Kurt's first soufflé fell victim to an impromptu game of indoor football that found three kids scrambling for a touchdown in his kitchen.

“Sorry, Uncle Kurt,” Finn called over his shoulder as he grabbed the football and led the girls out the door, “but it's Uncle Blaine's fault. He tossed the ball in here.”

Kurt trained murderous eyes on Blaine who simply winked, then shrugged, and disappeared with the kids out the door back to the living room.

Kurt's second and third soufflé (he felt it safer to make two at once in case something happened to one of them) both went completely belly-up when Barbra came in to the kitchen to show Kurt how well she was doing in her adaptive tap dance class. After her sprightly rendition of The Cat Scratch Rag, Kurt checked on his desserts with a heavy heart to see them both caved in.

“I'm sorry, Uncle Kurt,” Barbra said as Kurt pulled his ruined soufflés out of the oven. “I would have waited till later to show you, except Uncle Blaine said it was imper…impera…imperative that you see it right now.”

“That's alright, Barbra,” Kurt said to the little girl. “You did nothing wrong. And your routine was inspiring.” Barbra looked up at Kurt, her bright smile and shining eyes so reminiscent of Rachel Berry that it made Kurt's heart twist. He smoothed down her hair with his hand, swept up in the nostalgia of the moment, until he remembered his two razed soufflés on the kitchen island. “I'm just going to go have a talk with your Uncle Blaine.”

Kurt took Barbra's hand and stormed into the living room, where Blaine was busy setting up another game with the kids, a devious little grin on his tempting lips.

“Hey, kids,” Kurt said when he entered, eyes completely fixed on his unruly sub - since that was the face that Blaine wore, “why don't you guys wait for your Uncle Blaine out in the backyard? I need to have a word with him.”

Barbra, Eva, and Elphaba might not have understood that sharp tone in Kurt's voice yet, but Finn sure as heck did. He gathered the girls and took them to the backyard without question, shooting one last glance at Blaine, hoping they'd see him again soon.

“Kurt?” Blaine said with a look of mock surprise. “Is there something…”

Kurt pushed Blaine to the sofa and climbed over him, one knee to Blaine's chest pinning him to the cushions, his hand curled into the collar of Blaine's shirt with a knuckle pressed against his throat, constricting his breathing.

“We have fifty people showing up in four short hours,” Kurt growled, bending low and speaking straight into Blaine's mouth, “and I haven't had the chance to clean or decorate or bathe yet. All I asked you to do was occupy the kids, and you've managed to destroy three soufflés in the process.”

Blaine opened his mouth to speak, but Kurt snapped at his lip quickly and bit it hard to keep him quiet.

“Now, I am going to put one more soufflé in the oven, and then I'm going to shower. You and the kids will play outside. If anything happens to my dessert, Blaine Devon Anderson, punishment will be swift and severe. Do you understand?”

Blaine didn't speak, only nodded his head, with a playful glimmer in his eyes that made Kurt wary. But Kurt couldn't deal with him now. He was behind schedule. Soon the house would be filled with friends and family celebrating the pre-release of Blaine's new album. Adam's family was coming in, and also Dave's dad. He had promised Dave, who was beside himself with nerves, a nice night – hence Kurt's special chocolate soufflé.

Kurt climbed off his sub, thinking that he probably would have better luck caging Blaine like a naughty puppy, and laughed at the image of a naked Blaine, ball-gagged and hog-tied in a black training crate.

He would need to discuss that image with Blaine as soon as it was appropriate.

Kurt got out of his shower twenty minutes later in a far better mood – though his mood would have probably improved magnanimously if he had just left the children to their own devices and dragged Blaine in the shower with him.

Probably far less chance of his soufflé being demolished, too.

But he trusted Blaine the adult to be a good boy and do as he was told.

When he entered the living room, everyone was quiet, sitting on the sofa and watching a movie – Barbara and Elphaba cuddled together, Finn sitting on the edge of the couch cushion with his elbows propped on his knees and his hands locked beneath his chin, and Eva sitting in Blaine's lap, her hand curled into his shirt, leaning her head on his shoulder and sucking her thumb.

It was all very picturesque and sane…and calm…too calm.

Kurt saw the children relaxing, but Blaine seemed stiff, with that playful glimmer still dancing his eyes, and Kurt felt his body freeze.

“No, no, no, no…” Kurt mumbled, racing past the group and into the kitchen. He tiptoed as best he could across the tile floor, but he knew it was useless. His heart sank into his stomach, exactly the way he suspected his soufflé had. Switching on the oven light, he knew he was right. Instead of a fluffy dessert, puffed up like a chocolate cloud, he saw another flat-as-a-pancake deflated mess. He heard the kitchen door open and close behind him as someone else entered the room, and Kurt's hands balled into fists. Kurt turned off his oven in defeat of his last destroyed soufflé. He could probably manage some sort of passable dessert with the remains, but before that, he had discipline to attend to. He stood up straight and turned around to see Blaine leaning against the kitchen wall - Blaine his sub, with eyes full of innocent mischief, a sly smile shadowing the corner of his mouth.

“So,” Blaine said, countering Kurt's burning gaze, “you mentioned something about punishment?”