“Bounce, papa bounce, more, more.”

 Everyday-mundane chores are certainly much easier to do when performed to the tune of delightful squeals and soft spoken words of your almost two year old son, and the gorgeous low rumble of your husband's early morning rough, husked laugh. The best soundtrack ever, actually.

Strike that, the sight is even more exquisite. Kurt walked into his bedroom, arms full of laundry, still dressed in plaid pyjama bottoms and a hoodie, to find Blaine lying in the middle of their bed, propped up against a stack of fluffy pillows, bare chest, and sleep shorts riding low on his waist underneath the falling covers.

Finley was sitting on his lap his hair mussed, blue romper suit all sleep crinkled and stained with milk and breakfast crumbs and jumping up and down against Blaine's strong legs. Blaine gently gripped Finley's sides and hoisted him up and down, the mattress bouncing underneath them.

Finley's shrieks of laughter fly through out the room, haunting and infectious and Kurt can't stop from giggling, shaking his head as he starts folding laundry away into a chest of drawers. “Not so much sweetheart, he's just ate, he'll throw up-”

“He won't, he's good, he's not a baby anymore, isn't that right son.” Blaine says as he tickles Fin's ribs, a little breathless.

“Not a baby.” Fin repeats proudly as he falls down onto Blaine's chest, his own little chest bouncing with laughter, trying to catch his breath and right himself.

“Ok, well don't come running to me when he's sick all over you, and you're changing the sheets, and bathing him, and I'm not coming near you again, for the whole of the day.”

Kurt sings songs smugly as he finishes up pairing up some socks and comes closer to the bed, to the nightstand to tidy up the scattered pages of his newest script that Finley had knocked out of place when clambering up into their bed earlier.

He's generally, happily just tidying up, moving about his home with ease and grace, with no rhythm or rhyme, no time limit. When else is best to clean and tidy then on a lazy Sunday morning, with two of the most important people in the world to you close and laughing. He and Blaine rarely get a lot of time to just hang out anymore, to relax and get on with day to day life, to bicker happily and make their son laugh until his little beautiful eyes are filling with happy tears.

“Oh is that so?” Blaine catches Kurt's wrist as he steps close before he can move away again, and before Kurt can react Blaine is grabbing him around the waist and hoisting him up and on to the bed with a shriek, over Blaine's legs, just behind Fin who is laughing hysterically at the whole thing.

Finley clambers off of Blaine's lap, giggling, and falls on to the mattress beside Blaine's thighs, hooking his arms over and looking up at his daddies fondly, his eyes bright and sparkling.

“You're just jealous.” Blaine whispers against Kurt's forehead gripping his wrists at his sides. He's all broad bare chest and tattoos, morning scruff and shaggy greying hair, crinkled aged eyes still glinting with youth and mirth. The man is over forty years old and is still the most sexiest thing Kurt has ever seen.

“Jealous.” Finley repeats, laughing, clearly not understanding the true undertones of the comment, and rolling on to his back, trying to catch his toes in his hands. Kurt shoots Blaine a warning glare, lowers his voice.

“Jealous of what exactly?”

“Oh you know what.” Blaine leans in and pecks at his lips, pulling back and smiling as Kurt chases the movement.

“Bounce papa. Daddy wants to bounce.” Finley says with a bark of laughter, clapping his hands and looking up at them upside down though long lashes.

Finley has went from a babbling, salivating baby, to an all-talking, all-walking gangly toddler in the blink of an eye. The safety bars have been taken off of his crib after perfecting how to climb over them safely in favour of getting in to his father's bed in the middle of the night instead. Safety catches and stoppers are on almost every available surface on the home, anywhere where Fin can reach and touch and open and climb upon. And both Kurt and Blaine have had to be very careful in choosing their words and diluting what they want to say, knowing that Finley is in his repeating phase.

Blaine quirks a brow, grinning wildly and Kurt ducks his head trying to muffle his laughter in the hinge of Blaine's jaw.

“Oh I'm sure he does.”

*

“Blaine-” Kurt gasps, fingers threading into the dark grey curls at the nape of his neck, breath hitching in his throat. Blaine moans against his throat, sucking and licking and nipping, his hands tightening around Kurt's hips.

“What honey? Tell me what you want.”

Kurt grinds against Blaine's lap, legs straddled either side of Blaine's thighs, his body hot and heavy on top of Blaine's, pushing him back against the head rest of the arm chair. His jeans are becoming increasingly tight, against Blaine's, rough denim rubbing deliciously against each other.

Kurt nips his ear. “Bed.” He whispers harshly. “Take me to bed.”

Blaine moves his hands to Kurt's legs, grips his calves firmly, rubbing up and down. “No here, I want you here, now, can't wait.”

It's rare that they get the time to do this during the day now, without being too tired and trying to be too quiet under the covers late at night, and that's without being child free. They love Finley whole heartedly, more than anything, he has become their world, undoubtedly. They're not even sure if at this point they'll apply to adopt again, they want to give another child a home, every child deserves the love that the three of them have for each other, but they want to devote every spare minute they have to Fin, right now they're content with that. They have so much fun with him, he's so good and so clever and rewarding. But they never stop wanting each other, like this, it's just something that will never fade between them, and they take the chance and the opportunity whenever they can.

They kiss hard and fast, moaning and panting into each other's mouths and by the time Blaine has started fingering open the collar of Kurt's shirt, Kurt is thrusting up and down in Blaine's lap, his strong thighs working to push up his ass up and down, rather, impatiently and enthusiastically.

“Hey guys, sorry I forgot to pick up Fin's diaper bag, oh my god-” Rachel is suddenly standing in the open doorway, their son held safely in her arms pressed to her hip, smiling broadly and pointing at his fathers.

“See daddy likes to bounce, I said.” Kurt freezes, his eyes trained on Blaine's face, who has ripped his mouth away from Kurt's throat and staring back at Rachel and his poor beloved child. “Me, my turn, papa, me bounce.”

Rachel curls her palm over Fin's eyes, quickly bends down to pick up his bag where she had left it by the entrance table and backs out of the door, “No sweetie, we'll bounce at the park later, on the bouncy thing.” Her voice is slightly cracking with restraint and humour as she locks eyes with Blaine and calls out, “Bye Daddies, have fun.” Which Finley repeats animatedly and then they're gone.

“Shit,” Kurt mutters into Blaine's neck, Blaine laughs, a low rumble in his chest, and rubs his palms up and down Kurt's back.

Kurt sits back, glares at Blaine, yet still his eyes are twinkling. Blaine bites his lip, his eyes roaming up and down Kurt's body, still perched seductively on his lap. “Come on daddy, bounce.” He says with a sinful grin, voice deep and low, eyes dancing with mischief.  

Kurt smacks him on the shoulder, stands and pulls him by the hand, up and over to the direction of their bedroom.

“Oh I'll show you.” He mutters grinning.