“This is stupid.”

“No, it's not.  It's a way to show the world how passionate you are about ALS.”

“I'm not passionate about ALS.”  The glint in Kurt's eye tells Blaine that he's just teasing now.  He's keeping up the act in the successful effort to be cute. 

“You don't have to do it.”

“Why the hell did you nominate me, then, Blaine?  Of course I have to do it.  Because then if I don't, they'll talk about how I'm a terrible husband and you deserve so much better and Charlie deserves a more caring and sincere father.”

“My name is Charlie.  I'm three and I live at 550 Jersey Street in San Fran-”

Kurt and Blaine turn to little Charlie, frizzed curls framing her face with wide, bright blue eyes.  It's like she's both of theirs in more ways than just theoretically, but definitely also Santana's with the matching, devilish grin spread across the length of her face. 

“Good, baby.  Didn't we say that's for if you can't find Daddy K or Daddy B?”  Blaine turns his Charlie-voice on, as Kurt calls it, and scrunches his nose.

“Yeah!  If someone says they know my daddies!”  She crinkles her nose right back.  “They probsably don't knows my daddies.”

“They probably don't know your daddies.  That's right, sugar.  Want to watch Daddy B freeze out Daddy K?”

“Oh my God people, just get on with it.”  Santana lifts Charlie and plops her on her hip; Charlie, all the while, giggling like her life depends on it.  Santana hits record on her iPhone just as Blaine steps into the frame.  Charlie squirms out of her arms and skips to her daddies, dancing in a circle around the both of them.

“Ready daddies?!”  Charlie is ecstatic in the way she should be excited to watch something as hilarious as Kurt ruining his clean cut perfection in an outfit.  Blaine grins at her and Santana, and then lifts the bucket of ice up and over his head. 

“I'll protect you, Daddy Kurt!”  She launches her arms tightly around Kurt's neck from behind, hugging with all her might. 

“Ready, pretty? One… two… Charlie, get out of the way!”

Charlie giggles and runs back to Santana, crashing into her leg.  Kurt knows the camera, in that second, will be shaky. 

Kurt inhales then looks directly at the camera, squinting against the sun.  “I nominate Blaine Hummel-Anderson again because he's such a dick for nominating me that I'm going to make him pay… literally and figuratively… twice.”  He glares up at Blaine.  “Also, no sex.”

Blaine's laughter erupts in the way it always had since Kurt's existence in his life… ten years ago.  “Language, baby.  Little Miss will pick up on it and it'll all be your fault she gets suspended from pre-school.”

“I mean it, B.  No s-e-x if you dump that fresh bucket of-” 

xK&Bx

Kurt has never experienced such excruciating, bitter cold in all his life and he grew up in Ohio and lived through dozens of Midwestern winters, thank you very much.  When he manages to wipe the shards of ice off of his eyelashes, he looks over to where the girls are; Charlie is giggling with her eyes squinted so much that she already, at three years old, has laugh lines.  She is definitely Blaine's daughter.  Kurt looks at him for validation, shaking his hair like a dog, then blinks to see Blaine doubled over with the same squinty, giggly eyes as their daughter, and Santana blinking profusely at her iPhone as she tries to upload whatever proof she has quickly and quietly. 

It takes a few seconds for Blaine to straighten his spine and look at Kurt again, his child-like smirk dropping completely with a slack jaw and maybe, if Kurt knows his husband at all, a drying mouth. 

Blaine's voice drops an octave, into that husky, delicious baritone that Kurt usually only hears in the bedroom.  Blaine whispers.  “Babe.  Shit, you look…”

Santana pipes in with exactly what both Kurt and Blaine need to hear at any given moment.  “Go get it on and call us when you're done, you sick fucks.”  Santana looks between them then down at Charlie, puppy eyes wide and bright looking up at them like they're her entire world.  They are. 

“Go play with Auntie, baby girl.  We'll be right here when you get back.”

“Why am I being babysitted?”  The pout could kill Kurt.  It would, if he let it. 

“Because your daddy Blaine is torturing me with his dashing good looks and bedroom eyes.” 

Charlie nods, seemingly in understanding.

Santana and Blaine watch on, snickering because it's hilarious that Charlie has no idea what that means.  Clearly. 

Kurt kneels down and envelopes Charlie's tiny body into his arms and rocks her.  “And you hardly see Auntie with your busy schedule of playdates and Lima Beans so we thought you'd like that a lot.”

“I fink I would.”

“So kiss us bye and we'll see you in a bit, okay?”

“Can we go swimming when I get back?”

Blaine mumbles something undoubtedly dirty but Kurt can't make out what he says.  “Sure, baby.  Anything for my beautiful baby, Charlie Marie.”  He kisses her hard on her head then moves out of the way as an unspoken encouragement for his husband to do the same.

Blaine gets the hint, so Kurt stands and folds his arms; he's so in love with the both of them as they whisper secrets in each other's ears dramatically. 

“Okay, baby girl.”  Blaine kisses her on the lips.  “Get outta here, and bring Auntie Sanny with you.  Love you, cutie.”

Kurt laughs as Charlie scrunches her nose up in true Blaine Anderson fashion and reaches for Santana's nearby hand.  “Bye, guys.”

“Bye, daddies!”

“Hi, Daddy.”  Blaine whispers and slides his knee between Kurt's legs.  Kurt can't help but have his breath hitch, shaky on the exhale.

“Don't call me that.”

“My pretty… gorgeous, drop dead beautiful baby daddy.”  Blaine starts kissing Kurt's neck.  “What should me and my bedroom eyes do to you?”

“Whatever you want.  Preferably quick, though.  Who knows when they'll-” He swallows thickly in the middle of his sentence, fully welcoming the dizzy feeling he's dropping into with the sensation on his pulse point.

“Want you.”

“Come inside.”

“Of course I will, Kurt.  Come on, let's go swimming.”

“Swimming or fucking in the pool?”

He allows Blaine to flip him, then, molesting his mouth the way he did seven years ago.  “B…”

“Come on, a little bit of both?  Where I go, you follow.  Right?”

Kurt pulls away but has to kiss him one more time.  “Fine.  But you need to go find lube.  You know what happened last time.”  He breaks away and sits so only his feet are in the water, inviting Blaine to join him as he always does. 

“You go find the lube if you want it so bad.  I love how you walk after the times without it.  Like I marked you forever.”

“Only a day or two.  You're not that powerful on my heartstrings.”

“Har, har.  Make fun of me all you want, pretty.  You can't deny your heartstrings hurting every time you look at me.”

“And you, punk.”  Kurt leans back on the palms of his hands and tilts his head up toward the sun.  He closes his eyes tight and sees red behind his eyelids, but feels the warmth of Blaine's body as he sits right next to him.  They're connected at the hips except when Kurt turns his eyes to him, Blaine's completely naked save from the monstrous grin he's housing clear across his face. 

“Would you do anything differently?”  Blaine bumps his shoulder and smiles at him.

“Mmmm.  With what?”

“With us, asshole.”

“Oh.”  Kurt laughs.  “Nope.”

“Not one thing?”

“Except maybe all my damn resistance.  And not following you out here in college.”

“Good answer.”

“Love you, B.”

“Me too, Hummel.  Me too.”

“That's Hummel-Anderson to you, buddy.”  Kurt rests his head on Blaine's shoulder and stares at their synchronized, kicking feet. 

“Are you freezing?  Can I get you a towel, babe?”

Kurt looks at him in the most serious way he can muster, raising an eyebrow and inhaling deep and thorough.  He clears his throat and sings.  “The cold never bothered me anyway!”

Blaine blinks and stares at him with an open mouth, giving in eventually to the laugh Kurt needs to hear.  “Divorce is real, Hummel.  It's fucking real and you'll know that all too well if you ever sing Frozen ever again.  Without Charlie around.”

They wind up sitting there just like that for upwards of three hours, enjoying their alone time as is.  There will be more sex, there will be more I love yous.  There will be more moments just like this one but there won't ever be this moment again, so they both savor it until it disappears in the form of a rowdy three year old with strawberry ice cream crusted to her lips.