To say that Kurt Hummel loved decorating Christmas cookies was a gross understatement. Kurt adored it. Kurt wasn't a big fan of the Christmas holiday itself per se, but decorating cookies was his hidden passion. From the first moment Elizabeth Hummel sat her son on her lap and swept a string of colored gel across a snowman's neck to make a scarf, Kurt became hooked. Two decades later, Kurt's collection of edible trims and icings had grown considerably from just a few tubes of colored gels. His little box of tricks contained a full palette of royal icings, all sorts of candied baubles, and delicate silver pearls so beautiful, most people picked them off their cookies to avoid eating them at all.

It wasn't just the trim that was too beautiful to eat. Kurt knew at least a dozen people who had opted to save instead of savor last year's signature selection – a cinnamon butter cookie decorated with a faux stained glass window representation of the nativity scene.

Most of Kurt's friends and associates revered his exquisitely decorated cookies, keeping their distance at this time of year out of respect for the artist.

Everyone, that is, except for Blaine.

Blaine, who should have known better.

Blaine, who should have just left Kurt alone.

Blaine, whose swift fingers had already managed to pilfer six candied buttons, a handful of sugared snowflake sprinkles, and more chocolate and butter biscotti flavored biscuits than Kurt could count.

Kurt eyed the sneaky fingers as they walked comically along the counter, while their owner hid behind the relative safety of the kitchen island, in search of another treat.

The click of metal closing quickly around Blaine's wrist stopped him short.

“Uh…”

The sneaky thief lifted honey colored eyes to look at his boyfriend, a fire melting through prismatic eyes of steely gray.

“Alright,” Kurt said, pulling on the empty end of the handcuff to get his sub to his feet. “I think it's about time that you learned a little something about the fine art of cookie decorating, and why it needs to be respected.”

Kurt dragged an enthusiastic and curious Blaine to an obliging kitchen chair and sat him down, attaching the handcuffs to the rung of the chair. Kurt's skillful hands swiftly undressed Blaine, leaving his shirt hanging down one arm, and otherwise only in his boxer briefs. Kurt left him for a moment to retrieve a plate from the counter. On it were a variety of colorful icings, trims, and brushes. He appraised Blaine for a moment, tilting the man's head to gaze up at him.

“When I was little,” Kurt began, picking up a tiny brush and dabbing it into a fine iridescent powder on his plate, “my mother taught me to decorate cookies.” His brush picked up the glittering dust, which Kurt carefully applied to Blaine's cheeks.

“It is probably the most special moment I remember spending with my mom.”

Kurt moved Blaine's head back and forth with a finger to his chin, making sure the dust spread evenly on both sides. He put the brush down, and picked up another, tiny, fine point brush. This he used to pick up a dab of bluish-silver gel.

“You see, Blaine…” Kurt swept the brush along the line of Blaine's plump lips. “I was six, and I didn't realize it yet, but my mom was already dying.”

Blaine gasped in a sharp breath as he watched Kurt's face, brow furrowed in concentration, but eyes misty and distant. Kurt put the brush up to his lips as he looked Blaine over, deciding, and then making a choice. Kurt picked up another brush. Another fine layer of powder dusted Blaine's neck.

“She drew the most elaborate Christmas scenes, and I always thought there was no way we could fit all of that onto a cookie. Not unless the cookie was the size of a Buick.” Kurt's voice wavered as he laughed, putting down his brush and picking up a pair of tweezers. With these, he selected individual candied gems, dipped them in white royal icing, and started placing them carefully over Blaine's eyebrows and along the line of his cheeks.

“But she always managed it. And they were so amazing…I don't think I've ever made one that could match hers…”

Blaine swallowed hard, watching a single tear break free from Kurt's eye to roll down his cheek, but Kurt's hands never shook.

“The last Christmas we spent together, we made cookies every day until she went to the hospital…”

Kurt switched from gems to pearls, lining those down the bridge of Blaine's nose. As the icing dried, it made Blaine's skin itch, but he didn't move, didn't dare twitch. He watched as Kurt continued with his decorating, waiting for him to return from his journey.

“Making these cookies and giving them to my friends, it's a way of keeping her close.”

Kurt put the plate down, and with a small dollop of a gold infused gel in the palms of his hands, ran his fingers through Blaine's hair, taming his curls.

Kurt stepped back to look at his masterpiece. He smirked, pulling his iPhone from his pocket and taking a picture.

“And, I can't do that if you keep stealing my supplies.”

Kurt turned the camera toward Blaine so he could see his face. Decorated in shimmering power with pearls and gems lining his cheeks and eyes, he looked like some sort of mystical elf or magical creature. He smiled, but a sweet sadness filled his chest.

“Kurt…” he whispered, watching as Kurt dusted off his hands and put them on his hips. “I didn't know. I am so sorry. I…I'll never steal anything again. I promise.”

Kurt smirked, waving a hand in front of his face.

“I don't really mind,” Kurt said. “Actually, I usually make extra on purpose just so you can take them.”

Blaine sat up straight, his brow furrowing, his expression incredulous.

“Wh-what? Then…”

Kurt shrugged.

“No reason, really. I was feeling a little down and I just needed to get that off my chest.”

Blaine giggled, shaking his head gently so as not to dislodge the decorations on his face. He sighed when he saw Kurt walk toward him.

“So, what now?” Blaine asked, assuming Kurt would unlock him. Instead, Kurt straddled his lap and slowly, carefully licked the icing from Blaine's lips.

“Right now,” Kurt whispered, licking his lips, “I'm in the mood to eat my own cookie.”