“Blaine?”

Blaine doesn't look up from his desk where he's sitting at, in his little makeshift workshop in the apartment. He's hunched forward with his elbows propped up on the scratched worn wooden surface, his dark curls- now more a dark slate gray than black dangling from his temples and the tips of his ears.

“Blaine?” Kurt says again, a little louder, but not so loud that little ears in other rooms of the home can hear.

Still nothing.

In Blaine's hand there is what looks to be a tiny black plastic handled screwdriver hanging limply between his fingers. He's wearing a pair of thick black framed glasses hooked onto his nose and ears, which are just about hanging on for dear life, as his head bobs downwards, cute and quiet snuffling noises escaping his lips.

“Dearest?” Kurt tries one more time, his voice just above a whisper and his tone now humoured and teasing. He knows what's going on here.

Kurt peeks over his shoulder behind him, leaning out in to the hallway just slightly so that he can just see the petite frame of his son sitting huddled over the coffee table in the living room. His bright yellow fluffy ‘minion' sleep onesy is bunched up as he sits staring down at a picture he's busy colouring, engrossed in his work.

Kurt takes a step forward into the little room, just pressing the door closed lightly behind him so that it meets the frame but doesn't quite shut completely, leaving a slice of light from the hallway able to peek through.     

Technically this is one of their spare rooms, but over the holiday period had been reformed into a storage and holding area and workspace for parents who need to do things without little eyes and ear and rummaging hands around.

Kurt moves closer to his husband, smirks at the way his shoulders rise and fall steadily. His greying facial stubble is highlighted by the little desk lamp he has pointed towards him and Kurt can now see the dainty plastic battery pack sitting on the desk.

The project that had obviously sent him to sleep.

Every empty surface and floor space around him is covered with boxes, all ranging in various shapes and sizes, some wrapped in shiny bright decorative paper and some still waiting in line. There are paper tags, ribbons and bows strewn all over, shiny gift bags and cards hanging half open.

It's like Santa's grotto up in here.

Even wrapped around the back of Blaine's chair is a string of Christmas lights that Blaine was supposed to replace some bulbs of and hang up, but just never got round to.

They're pretty and vintage and small and orb like and when Kurt had wanted them hung up somewhere in the apartment, Blaine had said he'd get to it. Even though Kurt had then later casually suggested that they could just buy some more, Blaine had insisted that he could fix them.

Kurt loves the way that his husband is using his forty-something age as an excuse to act like a real ‘DIY Dad'. Like the ones who repair a leaky tap and then they return home one day to a flood. Or that one switch that he just can't find a use for, the wonky table that eventually ends up one leg down, that sort of stuff.

Ok so Blaine's not that bad, and honestly Kurt will never complain seeing him wear his makeshift tool belt, an old ragged t-shirt, ripped jeans and that pencil he sticks behind his ear for some reason. No matter Blaine's rising age, he will always be the hottest thing Kurt has ever seen.

On the desk under Blaine's hands are stacks of instruction manuals, packets of rechargeable batteries and piles of little safety devices and pre-cautionary items for over excited children. 

This is Kurt and Blaine's forth year at playing Santa Claus, and it only gets larger, trickier, more expensive but even more perfect than the last time.

Kurt gently runs his fingers though Blaine's hair, massaging his scalp and temples as he goes. He scoffs down his laugh as Blaine stirs at the touch, his head almost dropping to smack off of the desk top before snapping back up, glasses completely falling off and dropping to the table, his eyes wide and awake.

Kurt kneels before him, dropping his hand to Blaine's knee, rubbing lightly. “Good morning sunshine, you've been in here for hours, ever since lunch, and now it's almost dinner, aren't you almost done? You're worn out.”

Blaine smiles tiredly, rubs a hand over his face and then quickly leans down to place a kiss to Kurt's forehead before focusing his attention back on what's in front of him, repositioning the item in his hands.

“I'm still working on this sweetheart, are you and little guy all done out there already?”

Kurt nods. “Can't keep him occupied for much longer. We're all set, it's almost time to have dinner and start our Christmas Eve traditions. Fin's bedtime will be soon.”

“Baby,” Blaine says, his voice soft and quiet, he smirks and turns back to his desk, fidgeting and prodding at things. “If Fin goes to sleep, then that means Santa comes, but Santa is not ready to come yet. Santa needs more time. Santa has to work out how to get this remote controlled freaky robot dog thing to work, so that it will walk over to young Finley when he enters the room on Christmas morning, like magic.”

It's only then that Kurt notices the sandy coloured shaggy haired dog sitting by his knee. It's small but looks almost real and Kurt would have thought as much if it wasn't for the glassy like chocolate brown pearls of the dog's eyes and the plastic paint finish of his black shiny nose. That and the safety tag hanging from the dog's butt.

Blaine does something with the pack in his hands and the dog's little mouth opens robotically, a little red fury tongue peeks out, as panting noises seem to come from somewhere within the dog's little round but hard body.

When Kurt had kindly taken Finley's letter to Santa from him a few weeks prior and had offered to drop it in the mail box on his way to work like he's done every year, he was very surprised to find that number one on his son's most wanted list was in fact a dog.

The thing that Blaine is now currently trying to tame and program is the closest thing young Fin will ever get to a pet, for now anyway. There's no space for a dog in this apartment, with no access to a yard for toilet emergencies.

Kurt rises back to his feet, brushes a finger over Blaine's fuzzy cheek and smiles when his husband turns to nibble and peck at the tip, his eyes never leaving his task at hand.

“He's colouring at the moment, I told him to leave a picture for Santa to take back to the North Pole with him.” Blaine smiles, thinking about his wall of pictures in his office downstairs in the bar, and the ones pinned to his notice board in the studio and stuck to Kurt's mirror in his dressing room at the theater.

“Good idea. Just give me another half hour to get finished up then I'll be right out honey.”

“Ok, but remember when he's asleep we can come back in here and finish up what-” Kurt squeaks, unable to finish his sentence when he's suddenly pulled down into Blaine's lap, with his lips pressed against Blaine's and the tingly fuzz of his upper lip.

“Oh no, you and I have our own special Christmas Eve traditions to keep up remember?” Blaine whispers against his lips. “Fin asleep. Santa comes- as quickly as possible. Us bed.” He announces lowly with a kiss between each sentence.

Kurt laughs against his mouth, pulls himself up and away and heads for the door, before Finley gets suspicious or bored and comes looking for them.

“Alright, well while you're busy, get those lights fixed will ya?” Kurt nods his head to the lights draped around Blaine's chair, “We could use something to light our bedroom with later, you know make it…festive.” He bites his lip and then vanishes as Blaine shakes his head, smirking, his eyes glimmering with want and promise, love and overwhelming joy.

*

Twenty seven minutes later sees Blaine walking down the hallway, his head about to explode and a subtle sheepish look on his face, rounding the corner to the living room and finding his son and husband sitting on the floor with their arms and legs crossed in front of the fireplace.

Ah. The traditions have begun. They're waiting for Santa Claus.

In the corner of the room, the real Fir tree sits in a red planter proudly glowing, draped in lights and tinsel and homemade hanging decorations that Kurt and Finley had been working on during the day with markers and felt and glitter-glue. Also sitting pride of place dangling from one of the middle branches is the little star decoration that Devon had given to Kurt and Blaine all of those years ago. 

Blaine notices that Finley is dressed in his minion getup he had picked out especially for tonight, and that his husband is wearing a red hoodie with candy cane printed leisure pants. He quickly ducks into his and Kurt's bedroom, cleans up and changes into his blue penguin pajamas that Finley had chosen for him and comes to join them in the living room.

He scoots up behind Finley, his legs spreading like a v shape to accommodate the little boy between them, as his arms wrap around to tickle at his sides. Finley squeaks at the surprise, giggles some and Kurt smiles beside them. Blaine squeezes Kurt's thigh affectionately rubs a little and then bends to press a kiss to Fin's ashen coloured hair.

The older Finley's getting, the fairer he's becoming, his hair and eyebrows and eyelashes. His once little chubby form is thinning out with the fast pace he's growing, all spindly arms and legs. And although Kurt and Blaine love seeing the transformation in him, they do wish they could just freeze time, and keep him as they're little boy who they can still hold tight and safe in their arms a little longer.

“Hey papa.” Finley mutters, wriggling as Blaine rubs his stubble across his cheek.

“Hey bud. We waiting here already? It's still early.” Finley sighs, looks over his shoulder at Blaine and gives his most unimpressed look, something he's learnt very skilfully from his other father.

“Papa we have to wait here early, cause Santa has got too many places to go, he might come here first, and just look at our fireplace,” Finley gapes back at in disgust and Blaine's snaps his own mouth closed. “He can't fit down it, he'll get stuck. We need to help him.” Finley points at the hearth in front and makes a noise in his throat that sounds like frustration, mixed with annoyance.

Kurt bites back his smile and Blaine side-eyes him. Finley may be four years old, very smart and bright and vocally eloquent, but they do this same thing, have this same conversation every year, and little Fin just can't seem to get it to stick.

They're still living in their apartment above The Stage bar. It just feels right, it's still home and still feels like their own little safe haven away from the mania of their everyday lives. Security downstairs on the main doors has been upgraded and they just feel surprisingly safe and unbothered up here.

Kurt and Blaine are not household names, not yet, but they're recognisable for sure. Kurt's in the middle of his second season on his current musical stint, and Blaine switches from writing and composing for other artists in the studio he shares with his partner and team and his office down in the bar.

The stage has continued to boom and thrive with business and it's always a pleasure when Blaine pops downstairs to show his face and help out a little. They still hold open mic nights up on the stage and Finley of course has become a favourite with his little cameos whenever Kurt and/or Blaine bring him down.

The only problem with still living in their cosy abode is the fact that the fireplace isn't real. The hearth is, and it's beautiful, built with marble and stone, but the middle is purely made up of metal and plastic. It has glowing stones that look very striking to the eye, but don't do much in the way of providing an actual real fire, with a real open working chimney.

Finley just can't seem to process this, yet. And how can Blaine and Kurt break their son's heart by explaining that their fireplace isn't suitable or able for Santa to get down?

“Dude,” Blaine starts, lifting Fin in his arms and swinging him around to face him. “Maybe you were too excited and sleepy to remember, but last year and all of the other years, but Santa uses his magic and his special helpers and reindeers to help him get inside all of the boy's and girl's homes.” Finley makes a scrunchy face as he thinks about this.                    

Kurt chips in, “Some kids aren't lucky enough to have a fireplace at all Fin, so they have to think of other ways to get Santa inside.” Finley looks over at their Christmas tree just waiting for presents to be delivered underneath it.

“Why doesn't he knock at the door?” Finley asks, utterly perplexed. “We would let him in. We could give him the pass code, Santa wouldn't tell anybody.”

“You're right.” Blaine nods, “but that's not how it works, that's just boring, and Santa's not boring.”

“No he isn't.” Fin agrees, nodding enthusiastically with his papa.

“And you know that Santa doesn't come until everybody is asleep, that's just how it works. If we're all asleep, we can't open the door anyway. Santa's magic, he just knows.”

Fin stares back at Blaine, his eyes wide with wonder and his little mouth curling up into an excited grin.

And if Kurt had of had his phone on him he would have snapped a picture or two of them. Kurt loves the way Blaine talks to Fin like a real little adult, with no barriers and Fin happily parrots back to him, looking at Blaine like's the only superhero that matters.

Kurt's heart could burst.

After a little more discussing and persuading the small details Kurt and Blaine manage to finally get fin away from the fireplace and  ready to move on to the next phase of their Christmas eve traditional duties.

Kurt hands Fin his annual ‘Christmas eve box' filled with new bed socks, a festive themed plug in night light, and a tiny little elf figurine that sits on his night stand and makes sure all boys and girls have a good sleep whilst Santa does his job.   

Fin then watches determined and wide eyed –whilst wearing his new socks- at the living room window with Kurt pressed up behind him, as Blaine many stories down below out on the frosty main street- wrapped up in layers and an oversized scarf and hat with his bright blue penguin pants peeking out underneath his winter coat- sprinkles reindeer dust (porridge oats mixed with glitter) onto the pavement so that the reindeers know where to come.

Next, in the warmth of their kitchen they all prepare and bake cookies shaped like snowmen. Blaine mixes the icing to decorate them with and Kurt helps Fin grate some carrot peel and oatmeal into a separate batch of cookie mix.

Because “Reindeers might like cookies too.” Fin had very fluently and seriously announced last Christmas, to the shocked and surprised giggles of his parents.

As they wait for the cookies to cool and set, Blaine supervises Fin adding some marshmallows and sprinkles to their mugs of hot chocolate and Kurt serves them up their annual Christmas Eve meal of sweet potato fries, dinosaur shaped breaded turkey pieces and broccoli cheese melt.

For whatever reason Kurt had agreed to let Fin choose what to eat on Christmas Eve as a little treat and this has always been the choice, ever since Fin had moved onto solid foods, back when his teeth were growing in rapidly.

After dinner, they move back into the living room and huddle around the coffee table with a plastic sheet to protect the furniture and flooring and each decorate their cookies. When they're done Fin -as the alpha judge of the panel- decides which cookies will be left out on a plate for Santa and the reindeers of course and Kurt helps him pour some milk into a glass to place beside them.

Blaine glances at his watch as Kurt and Fin wander back into the living room towards him hand in hand. Its Seven- thirty-three, not long and Fin should be out like a light. Especially with the way he keeps rubbing at his eyes as if doing so will keep his sleepiness at bay.

Blaine pats the space on the couch beside him and Fin comes bounding up to him, snuggling up to his side as Kurt slinks down on Blaine's other side. Kurt produces a book from down the side of the couch, and together with the book open on Blaine's lap they read Fin's favourite Christmas story ‘When Santa got stuck up the chimney'- complete with sing-along's, voice characterization and lots of giggles.

Throughout the story, Kurt and Blaine both notice Fin glancing over to the fireplace deep in thought. At some point he stops the narration to say “I'm glad that Santa has magic and help, I don't want him to get stuck in here and it's our fault if Christmas is stopped.” Both father's bite down on their smiles.

As Blaine closes the last page of the book and Kurt gently takes it from him, Blaine settles his arms around Finley's now sleep-heavy body and rocks him carefully in his lap. Kurt snuggles in, threading an arm through one of Blaine's and the other draped gently over Fin, and rests his head on Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine places a kiss to Fin's hair and then turns to do the same to Kurt -something that he has always done ever since Fin was a newborn- and mouths ‘I love you' into the soft skin of his forehead. Kurt smiles, lifts his chin and meets Blaine's waiting mouth with his.

Together as their son sleeps soundly in their arms, Kurt and Blaine begin their own little Christmas Eve tradition which they had started back when Fin was tiny and wearing a fluffy reindeer romper and a little Christmas pudding shaped pacifier in his mouth.

They whisper and smile and sniffle and reminisce about the years gone by, all the fun and adventures they've had with their little family. The times when their parents came to visit and vice versa, the little vacations they'd been on, the birthday celebrations, the many occasions with Rachel and her new family, that time Elliott and his new husband and Isabelle had bombarded a family night for night of never ending fun and laughter.

When Fin's little body almost becomes like a dead weight in Blaine's lap and little steady snuffles and snores rush past his lips, Kurt helps Blaine up and manoeuvre Fin down the hall to his bedroom.

Once settled under his marvel superheroes covers with his new plug in night light switched on, his little guardian elf in position and his build-a-bear that Carole and Burt had given him for his second birthday, Kurt and Blaine press soft kisses to his cheek, whispering words of Christmas greetings and goodnight wishes. They leave the room hand in hand, smiling.

Once out in the hallway, Blaine tries to press Kurt up against the wall opposite Fin's room, his hands fumbling and searching, lips and tongue aiming for the dip of his throat. Kurt laughs as quietly as he can manage and pushes his husband back with a shake of his head, grabs his hand and pulls him towards the little room where Blaine had been sleeping on the job not long ago.

“Work first, play later. Let's get our Santa on.” Kurt instructs and pushes the door open.

Inside, the little room once dim is now brightly lit with a messy string of tiny bulbs pulsing with bright colour, glowing on and off.

They're also wrapped around the little robotic dog that Blaine had been working on, now lying on its side on the floor, its little legs kicking out helplessly and mouth working soundlessly.

Kurt turns to Blaine wordlessly, lips falling open with humour. Blaine face palms himself and Kurt can just hear his words muffled and amused through his fingers, “Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight.”