“Why do I have to wear the apron with the ruffles?”

Kurt glanced over his shoulder, grinning as Blaine toyed with the ruffles at the collar of his apron.  “Because you wanted to learn how to bake.  And as the teacher, I get to choose which apron I want, which means you get the other one,” he called out as he retrieved materials from the pantry.  “I’d also like to point out that it’s especially curious that you’ve asked me to teach you how to bake after making a sweeping promise last Christmas to, if I remember correctly, bake me cookies twice a year.”

Blaine shrugged sheepishly as Kurt lined up ingredients on the kitchen island next to a laminated recipe card.  “I’ve made cookies before,” he explained.  “They were just...”

“Hmm?” Kurt murmured, moving from the pantry to the fridge for the wet ingredients.  Blaine mumbled something incoherent.  And that just wouldn’t do.  “I couldn’t understand you, dear,” he said.  

“Slice and bake,” Blaine admitted.  “Okay?  They were slice and bake.  And they were pretty good, I might add,” he tried, even as Kurt bit his lip to keep from laughing.  “No, seriously, they got a little crispy on the bottom, and they come in all sorts of holiday -- okay, see the laughter is why I asked you to help me learn,” he sighed.  Kurt had lost the battle with keeping a straight face just as soon as Blaine started raving about the cookies being ‘crispy on the bottom’.  “I want to make you cookies, cause it’s sweet, but I also want you to enjoy eating the cookies, so I figured I’d ask the best baker I know.”

Flattery usually worked on Kurt, and this time was no different.  “I like having you in the kitchen, so let’s make some cookies.  And then we can eat some cookies.”

“Before Finn gets home?” Blaine asked hopefully.  Not that he didn’t enjoy spending time with Finn.  Well, he enjoyed spending time with him now that they’d worked through their issues that had cropped up when Blaine transferred to McKinley (Although Blaine would forever maintain that all of the issues were on Finn’s side, and Blaine had been nothing but friendly and willing to help.  While they didn’t share much in the way of interests in common, both Finn and Rachel had a real knack for declaring themselves the injured party when someone else who was also talented and/or friendly with everyone came around.)  But Blaine knew that if the cookies were still out in the open when Finn walked through the door, half of them would be gone before he and Kurt would hear a ‘hey, guys, do you know what’s for dinner tonight?’

“There’s no way I’d let them sit out in danger of Finn,” Kurt promised.  “So, we’re going to make cookies.”

“And these are ones that will compete with the fancy, New York cookies that you’re going to have available to you?” Blaine pressed.  “Because the bakeries there are going to be fantastic and I need to have something perfect to tempt you away from those other cookies.  Since you probably won’t have the space to make them yourself.”

“What do you mean, I won’t be able to make them myself?  And here, start cracking eggs,” Kurt instructed, passing the eggs, a bowl, and the laminated recipe over to Blaine.  

Blaine cracked the eggs as directed, making sure to scoop out the small pieces of shell that always seemed to fall in.  He wasn’t incompetent in the kitchen - he’d made dinner for Kurt on a couple of occasions when his parents had been out of town.  And he was pretty damn proud of the tenderloin and roasted vegetables he’d been able to produce during his parents’ anniversary weekend away.  But baking was an entirely different beast from regular cooking.  Baking required precision, and attention, and measuring.  It required not getting wrapped up in interesting stories, or watching Kurt’s adam’s apple bob up and down as he laughed, or spacing out while imagining licking the chocolate off of the corner of Kurt’s mouth once they were to the tasting phase of the cooking making - because melted chocolate on his beautiful lips was the main reason for insisting on chocolate chip cookies.  No, with baking he had to pay attention or else the cookies would be ruined, or the kitchen would catch on fire.  Like when Cooper was sixteen.  But no one in the family mentions that story anymore.  Mom did get the double oven she wanted out of the catastrophe, so it wasn’t an entirely unhappy ending.  

No, baking required concentration.  Which, now that Blaine was in the middle of it, he realized was the completely wrong tactic to take.  He should’ve asked for help in learning how to make something that involved the steps ‘toss into pot, wait four hours while it cooks.’  Then they’d pop the lid off of the pot and have something wonderful.  But he suggested cookies, so he was going to learn how to make the best damn cookies Kurt had ever tasted.  

He’d promised them twice a year, after all.  

“In your tiny New York apartment,” Blaine explained.  “You may not have a lot of space to cook.  Oh, speaking of your tiny New York apartment, remind me to show you something after we get these into the oven.”

“You mean, speaking of my completely imaginary tiny New York apartment?” Kurt asked.  “Seriously, Blaine, I love your optimism, but as of right now, you’re looking at my living arrangements for the foreseeable future.”  The door to the garage swung open, and then closed, following the rustle of keys.  “And my roommates.  Hi, Carole,” he called out as his step-mother poked her head into the kitchen.  

“Hi boys,” she said brightly.  “What are you making?”

“Kurt’s showing me how to make his oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,” Blaine answered, measuring out the rest of the wet ingredients.  

Carole’s eyes lit up.  “Are they supposed to be out of the oven before your dad and Finn get home?” she asked hopefully.

“Barring setting something on fire, which I’m most certainly not planning on,” Kurt laughed.  “Don’t worry - we’ll save you a couple before Finn shoves them all into his mouth at once, and we’ll have the rest hidden away before they can tempt Dad off his diet.”

“We can let him have one,” Carole chided.

“Only one!” Kurt insisted.  

“That’s all I ask,” Carole said.  “Because if we don’t, he’s going to mope.  And you get to go to bed and ignore it, but I’ll hear about it all night.  So save him one.  And save me some separate from what you save for Finn.  I’m going to get out of these scrubs and put some laundry in.  You boys make sure to clean up everything once you’re finished.”

“We will, Mrs. Hudson,” Blaine replied as she gave them a quick wave and headed upstairs.  

“So, back to my imaginary tiny New York apartment,” Kurt said.  He handed Blaine a spatula.  “Fold everything in gently.  There’s no need for speed here.  We don’t want to make the batter gummy.”

“Yes, your tiny apartment,” Blaine continued, stirring as instructed.  “Well, I just know how many clothes you have.  And everything that they show on House Hunters and The Nate Berkus Show and back on Oprah when they did that whole tiny apartment series... Kurt, you’re going to be using your oven for storage for your sweaters or something.  Either that, or you’re going to have to get rid of some of your clothes.”

Kurt gasped, affronted.  “Blaine Anderson, you take that back.  I am not getting rid of my clothes.”

Blaine just laughed.  “Hey, I’m just saying what I saw.  I bet Martha has an answer for it.  She has an answer for everything else.”

“I can... hang shelves from the ceiling,” Kurt said, scooping out some of the batter to test the consistency.  “I can store things under the bed.  I can store things in cabinets because really, I only need enough plates for me, my roommate, and you when you come to visit.”

“I guess I could always bring my own plate to save space,” Blaine suggested.  “And only drink out of the water bottle that I will make sure to carry along as well.”

“Which would probably give me space for one or two more shirts.  I like this plan,” Kurt laughed.  “Alright, the batter can be scooped, so here, I have the sheet ready.”  He pulled the first parchment-lined cookie sheet over and showed Blaine how to get evenly sized dough balls to keep baking times even.  “That way, we don’t end up with burnt edges,” Kurt explained.  “So I’ll let you scoop onto that sheet, and I’ll do the second.”

It took two cookies sheets, a few spoons, and all of their fingers to get the dough balls out and arranged to Kurt’s liking.  Blaine held up his messy fingers, hesitant to just wipe them on the apron.  “Ah, I need help turning on the faucet,” he said.

Kurt quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head.  “Blaine, it’s cookie dough.”

“Yeah, it’s cookie dough.”

“No, Blaine... it’s cookie dough,” Kurt repeated.  With Blaine still looking clueless, Kurt grabbed one of his hands and licked the dough off of Blaine’s thumb.  

Blaine’s eyes went wide.  He wasn’t expecting Kurt’s tongue, his wonderful tongue, on his fingers, especially not with Carole walking through the house.  And oh god, all of the things he wasn’t able to think about because he was concentrating on baking and getting measurements right came flooding right back into his brain.  Although try as he might to find something sexy and seductive and maybe a bit naughty to get back at Kurt for surprising him like that, what came out instead was, “But there’s raw egg in that.”

Kurt chuckled low in his throat as he licked off the rest of Blaine’s fingers, one eye trained on the door to make sure that Carole was still upstairs.  “It’s cookie dough, Blaine.  I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like cookie dough.  And honestly, if there are such people out there, I’m not sure I want to be friends with them.  So, here, try,” he added, scraping off the dough from his own fingers to ball up on his thumb, offering the treat to Blaine.  Which Blaine gladly ate, proving Kurt’s point with a soft and satisfied moan as he pulled off.  “See?  Cookie dough is one of the main reasons to make cookies.”

“So... I should just send you some of the dough in the box as well?” Blaine asked, trying to pull himself back together for the task at hand.  Cookies.  Cookies were the task at hand.  

“I wouldn’t turn it down,” Kurt said.  “So, let’s get these into the oven and see how well we’ve done, hmm?”

***

Kurt and Blaine had moved to the couch to wait for the cookies to bake.  They wouldn’t be in the oven long enough to watch any show in its entirety, so instead they just sat, snuggled next to each other while Carole continued to putter around upstairs.  “There’s something about freshly baked cookies that makes a house feel... I don’t know, more homey,” Kurt murmured, letting his head rest against Blaine’s shoulder.

“They always do that on, like, Love It or List It, or Selling New York, or shows like that,” Blaine agreed.

“You watch too much HGTV,” Kurt sighed.  “It’s house porn.”

“Really?” Blaine laughed.  “You have the entire Bravo line up commited to memory.  I mean, c’mon... what’s on at... say... Sunday nights at 10?”

“The Real Housewives of New Jersey, but everyone knows that,” Kurt answered.  “Yet another show that makes me glad that my dad is sane and I don’t have a large extended family.  But it’s still better than house porn.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just trying to get a good idea of what your tiny little loft in New York is going to look like,” Blaine said.  

Kurt shifted to take Blaine’s hand, but he didn’t look up him.  “Blaine... I get that you want to be supportive but... I’m here in Lima.  I’m not in New York.  And no amount of you saying that it’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming is going to change that,” he sighed.  “I’m stuck.  Here.  Which isn’t terrible, because I’m with you,” he added quickly.  “But... still... here.”

Blaine turned his head to place a soft kiss on the top of Kurt’s head.  “I told you - you’re too bright a star to stay here in Lima,” he murmured.  “And hey, remember the constellation we just named?  The one right next to ‘Doogie Howser Typing’?”

That got a laugh out of Kurt.  “Are you talking about ‘Kurt Shows Those Bastards at NYADA What They Passed Up’?”

“That’s the one,” Blaine beamed.  “And I keep harping on it cause I know it’s gonna happen.  One way or another.  So since it isn’t going to happen NYADA way, we just have to come up with another way.”

“It’s too late to apply to other colleges,” Kurt said.  “I already checked.  I still can’t believe I was so wrapped up in NYADA that I didn’t apply anywhere else,” he grumbled.  “And I can’t believe Ms. Pillsbury just let me do that!  Isn’t that one of the jobs of the guidance counselor?”

Blaine shrugged, making sure not to jostle Kurt off of his shoulder.  “So, it’s too late for college this semester.  There are a lot of companies in the city still accepting applications for internships.”

“How would you know that?” Kurt mused.

“I... um...” Blaine fumbled.  “I might have done a little research.  For you.  Not that I didn’t think you weren’t doing your own, but... that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.  When we were in the kitchen.  I found, like, seven or eight that don’t have deadlines for another week or so, and I know that you have all the stuff from your NYADA application, and I can’t imagine they’d want much more than the school information and a cover letter.  And you’re brilliant at things like that.”

“I don’t know,” Kurt sighed.  “I thought you had to be currently in school to get something like that.  Maybe I’m just supposed to stay here in Lima,” he grumbled, the word sounding distasteful as he said it.  “I can take over the shop and become a greasemonkey.  Wear the same coveralls day in and day out.  Adopt a trucker hat again.  I think I still have that puffy vest in my closet somewhere.”

Blaine laughed, squeezing Kurt’s hand.  “You could do that if you want to,” he replied.  “And, speaking of greasemonkey, I think I’m going to change number three on the list.  Just for that.  It’s now ‘teach me how to change my oil’ and I want to see you in the coveralls.”

“Oh really?” Kurt mused.  “I think I can do that.  It would have to be tomorrow before the shop opens, but I can do that.”

“Perfect.”

“I might as well get used to it,” Kurt sighed again.  “Since this is going to be my life from now on.”

“It’s a real shame you don’t even want to look at the list of internships,” Blaine continued.  “There was actually one open at Vogue.”

Kurt shot up from Blaine’s shoulder and just stared, wide-eyed, at his boyfriend.  “There’s what now?” he asked.

Blaine shrugged.  The non-chalant act was kind of fun.  “If I remember correctly, there’s one open at Vogue that I found.  But since you’re just going to stay here in Lima...”

The timer on the oven started buzzing, pulling the two of them back into the kitchen to keep the cookies from burning.  “Well, I guess I could at least take a look at the list you made up,” Kurt said as he grabbed a dishtowel to pull the hot cookie sheets out.  “Since you went through all that work for me.  And I do appreciate it.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Blaine replied.  He looked over Kurt’s shoulder at the pair of cookie sheets - one with the cookies Kurt shaped and the other with Blaine’s attempt.  It was pretty easy to tell who was in charge of each sheet.  The perfectly round and evenly cooked cookies on one, the slightly irregular and oddly shaped cookies on the other.  “Well... they’re not perfect,” Blaine sighed.

Kurt tsked and shook his head as he started to remove the cookies to the wire racks to cool.  “I will eat and enjoy oddly shaped, less that perfect cookies twice a year if you’re the one to make them,” he said, turning to give Blaine a kiss.  “Because if they’re from you, they’re perfect.  And thank you for looking up internships for me,” he added softly.  “I doubt any of them will work out, but I appreciate the effort.”

“Any time,” Blaine murmured.  “So, the most important question right now is - how long until the cookies are cool enough to eat?”