"You think just because I've got my eyes closed I can't see you?" and you freeze guiltily, your hand half reaching for the bottle of hair-gel.
"Ho … how?" you stutter, partly in astonishment and partly because he looks so damn perfect right now. He's going through his intensive morning-moisturising routine with his eyes shut, his long, pale fingers massaging expensive cream into his face, raising a delicate, pink flush on his cheeks. So, yeah, he looked gorgeous, but it was the 'eyes shut' bit that had you astonished.
"I can sense it," he said, not breaking the rhythm of his fingertips, "I just know. And anyway, I won, so you have to go a day without that disgusting stuff otherwise that wouldn't be fair, now, would it?"
"But what if, say, completely hypothetically, I snuck off into the toilets at school and put it in? I mean, you couldn't exactly stop me …" but you trail off as his jewel-esque eyes snap open and glare at you. But then they soften a little and you notice a mischievous glint which you've learnt to be equal parts excited and scared by.
"Oh, but then I'd have to punish you," he said with a smirk, turning to fix his own hair in the mirror.

You just blink owlishly in response, your heart rate and breathing picking up a little. You run your fingers through your hair, wincing as it moves under your touch, flopping forward to partially obscure your face. "Oh, Kurt! I feel so bare without it!" and you feel kind of bad for resorting to whining, but desperate needs call for desperate measures.
"I'll make you feel bare in a minute if you don't stop your moaning, Blaine Anderson!" and that tone of voice makes you stop immediately, even as Blaine Anderson Junior gives a little twitch.

A hand in your hair suddenly distracts you from scowling at the thread count of the sheets, and you jump a little, but then hum in pleasure as he starts to run his fingers through your curls. You feel him manoeuvre his body so that he's kneeling behind where you sit on the bed, and he brings his other hand up to join the first. "Don't sulk, baby," he coos.
"I wasn't sulking, I was just-" but he cuts you off with a light tug of your hair.
"I know, baby, but shh. I want to make you feel good." And damn if that isn't the best thing you've heard all morning.

Those long fingers are pressing into your scalp now, pressing gently and carding through your unruly curls. You mewl, leaning back into those soft hands and he chuckles softly. "You're like a little puppy," and you can't even bring yourself to care that your boyfriend just compared you to a small, domesticated, baby animal because the things he's doing with his hands!

"More … harder …" and you actually keen as he increases the pressure, your head falling back in delight. Your eyes must have fluttered shut, because you're surprised when suddenly he's in front of you and taking advantage of your position. He lowers his lips to your neck, sucking on your Adam's apple, shivering as you swallow, his hands still locked in your hair. He bites a little lower, nuzzling into the juncture between your throat and chest and you whimper at the feel of his cool breath on your spit-slick skin.

Abruptly, he gets off you, giving your hair one last muss before standing up completely. You just stare through lust-hazed eyes, wondering what the hell he thinks he's doing. He just smiles angelically before handing you your satchel. "Come on, honey, we're going to be late for school," he calls out over his shoulder as he leaves the room. Blinking through the fog of desire, you grab your bottle of hair gel and your comb from the dressing table. Well, if Kurt was going to leave you cold like that, you'll see how he likes your head plastered with gel. You shove the items into your bag and hurry down the stairs, an innocent smile matching his fixed on your face.