“Blai…syor…turn…”

“Mmph…”

Kurt rolls over on to his side, lifts his face up from his pillow and wiggles so that his husband's dead weight of an arm falls from where it's draped across his back, and Blaine's forced to shift over on the king size mattress. No matter the width of the bed and the space they have, they always wake to find themselves contorted into a real human puzzle piece. 

The thick, rich brown fabric of the ceiling-to-floor drapes covering the far bay windows blocks out any light from the too-early morning sunrise cracking over the golden fields outside their sanctuary. Still, Kurt glares at Blaine's peaceful sleeping face in the darkness of their bedroom, with its traditional oak furniture, plush biscuit-colored carpet and pale gray walls.  

Kurt doesn't need any light to know that his husband's gorgeous amber eyes are clenched shut and crinkled at the corners. There's usually a small, sleepy smirk that sits at the edge of his lips while he sleeps, highlighting the couple days' worth of overgrown stubble around his upper lip and chin.

Kurt's glare slowly turns into blatant and happy gazing at his husband's sleeping form, until another quiet whimper comes from the other side of the bedroom door. Kurt pokes Blaine in the chest until he's forced to blink his sleepy eyes open.

“Blaine. He's crying. It's your turn.” Blaine takes Kurt's fingers in his hand and tries to roll over, taking Kurt with him, and as tired and warm and comfortable as he is, Kurt can't help but flop back over, spooning against his husband's back as he buries his nose into his sleep soft curls.

Blaine thought he'd known comfort before, but after experiencing their special order, locally-crafted mattress with their oak-carved four-posted, voile-draped heaven of a bed, he doubted he'd ever be able to sleep as well anywhere else. Especially with Kurt by his side, he couldn't see a reason why he'd have to leave the bed ever again. There's no reason for restless, sleepless nights, nothing on his mind to weigh him down, nothing heavy on his heart. He can just happily sleep knowing he will always wake up with his life still tucked safely beside him. 

“He'll stop; he's ok. He just needs to get used to it. He'll never learn if we just jump out of bed every time we hear him…” Another whimper followed by a scratch at the door cuts Blaine off midsentence, and before he can say or do anything, Kurt is already whipping off the blankets and shooting out of bed over to the door.

It's Saturday morning; they're not in any rush to be anywhere, and there's no need to cut their sleep short. They're not even desperate for extra hours of snoozing. It's safe to say that after many, many years of gruelling schedules and countless flights and journeys, they're finally at a point in their lives when they can just relax, simply for the sake of relaxing, and not only because they finally have the opportunity to relax, but just because it simply fits in with their daily life styles now. It just is.

“Kuurrrttt…” Blaine groans around a large yawn, though the secret smile in his voice is evident. He flops over onto his back just in time as Kurt opens the bedroom door. There's a yip and a squeak, followed by toenails clattering against the hardwood floor. A soft heavyweight and a whirlwind of light and dark patched shaggy fur hits the mattress with a soft thump, landing atop Blaine's shins.

Kurt follows, climbing back into bed and curling himself back into Blaine's body, reaching down to pat at the pup's wriggling furry backside and happily wagging tail. “I know, baby boy, I know; you just want to sleep with your daddies, don't you? It's better up I here, I know.”

Blaine smiles knowingly to himself; he'll never tire of hearing Kurt referring to them both as ‘daddies,' even as far-fetched as it is. The term ‘daddies' for them may not refer to a nursery filled with little screaming lungs, kicking legs, and exploding diapers, but it means plenty to them all the same. It means more than enough.

“He's four months old now, Kurt; he can't keep whining and scratching on our door every night…” Blaine croaks, shifting his legs as the puppy buries himself into a little nest of sheets and covers between them “We at least could have chosen a smaller, more manageable, less hairy breed…”

“Blaine. Old English sheep dogs are very popular around here. Every farm has one…”

“We're not a farm.”

“Thatcher is a properly bred, first gen pedigree…”

“Wait…hold up! How did he even get out of the kitchen; did you unlatch the door to the stairs on purpose?”

“Sshh… s'cuddle time,” Kurt mumbles into Blaine's shoulder as he snuggles deeper into his husband's warmth, one arm still dangling down to cradle the puppy. This kind of friendly banter and playful back-and-forth between them has only grown stronger as the years have passed. It's part of what makes them them; it's what keeps them sane and young at heart, remembering the early days when everything was new and exciting and wonderfully frustrating.

“Night night, little Thatch,” Kurt whispers as Blaine decidedly keeps his mouth closed and huffs out a little yawn instead. A little whine and an over enthusiastic yawn and leg stretch is the only response as the pup's eyes close, joining his ‘daddies' in quiet repose.

The actual decision to not have children of their own had been mutual, of course, and not really much of a decision at all--more of a ‘just knowing'. Kurt being Kurt had never really struck Blaine as the daddy type originally. Kurt seemed to prove him wrong on many occasions by ‘awwing' at babies and toddlers and little bundles of fur on TV, or sketching out tiny little suits and dresses just for fun. However, while it seemed as if Kurt had some ‘daddy' tendencies, he also made it clear that he could find ways of expressing them other than giving up his social life and flawless complexion to sleepless nights and baby massage classes.

Having children just wasn't something that was a priority for them. Kurt knew he was too selfish and wanting of Blaine's time and love and affection, and Blaine couldn't imagine not being able to pull his husband down onto their sofa, stripping him naked and worshipping his body just because there was a toddler watching them from a playpen in the corner of the room.    

Now happy and relaxed, Kurt just starts falling back into that realm of sleep with his husband warm and heavy beside him and his pup warm and heavy on top of him, when Blaine starts mumbling something a little incoherently. Kurt huffs, readying himself to roll his husband over to the other side of the bed (careful of the sleeping ball of fur) when he realizes Blaine is counting down.

“Three…two…one…ooof! Jester, you really should lead by example…” Blaine grumbles as the long, gangly cat, now sprinkled with little tufts of faded gray fur by his ears and mouth and chest, sprints into the room, leaps onto the bed and crawls up his chest, kneading at Blaine's shirt, then situating himself so that he's nestled between both Kurt and Blaine as he curls into a ball.

Fifteen years of age clearly had done nothing to diminish his kitten-like tendencies. He tucks his little head under Kurt's chin and purrs obscenely loudly, almost gloating against his chest.

“He was finally trained until you came along, you know?” Blaine grumbles, poking gently at Thatcher's little bottom. “All those years of training… and for what? Nothing,” Blaine carries on, mumbling sleepily as he pets Thatcher, gently stroking his fur. Jester pays him no mind, with his eyes closed tight and his ears flattened under Kurt's jaw; he also has that smugly sweet feline smile, the one that says, “Ha. I win!”

“You still think this is better than having kids, huh?” Blaine croaks out toward his husband. After the interruptions and extra bodies, sleep has obviously left his body's agenda for the time being.

When he's met with silence, Blaine turns his head and blinks his eyes open just in time to see Kurt crack a wide but sleepy smile, his face mushed to the pillow and Jester's face mushed to his. The longer Blaine's awake, the more his eyes adjust and adapt to the darkness around him; dark shadows are now turning into clearer, more familiar shapes.

Kurt is still just as beautiful, aging with grace as only expected. His chestnut tinted hair is still so thick and soft, with lightly speckled patches at his tips and at his temples. His body is still in great shape, and the morning swim and yoga sessions have really helped to soothe his backache from years of being bent over a sketchbook or computer, creating new and wonderful fashions. 

“Really, after aaallll these years you're still asking me that, Honey?” Kurt replies, croaky and teasing. “I do believe that if you had so wished to expand our family of fur babies to real human babies, then you would have expressed yourself so much more clearly and persistently, and not after almost fifteen years, whenever you're tired and grumpy from interrupted sleep.” Kurt turns his head toward his husband, ignoring Jester's little grumble underneath him. “And do I even have to add that at least four of those fur babies were your idea in the first place?”

Blaine's eyes snap open at that, his lips curling into a small sleepy grin that he's trying hard to hide. His right hand finds Kurt's left, and he strokes the pad of his thumb over Kurt's wedding band before moving on to the eternity ring Blaine had given him for their tenth wedding anniversary.

“Ok, Jes came with me originally, so he doesn't count,” Blaine starts; Kurt hums a sleepy response.

“Yeah, but he's more for me now anyway…”

Blaine politely chooses to ignore that. “And are you referring to the family of rabbits that hide out in the back garden? Because they are not specifically ‘our' babies; they chose to join us and never leave.”

Kurt rouses enough to respond, “It's probably hard to leave our tempting, brightly colored, delicious looking garden when you put vegetables and dishes of water out for them everyday, Blaine. Not to mention the hutch you built for them and fill with fresh straw everyday…”

“Ok, you know what? Let's just leave Peter and Flopsy and Mopsy and Cott…”

Kurt barks out a loud laugh, interrupting his husband's tirade.

“Well at least they help clean out the weeds in my herb garden,” Blaine adds petulantly. “What exactly does your fish do to help out around here?”

“Oh, excuse me! You did not just refer to my prize Koi as a common fish? He is beautiful and peaceful and adds tranquillity to the garden. His pond is a work of art!”

“And the horses over in the paddock that stomp their hooves, whinny and kick their stable doors at seven every morning? How do they add to your serenity, huh?”

“Oh, come on now, you can't live in the middle of a picturesque English countryside with acres of land, a farm at your door step, and not have some horses--”

“And the sheep across the way that are nearly at lambing season, meaning we'll need to be on hand for round the clock bottle feeding?”

There's a beat of silence, the gentle grumble of snoring and soft breathing from the two little bodies between them; Blaine sees Kurt open his mouth, ready to answer, but then yawn sleepily instead.

“What exactly is your argument here?” Kurt murmurs after a while, his voice low and quiet, sleep-broken with a light tone of contentment pitched in there somewhere. Blaine rolls over, allowing Thatcher to fall gently into the space left by his legs, where he promptly dozes back off with just a little puppy murmur and yawn.

Jester grumbles and mewls when Blaine drapes himself over Kurt's chest, wrapping him up tight in his arms and legs, and buries his head under Kurt's chin, almost nudging his beloved cat out of the way.

“My Kurt,” he whispers possessively when Jes flicks his tail at him irritably. “Go make friends with your brother.” All it takes is a tickle of Blaine's fingers to Jester's whiskers to deeply offend him, and he's jumping off the bed and scrambling over to the plush loveseat by the bay window. Of course, this is another space he's been taught is off limits, the lesson having gone to shambles since the arrival of his canine adopted brother.

“I don't know,” Blaine breathes warmly against Kurt's chest, dropping feather light kisses along the rounded collar line of Kurt's t-shirt. “Were we actually arguing?”

“Dunno,” Kurt mumbles, tightening his hold around Blaine's back. “Sounds to me like we were checking off all the very best things about having four-legged babies instead of the two-legged type.”

“What have I turned you into, huh?” Blaine whispers, the smile in his voice obvious. “Where is the award winning, prestigious, ranked top five in the whole world fashion designer? Where did he go, and who is this farmhand who has taken his place?”

Kurt grins into Blaine's hair, inhaling the coconut scent of last night's shampoo. “Oh yeah? Well, what about my multi-Grammy award winner, heartthrob of a husband? Last time I checked, shovelling manure compost wasn't exactly A-list worthy!”

“Oh pfftt, what do you know?” Blaine laughs, pulling himself up to blow a raspberry against Kurt's cheek, laughing along with him until he's too tired to hold his head up and resorts to kissing down his neck.

“You know what I got out of all that?” Kurt whispers, tracing Blaine's bicep through the thin cotton of his shirt.

“Mmm?” was Blaine's only response.

“That we have a pretty awesome life. We are some lucky dudes,” Kurt murmurs quietly, sleepy and happy.

“That we are, Mr. Hummel-Anderson. That we are,” Blaine sighs, smiling and still mouthing against Kurt's throat. He curls himself tighter against Kurt's warmth. “What do you say we sleep for a little bit longer, and then I'll treat you to crepes for breakfast? I think my strawberries have ripened enough to use now.”

“What do you mean, ‘treat'? It's your turn to cook!” Kurt grumbles and is answered with a pinch of Blaine's fingers to his side.

“Sshh. Sleep. Love you,” Blaine whispers, barely audible as he rubs his face against Kurt's chest.

“Love you, too. Like a lot…. And your crepes…and your home grown fruit…and vegetables…and…”

“Ssshhh,” Blaine rubs his palms in wide soothing circles up and down his husband's side, a tempting bid to will him to sleep.

Blaine smiles with satisfaction when Kurt's breathing starts to even out, his chest rising and falling steadily--until a loud cacophony sounds out from the roof above their window.

Thatcher leaps up from his spot on the bed, howling wildly in response, his little ears pricked forward and nose pointed upward. Jester hisses with disdain, mewling angrily, and Kurt swats repeatedly at Blaine's shoulder, both of them groaning.

“It was definitely not me who agreed to owning a cockerel.”

“Kurt, we like freshly laid eggs--and we can't have those without hens and--”

“I know, Dear. I know about the birds and the bees, thank you very much.” Blaine buries his head lower on Kurt's chest, just about to pull the bed covers up and over them when Thatcher lands on top of him, panting and tugging at his long sleeved tee, growling playfully.

“Ok, ok! I'm up!”

“We're up.”

*

Kurt smiles up into the sun-filled, cloudless, pale blue sky as Thatcher bounds up to him from across the lush green lawn, a slimy tennis ball hanging between his little pointed teeth, big pink tongue lolling to one side. The weather has been rather generous to them so far, during this fine English spring with dry, warm days, perfect for alfresco breakfasts and BBQs for sunset dinners.

“Good boy, Thatch!” Kurt takes the ball from the panting dog's mouth, grimacing at the wetness, and tosses it into the distance towards the trees and bushes planted at the bottom of the garden.

“Watch my roses,” Blaine warns from his seat at a small wrought iron table on the wood-decked patio. He glances up from his newspaper as he sips from his coffee mug.

“Yes, Dear,” Kurt sing-songs, grinning mischievously. The light wind provides a sudden gust and blows directly over to Blaine, through his wayward curls and almost knocking the paper from his hands.

The sunlight is reflected in Blaine's whiskey-hued eyes as he tuts and snaps his paper back into place, his irises glinting beautifully. Kurt marvels at how his husband seems to grow only more striking as time passes, and he finds himself looking forward to the many more years they'll have here together.

For both being in their mid-forties, they're both in pretty phenomenal shape with looks to match and only light tell-tale laughter lines forming at the crinkled corners of their eyes and mouths. They often still find themselves fairly close to the top in the ranking of ‘Hot Celebrity Couples' of many magazines and websites according to Santana, who keeps them informed of such things.

Blaine glances up again, catching Kurt's eyes, and winks. He neatly folds his paper and places it on the table, standing and intercepting Thatcher with a grin as the little ball of blurred fur runs back toward their table. Blaine takes the ball from his mouth and pretends to throw it in all different directions, causing the little dog to bounce up and down on the spot and bark excitedly.

A pair of strong, familiar arms wrap around Blaine's waist from behind, a chin hooked over his shoulder with warm, sweet breath blown across the side of his neck.

“Tease,” Kurt breathes, as he starts to sway them slowly on the spot, carefully sliding one of his legs in between Blaine's.

Blaine finally throws the ball in the opposite direction of his bed of roses, watching as Thatcher takes off towards the bottom of the lawn again. He lifts his arms up and back, his hands finding the back of Kurt's head, and gently curls his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. Kurt wears less hair product these days, especially when just at home with Blaine. Blaine definitely likes it--easier access when they're both in their more rambunctious moods.

“Me or you?” Blaine murmurs, turning his head to nibble against Kurt's jaw. “'Cause right now I'd say it's debatable.”  

Thatcher retrieves the ball but instead of bringing it back, he stretches himself across the lawn on his belly and starts determinedly gnawing at the saturated ball.

Kurt cranes his neck, giving Blaine more room to roam with his fingers, sighing blissfully as he looks out across the colorful flowerbeds and fruit trees. “Perfect.”

“What? Perfect that he's chewing? Yeah, it's great. Just wait until he finds your favorite slippers…”

Kurt playfully tightens his hold around Blaine's waist. “He'll only manage that if he has an accomplice. I have my eye on you, Anderson…”

“Hummel-Anderson,” Blaine retorts doing his best to act affronted, but his big grin is a huge giveaway. They laugh freely together.

“No, I mean this--this is perfect--everything is perfect,” Kurt says, kissing Blaine's cheek.

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees, sounding as if he's light-years away, floating in some blissful realm where time stands still.

“You know that I never used to come here? You know, before you…before us,” Kurt says almost a little pensively.

“Yes, I remember you saying you had this place, but you hadn't come here for a long time.”

“I had no reason to. And now it's crazy to think that this is my home, my life. You. With you. Because of you.”

Blaine turns in Kurt's arms, carefully draping his arms around Kurt's shoulders. “Love,” he whispers, “you ok?”

Kurt has done a lot of growing over the past fifteen years, not so much physically but emotionally and spiritually. He opens up now, he expresses, he talks and he doesn't hide. Blaine loves him even more for it, and always just lets him express himself however he needs to in order to achieve that state of contentedness they both enjoy.

Kurt nods, moves in to kiss Blaine's cheek again, then presses their lips together softly. “Like I said, perfect.” Before he can move in to kiss his husband again, this time with more intention, Blaine is already grinning and beating him to it.

Blaine dips Kurt backwards in his arms, plants a big one on his lips, and then hauls him back to his feet and drags him towards their hammock, tied between two large birch trees for a late morning rendezvous.

*

Semi-retirement was definitely an early venture for them, but not entirely surprising or unexpected. Money is a non-issue, and there is no concern or competition regarding which business is providing more financial support. They acknowledge their good fortune, but also credit themselves for all their hard work. And, as the years, travel, events, and awards have accumulated, they've realized even more that all they truly need and desire is each other.

Choosing to pack up their life and move to their cherished countrified Harrogate estate about a year and a half ago had been one of the quickest, easiest choices they'd ever made. And with that choice came their new, budding love for rural life, and they soon found themselves extending their space by building stables and pens on their acres of land. Nearby are a number of kind and friendly farming neighbors whom they have grown to trust and treasure over the years and are always around to help if needed. However, this way of life, this intimate closeness of just them, their animals, the fresh country air and roaring fire to fend off the chill has become almost second nature to them.

Of course, Kurt and Blaine still have a joint office upstairs in a newly converted old stone building, just out the back. They use it to check on their businesses long-distance as needed, and Kurt has made one of the downstairs sun-rooms into a cozy little drawing room, perfect for natural light and clarity. Once every couple months or so they fly to New York, Kurt to touch base with whatever projects his fashion teams are currently working on and Blaine to touch base with the creative teams at his label's studios. They also use this time to spend with family and friends, who are now at more of a physical distance, but still kept close at heart and never forgotten.

Blaine still works down in the basement studio Kurt created for him all those years ago, often using the gesture of a thumbs down, meaning he's going to head down and ‘play' for a while. Currently his ‘play time' involves finishing up an original score for a London's West End musical; the producers had been eager to have him on their team ever since hearing that he and Kurt had immigrated on a more or less permanent basis.

Santana and Brittany also are now married, living in Kurt's and Blaine's old New York condo with their twin daughters. Brittany has postponed full-time touring as a dancer, but makes occasional guest appearances, and Santana continues as Kurt's and Blaine's publicist, fulfilling her duties from afar. Both careers enable the couple to enjoy both their professional and stay-at-home mom careers. Sam moved with the couple over to the UK, where he now runs his own charity-based company, supporting families in less than ideal circumstances. He lives just outside of London, just a few hours away with his wife, one of the charity's project managers, and they're expecting their first child. He and his wife stay in touch with Blaine and Kurt, who have already agreed to be the child's godfathers, something they're looking forward to--having all the fun with a ‘two-legged' baby, but without all the parenting responsibilities.

Cooper returned to where he belongs after his PA stint gained him publicity and multiple offers for modelling and TV work once again. He has returned to live in LA in a larger, nicer home with his long-time TV soap actress girlfriend, and he stays in touch via Skype as often as their schedules permit.

Moving even farther away from Burt and Carole had been the toughest decision to make. After years of rekindling his relationship with his father and enjoying his special ties with Carole, Kurt had offered on many occasions to move them to England, too, with bribes of a quaint cottage just a half hour drive from them. Burt insisted he was too young to retire and was steadfast in his preference of Ohio weather as opposed to the northeast of England.  

In many ways, it often feels as if they never really moved that far away, as there was always a trip here or there or a vacation planned where the whole family, including Blaine's parents, get together. And, of course, the wonders of technology help keep everyone in touch, as well.

All in all married life has been exactly what they'd hoped--love, companionship, camaraderie, opportunities to grow and, of course, challenges. There have been spats and fallouts as might be expected with any relationship between hard working, independent, strong willed, passionate and intelligent adults.

There was a spectacular walk-out that Kurt had attempted not long before their eighth wedding anniversary when, in the course of an argument, he made a sarcastic and somewhat spiteful comment to Blaine, who then angrily and somewhat tearfully retorted that Jester didn't love him anyway--because that was the best he could come up with in his frustration. That particular situation resulted in Kurt returning less than half an hour later followed by countless hours of both men apologizing profusely and pathetically, a lot of make up sex and then laughing almost to tears because they couldn't even remember what started it all in the first place.

Marriage, as with life in general, is always going to be a work in progress, especially in a relationship such as theirs, born from deep-rooted need and want and desire--spiralling into something else entirely, scary but sure--back when everything was just maybe and until.

In the beginning, when everything was new and unsure and unexpected, the phrase until further notice had been a statement. It had been a way for both men to articulate what was happening between them, first professionally and then much more personally.

It was a silent plea and a confession, a “please don't hurt me; this may not last, but I really want it to,” without having to actually say the words themselves, which at that time felt too dangerous to place in the air between them. Deep down, they both knew that until further notice had actually, simply meant, “This is all I can give you for now, but I want to be able to give you more. Please don't leave, not yet, not ever.”

And then until forever had been born, and whether officially signed off and witnessed during a marriage ceremony or not, those words had always been in the back of their minds, tucked up into their hearts. They'd always been true, no matter the context or situation.

And now they have moved beyond ‘until further notice' and even beyond ‘until forever', and now ‘until'… is no longer needed at all. They no longer worry that what they have and what they desire may be cut short, because they have moved beyond that, they're better than that. They are now and forever; it's really that simple.

They were once sitting opposite each other in a half empty office, high up in the middle of New York City, their lives passing by, with everything they thought they wanted waiting in the wings, worry and fear and curiosity and wonder etched deep into their faces, and pooled into the depths of their eyes.

Two men, once seemingly so different, yet with so much in common, awaiting the same destiny without even knowing it--awaiting each other. 

Two men, once strangers, once employer and employee, caught up with too many ifs, ands, buts, and conditions. Now they are equal; now they are Kurt and Blaine Hummel-Anderson, business partners, loving husbands, the best and closest of friends.

And most importantly--they are unconditionally Forever.

Fin!