"Blaine, disco? Really?" and you allow a smile to spread across your face as he screws up his nose adorably.
"Well I think it's good," he pouts.
"But I don't and-"
"You're always right. I know," he smirks, and you stick your tongue out in response.
"But there is one thing…"
"What's that then? You want me to keep the flare pants?" It's only his mocking grin which keeps you from smacking him.
"Oh god no. I was more concerned about this woman who takes you higher …" and you let your teasing tone slip into something darker as you circle round to stand behind where he's sitting on the bed. "Who might she be, I wonder?" you growl directly into his ear, relishing in the little shiver that runs through his body.
"Well, I- I just-"
"What's that, baby? I didn't quite catch it." Your hands are on his shoulders now, tracing the firm muscles with your fingertips.
"It was just … a song …" and he's struggling to get the words out past his ragged breaths.
"Just a song?" you question, punctuating your words by nipping at the soft skin of his neck with your teeth. He lets out a little whimper which has you jerking him round to face you, slamming your lips to his. Your tongue invades his mouth, tangling with his, licking the backs of his teeth, tasting coffee and toothpaste and Blaine.

He pulls away, gasping for air, and you admire the way his long lashes cast shadows on his tanned skin. He looks at you now, eyes dark, like burnt caramel, or honey, or something sweet and sticky that you just want to drizzle all over him and lick off. You meet his gaze, coolly, trying not to let him see how affected you are by his kiss-swollen lips, his harsh breathing, the bruise blooming on his throat and the thought that you did that to him, but your body gives you away. You see his eyes flicker down to where your arousal is straining at your zipper, and the low moan he lets out sends thrills down your spine.

"So … uh … that woman …" you pant out, trying to control the tremor in your voice as he crawls across the bed, eyeing you like his prey. "She's got … nothing on me … then?" He smirks devilishly, and you're about to protest against whatever it is he's planning, but all that comes out is a strangled sort of groan as his hand darts out to cup you, squeezing roughly.
"Of course, baby," he croons, his voice sugar sweet. "Because you're so much more than a woman."