"You know, that colour really sets off your eyes,"
"Why, thank you, my darling," you say with a wink, as you toss the end of your shiny, red tinsel scarf over your shoulder. He laughs and grabs the end of it, using it to tug you closer to him. "Babe," you gasp, "we're meant to be decorating the choir room, not me!"
"But this is so much more fun!" and he whispers the last word into the back of your neck, making you shiver with delight. You pull away, though, smacking his stomach – it's only just after school ended, and anyone could walk in. You smile at his pout, and saunter over to the box of decorations. You rummage for a moment before straightening up with a grin, triumphantly brandishing the star for the top of the rather impressive Christmas tree. You turn back to Blaine to show him your find, but his eyes are glued on your nether regions.

"Blaine Anderson, were you admiring my ass?" you demand, mock-enraged.
"Why yes, Kurt Hummel, I do believe I was. And what a fine ass it is …" and you blush at the hungry look on his face.
"Uhh … stop distracting me! Come on, help me put this star on the top!" and he doesn't want to make you mad – not that you could ever be mad with him – so he positions a chair next to the tree and offers his hand to help you climb onto it, like a true gentleman. You accept it graciously, but you weren't expecting him to leap up on it behind you. You guess you should have been expecting it though, with his previous track record of jumping on furniture and all. The chair's pretty small, so he has to press his body up against yours, and you can feel the heat he's emanating andoh! Rather embarrassingly, his proximity causes you to lose your balance, and you have to grab on to him to keep yourself from falling.

"Whoa, careful there, honey," he cautions as he holds you securely by the waist.
"It's your fault – your charm just makes me swoon," you say, melodramatically acting out said swoon and almost falling again. He chuckles as he catches you this time, and he doesn't let go of the hold he has of your body.
"Come on – this thing's a safety hazard – I'll hold onto you and you reach up to put the star on." You do as he says, relishing in the feel of his hands lightly stroking your hipbones and his lips pressing softly in between your shoulder blades. You stretch up on tip toes, grateful for the security his hold provides, and fix the star in place.
"There: perfect."
"You're perfect," he mutters into your shoulder, and you feel a fluttering in your stomach. You blush as he helps you down from the chair, and you admire your handiwork, but you can feel his gaze on you.

"I really do like that tinsel on you," he says, even more earnestly than his previous statement.
"What, this old thing?" you tease, twining it enticingly around your form.
"Yes," he growls, before sweeping you into a kiss which takes your breath away. He pulls back, but only enough so that your lips are no longer touching, and grabs the end of the tinsel. He pulls it around his own neck too, so it's binding the two of you together, close. "And all I can think about," he breathes, his minty breath making you shiver and lean in closer, "is how you would look wearing that tinsel … and nothing else." And then he's kissing you again, so you don't even have time to pretend to be outraged at the suggestion.

"My place, later?" he pants a few moments later, your foreheads pressing together.
"I'll bring the tinsel," you quip, and the darkening of his eyes lets you know that you're in for a fun night.