“Blaine Devon Anderson-Hummel!” Kurt groans, rolling around on their bed, thrashing his arms, kicking his legs – in short, throwing a minor tantrum. “You had the nerve to get me all hot and bothered, then you left me. Just…come to bed already!”

“I can't,” Blaine calls through the bathroom door. “I have to get ready for my interview.”

“Your interview's not till Thursday. It's only Tuesday,” Kurt whines, hand thrust down pants, trying desperately to hold on to his erection that's withering while he's acting childish.

“Still,” Blaine replies, “that's no excuse not to be prepared.”

“Well, can't you get prepared after we have sex?” Kurt asks, stumbling off the bed and shuffling in a huff to the bathroom.

Kurt pushes open the door and walks up behind Blaine, who's gotten completely dressed in the suit he picked out especially for his interview. He's standing in front of the mirror, pulling the jacket closed at his waist without buttoning it, turning left and right, looking at it from all angles. Kurt sees the stress on his husband's face, the lines of worry crinkling his brow, the utter dissatisfaction at his appearance.

“Tell me,” Kurt says.

“I don't like this suit,” Blaine replies quickly, a conclusion that required no thought whatsoever.

“You love this suit.” Kurt smooths out the shoulders. “You always have. It's the suit you wore when you auditioned for the symphony in the first place. It comes direct from the Blaine Anderson Good Luck collection. Plus, you look hot in it.”

“I don't look hot,” Blaine pouts. “I look fat.”

“You don't look fat.”

“I have a tummy,” Blaine argues. “Look.” He bends his back and sticks out his stomach.

“Okay, one - you're doing that on purpose,” Kurt points out, shoving Blaine gently upright. “But, if you do have any little hint of a tummy, it's because it's ten o'clock at night, and you had a huge bowl of Fettucine Alfredo for dinner.”

“Well, why didn't you stop me? You know cream-based sauces make me bloated!”

“I tried!” Kurt laughs. “You threatened me with your fork, remember? You didn't even say anything. You just kind of grunted.”

“Oh, yeah.” Blaine drops his eyes from his reflection so as not to see Kurt's smiling face. “Sorry about that.”

“It's alright.” Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine's shoulders, careful not to wrinkle the suit that Blaine has had dry cleaned about nine times already to make sure it would look perfect for his big day. “You indulge a little when you're stressed. There's nothing wrong with that, as long as you don't make it a day to day habit.”

“If I don't get this job, it's not going to be a habit,” Blaine says. “It's going to be a way of life. Then I'm going to gain 800 pounds, you'll go bankrupt feeding me, you'll leave me, and I'll die here, alone, because I couldn't roll my fat ass out the door.”

“Well,” Kurt remarks in surprise, “that escalated quickly.”

Blaine sighs, dropping his hands from his jacket and letting them dangle limp at his sides.

Kurt takes him by the upper arms and turns him away from the mirror. “Blaine, we've been over this before. I love you just the way you are. I'm not going to leave you, not if you don't get this job, and certainly not over a pound or two.”

“How about fifty?” Blaine mumbles down to his shoes.

“Not even then,” Kurt says, massaging his biceps. “I'll just help you with your diet, put you on an exercise program…you know, the kind we can do at home…together…naked…”

Blaine's pout slowly turns into a grin. “Really?” He peeks up.

“Really,” Kurt says. “And these people you're interviewing with, they're going to love you, too. And if they don't…”

“Fuck ‘em?” Blaine finishes with a smirk.

“Yup,” Kurt says. “Fuck ‘em.”

“Well, what about if I get them to love me, and I leave the fucking to you?”

“Ooo” - Kurt takes Blaine by the hand and leads him out of the bathroom - “even better. In fact, we can get started on that part right now.”