DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You)" by Fall Out Boy.
Warnings are: brief mentions of sex (and a brief blowjob).

This is just an indulgent little fic prompted by one of my lovely followers on Tumblr and is also posted there. I think we could all use some fluff with the finale coming up tomorrow.

endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com


"We're married," Blaine says breathlessly. His eyes are impossibly wide, impossibly full of too many emotions at once swirling and colliding.

"I was there," Kurt replies flippantly, though his stomach flips and tumbles over itself as those words finally process, as the results of the day they've been planning for months—well, he's been planning for months—finally hit him with the velocity of the Eurostar. The weight of the simple gold band on his finger feels heavy, there and so real. He sits heavily on the bed in their suite—their honeymoon suite, Jesus Christ this is happening. "Oh my god. Blaine, we're married." His voice rises at the end, going high and almost shrill. He glances over and sees that Blaine's grinning widely back, his own matching band glinting on his finger in the light.

He wonders where all the time went, what happened to just being teenagers in Ohio who so desperately needed the other. He remembers high school, remembers then the horrible year of separation during his freshman year of college where they'd broken up once for a week before Blaine had called him at four in the morning, voice cracking and fraying and making him sound small, like a child again. He'd been nearly incomprehensible through his tears and they'd agreed that they were being stupid and selfish and it's never going to happen again, I promise. He remembers getting their first apartment, remembers going down to the pawn shop to find the ring. He remembers proposing to Blaine and how it'd been the first time he'd seen Blaine cry since before he left for college and Blaine had stood, alone with cheeks tear-streaked, in the terminal as Kurt left to board his plane.

And now…they're here, the ceremony a few hours behind them and their hotel room theirs until they leave for their flight to Paris—a gift from Blaine's aunt—in the morning. It's funny to him that they've been given a honeymoon suite for only a few hours, but he'll take it. Kurt reaches for Blaine's hand, wrapping his fingers around Blaine's wrist and raising it to his mouth. Their eyes meet as he presses a kiss to each fingertip, lingering on Blaine's ring finger where Kurt's imagined a ring—their ring—would rest since he was sixteen years old. And now it's there, in all its golden tangibility, slid on by Kurt's trembling grip in front of their family and friends.

Blaine continues to stare, eyes unblinking and darkening like the clouds covering the sky before a storm, something glinting deep in the irises like the first spark of lighting. His fingers twitch and Kurt finally pulls away, running his tongue over his lips. He smiles, swallowing. "Hello, Mr. Anderson-Hummel."

Blaine breath catches in his throat and Kurt suddenly finds himself pinned to the mattress, suit jacket rucked up against his back and bunching at the shoulders. Blaine's mouth is covering his before he can fully process what's happening, his lips soft yet insistent, and Kurt's mouth opens immediately like always, their lips sliding together as Kurt clutches hard at the back of Blaine's own suit jacket, uncaring about the state of the fabric as he bunches it in his fists and pulls Blaine closer. He feels like a teenager again with this insistent fire just under his skin, licking and tickling at every inch of his body.

It's their first real kiss as a married couple. It's their own special kiss—not the light, reserved ones they save for public or the close-mouthed, lingering kiss they'd had at the altar earlier. This kiss is the way they've been kissing since they were teenagers; it's full of raw passion and urgency even though they have all the time in the world now. It's the kiss that makes Blaine whimper against Kurt's mouth, that makes Kurt groan low in his throat and rock his hips up despite the fact that they're both still fully clothed. It's the kiss that unravels even their most carefully-constructed personas, that makes them realize how much they need each other and how much they want to have each other. It's the kiss they'd exchanged their first time before they'd been fully naked and it's the kiss they've been exchanging ever since.

It's the kiss of a newly-married couple.


Their first full day in Paris is absolutely magical. Kurt wakes up just as the sun's rising to a moving lump of covers settled over his waist, Blaine's mouth slick and hot and tight around his cock as he bobs his head and hollows his cheeks, slurping noisily. Kurt comes a few minutes later with a cry, the blanket pushed down to Blaine's shoulders and his hand tight in Blaine's curls, ring catching the first weak rays of sun spilling into the room.

Blaine swallows loudly and sits up, running the back of his hand across his mouth. He grins down at Kurt, who's still liquefied against the bed, mind buzzing and heart racing. "Good morning, Mr. Anderson-Hummel," he says coyly.

Kurt groans out a reply, blinking wearily. His mind is still humming as somewhere down on the street the unfamiliar piercing wail of a French police siren cuts through the early morning haze. He pulls Blaine down for a kiss, licking into his mouth to taste the remnants of his come coated thick and heavy, his lips stretching into an involuntary smile when he pulls away. "Mm, and what a way to wake me up, Mr. Anderson-Hummel." He pauses and giggles quietly, cupping Blaine's cheek and rubbing his thumb along the bone and rounded curve. Blaine looks adorable sleep-rumpled—he always has, especially with the way his hair sticks up at a thousand different angles and his boxers are always askew and wrinkled beyond help. He feels like nothing and yet everything has changed. "Do you think we'll ever get tired of saying that?"

"Never." Blaine's reply is immediate as he reaches for Kurt's hand, twining their fingers and knocking their rings together, a gentle tinkling of metal against metal. "Not so long as we wear these."

"And I have you," Kurt adds, kissing their interlocked fingers.

"And I have you," Blaine parrots, adding his own emphasis.

"I thought as we got older we'd change a little," Kurt says quietly a minute later when Blaine flops back down next to him, curling up against his side and resting his head on Kurt's shoulder. The soft orange-yellow glow in the room is lightening, turning more golden as each second ticks by. Kurt admires the lumps into the covers at the foot of the bed where their feet are tangled together, his bare skin against Blaine's socks—Blaine has to sleep in socks, something Kurt will never understand. "You know, like…maturity."

"Our lives changed," Blaine corrects, pressing a kiss to Kurt's bare skin. Goosebumps erupt immediately and Kurt shivers, titling his head a little and closing his eyes. "But we didn't. I still love you just as much as I did the day I saw you on that staircase."

"You're still just as hyperactive and excitable," Kurt muses. "And you still use too much gel and wear too many sweaters."

"Hey!" Blaine protests, turning and pouting at Kurt. "I cut back on the gel for you when I started college."

Kurt runs his hand through Blaine's curls, letting the silky coils slip through his fingertips. "You did," he agrees, "but you still use some, which is too much, in my opinion."

Blaine huffs and rolls away, sitting up; Kurt follows his movements with curious eyes, still feeling sleepy and sated and unwilling to move even a finger. Blaine raises an eyebrow at him and stands up, padding over to the bathroom door. When Kurt doesn't move he asks, "Well, are you gonna come shower with me or not?"

Kurt's up so fast he gets tangled with the covers and nearly falls flat on his face. Blaine's laughter ceases as soon as Kurt rights himself and pins Blaine to the doorframe, kissing him hard.


They opt out of the hotel breakfast when they finally make it downstairs an hour later, happy and glowing and hands firmly clasped between them. The lobby is surprisingly empty as they make their way through it and out the doors into the late-September sunlight.

The little café around the corner is where they end up having breakfast. The tables outside along the street are small and white, round with little doilies in the middle and a small plastic vase with a fake rose resting on top of the lace. It's humble and quaint and when their waitress comes by and asks what they want, Kurt orders two coffees and two plates of crepes with strawberry sauce on the side in his near-perfect French. He knows for a fact that Blaine loves the pronunciations lower his voice slightly, makes it raspier, and he can't help smiling a little to himself as Blaine swallows hard across from him.

Their coffee comes first; they both reach for the cream the waitress had also placed in the middle at the same time, their fingers brushing, and Kurt looks around out of habit for a moment before giggling, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. He doesn't know what it is, but something about Blaine makes him feel like an eternal teenager. He lets Blaine have the creamer first, and when he puts it down Kurt grabs his fingers and laces them with his as he takes the container in his other hand, deftly pouring it into his delicate ceramic cup.

"You're gorgeous," Kurt says suddenly without thinking, looking up and seeing Blaine's honeyed-hazel eyes staring at him. "I love you."

"I love you, too, darling," Blaine says, squeezing Kurt's hand gently. Something inside Kurt twists at the pet name; he feels tears sting his eyes, unbidden, and he lets himself feel foolish for a moment. It's not like Blaine hasn't called him darling or honey or dear before. They're both guilty of the endearments and they've only gotten progressively worse as the years have gone by. No, this is…it's the first time Blaine's called him anything since they signed the marriage license, since they cut the cake together and Kurt had threatened him with bodily harm if Blaine even thought about smearing anything over his face or clothes (and Blaine did anyway, getting a healthy helping of rich butter-cream frosting over the bridge of Kurt's nose and the bow of his lips that he'd licked and kissed away just moments later).

Their crepes come, piled onto two separate white china plates. The sauce is in a clear dish next to their cups and their waitress gives them a large smile as he looks from their hands to their faces. She walks away without another word and then Kurt is immediately reaching for the bowl, sliding it closer and scooping out some of the sauce with his spoon. He feels Blaine's eyes on him as he spreads the filling in a thin coat across the face of a crepe and rolls it up, making sure none of it is spilling out.

"Open your mouth," he says, his lips twitching in a smile. Blaine raises an eyebrow but does as he's told, leaning forward a little and dropping his jaw.

Kurt swallows hard at the slight wet flash of Blaine's tongue in the morning light, his full pink lips damp with a little saliva, his eyes half-lidded as he waits. People continuously walk by and chatter loudly in thick French, the waitstaff checking up on people periodically and taking orders from new customers all around them, but Kurt's never felt so…isolated before. He's here, with his brand-new husband, and they were just holding hands but no one's even cast them a second glance.

He brings the crepe forward and forgets how to breathe as Blaine opens his eyes and closes his lips around the end of the thin pancake, biting off half and leaning back in his chair to chew.

He licks his lips when he swallows and smirks. Kurt barely suppresses his groan as Blaine says, in the sultriest voice he can muster, "Delicious."

Kurt laughs and feeds Blaine the remaining half, letting the tips of his fingers brush against Blaine's lips this time and Blaine's tongue, sticky with strawberries, to lightly flick against them. "You're incorrigible," he says fondly.

Blaine swallows and rests his elbows on the table, leaning in. Kurt follows suit and before he can blink Blaine's closing the distance between them, kissing Kurt and tasting like coffee and strawberries and wheat. Kurt doesn't let himself think as he relaxes into the familiar motion, letting their lips move lazily together.

"Can we just stay here forever?" Kurt asks when they're settled back down into their chairs, his voice coming out shortened and breathy as his head swims. "I was wrong. New York isn't my dream; Paris is."

"I'll go wherever you go," Blaine says, reaching for Kurt's hand again. He rubs his thumb over Kurt's knuckles. "You're my home."

"You're so cheesy, oh god." Kurt's voice is fond, amused as he takes another drink from his cup. They finish off their breakfast slowly, pausing every now and then to feed each other and lapse into a comfortable silence to watch the people walk past. Kurt sneaks a glance at Blaine during one of those silences, watching the light from the sun and wonderment at their surroundings play over Blaine's face in an ever-changing wave of emotion. His long eyelashes fan briefly over his cheeks as he blinks and lets his eyes stay closed for a second or two longer than normal; his fingers twitch slightly as he reaches for the handle on his cup and takes a sip.

Kurt wonders how and why he got so lucky to reach this point in his life, what he did to deserve it, but as the day progresses and they move from the Musée d'Orsay to walking along the Seine, he realizes that he couldn't have made it without Blaine. And as the sun sets later that night, the moon shining high and full above the rooftops of the city, they shed their clothes and kiss and move together until they can't anymore, until they're sweaty and panting and sore. Even in a foreign city an ocean away from everything he knows, he's never felt more at home than he does now in Blaine's arms.