cream and all – his sloppy kisses doing just as good a job at spreading the cream as at eating it away.

Not that Kurt minded.

At all.

It took a great many kisses, and more than one great sweeping lick, but eventually the cream was gone. Swiftly, Blaine pressed his lips to Kurt's, letting Kurt savour the creamy taste of his tongue. Blaine pushed closer until his and Kurt's bare chests were flush and the friction of their hips was making them groan. He moved his lips over to Kurt's cheek, then to Kurt's ear, biting at the lobe as he breathed, "That what you had in mind when we bought the cream?"

Kurt tried not to lose it completely when Blaine's teeth grazed his earlobe.

Good behaviour is to be encouraged, he reminded himself. And this behaviour wasn't good enough. Yet.

"Not exactly," he whispered back, squirming a little as Blaine's mouth moved down to his neck.


Blaine was still laughing a little at his own brilliance with the cream stunt as he continued his journey south, hands sliding down Kurt's chest as his lips pressed against his collarbone.

"No." Kurt confirmed. "And for the next item on the list, I think I deserve a proper taste."

"What is the next item?" you ask.

My answer:

Go check.

And also:

What have I gotten myself into?


Interestingly, I think the first section of this is, like, a perfect example of how my mind works. I have these half-formed ideas (e.g. the original idea started from 'Kurt, fortunately, needed no such discussions...') and then I sort of get off track, going the long way around to actually get to what I mean to express. I do the same thing in Waiting for Wormtail and The Things We Do For Love (both HP James/Lily stories). Anyway, I just thought that was interesting. You might not agree.