Buns Buns Buns - Klaine AU
Inspired by this post
On AO3
At first, it felt like a good idea. After all, Blaine and Santana had met during their apprenticeships at Maison Kayser, and they had immediately felt a connection.
A connection based on good-hearted (most of the time) teasing, sure, but also on queer kinship and boundless support.
On the night after their graduation, the pair got completely hammered on Cranberry Vodka.
Blaine laid down on the couch while Santana sat on the floor by his head.
“I loved working--meep--working with you,” Blaine hiccuped, tipping the bottle toward her. “You com-complete me.”
“Same,” Santana bawled out. “You’re the only one I’ve been partnered with who didn’t try to sex me up and who understands what I need without me saying iiiiiiiit!”
Blaine tentatively patted her head before sitting up like a Jack-in-The-Box. “I got it!”
“Got what? Chlamydia? I told you that Roger wasn’t worth it.”
“Wha--No! Not Chlamydia. And nothing happened with Roger.”
“Not for lack of trying, Mini Twix.”
Blaine rolled his eyes at her. “Can you shush one second so I can tell you my amazing idea?”
Santana swigged the bottle to get another mouthful of vodka. “Go ahead.”
“We should open our own bakery.”
Santana almost choked on the vodka but she was a pro and swallowed without sputtering it everywhere. “Have you gone mad? Has the yeast turned your brain to mush? We cannot open a bakery!”
“Why not? We have an excellent resume, with our apprenticeship and Mr Kayser’s recommendation letter. We are young, sure, but motivated. The apprenticeship paid off our student loans, so we could potentially get a loan to rent a place.”
As he talked, Blaine got on his knees while Santana sat on the coffee table.
She scratched her hair and hummed.
Which, in Santanese, meant that she was at least considering it.
Which, in Blainese, meant that she was on board.
Which, a month later, lead to the opening of “Buns Buns Buns” in the heart of Brooklyn, serving brioches, empanadas, and mookies.
Which, really, felt like a good idea--except when Santana gets an idea.
Particularly when said-idea is to combine two of her favorite hobbies: make fun of Blaine and try to find him a date.
The thing is, Blaine doesn’t exactly mind the teasing. After all, he’s more than able to reply to any of them, and as previously stated, it’s one of the bases of their relationship. Anyone who knows Santana Lopez knows that teasing is her way of showing her love.
But the constant nagging about his singledom hits a little bit closer to home, is more painful too.
Blaine hasn’t chosen to be single, okay. He believes in love and romance, he knows that somewhere, there is someone for him, waiting for him, someone who will love him for everything Blaine has to offer.
He is young, though, and he knows he has time to find the proverbial Mr. Right.
And the subject would be a lot easier to set aside if Santana wasn’t constantly singing under her breath whenever they pass each other songs about being alone forever.
Her 21st cover of “Lonely” makes him explode in the kitchen and slam the door to walk his anger away.
(She managed to find some helium to sing it in the highest pitch ever heard by a human ear.)
When he came back, Santana had the decency to be apologetic, telling him that he should take a week off work to chill, have fun, just … be, for a little while.
“And what Buns Buns Buns?”
“Oh, I can manage. It’s a slow week anyway, a lot of people are leaving the city anyway. I’ll just experiment a bit.”
“No x-rated experiment, Santana.”
“I still think we should have Muff Muffins for a Ladies Night type of promotion--”
“No. And no ‘dick-clairs’ either.”
“I didn’t think about it, but that is an excellent name.”
“No.”
“But--”
“Santana, please, no. Promise me.”
Santana rolls her eyes but agrees to promise not to do anything that could shock the kids from the school next door.
“I can do some redecorating, though. We should remove the December decorations anyway.”
“Hm, okay. Nothing extravagant, okay, we need to get ready for Easter.”
“Yessir.”
Blaine smiles at her. “All right. I do need a break.”
“And when you come back, I will take a couple of days off,” she adds, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
That was so sweet.
Blaine should have seen it coming.
Because now, he’s back, a notebook full of ideas and concepts of baked goods they could add to their menu, a spring in his step, and he nearly faints at the sight of his beloved window.
Which has been defaced, somehow, in his absence.
Well, defaced. That may be an over-exaggeration. The drawing is good, he can admit that, and it looks like a sticker so it won’t be permanent or anything.
But still.
Not exactly the aesthetic he envisioned for their shop.
He’s going to kill Santana whenever she comes back from her couple of days off--no, you know what, he’s going to go to her place tonight and kill her then.
Except, she may be spending her days off with Brittany, or Dany, or both, and does he really want to inflict this on his sight? On his brain?
Nah, it can wait. But she’s going to suffer, oh, she’s going to suffer.
Now, quick side-note about Blaine: when left alone, he has a tendency to … fill the silence.
Most of the time, by singing or humming to himself, but right this instant in time, he is talking to himself.
Counting the ways he will have his vengeance while baking and preparing new batches for the menu while considering when there will be a lull in the clients’ visits to experiment on his Easter cakes.
He’s so deep in his thoughts while putting the last batch of cookies in the lower oven, he doesn’t even hear the bell over the door ringing.
“Oh, um. Hello?”
Blaine straightens up quickly, dusting his hands over his apron and already all smiles as he turns to face the new client.
Oh boy.
“Hi?”
The man standing in the store’s entrance (with Santana’s ridiculous drawing creating a shadow over his tan jacket) is, truth be told, without a doubt the most beautiful man Blaine has ever seen.
“I work at the school around the corner, and I just started,” the man says, clutching the strap of his messenger bag, “and I, um, I kinda wanted something sweet to end this day.”
“Sure,” Blaine replies, walking to the window case. “Cakes are the answer for pretty much any trouble, in my opinion.”
Cute Client Looking for Consolation Cake smiles at Blaine, cocking his head to the side. “I like that. What do you recommend?”
Blaine happily goes over the different options, until CCLCC settles on a box of Cheesecake cookies.
“I hope this will improve your day,” he tells him after ringing his order.
“Oh, your shop has already greatly improved it,” CCLCC replies, his eyes darting to the sign. “And for what it’s worth, I personally think it doesn’t do you any justice.”
Blaine frowns. Glances at the sign. Glances back at CCLCC. Puts two and two together.
And turns a bright shade of red.
“Oh.”
CCLCC’s face matches the strawberry and basilic pies.
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.”
“No, no it’s--”
“No, it was crass, and we don’t even--”
“I promise, I mean, I get easily embarrassed--”
“--know each other, oh my God, everything looks delicious but I’ll never be able to come--”
“--but I am flattered.”
That seems to put a cork on CCLCC’s embarrassment. “... Oh.”
They smile at each other like a pair of … well, like a pair of shy twenty-something years olds who have a crush and are embarrassed about being too obvious.
“Madre de Dios.”
Blaine nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden appearance of Santana’s voice in the shop.
“San’!” he exclaims, and even to his ears, it comes out far too loud. “What--what are you doing here?”
“I came to ask you what you thought of my artistry,” Santana says, expertly flicking her hair over her shoulders as she steps out of the shadows, “and here I am, in the most awkward episode of Gay Bachelors in Bushwick.”
“Santana.”
“I don’t think I know you, though. Santana Lopez, co-owner of this magical place. And you are?”
“Kurt Hummel,” CCLCC replies and Blaine feels better about having a proper name to call his customer. “Choir teacher at the block’s school.”
“How nice.”
“It is a school focusing on the arts, after all, and--”
“I said nice, not interesting. What do you think of our new décor?”
Kurt blushes again. “Well, like I told, um, the gentleman--”
“Blaine. It’s only fair you know his name, since you’ll be screaming--”
“Santana, no.”
“Spoilsport. Anyway, neighbor, you were saying?”
“Like I told Blaine, I think it is a bit unfair to him.”
“Oh?”
Kurt’s flush intensifies. “Oh.”
“You won’t say more than that?” Santana approaches the window. “I thought I captured the bubbliness of his hmph!”
Blaine grabs a discarded brioche from the basket and sliding under the counter, pushes it in Santana’s mouth. “If you shut up I won’t kill you for putting that monstrosity on our window,” he whispers angrily, before turning to Kurt, pushing Santana behind him. “I’m sorry about that, Kurt. I hope we will see you again. Have a nice day!”
Kurt looks at them, his mouth stretched into a disbelieving smile before nodding. “Thank you. You too … Blaine.”
The moment the door is closed, Blaine sighs in relief. Santana is happily nibbling on the brioche. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Blaine looks up at the ceiling, waiting for some deity to come to his help. “What on Earth for?”
“I know you, Anderson,” Santana points the remaining of the brioche in his face, “you’d have waited months and months before even attempting a proper conversation with Sweet Lips over there. Now, at least, you know he likes what you have to offer.”
Blaine drops his head to his chest. “I think I would have preferred to come back to sexual cakes.”
“Easily corrected.”
“Santana, no.”
“You’re not really angry, though.”
“Angry, grumph. Embarrassed and on the verge of ashamed? For sure.”
“Aw.” Santana wraps her arms around Blaine, her chest to his back. “I didn’t want you to be ashamed.”
“Embarrassed, though?”
“Oh, for sure.”
Blaine lets her hug him for a couple more minutes before stepping away, arms crossed over his chest. “This,” he says, pointing at his cartoony double, “has to go.”
“Oh, another couple of days!”
“Begone.”
“Pleaaaase?”
“No. You take it off.”
“But I’m on holiday!”
“Santana. Take. It. Off.”
Santana sighs. “You should be careful, Blainey,” she tells him as she walks out of the shop, “some people could misinterpret your words.”
“I really doubt that. Remove that obscenity from our window!”
“When I come baaa-aaack. Byyyeee!”
“Santan--oh, fuck it.”
#
Kurt expected a lot of things from his new job.
For it to be challenging, for the neighborhood to be surprising, for New York to be everything he hoped for and more.
So far, his expectations have been met: the students are challenging to say the least, the neighborhood of Bushwick is nothing he expected, and New York is a dream and a nightmare all rolled into one.
But of all the things he has to get used to, Blaine the Baker hasn’t left his mind for the past couple of days.
Sure, the window sticker made him laugh, at first, but when he saw Blaine’s butt as the baker was busy with the oven, his heart stopped before starting back at twice the speed.
And then he saw his face, and his heart made a valiant attempt to jump out of his chest to land on Blaine.
The fact that the cheesecake cookies were absolutely to die for doesn’t help in chasing the baker from his daydreams.
“Mr. Hummel.”
Why, yes, they could hyphenate their names, or Blaine could be Mr. Hummel.
“Mr. Hummel? Sir?”
Oh, Blaine would feed him pieces of brioche in bed before kissing him tenderly, that would be so romantic and delicious …
“Mr. Hummel!”
“Hm? Yes? Wha?”
His students snicker, and it’s 100% deserved. “What song do you want us to perform for the Open House Day?”
Oh the Open House Day. Perfect! The whole neighborhood is invited.
So, Blaine will come.
So, Kurt can be at his best and win him over.
“Open House. Right! I know just the song.”
#
Santana and Blaine arrive at the school carrying baskets of goodies, and Santana can’t help but tease her friend all the way from the bakery.
“Remember, Blaine, this is a school. No hanky panky with your hot teacher.”
“Santana, may I remind you that I’m not you.”
“Shame. Your life would be funnier.”
Blaine laughs at that. “That much is true.”
The headmistress welcomes them in, smiling at the mini chocolate buns. “All the parents are talking about your shop,” she tells them as she guides them to the seats. “I must confess, I am a big fan of your concoctions too,” she adds, smiling like a naughty schoolgirl.
When she walks away to welcome more visitors, Blaine and Santana smother their laughter.
“I feel like a rockstar,” Blaine whispers to Santana when they spot people pointing at them and murmuring.
“That’s because we are,” Santana replies, flipping her hair around her.
Everybody sits in the gymnasium and the headmistress taps on the microphone.
“And now, before we guide you in groups through the complex, please welcome our choir, guided by our very own Kurt Hummel.”
Blaine doesn’t even try to contain his smile at the sight of Kurt. He looks particularly handsome, dressed in black as he bows to the applause coming from the room.
The choir launches into a medley of Beatles and Rolling Stones songs, immediately winning over the crowd of parents and teachers.
The kids may be very good, but Blaine only has eyes for Kurt, who is playing the piano to accompany the songs, and often singing along with them. Kurt is passionate, he smiles at all his young students, even the ones awfully off-key.
He’s mesmerizing.
Blaine had a medium-sized crush on Kurt, but to see him like this, it’s …
Blaine has no words.
It’s like all of his life, all of his decisions, everything lead to this moment in order to make sense.
“Oh, wow.”
“Earth to Blaine?”
Santana looks down at him, standing up from her seat like everyone else--when did that happened?--and she is smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Ah, now, you’re back with all of us. Care to walk around the school now, or do you need to be left alone a moment?”
“No,” Blaine replies grumpily, following her.
“Oh, Blaine, look who our guide is,” Santana singsongs.
Of fucking course.
“Oh, hi, Blaine,” Kurt welcomes him. “Did you enjoy the songs?”
“Immensely. The kids were great, thanks to you.”
Kurt’s cheeks turn pink and he has a pleased smile on his face. “Thank you.”
Blaine doesn’t pay attention to a lot of things during the tour, besides Kurt and his voice and his everything.
(Okay, he may be a gentleman, but Blaine is honest enough to admit that he lets his eyes drag down Kurt’s back and focus on his ass. It’s a nice ass. Given the way they met, it’s only fair.
Shut up.)
Santana stays with a group of parents who are apparently asking about “Buns Buns Buns” capacity to prepare a birthday spread, which leaves Blaine to stand close to Kurt.
“Aren’t you going to help her?”
“Oh, no. She is very good at selling our stuff.”
Kurt shakes his head. “Your friendship is an odd one.”
Blaine smiles. “She’s a good cookie.”
“If you say so.”
“Oh, you’d know so too, if you could get to know her.”
“I’d rather get to know you.”
That sentence was said softly, barely above a whisper, just for the two of them.
Blaine looks back at Kurt and smiles. “I’d really, really love that.”
“Good.”
“You know where to find me.”
“That I do. I have tomorrow afternoon free …?”
“That’s a date.”
Kurt beams at him. “That’s a date.”
As he walks back to Santana, Blaine almost feels like he’s walking on a cloud or on a meringue.
Almost.
Because Santana is never going to let go of the fact that she managed to bring them together.
(She never lets go of it. Blaine and Kurt’s grandchildren hear the story of how her artistic talent brought them together. Kurt doesn’t tell them, but really, it was their grandfather’s buns who won him over.)