Kurt still can’t quite believe they’re doing this even as he signs his name on the form. Well, he thinks it’s his name. He’s not sure, the paper is blurry as he focuses on the pen and he’s definitely has had too much to drink, but he couldn’t care less because this flimsy little piece of paper is making him Blaine’s lawful husband, and if he could stop giggling maybe he would stop and try to believe what’s going on.
Blaine isn’t much better, a grin plastered to his face since the moment he proposed a day before while clutching bus tickets to Montreal in one hand and wedding bands in the other.
It wasn’t really a proposal, more of a “so I kind of booked us a wedding for tomorrow, but figured I should have asked you before, so I’m doing it now. Do you want to? Marry me, I mean?” and Kurt stared and stared until Blaine started fidgeting and worrying his lips between his teeth.
That was before Kurt ran up to him and pulled him into a kiss that left them both breathless, before Kurt whispered ‘yes, yes, yes’ against his lips over and over again until they stumbled to their bed and forgot about packing or finding their passports to focus on the other’s body.
It’s only the next day, as their coach is speeding down a Vermont highway that Kurt asks what’s been on his mind since the night before. “Why Montreal? It’s legal in New York, now.”
Blaine shrugs, at first, but Kurt pries until he admits in a sheepish voice that he’s always pictured his dream wedding taking place in Canada because he never thought he’d live to see it become legal in the United States, and that he picked Montreal over every other Canadian city because he knows how much Kurt loves French. The only answer Kurt can give him is a kiss that lasts slightly too long for a public setting, neither of them caring because within twelve hours they’re going to be married.
Kurt doesn’t remember much of the sightseeing they do to waste time before they’re supposed to show up at the courthouse, but he does remember that they get just this side of too drunk before on a terrace in the gay village, the fairy lights hung all along the main street casting a soft light on them as they try to act like they’re not just about to get married.
“I can’t believe you booked everything without proposing,” Kurt says at one point, grinning into his drink.
Blaine shrugs and turns a pretty shade of pink. “I knew you’d say yes? You’ve always made it clear that your answer would be yes.”
Kurt leans in and kisses him, Blaine’s lips tasting like sugar pie and the mint from his mojito. “My answer has been yes since I stopped you on the stairs of Dalton,” he whispers, cupping Blaine’s jaw to kiss him better, ignoring the cramp in his neck or the uncomfortable strain in his legs as he leans over the table.
The wedding in itself is underwhelming, consisting only in signing forms and exchanging wedding bands, and it only sinks in when they walk out of the courthouse that Kurt is holding his husband’s hand. His husband Blaine, who’s flustered and grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, and who’s his, completely and forever his, and Kurt doesn’t walk down the stairs, he floats down, the smile on his face feeling like it’s going to stay forever.
“We’re married,” Blaine breathes out, looking up at Kurt with a smile that could put the sun to shame.
“We are,” Kurt replies, squeezing Blaine’s hand. “Our families are going to be so pissed off that we did this without them.”
Blaine’s face falls at that, and he turns pale. “Oh god, I’ll have to tell your father. He’s going to kill me. You’ll have to tell my parents. Oh my god. And we’ll have to tell Rachel, and she’s never going to forgive us for doing this without telling her.”
“Don’t worry about this right now, Mr. Hummel-Anderson. I have better plans for us tonight,” Kurt says coyly, planting a kiss to Blaine’s forehead. To his husband’s forehead. He never wants to get used to this.
“What? No. It’s Anderson-Hummel.”
“In your dreams.”
Blaine glares at Kurt for a few seconds, but then his face breaks into a smile. “Whatever you say, husband.”