“Let's go dancing tonight,” Kurt said as they were finishing dinner.

“But I wanted a story,” Blaine kvetched.

“The story isn't going anywhere, Blaine, but my sinuous, sexy dance moves have an expiration date. Someday I'll be old and fat and stiff, and you'll wish you'd spent more time dancing with me.”

“Stiff?” Blaine raised one eyebrow.

“Oh my God, Blaine. Do you only ever think about sex?”

“I can't help it. I am a guy.”

Blaine had stood to clear the dishes, but Kurt took them out of his hand and put them in the sink. Then he pulled Blaine to him. “I know you're a guy. It's my favorite thing about you.” Kurt rolled his hips against Blaine as he slid his hands to Blaine's buttocks and pulled him closer to him.

Blaine gasped. Then he began nuzzling Kurt's neck. “I tell you what,” he mumbled between kisses, “Let's go into the bedroom. Then after, you can read me a story in the bed. Then we'll get up and go dancing, I promise.”

“What about the dishes?” Kurt panted with his head thrown back, exposing his neck to more of Blaine's lips and teeth. “If we leave them here, they'll get crusty and impossible to clean.”

Blaine reached down and swung Kurt into his arms. “I'll get a second job. I'll buy you new ones.”

Blaine stared out the window of the carriage. He felt ridiculous riding through Scotland in a carriage. He was a proper Scot, and as such, he only felt comfortable astride a horse or on his own two feet. Nonetheless, he couldn't ask Rachel to ride all the way to his manor, nor could he leave her alone in the carriage with only her maid. It wasn't seemly.

Blaine had drawn the line at dressing once again in the English garb. He would be damned before he would travel through Scotland in clothes that he could not move in. This morning he had donned a linen shirt that trailed to mid-thigh. Then he had wrapped a heather and moss-colored plaid around his body, buckling a heavy belt and sporran around his waist and pinning the shoulder with a circular plaid brooch. Blaine preferred the more colorful tartans of red and yellow, but the more subdued colors he wore today would allow him to slip unnoticed into the forest if required.

They traveled with a small company. It included Elizabeth, of course, and although Blaine hadn't seen her, he had known she was there. The group also included Rachel's maid, Tina, who was sitting across from them looking down at her clasped hands. Sitting atop the carriage with the driver was Rachel's groom, Finn. It was a little odd that the groom rode in a rather coveted spot, but Rachel seemed especially fond of the large servant. In fact, as he handed her into the carriage, Blaine thought he saw a look pass between them. He thought about her comment the night before where she hinted that she loved a man who was unsuitable. Could it be Finn? If so, perhaps Blaine could find a way of hinting that he would be amenable to an arrangement.

He took Rachel's hand, and she looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. Blaine reached out and took one of Rachel's ringlets between the fingers of his free hand. “We look very similar, you and me.”

Rachel gave Blaine a tentative smile. “I suppose that is true. We have the same dark hair, although your eyes are lighter, beautiful, almost the color of lamplight.”

“You flatter me, wife.”

“I am merely observant.”

“I was thinking,” Blaine wanted to proceed very cautiously, “that any babe you bore would look like me, whether it was mine or not.”

Rachel's eyes widened with outrage, and she withdrew her hand, “You insult me, sir!”

Blaine raised a hand, placatingly, “I assure you no offense was intended. I was merely commenting on our similar visage. It was but a fleeting thought, and certainly it was not meant as a comment on your character, which I am assured is of the highest order.”

Rachel visibly calmed, and Blaine was happy to see a speculative gleam in her eye. “I apologize if I was quick to assume. It is good that you share your thoughts with me, even if they are only passing ones.”

The couple said nothing for a long time, and then Rachel brought up a topic she had wanted to broach for a while. “So, you must be very pleased to be returning to your home. I am sure that you missed your familiar surroundings.”

“Aye,” Blaine replied softly, reverting to the Highland burr that came from his lips when he was lost in thought. Then he came more fully to his surroundings and said to Rachel, “Are you sad, my lady, to be so far away from your own family? You know that they have leave to join us at any time.”

Rachel shook her head, but silently she gave a little cheer that this conversation was going exactly as she intended, “There is but only my father. My mother died when I was very small.”

“Did your father not remarry? I would have thought a man with his wealth and power could have his pick of any woman short of the queen.”

Rachel gave a small laugh, “I do not think my father wanted any woman, including my mother. Would I scandalize you if I said that my father is quite content to live with his man servant, who I believe sees that his every need is met.”

“Surely you don't mean…”

Rachel raised one eyebrow. Then she said, “You've read the old poems from Greece and Rome. You know, of course, that there are some men who prefer…some who are similar to themselves.”

“But that is against God.”

“No!” Rachel found herself getting a little angry, “That is against the Church. Surely you see the difference.”

Blaine contemplated her words, “Perhaps you are right. I had not considered it that way before.” Blaine sat silently for a moment, “Although perhaps such scandalous speculation regarding your father is better left to Court, where I hear that gossip is the order of the day.”

“I have never had much use for Court, although I have attended there a few times. Of these other matters, you should know that I love my father, and I will not be made to feel ashamed of how he is loved or how he loves, for surely there is not so much love in this world that we cannot be happy for all of its forms.”

Blaine was dumbstruck. Was his wife merely telling him about her family, or was she giving him permission to indulge in his own bent toward men? Blaine ran a hand through his hair.

It was all so confusing.

"You made one of Rachels dads a butler?  Which one?  Hiram or LeRoy?"

"It doesnt really matter.  I dont think either will make an appearance in this story."

“Rachel's pretty progressive for her time,” Blaine commented, running a finger down Kurt's side. They were both naked and lying in the bed. After they had made love, Kurt had grabbed his laptop from the side table and powered it up while Blaine had retreated to the bathroom and returned with a hot, moist cloth and a dry towel. When they had cleaned up, Blaine had snuggled against Kurt's side and listed to Kurt read another chapter from the story.

“She's not progressive. She's got an agenda. She's Rachel, Blaine. She always has an agenda.”

“You love Rachel, and you know it.”

“I'm loving her less, now that she's married to you.”

“Why Kurt Hummel, are you becoming jealous of your own fictional characters?”

Kurt pulled Blaine closer and kissed the top of his curly head. “I don't like the thought of anyone having permission to touch you but me,” he murmured into Blaine's hair.

Blaine slid his hand up so that he was stroking Kurt's lean, muscled arm, “You never have to worry, because you're the only one who does it for me, sweetheart. I can't bear the thought of touching anyone but you or being touched by anyone but you.”

“Do you still want to go dancing?”

“Of course I'll take you dancing. I promised I would.”

“Well, I was thinking,” Kurt said with fake offhandedness, “that maybe we could skip the dancing just this once, and maybe see if little Blaine is up for round two.”

Blaine rolled on top of Kurt, laughing, “Ye are a saucy wench, Elizabeth. Aye, I'll have ye yet.”

Kurt groaned, “Not the accent, Blaine. I'm begging you.”