Blaine leant over the mirror, switching on the light overhead to fix his hair, reaching instinctively over to grab the half-full pot of hair gel, only to find that it wasn't there. He looked up to see Kurt's eyes glinting mischievously at him in the mirror, dangling the pot from his fingertips. "Kurt, when I said you could stay here two days a week, I didn't mean that you could move everything around to make room for your cleansers. And stop putting bronzer in my moisturiser."

"You look good with a little colour," Kurt said brightly, dancing away from him with the gel in his hands. Blaine tackled him, knocking him into the bed, and grabbed back the pot with a smirk. "Come on, Blaine, your natural hair is gorgeous, don't slather it down. Here, sit on the bed and let me go find my mousse and I'll fix it for you." Blaine rolled his eyes, but obediently sat down, crossing his legs beneath him and flicking pieces of lint from his red jeans, fiddling with the placement of his bowtie.

"So what are we doing tonight?" Kurt asked softly, kneeling behind Blaine with mousse in hand, massaging it into his hair, Blaine tilting his head back, eyes fluttering and a groan vibrating in his chest as Kurt's fingertips scratched at his scalp and accidentally tugged on his hair a little. "I know we're going to a bar, but what makes it so special?"

Blaine pulled himself from the depths of bliss to answer, "It's a karaoke bar, we all meet up there once a month and stay there until the owner politely asks us to leave. It's just a nice night when we can all goof around and not get harassed by marauding paparazzi. There'll be Sugar, Sam, Mercedes, Mike, Tina, Brittany, Santana, Rachel and us there. Good night, everyone gets a bit tipsy and we all sing a lot of duets."

Kurt smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek as he bounced up, wiping his hands off on a towel and looking himself up and down in the mirror one last time, giving Blaine the opportunity to appreciate the endless legs in their tight jeans, toned arms in the white shirt, dragging his eyes away when Kurt turned around. "Well, I can't wait to sing a duet or two with you," he said softly, and Blaine grinned at him as Kurt squeezed his hand and turned back to the mirror to give his hair one last spritz of hairspray before the car arrived for them.

The bar was already filling up when the arrived, lights low and Santana up onstage singing Girl On Fire to the adulation of the crowd. The blonde waiter pointed Blaine to his regular table, where the rest of their group already sat, Sugar raising her cheek for a kiss as he slid into the seat beside her, the last empty one. Arching an eyebrow at him for letting go of his usual gentlemanly qualities, Kurt shrugged and perched himself in Blaine's lap, settling himself down and winking at him as Blaine closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, trying not to react to the pressure of Kurt's ass against his dick.

After Santana finished to wild applause, Sugar dragged Brittany and Tina up with her to a cheerful rendition of Candyman, followed closely by Sam, armed with his guitar, coercing the entire bar into singing Red Solo Cup with him, then followed by Mercedes and Rachel belting out and playfully competing with Take Me Or Leave Me to a tumultuous standing ovation, then Mike singing Everything while smiling tenderly at Tina, then Rachel and Santana leaping up to sing So Emotional, joined by the other four women to sing and dance to Diva, after which Blaine took the stage with Billy Jean.

“Okay, newbie,” Sugar said, turning to Kurt with a bright smile on her face as another patron took the stage with a passable rendition of Let’s Get It On that had Tina and Brittany both giggling, “you want to sing a song, you go talk to Pascal over there by the jukebox. He has everything from bubblegum princess pop for Blaine to Broadway classics for Rachel, so just sing for us all and enjoy yourself.”

Kurt pressed a fleeting kiss to Blaine’s temple and scrambled up, and Blaine didn’t even try to hide the blatant way he watched the undulating sway of his hips as he walked away. He didn’t expect Kurt to explode like a star onto stage with an incredible rendition of Not The Boy Next Door, gyrating his hips in time to the music. Gazing up at him, all Blaine could think was He’s incredible, and he’s mine, all mine.

When Kurt finished his song and took a bow to cheering and wolf-whistling, Blaine ran to meet him at the side of the stage and flicked through the selections until he found the one he wanted, pulling Kurt up onto stage and taking the microphone, voice husky and eyes dark with want as he gazed on Kurt, beginning the song, "Is it still me who makes you sweat, am I who you think about bed, when the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress? Then think of what you did, and how I hope to God he was worth it, when the lights are dim and your heart is racing as your fingers touch his skin."

Smirking at him, Kurt stepped close as he sang, voice deliciously low and sending shivers down Blaine's spine and heat flooding south, "I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck, than any boy you'll ever meet, sweetie, you had me. Boy, I was it, look past the sweat, a better love deserving of exchanging body heat in the passenger seat? No, no, no, you know it will always just be me."

Overwhelmed with sudden knee-weakening lust, Blaine circled Kurt throughout the song, a chase like a game of cat and mouse, both knowing they would eventually be snared, until the final chord faded away and, out of breath, they placed their microphones back in their stands and slid backstage in a mutual agreement for a need of a quiet, dark, private place. It took only a moment before Blaine crashed his lips against Kurt's with a moan of satisfaction, hands gripping at his hips and backing him up against the wall, hitching one of Kurt's legs around his waist with a growl as Kurt's mouth opened beneath his eager tongue and they panted into each other's mouths, scrabbling at clothes and rolling their hips in a rhythm that didn't quite match in anything but fervent desperation.

"Want you," Kurt whispered, and Blaine's heart began to pound in earnest, dick throbbing painfully in his jeans at the look of Kurt, flushed, dark-eyed and swollen-lipped, hair mussed up from Blaine's hands clinging into the chestnut strands, chest heaving with rough pants dragged between his wet, red lips. "Want you now."

"Home, now," Blaine agreed, pressing a last kiss to Kurt's pale neck that turned into sucking in earnest as Kurt mewled and writhed against him, grinding the obvious hard bulge of his dick in his jeans against Blaine's thigh, until Blaine detached his mouth, admiring the large, infallibly obvious red mark his ministrations had left behind, and took Kurt by the hand to drag him out of the bar.