don’t ask. Inspired by this
Can we have everyone just….ending up over at the house, all the time?
yes. Yes we can
(written in a five minutes after getting inspired by the combined brilliance of crown-of-weeds and naderegen so apologies for any mistakes. CC is love!)
Summary: Burt surveys his living room with one eyebrow cocked. So much for a quiet Friday night dinner.
title taken from Lilo & Stitch. Perfect movie is perfect
Burt surveys his living room with one eyebrow cocked. So much for a quiet Friday night dinner.
Brittany’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, tongue peeking out of her mouth as she frowns in concentration. She’s working on emptying an entire bag of bow hair clips into Blaine’s un-gelled curls. Burt’s not sure where the bag came from, but he’s willing to put down money she didn’t bring it with her.
He’s frankly impressed at the sheer volume of hair that Blaine’s been hiding under that gel. It’s not a small bag.
Blaine is in turn experimenting with braiding Tina’s hair as Santana insults his braiding abilities.
“God, I guess you and your boytoy don’t spend your morning after braiding hair and shitting rainbows, you’re pathetic at this. I hope for Hummel’s sake that you’re better with your fingers when you two are doing the nasty because this is just making me sad. You’re making sex sad, do you have any idea how much you suck? Oh, is that why he puts up with your shitty hand skills?”
“Santana!” He says automatically, since Blaine seems to be tuning her out and Kurt’s not there to shut her out. There are some things a father really, really doesn’t need to hear.
Santana flips her ponytail at him, but goes back to just insulting Blaine’s poor braiding skills.
Tina’s too busy painting Mike’s toenails to try and defend Blaine’s attempts on her hair, although Burt thinks that she’ll regret her lack of interest in the morning when she has to try and brush it. Living with Kurt Hummel, he’s heard a lot about how difficult styling the stuff is. He scratches his own head. There’s something to be said for being bald.
She’s using a bottle of black polish, although she’s also got a bottle of sparkley stuff and Burt can hear her gushing excitedly to Mike about how “it’ll look like a night sky, honestly Mike it’ll be amazing.”
Mike nods enthusiastically whenever she looks at him, but as soon as she’s busy with his feet he goes back to his vicious non-verbal war with Puck over the extent of his whipped-ness.
When Puck’s not silently demonstrating exactly where Tina’s head is when she’s painting Mike’s nails (Burt knows he should do something about that, but watching the kids is like watching a nature show. He’s oddly reluctant to interfere), he’s doing his calculus homework with Artie
(He’d thought Puck was getting the answers off him, and started to go over to stop that nonsense, but it turned out that Puck was explaining direvatives to Artie. Apparently Puck was some sort of calculus savant. That didn’t extend to the rest of math though. He’d heard him admit, proudly, that the only thing he knew how to use a compass for was as a makeshift shiv.)
Mercedes and Quinn are sitting next to each other, talking so quietly to each other that Burt’s tempted to strain his ears to try and hear them. Bu then they start hugging and suddenly, Burt feels incredibly old. He’s never thought he would turn into one of those nosey old fogeys always in everyone’s business.
Burt stepped back into the kitchen, shaking his head at himself. Carole’s in there already, and she smiles at him knowingly.
“I guess we don’t have to ever worry about left overs anymore.”
“Donated to the Hungry Teens Fund. Story of my life.” Carole rolls her eyes but she looks so happy that Burt just has to kiss her. She responds enthusiastically, and he dips her as they kiss, slow and languid, appreciating the elbow room they both have now that they’ve abandoned the living room to the kids.
Even with Kurt in the bathroom, furiously washing out Sam’s hair in the sink (“I know you’re not used to the house yet, but you do not touch that god awful stuff that Finn uses on his head. I’m pretty sure it’s not even real shampoo. It should not be used on color treated hair. Tomorrow we’re going out to buy something real. No, shut up, I’m buying it for me. Because if I have to see you with your roots like that one more time I will actually gouge my eyes out”) the room is packed.
“I’m going to have to start charging these kids rent.”
Carole swats his arm, but her eyes are dancing, “I think they’d try to pay in song.”
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