Blaine rouses slowly. His toes are cold, and so is his nose, but the rest of him is warm through and through. Kurt is curled around him, body snug against Blaine’s back with an arm wrapped around his waist. Blaine smiles, drowsy and content, and rubs his thumb across the bone of Kurt’s wrist. Blaine doesn’t care how they sleep. Sometimes he ends up on his back with Kurt draped over him, an arm resting on his chest, one leg thrown across his thigh, and his knee pressed intimately into Blaine’s groin. Other times he wakes with Kurt’s strong arms wrapped tightly around him and his face buried in Blaine’s neck. Blaine is new to this – new to sharing space, sharing a bed, sharing breath - but he doesn’t care, he can adapt, as long it’s Kurt he’s doing the sharing with.

Blaine takes a deep, waking breath and smells unfamiliar laundry soap and the intimately familiar heat of Kurt’s skin. He rubs his cheek against the pillowcase and shivers at the scratch of his stubble against the smooth fabric.

“Your toes are cold,” Kurt murmurs in his ear. His voice is rough with sleep, deeper than usual, and the sound of it curls happily in Blaine’s belly. Kurt is so lovely in the morning - he’s lovely always, but especially so when he’s loose and pliant. Blaine loves to wake him with kisses peppered across his face and gentle fingers at his stomach and hips, and the smooth insides of his thighs.

Blaine stretches a little, tensing and releasing his muscles. His limbs feel heavy and relaxed, and the sheets are body-warm and soft against his skin. “Go back to sleep,” he whispers.

He doesn’t really want to get up; he wants to stay cocooned in the blankets with Kurt and enjoy some uninterrupted time together that they don’t normally get. But he’s thinking of the bread and coffee he promised himself he’d make for Burt. The clock on the nightstand says it’s only just past 6am. There’s more than enough time for a decent breakfast before Burt rises. Burt refused his offer of money for gas and food while Blaine is staying in his home, but no one can say no to a home-cooked meal that’s already made and on the table.

“Stay,” Kurt says, and his grip on Blaine tightens, keeping him from leaving the bed. He presses a kiss to the back of Blaine’s head. “It’s cold outside.” Blaine can hear the teasing amusement singing in Kurt’s voice.

“Your father will be pacing the floor.” Blaine shifts, and rubs his cold toes back against Kurt’s calf.

“How can you do this thing to me?” Kurt’s hand moves from his stomach and slides around his hip.

Blaine laughs. He can’t help it. It’s Christmas Eve, grey morning light is filtering through the curtains, and Blaine can feel Kurt’s heart beating in time with his. He twists in Kurt’s arms, finds his mouth in a tender kiss, and grins when Kurt makes a pleased, muffled sound against his lips and shifts against him. He knows they have Burt’s blessing, such as it is, but there are some things Blaine doesn’t think he can do under this roof, especially when Burt is just down the hall. But that doesn’t mean he can’t revel in this sleepy Monday morning. It doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the slick slide of Kurt’s tongue against his and the way Kurt gasps when Blaine presses closer and kisses him deeper.

The words are right there. Blaine can feel them in his throat and his heart. In that moment, they’re like espresso - if he pulls them too soon, they’ll be weak and tasteless, but if he holds them on his tongue too long they’ll turn dark and bitter. Wasted. The timing has to be right. He wants to say them though. Blaine wants to say them in the morning when he leaves for work, when Kurt comes through his line and gets his mocha hours later, when he calls Kurt during his lunch break just to hear the sound of his voice. He wants to tell him when he comes home from work or class and Kurt is on his couch, watching TV or something, or in his kitchen making them dinner, wearing one of Blaine’s old NYU shirts. Blaine wants to tell Kurt I am in love with you until he wears the words out and makes them new again.

“Don’t shave,” Kurt murmurs when Blaine finally draws back, and he rubs his thumb against Blaine’s stubbled jaw. The scratch of it sends shivers down Blaine’s neck.

“What?”

Kurt’s eyes finally flutter open, grey-blue in the hazy light, and Blaine’s breath catches in his throat at the look in them. Affectionate. Adoring. And somehow all his. There are times, just like this one, when Blaine can’t believe it’s come to this, that they’ve come this far so fast. Sometimes he still feels unworthy of Kurt’s attention, but he’s trying.

“It’s Christmas. Be casual. Be relaxed. There’s no one here to impress. It’s just me; it’s just us.” Kurt leans in and brushes his lips against Blaine’s cheekbone. It surely must scratch and tickle, but Kurt just hums, sweet and happy. “For me?”

Anything, Blaine thinks. You must know I’ll do anything for you.

***

Blaine has never had a Christmas like this one, at least not that he can remember.

Christmases past were small, broken affairs. Their parents fought even more during the stress of the holidays, and after the divorce their father just didn’t care anymore. He spent most of the day locked away in his study. Blaine’s brother did what he could for them: bringing home a tiny tree because he couldn’t carry anything bigger; wrapping small, inexpensive gifts in newspaper and tying them off with twine; finding new Christmas records at the used music store in town.

Blaine would save money all year, pennies and dollars earned from the elderly woman down the block who paid him to play the piano for her an hour in the afternoon a couple of times a week, and from the young couple across the street who let him walk their dog on the weekend. It never amounted to much, but he always needed to do something special for Cooper, his Coop. His only big brother. Cooper, who took better care of him than anyone else could. Who kissed his scraped knees and elbows when he fell, who taught him how to read music and change the needle on the record player, who taught him how to tie knots and make pancakes without burning one side.

They would set the little tree up in Blaine’s bedroom, draped in old tinsel and homemade decorations, where the twinkling lights were a comfort to Blaine in the dark of the night. They would sit on the floor with mugs of hot chocolate and unwrap their presents from each other, and for each other, while Dean Martin crackled in the background and a little candle burned merrily in the window.

Blaine doesn’t begrudge a moment of it. Cooper tried, and did the very best he could. And it was enough. It’s always been enough.

But that morning is spent around the kitchen table, with snow falling steadily outside, while Kurt and his father groan appreciatively over the eggnog quick bread that Blaine baked and the eggs he scrambled with the onions, peppers, and avocado he found in the refrigerator.

He makes them coffee. There’s no espresso machine in the house, and Burt only has pre-ground store brand coffee in a can in his cabinet, but Blaine brought with him more than enough whole-bean coffee.

He’s been saving his mark-outs from Starbucks ever since he started working there. He’s only one person (was only one person) and he can only drink so much in a week. Besides, he gets all the free coffee he can ask for during his shifts. And even though he gives his brother bags of coffee whenever he can, makes Cooper take them, Blaine’s cupboards are still overflowing. Kurt told him he didn’t need to bring his father a Christmas gift of any kind, but there was no way Blaine was going to show up without something to offer. Five pounds of beans isn’t much in the way of a ‘thank you,’ but it’s what he’s got. And it’s all that fit in his suitcase.

Blaine opens a bag of Komodo Dragon, because it’ll bring out the cinnamon in the bread; he’ll save the Christmas Blend for the next morning. He measures carefully and grinds the beans fine enough to ensure a full flavor - he won’t serve his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s father weak coffee. The scent of it, all at once bright and bold, fills Blaine’s lungs. He complains, but the scent of coffee is a part of him. He can’t hate what’s given him everything.

For Burt, he sets a warmed mug on the table with a little bit of milk on the side. For Kurt, Blaine does what he can to create a mocha without the proper equipment. He finds some dark chocolate chips in the pantry and melts them down in the microwave. Then he warms a pan of milk on the stovetop, careful not to scald it, and he stirs the thick melted chocolate and the heated milk into the brewed coffee until it’s a smooth, dark brown. He wishes he had a peppermint stick to add, or foam to draw a pretty little tree in. Or a heart.

The texture isn’t the same, and the taste is surely different, but the look in Kurt’s eyes when he takes the first sip sends shivers down Blaine’s spine to his toes and makes warmth curl in his belly. He leans back in his chair, more relaxed than he’s felt since he arrived, and smiles at Kurt. He lets the warmth of his own coffee - just a bit of cream with cinnamon sprinkled on top - seep into his bones.

This is what Christmas is for.

***

Burt takes Blaine to his shop for a few hours, because it’s Christmas Eve and people are driving around all over the place. Lima is Burt’s town, and his customers are his neighbors, and just because it’s a holiday doesn’t mean that Burt’s going to let anyone drive around unsafely. He shows Blaine how to change the oil in a Honda and rotate the tires on a Jeep. And Blaine earns himself a “good job, son” and a hearty clap on the shoulder when he puts chains on a customer’s tires without needing any supervision. The pride that swells up in Blaine at Burt’s approval cuts his breath short and forces him to take a moment to compose himself. He learned to do that from Cooper and he’s just proven himself to Mr. Hummel.

Burt sends him on home well before he closes the shop for the day wearing a Hummel Tires and Lube shirt, telling him that Kurt has a surprise for him and not to worry, one of the guys will drop him off at the house later. Blaine drives back to the house well below the speed limit because it’s been years since he’s driven in the snow and there’s no way he’s going to crash Burt’s car.

When he arrives, the house smells of oranges and cinnamon, of wood smoke and fir trees. Kurt is in the living room, standing near the fireplace, which is aglow with flames crackling to life behind the grate. He is beautiful, ethereal with firelight flickering across his skin and dancing in his eyes. Blaine’s chest feels too tight.

“Hey you!” Kurt’s eyes brighten when he sees Blaine. “Just in time.”

Blaine shrugs his jacket off and leaves his boots next to Kurt’s by the door. Kurt has his hands behind his back and a coy little smile on his lips.

“Just in time for what?” Blaine crosses the room and steps up close to Kurt. The heat of the fire washes across his legs and Blaine puts his hands on Kurt’s hips, because he can. He’s allowed.

“Kiss me first.” Kurt’s just teasing him now, rocking his hips a little, and the muscles and bones shift under Blaine’s palms. Blaine rolls his eyes and can’t help but smile; Kurt is so open in a way Blaine’s not sure he’ll ever be. But he leans in and presses a sweet kiss to Kurt’s lips and tastes cinnamon and oranges.

Kurt hums happily against his mouth. “You have grease on your cheek,” he says when Blaine finally pulls away. “It’s a good look on you. Rugged.”

Blaine blushes a little and rubs at the smear he hadn’t known was on his face. “You have a surprise for me,” he says. “I can tell. You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

“I do indeed.” Kurt’s smile is all teeth and joy. “So, you see these two stockings hanging above the fireplace?” They’re simple, the classic stocking shape in deep red fabric. The cuff lining the top is a soft shade of white with little blue snowflakes patterned across it. Little gold bells are sewn into the cuffs and they jingle merrily when Blaine reaches out to touch one. Dad is stitched in black thread across the cuff of the larger stocking in a slightly shaky script; Kurt is stitched across the smaller of the two and the crossbar of the t is flourished with a gold little star.

“I made these,” Kurt continues, and his voice is softer than it was, and his smile has turned wistful. Blaine can just see a young Kurt bent over his first sewing machine, squinting down at the thread and needle, and chewing his lip in concentration. “It was – it was the first Christmas after mom died. We, dad and I, we didn’t want Christmas to be different, but it was. How could it not be? But my mom had been teaching me how to sew and I thought that somehow making these would mean something. I guess I thought that making these would somehow make it better.” Kurt swallows and Blaine’s heart ached.

“Kurt,” he says, and he doesn’t know how to finish.

“Dad and I, we’ve always been good. We’ve been a good little family. I know it’s not like that for everyone, for you, but it’s been wonderful for me. We work together; we take care of each other. He’s been the best father I could ask for. But I didn’t know that we were missing something, that I was missing something.” Kurt finds Blaine’s eyes, and Blaine sucks in a breath at the wetness shining there. “I didn’t know I was missing you.”

Blaine feels a tear slip hot down his own cheek. His heart is pounding in his throat and it almost hurts to breathe.

“But I found you. I walked into a goddamn coffee shop in Times Square and you were there.” Kurt smiles and shakes his head in disbelief. “There you were. And I,” Kurt pauses and bites his lip against whatever he was going to say.

“Well, I made you something.” Kurt brings his hands out from behind his back. He’s holding a new stocking, made of the same fabric as the other two. Blaine is stitched into the cuff at the top (the handwriting is so much steadier) and the end of the e loops into a clever little coffee cup. Blaine puts his hand to his mouth to hold back the sob that threatens to burst from him.

“I – it took forever to find the same fabric,” Kurt continues. His voice is shaky and nervous. “But I did. I hope this is ok. I know it’s, well I know it’s kind of a lot.”

“It’s amazing,” Blaine breathes out, and the smile that blooms on Kurt’s face is warmer than the crackling fire. “You’re amazing.”

Kurt hangs the stocking on the fireplace, next to the one bearing his own name, in the space created just for this. Blaine can’t wait another moment. He throws his arms around Kurt and pulls him in tight. It is a lot, and it’s everything that Blaine could want but never thought he’d have.

I love you, he mouths against Kurt’s neck. He wants to say it, aches to say it – he’s not going to be able to hold on to it much longer.

***

Christmas Day is a quiet and lovely affair. They wake up late and none of them changes out of their pajamas. There are presents to unwrap: the coffee Blaine brought for Burt, and the Broadway music collection on vinyl that Burt thought Blaine might like. (He does.) Kurt gives him a soft, thick cardigan in a beautiful maroon, and Blaine bites his lip as Kurt unwraps the folder of sheet music. It’s the first draft of Blaine’s final project and on those handwritten pages are everything he feels for Kurt, everything he wants and dreams of. Later, when they’re alone, he’ll play the melodies for him. For now, Kurt thanks him and holds the pages to his chest.

A Christmas Story plays in the background while the three of them cook dinner. Burt takes care of the turkey that is clearly too big for just the three of them while Blaine handles the mashed potatoes and green beans. Kurt made pies the night before and he helps mix up a simple salad and warms the rolls before setting the table.

Blaine soaks up every last minute of it. He hopes, he wants, but he doesn’t know if he’ll have this again next year. He needs to revel in every sweet, wonderful moment of it: the depth of Burt’s barking laughter; the clatter of forks on plates, the scent of roasted turkey and cranberry sauce; and the heat of Kurt’s hand on his forearm when he reaches past for the bottle of sparkling cider. He needs to memorize all of it, everything, for the possibility of it not always being there.

He hopes it always is though. He hopes this is his life forevermore.

And after dinner, when Burt has gone to bed, saying something about too much food (but the glimmer in his eyes when he says it names him liar), Blaine finds himself at the big window in the living room, staring out into the snow-drenched darkness. The TV has been turned off, and Christmas music is spinning from the old record player in the corner. The lights are dimmed, letting the fire still burning merrily behind the grate cast a warm, flickering glow throughout the living room. The lights of the Christmas tree glimmer off the ornaments.

So this is Christmas.

Blaine is happy, content, and he is in love, and in that moment there’s nothing else to his world. It flows through him, warms and lights every place inside of him that was cold and dark for so long. He just can’t think of any of this ending, can’t think of it ever being over and back out of his reach, not when it’s so perfect right then.

“Hey,” Kurt whispers in his ear as his arms slide around Blaine’s middle.

Blaine startles, so lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed Kurt approaching. “Hey you.”

“Everything ok? You seem...” Kurt trails off and rests his chin on Blaine’s shoulder.

“It’s just,” Blaine takes a deep breath. “It’s just family, you know?” He doesn’t know how else to phrase it.

Because Blaine still aches with it, with the thought that maybe he cares more for Kurt than Kurt does for him, despite the key and the stocking and Christmas and everything else. It’s silly and ridiculous, and Blaine knows that, he does. But his fears and doubts have a way of creeping back in. He tries not to want a lot of things from his life, because up until now, his life has had a way of denying him those very things. He has to work so hard for each and every thing he gets that it gets exhausting.

But staring out into that blue-black dark, with Christmas lights twinkling in the distance through the snow drifting slow and delicate past the window frame, and a piano playing in the background, Blaine knows, soul-deep, what he wants from his life more than anything.

I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know.

Blaine needs Kurt to know. If he says nothing else of import in his life, at least he’ll have said this. He turns his head and his nose brushes against Kurt’s cheek. The time is right.

“I love you,” Blaine whispers, and he pulls it from the very depths of his being. He’s never meant anything more.

Kurt is quiet for a long moment, and Blaine can feel the steady thump of Kurt’s heartbeat.

“I love you too,” Kurt murmurs. Blaine closes his eyes and tucks the words deep into his heart. He knows at some point they’ll probably say things to each other in the heat of the moment that they won’t mean. But he’ll always have those words, safe in his soul - a truth he’ll never forget. They’ll be a lifeline to Kurt if they ever find themselves pulling apart.

“Merry Christmas.” And it’s I love you all over again.