It was two weeks after their first date when Kurt stole Blaine’s Dalton hoodie. It was a Saturday, immediately after the official “Hi-you-know-I’m-your-son’s-best-friend-but-now-I’m-his-boyfriend” dinner while they were relaxing outside. The crackling of the Andersons’ backyard firepit and steamy warmth radiating from Kurt’s mug of hot chocolate weren’t enough to keep him protected against the crisp late March evening. Blaine noticed his boyfriend (and wow, did that word still give him even more chills than the wind) curled into himself and excused himself to enter the house. When he returned minutes later he had a navy sweatshirt with the familiar red crest on the front draped over his arms.

“Here you go,” Blaine said to Kurt, handing him the sweatshirt and dropping a bag of mini marshmallows between them on the loveseat. “I know it’s not exactly up to your fashion standards, but at least it’ll warm you up a bit.”

Kurt held it out as if it would sprout arms and legs any second. “Has anyone informed the administration how basic these are?”

“Except the average teenage boy seems to enjoy basic.”

“Including you?” Kurt raised an eyebrow.

Blaine chuckled. “I only wear it during boxing practice. Do you think I’d voluntarily wear it elsewhere?”

Kurt looked Blaine up and down, eyeing his cardigan, polo, and bow tie carefully. “I guess not, or else I would have to stage an intervention.”

“So what’s it going to hurt if I’m the only one who sees you in it?” Blaine pouted.

“Fine,” Kurt huffed, “but don’t expect it to happen again.” He placed his arms into the sweatshirt then pulled it over his head. Once he had it fully on, he settled back onto the beige floral cushions lining the loveseat. “Satisfied?”

Blaine found himself unable to speak. After months of seeing Kurt either in his Dalton uniform or dressed to impress the entirety of western Ohio (even his pajamas were designer, as Blaine learned the fateful morning he awoke in his bed with little recollection of Rachel’s party), having him dressed down was breathtaking. “Uh, yeah,” he finally croaked out.

Kurt smiled and took a sip from his mug. “This has been a fun evening even with the cold.”

“It has been,” Blaine replied. He picked up the marshmallows and dumped a handful into his cocoa. With the cup in his right hand, he carefully draped his left arm around Kurt’s shoulders, unsure if it was acceptable. “Are you warming up?”

“Mmhmm,” Kurt hummed. “I think I might be a warmer if you kiss me, though.”

“Is that right?” After placing the mug back on the table, Blaine leaned in. Kurt’s mouth tasted sweet and chocolatey and if he wasn’t already addicted to this, he would be now. His hand drifted up the nape of Kurt’s neck and through his perfectly coiffed hair. This was something else new to them. Kurt took as much pride in his hair as he did his clothing, but he didn’t flinch at Blaine’s movement.

As they broke apart, Blaine drank in the sight. Disheveled, rumpled, casual Kurt was his new favorite thing. He shyly looked away as Kurt noticed, still grinning into his mug. They kept stealing kisses throughout the remainder of the evening until Kurt needed to leave to make curfew. After a final smooch by the front door and a promise to text him when he made it home, Blaine watched Kurt pull out of the driveway and down the street. It wasn’t until he was getting ready for bed when he realized Kurt left still wearing the sweatshirt. Blaine shrugged and told himself he’d probably get it back first thing Monday.

Except he was greeted at school Monday morning with a medium drip, another intoxicating kiss and no mention of the hoodie. In fact, Blaine forgot all about it until months later when they were both at McKinley. The evening after the class election he arrived at the Hummels’ with a pint of strawberry cheesecake ice cream. Finn let him in and mentioned Kurt was holed up in his bedroom. After grabbing two spoons out of the kitchen, he ran up the stairs and knocked on Kurt’s door. When he was told he could enter, he peeked in and noticed Kurt curled up on the bed wearing Blaine’s sweatshirt. Blaine immediately dropped the bag and rushed towards the bed. Kurt sat up and curled himself into Blaine’s arms, explaining that he kept the shirt as a reminder of the moment he realized he had someone he could be comfortable around. When Blaine explained how much he loved the sight, it brought a grin to Kurt’s face for the first time since Principal Figgins had walked into the choir room three hours before. They cuddled and ate the ice cream the remainder of the evening, only breaking to debate the possibility of Kurt not even sending his NYADA application in.

Over the years, Blaine learned Kurt only wore the hoodie under specific circumstances: if he missed Blaine too much (there were many Skype calls during their year apart where Kurt appeared on screen wrapped in the soft fleece), if he was under the weather, or if he was down about something that happened. It all came together one day as Blaine returned from his first teaching conference in Buffalo. He entered their apartment to see wedding books and magazines strewn all over the living room. It had become a common sight since Blaine popped the question four months prior, but Kurt was nowhere to be found. “Kurt?” Blaine called out, setting his briefcase on the floor to remove his jacket. “Are you here?”

“I’m in here,” a muffled voice came from the bedroom. Blaine grabbed his suitcase and padded back to find Kurt in bed, wearing the familiar sweatshirt and clutching one of their pillows.

“Honey, are you okay?” Blaine asked as he sat on the edge of the mattress and caressed his fianc�’s cheek.

Kurt shook his head. “Rachel called.”

Blaine inhaled slowly. He knew the meaning of that sentence all too well. “Yeah?”

After a sniffle, Kurt responded, “She’s going to be the new Roxie in the touring company of Chicago.”

“Oh, Kurt…” He knew after all this time Kurt was still slightly bitter about NYADA. “I’m sorry. You know you can always go out to auditions if you still feel the need to perform. I’m sure the higher-ups at Vogue won’t mind.”

“It’s too late now,” Kurt sighed. “My last role was seven years ago in high school, and it wasn’t even a starring credit.”

“And you know I’m still sorry they gave me Tony over you.” Blaine gently pressed his lips to Kurt’s forehead. “Everyone who couldn’t see your talent for what it was, what it still is, is crazy.”

“Should I tell Artie what you just said?” Kurt joked.

Blaine chuckled. “Nah, he knows already. But I really am sorry, honey. You are a star in every way.”

Kurt shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t feel that way.”

“You are, though. You handle everything for the magazine with finesse and not a single hair out of place. How many other people can claim that?”

“None that are named Kurt Hummel.”

“And you do that while you’re planning the wedding of the century. I bet your groom is thankful you’re doing all the dirty work.”

That made Kurt laugh. “If my groom was involved in the planning, he’d probably insist on an all-top 40 playlist for the reception and his brother would autograph the program.”

“Hey now, Cooper wouldn’t do that without a head shot involved,” Blaine joked. He removed the pillow from Kurt’s grasp and straddled across his thighs. “I love you, Kurt. It doesn’t matter if you’re the biggest star on Broadway or an up and coming magazine editor or even a mechanic. I’m spending forever with you.”

He leaned in to kiss Kurt, who moaned into his mouth. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” Kurt asked.

“You thought spying on the competition was a good idea,” Blaine replied, moving down Kurt’s jawbone.

“Right. I think I just wanted their sweatshirt.”

Leaning back, Blaine looked at the hoodie. Even though the screen printing showed its age with the cracks, the blue was as sharp and soft as ever. “That must have been it,” he said with a deeper voice. “Convince the lead singer you love him then take his clothing.”

“Just the items he isn’t allowed to wear in public,” Kurt smirked.

Blaine dipped his fingers underneath the waistband of Kurt’s yoga pants. “Maybe he should take some of your clothes, too.”

“Maybe he should.”

It didn’t take long for the pants and briefs underneath to find a resting place on the floor, soon joined by Blaine’s clothing. Blaine nipped at Kurt’s Adam’s apple as he began palming Kurt’s hardening cock. The lazy stroking continued as he reached into the nighstand for supplies. They normally didn’t use condoms anymore, but the last thing Blaine wanted to do was ruin the sweatshirt.

He poured lube over his fingers before bringing his hand down to tease Kurt’s hole. He circled around before finally pushing two fingers inside. Kurt thrusted upwards at the movement inside. Blaine slowly moved the fingers around before adding a third, stretching Kurt open further. When he felt Kurt was ready, he removed his hand and ripped open the foil packet. He rolled the condom on and lubed up. He pushed Kurt’s legs apart and entered back inside, taking in the tight heat around him. As Blaine moved inside and out, he ran a hand up Kurt’s toned waist and torso underneath the sweatshirt.”You’re so hot, so tight, so good,” he moaned out.

“Don’t stop, baby,” Kurt responded. He writhed around at each thrust. “Never stop.”

As much as Blaine didn’t want to stop, he could feel the familiar heat bubbling up inside. He brought his hand back down to finish jerking Kurt off, who spilled quickly all over Blaine’s hand and stomach. It took a few more thrusts before he found himself coming. After taking a minute to regain his senses, he pulled out of Kurt, removed the condom, and got up to retrieve a towel from their linen closet. He cleaned them both off and laid down next to Kurt.

Kurt turned to him, more relaxed and blissful than when Blaine arrived. “I missed you this week,” he whispered.

“I missed you too,” Blaine replied. He pulled Kurt in for another lazy kiss, his hand resting on the small of Kurt’s back just above the hoodie’s waistband. “You wore this the whole time, didn’t you?”

“It was only two days, and I did wash it last night.”

“Wait…did you go anywhere?”

Kurt flushed redder than the logo. “Maybe.”

Blaine just grinned. “How unfashionable of you, Kurt Hummel. A sweatshirt in public?”

“It was only to the deli to pick up lunch and I doubt the Lavinskis’ cared what I had on,” Kurt protested.

“Look at you, you’re becoming all domestic,” Blaine joked. “I should save this story for the wedding.”

“Try it and I will file for an annulment right then.” Kurt got up and put his pants back on. “Nobody else can know about this.”

“Except for the Chinese delivery person?” Blaine asked, his stomach grumbling.

“We’ll see,” Kurt answered. “If you’re ordering from a new place that won’t know how I normally dress.”

Blaine shook his head at his fianc�’s stubbornness. It didn’t matter how much Kurt spent on his wardrobe, the sweatshirt would always remain his favorite look.