I was a taller girl too, once. (regala_electra) wrote,
I was a taller girl too, once.

Fic: The Best Laid Plans (Glee Fic, Kurt/Blaine, NC-17

The Hon. Rev. C. Cornelius Anderson, Esq., PdF Presents The Marrying Man. Pilot: The Best Laid Plans
Author: Regala Electra
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,629
Written For: abluegirl
Summary: No one should tell Cooper a secret. And nobody but Kurt and Blaine should plan anything.
Author’s Notes: Written for the Klaine Wedding Minibang.


Today is going to be wonderful. It may be blind optimism, it may be his husband’s cock grinding into his ass in the glorious early moments of Kurt waking up and being decidedly horny, but Blaine is absolutely sure that he’s going to have a great day, a great rehearsal, and before he even gets out of bed to start his day, really great sex.

He also makes the best decisions ever. By forgoing pajamas, all he needs to do is sleepily push the boxers (that he borrowed from Kurt’s side of their underwear drawer) down his legs and stretch his hand out over to the top of the bedside table, making a blind grab for the lube, and their orgasms are guaranteed.

There’s no real need for prep as Blaine smears the lube between his legs, clutching the bare cheek of Kurt’s ass to encourage Kurt as he slots his dick in between, where thigh meets ass, nudging against Blaine’s balls. It’s an easy pace and Kurt jerks Blaine off with no urgency. It’s fooling around but they both come at the end of it and it’s the best

“Mmm, good morning husband,” Kurt says after, peppering the back of Blaine’s neck with a smattering of kisses.

“Great morning.” Blaine turns on his belly and rests his head on Kurt’s pillow, bumping his nose against Kurt’s. Kurt takes care of most of the mess between his legs, lying back down to kiss Blaine and Blaine can’t help but stroke the back of Kurt’s head, where the short trimmed hair still feel a little pokey from Kurt’s most recent haircut.

“We’re going need a shower.”

“And omelets,” Blaine adds.

“So demanding,” Kurt says, as he pulls their underwear out of the tangled bed sheets and throws everything into the hamper. “You’ll make the coffee?”

“French press.” Blaine groans as he gets up, he really shouldn’t have skipped yoga last night. “Hazelnut.”

“We make the best plans.”


After Blaine leaves for rehearsal, Kurt settles in front of his laptop and gets down to business. One of his businesses, that is. He has some minor website updates to do for Santana’s underground post-post-post-modern Mexi-Rican dance show Ojos Asi, which Kurt knows so comes from a Shakira song but Santana swears came from her great-great grandmother, who was a bruja.

It’s complete crap but Santana’s got a knack for marketing, and as she always says, white guilt can sell really well once she convinced several popular hipster bloggers to buy what she’s selling as a celebration of lost arts thanks to the evils of colonialism, she’s gotten enough attention that New York magazine wrote an article about her dance company. Shows are announced with very little notice, meaning demand is pretty high, and well, Santana’s a hustler. She does very well for herself, even though what she’s doing is manipulative and okay, slightly evil.

He’s still impressed that Santana’s catering to high and low appeal with her show. Plus Santana pays well and Kurt produces excellent work, for all that she was a tempestuous roommate, working with Santana is oddly satisfying. It helps fuel the workoholic side of his nature. He’s still doing work for Isbaelle too, though he can’t get away with being an intern and gets payment from Vogue.com under the title of Associate.

It’s just another day. He should totally watch an episode or ten of Golden Girls to reward his hard work before heading out to meet with Rachel for lunch. Maybe text Mercedes to see if she’ll be able to stay longer after the New Directions reunion party in a couple of days so they can gossip in person. Kurt needs to know everything about everyone in Los Angeles.


Today was a great day. But as Blaine keeps reading the card over and over again in his hands, wonders what horrors shall befall him on this clearly doomed day.

The Hon. Rev. C. Cornelius Anderson, Esq., PdF.

“That was supposed to say PhD,” Cooper explains, sitting next to Blaine on the piano bench. He plays Chopsticks for a while as Blaine sits in dumbfounded silence. “I accidentally ordered 10,000. Still, it gets the point across. Get it?” Cooper adds by unnecessarily doing a glissando and then, of course, pointing at himself.

“Your middle name isn’t Cornelius. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m in the middle of a rehearsal,” Blaine says, but the rehearsal’s ruined, several of his costars are crowding around Cooper, their cameras at the ready to take a picture with the multi-Golden Globe nominated star of the latest Star Wars trilogy. (Like Cooper could ever pass as the son of Han Solo.)

“Sure and I’m not a lawyer, either.” Cooper sling his arm around Blaine’ shoulder and smiles brightly as one of the chorus kids, Matt, or something, takes a photo. “But I played one on TV! I was this close to getting an Emmy nomination. And that’s why you always say yes to any bit part if you’ll get nominated, take notes, guys.”

Blaine looks at the card and then says worriedly, “Is this the same business card like in American Pyscho? The one that made the guy go nuts?”

“Keep this one off the gossip sites, Squirt,” Cooper says, loudly enough that everyone else can easily hear him, “I’m in the running for the remake.”

“I’m happy for your success,” Blaine says, unable to keep his sarcasm out of his voice, because if Cooper’s going to keep on taking roles inspired and/or originated by actors who had belonged to his greatest masturbatory fodder since he learned how awesome it was to jerk off, then he’s allowed to be petulant. If Kurt and Cooper ever co-star together (Cooper’s favorite “joke” since he’s heard Jay-Z is interested in remaking The Bird Cage for modern movie audiences), Blaine will just have to give up on masturbation altogether.

“Of course you’re happy that I’m doing so well,” he says, squeezing Blaine’s shoulder. The worst part is that Cooper is utterly sincere, even as he’s taking a smushed-faced photo with Yara, Blaine’s leading lady, who once claimed she’d never been starstruck but can’t stop giggling as Cooper insists on choosing the filter as she simply has to post the photo publicly. (“Everyone must know that I was here.”)

“Sorry everyone, I have to whisk my brother away for some fun family bonding.” Looking to one of the ensemble dancers, he points and says, “You can quote me on that. Hashtag best bros.”

“Please don’t put this on Twitter,” Blaine says as he’s dragged away.

They’re outside of the building and halfway down the block when Cooper sighs, stops and holds Blaine’s shoulders and says quite sincerely, “I’m looking forward to officiating at your wedding.”

Blaine blinks. “I’m sorry, excuse me?”

Blaine is married. Blaine is happily, deliriously, contently, adverb-ily married, and has been, since the tender age of 20 when he tied the knot with Kurt, who had recently turned 21. (Which means he wasn’t able to legally drink champagne but Kurt did and he spent an awful long time kissing his now-official husband after Kurt kindly finished both their glasses, and okay, once they got to desserts, he might have snuck a glass too, which lead to him dragging Kurt off into a coat room for a quickie, and tipsy married sex was really great even though they sort of defiled the coat of Blaine’s great aunt.)

It was an elaborate wedding that Kurt put together on a budget and timeline that would make mortal men weep, and while there were tears of happiness, the only frustrations that they suffered through centered on finding alone time before (and during) the wedding.

Cooper is aware of this. Because Cooper crashed their wedding, after sending his regrets that he was delayed while filming a teeth commercial in Japan. (Not for a product for teeth, just a commercial about his dazzling teeth.) Cooper had interrupted Sam’s Best Man speech to plug his latest movie and then related several embarrassing stories about Blaine as a kid and once he was done with that, claimed first dibs on any and all godfather rights to their future kids. Which lead to him doing a Godfather impression, and Sam naturally joined, leading in a great Godfather-off.

That was an hour of their wedding reception.

Someone put it on Youtube. It was auto-tuned on Youtube.

“Your friends didn’t tell you about the surprise renewal ceremony at your glee club’s reunion party?”

“No Cooper,” Blaine says, tiredly. “My friends didn’t tell me or Kurt about the surprise.”

But really, he should’ve known. Two weeks ago, they got the invite to attend the reunion party (at the April Rhodes Civic Pavilion, naturally). With more than half of the former members of New Directions being New York (or at the very worst, Tri-State) locals, heading back to Lima, Ohio, in the summer, seemed suspect, even with Sam sending a reassuring text that it wood bee awsme 2 c evr1 u n kurt gotta cum.

(And that was weird enough to read after Blaine had just had some rather vigorous sex with Kurt.)

It makes a twisted amount of sense—Mercedes had a tour date in Columbus a few days after, her big headlining tour of her dreams, and they wouldn’t get to see her again until August for her New York City tour date—and while everyone seemed to come and go into the city with astounding ease, for some reason it was really easy to congregate in Ohio without much advance warning. There’s also the fact that making plans in advance seemed almost unreasonable for New Directions standards, and two weeks was a luxury.

But now he gets it. It’s only a week before his and Kurt’s fifth year anniversary, after all.

He and Kurt had been barraged with every witty idea Santana had in mind for the traditional fifth year gift: nothing like the gift of a boner, do you want me to find you guys some wooden dildos? Colonial is the new Traditional. And: if you want to go modern, wrap some silver foil around your junk. Combines the best of both gifts! But all of sudden she stopped making the jokes after the invite to the reunion party, claiming that she can only go to the same well for so long, which was one of Santana’s worst bald-faced lies.

“Cooper, you weren’t supposed to tell me.”

Cooper stares at Blaine. “But then how was I supposed to brag about it?”

“How am I supposed to keep this from Kurt? It’s supposed to be our surprise. Now I know and he doesn’t.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Cooper says, “We’ll have to get you into character.”

“Oh my god.”


When Kurt arrives home, there’s an odd tension in the air, probably not helped by the sight of Blaine sitting on the couch and twitching. Well that’s not suspicious at all.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Kurt trills, dropping his satchel on the coffee table and settling into Blaine’s side for their welcome home kiss. Pulling back he says, “You have a secret.”

“What? No I don’t. Secret, I… ”

“Cooper tweeted he was in the city. And send me a DM. And a text. And poked me on Facebook.”

“When are they going to get rid of poking?” Blaine asks, like he’s trying to distract Kurt.

Kurt narrows his eyes. “Well. You don’t have to tell me. I can invite Cooper over for dinner and get him to spill before I serve the canapés.”

“Please don’t. It’s, well, it’s a surprise.”

“For me?” Kurt asks, beaming. Cooper once sent them one of the elaborate swag bags he from some awards show and that had a mini-iPad in it. He wonders what else Cooper might’ve gotten them.

“Yes,” Blaine says, quickly. “So let’s keep the surprise a surprise.”

“Hmm,” Kurt starts unbuttoning his shirt, his fingers caressing the dip of his throat, a place he knows Blaine is powerless to resist. “So you have to be ready to keep the secret. At all costs.”

“Oh god,” Blaine groans. “Please don’t seduce me tonight. I can’t, you know I’m not very good at that game—”

Kurt’s hands are at his belt, pulling it free from the loops before Blaine can even register it’s been unbuckled. “Well consider this practice, honey. I won’t be too rough with you.”

Blaine makes a faint noise of protest as Kurt’s tongue slips into in his mouth, demanding and utterly ungentle. Kurt knows Blaine loves it when they’re like this, when Blaine is under his spell and consumed by him. And maybe, in the haze of his lust, he’ll be convinced to reveal whatever surprise or secret Cooper told Blaine and hey, even if Kurt doesn’t win this game of spy vs. spy, he is definitely about to have some truly spectacular couch sex with his husband.

The next morning, as seducing Blaine, while useful in that he loves having sex with Blaine, didn’t go to plan so he goes to the keeper of all secrets.

“Tina. What do you know?”

“Mercedes made out with Cooper last week when he saw her at the LA Coliseum.”

Kurt snorts. “Please, Cooper’s tweet wasn’t too subtle. ‘Up close and personal with Queen Slaycedes’ hastag business with pleasure? I don’t need you to dish about that. You know exactly what I’m asking about.”

“I really don’t,” Tina says, a little too quick, and then there’s a muffled noise and then a, “Sorry, Kurt, my boa constrictor got out of its tank, I’ll see you tomorrow at the reunion!”


Later that day, when Kurt leaves for his matinee performance, Blaine calls Sam. “Tell me everything. What the songs will be, what kind of elaborate setup, I don’t want to walk into a trap.”

“It’s a trap,” Sam answers back, in a weird voice. Then says after a pause, “That was Admiral Ackbar. Star Wars.”

“Wonderful. You guys suck.”

“No, we rock. Who told you about it?”


“Aww, man. I guess he’s still mad we didn’t go for his horse idea.”

“Okay, tell me everything. Except about the horses.”


Starring in a musical with your best friend, fresh off the heels of her Tony-award winning performance (Supporting Actress, but still impressive) is a lot less stressful than the few theatre blogs speculate (after all, Kurt’s yet to score any big nomination but this role, oh this role, he knows it’s his breakout). However Kurt is on a particular mission and has no time for any deceit, even if Rachel’s a terrible liar when outright confronted.

“Blaine told me.”

Rachel freezes, her false eyelashes half-applied. She quickly finishes it, a bit crooked, but no one past the 4th row of the Orchestra seating will notice. “About the kitten?”

“There’s no kitten.”

“There could be a kitten. You don’t know. It’s a surprise.”

“Ah,” Kurt says, flipping the magnified mirror over and bending down next to Rachel. “I never said anything about a surprise. You know. Spill.”

“I was going to duet with Mercedes at the reunion.”

“So it’s about the reunion, hmm?”

“I told you nothing,” Rachel says, standing up. “Now I need to dress unless you want to see sideboob while I change—“

“You’ve won this round.”

Rachel smiles fiercely at the door, which would look more powerful if it weren’t for the wonky eyelashes. Closing the door, she says, “I have a date after the show so no drinks tonight. See you tomorrow in Ohio, Kurt!”

“Damn it.” Then he says, loud enough for Rachel to hear through the door, “I think you should fix that face, wouldn’t want your current beau to think you’re cross-eyed over him already!”


Blaine sneaks out late at night, swearing he’s making a last minute run for tiny airport- approved toiletries, and heads to the hotel where Cooper’s staying. His brother opens the door and beams, which is a little disturbing considering his face is thickly coated in an avocado mud mask.

“You’re also planning on pitching our surprise renewal ceremony as a TV pilot?”

“That’s right. I’ll play a preacherman on the run from his dark and mysterious past, performing gay weddings all across the Continental States. It’ll be called The Marrying Man. What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

And that’s how Blaine spends a good hour with Cooper, still coated in green, explaining the motivations of his angst-ridden preacher character.


Kurt figures it out once they’ve boarded and wonders why it’s taken him so long. The way Blaine keeps fidgeting with his wedding band.

“They’re going to surprise us with a vow renewal ceremony, huh?”

Blaine stares at him wide-eyed. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise!”

“I had plans for our ten year anniversary,” Kurt sighs, setting aside his copy of SkyMall magazine, and taking Blaine’s hand, fondly rubbing the wedding band before pushing it back to where it’s settled. “It’s sweet of them.”

“You don’t think it’ll be a disaster?”

“Oh I know it’ll be a disaster. A sweet disaster.” Kurt pauses. “Do you think they’ll have a decent dessert buffet afterwards?”

“Not as good as ours.”


The reunion, for all that the surprise has been completely ruined, is actually pretty decent, despite the fact that Cooper failed to mention during his conversation with Blaine about his Marrying Man character that he liked to wear disguises so naturally Cooper was dressed up as an 1800s Western preacher with a long white beard and spurs on his boots.

(That explains Sam’s comment about everyone saying no to horses.)

Still, the ceremony, brief and weird that it was, was meaningful, and Cooper legitimately choked up and broke character. Mercedes and Rachel performed a beautiful duet and since the ceremony was effectively at the reception, the drinks flowed after Kurt and Blaine reswore forever to each other (and oh, Blaine could do that over and over again to Kurt, if need be).

He’s now playing catch up with everyone, the good kind of small talk, clapping Finn on his very giant back as he’s only in town for the night since he’s got to get back to work the next day where he’s been teaching kids how to play drums at a youth rock and roll camp.

Tina and Artie he sees in New York, Tina working as a vet and at nights, in a punk-goth-lots of leather and fishnets all girls group, while Artie’s film production team is doing research for their latest documentary.

Even Puck’s done well, when he’s not still taking a stab at script writing, he’s taken to making ice sculptures because he gets to work with a chainsaw. Blaine politely tells him that the dinosaur sculptures he made tonight are very theme-appropriate for vow renewals.

“I’m just saying. We have all kinds of technology. We can totally have Jurassic Park happen, but for real.”

“Science is amazing,” Blaine says, figuring it’s the mildest stance he can take.

It’s great to see Sam in person since he never seems to take a break. After college, he moved to Nashville and now works as a DJ, known for his celebrity impression prank calls. His co-host is a former priest, which should be weird, but the guy’s really nice according to Sam and plays a mean bass.

Brittany allegedly got a PhD in dance from MIT which doesn’t make any logical sense yet she’s a very popular daytime talk show host, like Ellen but with more cats. Blaine is 99% sure the fuzzy hat she’s wearing has a hidden camera in it but he just makes sure he’s not making any weird faces while she’s talking to him.

Unfortunately hers is not the only camera rolling at this reunion/renewal/reception party.


Kurt accepts an overly enthusiastic hug from Sugar, congratulating her on the success of her bakery (that capitalizes on the national prestige of Babycakes). She’s also properly appreciated as a star of the reality series The Bakery Princess: My Sweet and Scandalous Life. She once got into a hot tub fight with a couple of former castmembers of Jersey Shore.

The cameras are rolling as Sugar’s show is filming for her upcoming season and since she did desserts, it’s hard to complain because while Sugar herself can’t bake, she’s invested very well (thanks to her dad’s questionably earned money) in hiring talented bakers. There are so many cute adorable teeny-tiny desserts that Kurt can’t help sampling one or two.

Blaine is thoughtful to brush a crumb off Kurt’s lips when they’re about to get into frame, and kissing away any evidence really is quite welcome especially when Blaine’s mouth is so pliant and sweet.

“This was like the best and greatest surprise ever, right?” Sugar says, tucking herself into Blaine’s side. “It was all my idea, so you can thank me.”

Santana, appearing around a corner with a disheveled cater waitress heading the other way behind her, scoffs. “No it wasn’t, Princess Cupcake. It was your idea to film it.”

Blaine blinks. “Wait, does this means that Sugar owns the rights to our renewal ceremony?”

“Okay,” Sugar says brightly to the cameraman, “we need to do a take two now. Make sure that you zoom in on me when they tell me how awesome I am.”

Kurt tilts his head to make sure they’re getting his good side. He can hear Blaine faintly sighing beside him (he lost it somewhere along Cooper’s fake beard and the dinosaur ice sculptures) and then he makes sure to keep his smile from going wicked as he thinks of a way to cheer Blaine up and indulge in some illicit, semi-public sex.

When they watch the edited version of Sugar’s show, he really hopes this moment makes it in so he can point to it and say, and this is the moment I decided to drag you off for sex.


“Sugar thinks we should film a torrid affair for her show,” Cooper announces once Blaine’s snuck away from well, everyone, to fix his hair after Kurt thoroughly wrecked it holding on to Blaine’s head as Blaine gave him a spectacular blowjob in a vacant conference room.

(That is the one area of expertise that Blaine cannot even fake humility. He’s good at being fake-humble about his other talents. Blowjobs, not so much.)

“Please stop having public scandals with my friends,” Blaine begs.

Cooper raises a hand and while Blaine expects it to turn into a point (they are facing a bathroom mirror so Cooper is looking at the person he loves best—himself), he holds out his hand open, palm raised. “You and Kurt already did the hooking up part of the show, huh?”

“It doesn’t—we’re married, Coop. I—nothing got filmed.”

Nodding, Cooper says. “I respect where you are in your career. But if you need me to tweet about any in flagrante delicto action, I’m there for you, bro.”

“Really don’t need you there.”

Ah, there’s the point, right at Cooper’s chest. “But I’m there. That’s what brothers are for.”

“No. No I’m pretty sure they’re not.”

“You and Kurt should stick around for the final act.”

“Renewing our vows and celebrating with our friends wasn’t enough?”

“Has everyone sung yet?”

Cooper has a point. And dammit, he’s pointing again


“We’re going to have really loud, inappropriate sex once this party is over,” Blaine mutters as he stands behind Kurt, tucking his chin over Kurt’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around Kurt, his wrist bumping against the buckle of Kurt’s belt. The dancing part of the evening as taken over and they’re currently watching everyone dance in surprising combinations, Sam and Tina constantly returning to each other when they think they’re not being obvious.

“You whisper such sweet nothings. Why wait until later?”

Blaine’s quiet for a moment. “Wanna recreate our wedding day?”

Kurt smiles, turns his head a little to nuzzle against Blaine’s cheek. “We’re going to have to go back up to our room for what we need.”

“Hmm,” Blaine says, halfway agreeing, his hand stroking along Kurt’s waistband, tugging Kurt’s shirt out. “Or lube at the least.”

“An exact recreation then?” Kurt’s breath is a little short, remembering how they’d been, eager and hurried as he’d fucked Blaine, no condom because Blaine begged.

“If you don’t mind indulging your sentimental husband.”

“I think if you ask very nicely,” Kurt says, turning in Blaine’s arms and for all anyone else might suspect they’re slow dancing, swaying in each other’s arms.

“Or maybe not nicely at all?” Blaine teases.

“Mmm, I do think that’ll inspire me.”

Blaine’s gaze drops to Kurt’s lips and when their eyes meet, Kurt shivers.


The thing is, it doesn’t happen often.

Not anal sex, because yes they’re really quite good at it, although naturally, they’re not doing it like this all time, god, Blaine lives for when they just rut up against each other and okay, maybe he has a thing for when they come on each other, but it’s not it consumes him. This specific thing, where Kurt’s barely touching him, hands skimming down Blaine’s thighs every now and again and Blaine’s orgasm has to be earned by fucking himself on Kurt’s cock. If he takes himself in hand he’s going to come but he’s concentrating now, because he can get there by doing this, working himself up and down, teasing with every lift and twist that he’s learned through many years of sex, all the tricks that really, really do it for him and yet—he’s not there.

He’s almost there. He’s really, really almost there. If Kurt grabbed him by the hips or held onto his ass, fuck, he’d be even closer. But here is nice, in the blurring world of pre-orgasm, looking down at Kurt who is doing a really damn amazing job at not coming, while Blaine’s trying to come. Blaine’s very fond of riding Kurt but what would he give if Kurt flipped him over and wrung it out of him, and okay he might have said that part out loud.

“We’re changing the script a little, huh?” Kurt says, bracing himself on his elbows to lean up, Blaine eagerly meeting him as he thrusts down on Kurt’s cock, happy to kiss Kurt and whine greedily against his mouth. Kurt huffs a laugh, pulling back and Blaine doesn’t bother hiding his pout. “Marriage did change us.”

“Kurt—” but that’s all Blaine gets out as Kurt grabs his hips, digging back so his fingers press hard into Blaine’s ass and then Kurt pushes up and takes over the pace, fast, unyielding, and Blaine can mercifully stop chasing his orgasm as it wrecks through him.

He doesn’t often come untouched but when he does… fuck. “I made the best decision ever to marry you.”

Kurt flips him over then, Blaine still too fuzzy from his orgasm to even realize it straight away, but god, he can feel Kurt as he pushes back inside, hard and Kurt’s glistening with sweat. “Hold on to me, Blaine.”

He does, arms only, rolling his hips forward is all his lower body seems willing to do, his thighs will probably scream murder later but he doesn’t really care and it’s not much, Kurt using him to get off is such a sight to see, he tells Kurt as much, in a few fleeting words—mostly “Kurt” “’s really hot” “yours” “wanna see you.”

Kurt nearly falls against Blaine, catching himself on his elbows. He laughs a little, always giddy after he comes. “Oh my god. Someone’s going to come looking for us.”

Blaine blinks trying to remember that there’s a world outside of this bed. “I’ll send Cooper a text. Too fucked to come downstairs. Hashtag thanks for the party.”

Tags: fic, glee fic, kurt/blaine
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