Kurt heard the knock — if you could call it that — at the door. The thud, thud, thud of a shoulder, or an elbow, or even a head, rather than the knuckles normally reserved for knocking.

He opened the door and as expected, buried under a landslide of shopping bags, stood Blaine, juggling the last minute Christmas gifts and groceries Kurt had detailed for him in texted shopping list updates while he stayed home to decorate for the incoming holiday crowd.

“You could have set it down. I almost didn’t hear you,” he said, taking bags from the top of the stack.

“Do you have any idea what would have happened to this stack of bags the moment I let one go? Dominoes, Kurt.  Besides, I knew you’d rescue me.” He gave Kurt a perfunctory kiss on the cheek as he began setting the bags down on the kitchen table.

“Did you get everything? I’m not sure we’ve got enough food. And we need to double-check all the gifts and confirm that we have candy for the stockings …”

“Kurt? Baby? Kurt? I’ve got everything. We’re done. We could feed an army, and give them all gifts, too. We’re ready. We just need to wrap and cook.”

“What about the games? Did you go to Toys R Us?” 

Kurt had been insistent that Blaine stop by the toy store and buy puzzles and board games for the holiday, the first they had hosted for their families. It was a Hummel family tradition.

Every Christmas since Kurt was a child, Burt bought a new puzzle and poured the pieces — 500, minimum — on a felt puzzling board in the living room. Anyone who visited during the holidays was required to complete at least five pieces (and eat several cookies) before they were allowed to depart.

Board games were another tradition: Monopoly, Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit and even some of the games from Kurt’s childhood — he simply could not throw out Candyland — were called into frequent service.

But after they had extended the invitation for a family gathering in their home, Kurt realized that aside from a deck of cards, he and Blaine didn’t own any board games. 

“We’ve got video games,” Blaine offered, earning a searing look. 

“Board games. Classic board games,” Kurt insisted, adding the names to Blaine’s shopping list.

Blaine began unpacking the bags, seeking Kurt’s approval on the tartan scarves, leather gloves, jewelry and other gifts he had selected for Burt, Carol, Finn and his own family. 

“You did stop by Toys R Us, right?” 

“That and more!” Blaine said, beaming. “We are now the proud owners of Monopoly, Scrabble and Pictionary. I also picked up a dice game just for us.”

“Dice? Blaine, we’re not running a casino.”

Blaine dug out a small, dark bag, his grin growing wider. With a dazzled “There you are,” he pulled a small box from the bag.

He took Kurt’s hand and set the little gift in his palm, whispering in his ear, “Not that kind of dice, sweetheart.”

Kurt opened his hand to see that Toys R Us wasn’t the only toy store Blaine had visited. He’d also stopped by an adult boutique not far from Times Square. Rather than dots, the pink dice were imprinted with a word on each side. One die contained verbs: Kiss, eat, suck, blow, squeeze. The other contained nouns, specifically, body parts.

“Hours of family fun,” Blaine said, waggling his eyebrows. “Just FYI, every time I tried it in the store, I rolled ‘squeeze ass’,” Blaine added with a giggle, reaching around and giving Kurt a squeeze.

“Anything else in your bag of tricks, Mr. Anderson?”

“Just a couple of special Christmas gifts, Mr. Hummel.”

Kurt peeked in the bag and his eyes lit up.

“Gingerbread flavored lube?”

With a look on his face betraying the fact that he may never have been prouder of himself, Blaine grabbed the bag with one hand, Kurt’s hand with the other.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Let's go open your gift."