"Go on. You know you want to." Blaine takes a step closer to Kurt and walks his fingers around his waist to pull him back even tighter. "Youve been watching him all night."

The heat is sharp in the middle of the dance floor, strobe and multi-colored lights flashing off of Kurts faces, illuminating his clothes with a confetti of colors. Hot, beautiful bodies writhe around them, touch them. The beat of the driving bass gives rhythm as Blaine grinds his crotch to Kurts ass.

"I have—" Kurts breath stutters as Blaine swirls his hips in even closer. "I have not."

"You have. Its hot." Blaine runs his tongue along the shell of Kurts ear and whispers, "Hes hot," and slips his thumb into Kurts waistband, his hips not losing a beat against Kurts ass. "Youve been curious since the day you met him."

"Blaine..." Kurt reaches his arm back around and grapples at Blaines shirt. He stretches his neck as if to beg for Blaines lips.

As if he needs to beg for Blaines lips on his neck.

Blaine obliges and dots tongue-led kisses to his salty skin, "Its our last night out before we leave. Go." He nips at his ear lobe. "No regrets."

Kurt finally turns around, determination and arousal etched into his face, darkening his eyes. To Blaine, its the most beautiful version of Kurt. "How far?"

Blaine grins, taking the kiss Kurt offers, letting Kurt suck his bottom lip into his hot mouth. Their breath heats the already-sweltering air between them and Blaine slips his hand between them to cup Kurt in his palm, staking his claim. Kurts cock begins to harden under his fingers and Blaine practically growls. "I trust you."

Kurt gasps and pushes harder into Blaines hand. "Maynard..."

Blaine squeezes before letting go and rakes his hand up Kurts chest. He hooks his finger into the loose, droopy collar of Kurts shirt to kiss along the peeking edge of his collar bone. "And then, you come home with me."

"Fuck, yes." Kurt pulls Blaine in closer by his ass and nips at the skin under his ear, his breath hot on Blaines skin. "Youre going to watch?"

"I wouldnt miss it." Blaine takes him in a wet, sloppy kiss, pushing Kurt back a little when he tries to slip his thigh between Blaines legs. "Go on or youll never do it."

Kurt smiles and kisses the tip of Blaines nosebefore he leaves, working his way across the dance floor. He stops to sway a few beats with random men, touches some, lets others touch him, all with a tossed glance back at Blaine as if to say, "Did you see that? And that one? So hot."

Kurt has no damned idea. That boy, the one theyre all pawing at, the one soaking up the adoration is his. And no matter how much Kurt flirts with anyone else—he goes home with Blaine.

The power of it is intoxicating.

Elliott, the object of Kurts lusty gaze, was Kurts squad leader in the OSU Marching Band—the best kind of leader: a trumpet player who challenges everyone to do better, to work harder, to give one hundred percent no matter how fucking hot and tired you are. To live by the mantra, "Pick up your feet, turn your corners square, and drive, drive, drive!"

But at night, off the field, Elliott transforms from a properly groomed and disciplined marching student into a full-fledged gay bar superstar. With the flair of Wonder Woman—one, two, three spins, a flash of light and superhero sparkle—his style suddenly commands your attention, his attitude commands your deepest desires and his dance moves command everything else. Guy-liner and glitter, and this night, an assortment of necklaces drape over his bare chest. Sequins trace the lines of his open-necked shirt and point to the crotch of his pants, the closure of which is laced like a corset.

Elliott struts, moving like a rushing river: powerful, fluid, cutting ruts in the terrain of the club with flash and flair, stardust and sensuality.

Blaine never met anyone like Elliott: comfortable in his own skin, comfortable in whatever hat he wears for whatever role he plays. Its enviable and enticing, and while Blaines curious, Kurt has been particularly captivated by Elliotts allure.

But tonight, it all comes to a head as Blaine and Kurt sink into the trance of Axis nightclub. Writhing, hot, beautiful, gay boys, combined with the knowledge that this will be the last chance to act on their whispered desires. Their days with the marching band are over—the hierarchy of squad leader to squad member is removed.

Blaine sways mindlessly in the crowd and Elliott looks up as Kurt approaches. A huge grin lights up Elliotts face, stippled with flashing color—a spotlight beaming on him as if a guiding Kurts way. Kurt says something and Elliott throws his head back in laughter, taking a sip of his drink before pointing the stir straw to Kurts mouth. Kurt takes a sip and speaks words Blaine cannot hear.

Just as Elliotts eyebrows lift in curious interest, Blaine feels two hands smooth down his chest. When he looks down, he chuckles and leans back against Santanas chest. Her perfectly manicured, bright red nails scratch back up his rib cage. "Hey, lady."

"Wheres your appendage? Im surprised youre not a gaping wound bleeding all over the floor without him attached to your hip."

Blaine points with his head to Kurt and Elliott casually dancing, testing the waters with a touch, a look, a spin. "Hes off seducing the teacher at the moment."

"Ohhh my god. Look at that. Hes been wanting a slice of that since—"

"Yeah, I know. Had I realized how fucking hot it would be, Id have said something sooner."

As Blaine and Santana continue to watch, Elliott slides his hand around Kurts waist and pulls him in. He whispers something into Kurts ear as Kurt drapes his arms over Elliotts shoulders and moves with the music and the pulsing rhythm of Elliotts body. Kurt throws his head back as Elliott dares to nuzzle into the heat of his neck.

Blaine emits a moan and Santana cackles. "Maynard... youre a little voyeur!"

"Shut up."

Elliott looks up and catches Blaines eye, a smile giving way as swirls his hips and grips Kurts to move right along with him. He cocks an eyebrow as if asking Blaine for permission.

Blaine tastes at his bottom lip and nods.

"Come on, May. Theres a couch over here with prime viewing. My feet are killing me."

~~~**~~~

Elliott knows Kurt is off-limits. It isnt even that hes wanted for him, not necessarily. His first impression was that he was cute in that twink-y sort of way, but as the two years stretched before them, Elliott couldnt deny Kurt was downright gorgeous. He witnessed the metamorphosis as Kurt shed the small-town insecurities and came into himself as a confident, solid leader, quick-witted and loyal—especially to that other boy always at his side.

Blaine. It took him forever to think him anything other than "Maynard," a perfect nickname for such a talent, as much as Elliott regretted admitting it—his range was enviable.

Blaines a nice enough kid. Sweet even. Funny and sincere and so very very much in love with Kurt that even if Elliott were to want Kurt, he wouldnt dare. Kiki and Maynard are inseparable.

Well, except for the two weeks they werent.

They both auditioned for trumpet cheers, neither made it and really, it was ridiculous that as freshmen either of them even tried. But they did and Kurt gloriously pouted at Blaines "betrayal" and Blaine relentlessly poked "to make Kurt work harder," and Elliott spent those two weeks wanting to drop kick them both into the Olentangy River.

Which is to say, when they arent inseparable, they need to be because while each of them work very well independently, they are their absolute best when an integral part of each others life.

So, Kiki. Hot, peculiarly alluring, increasingly confident and sexy but never, not ever on Elliotts radar.

And yet, Kiki moves before him with a look of playfulness, of sultry desire and a sway to his hips that says nothing other than, "You want this."

What Kurt really says, his voice low and raspy, is, "Wanna dance?"

So yeah, in this moment, Elliott wants.

He greases the wheels with another good swallow of his drink and scoops Kurt close. They move in rhythm, Kurts thin frame tucking perfectly into Elliotts arm, his eyes dazzling and tinged with just enough nervousness to remind Elliott that this is for fun, not for keeps.

Which makes it all the more delicious.

He dips to Kurts neck and Kurt pulls him in closer, the rumble of a moan encouraging him to press his lips there on the pale, sweat-dampened skin. As he kisses, he looks up and catches Blaines eyes. "Your boy is looking. You sure this is cool?"

"Hes not looking." Kurt steps back and hooks his fingers into the long chains and pendents that sway against Elliotts bare chest, his eyes burning heat into Elliotts skin. "Hes watching."

"Oh. Well, then."

Elliott takes Kurt by the hand and drags him up to a platform and just as Kurt lands, the music comes to a dramatic 4-beat pause and the dance floor and flashing lights freeze. Their eyes lock and wait. The smirk on Kurts face almost makes Elliott forget their audience, their unspoken agreement—for fun, not for keeps.

With a flash of the strobe, the music pulses hard through the room again, arms up, bodies writhe, hollers and whoops shout from the balcony and floor, a spinning whirlwind of sound.

They dance on the platform, hip-y and loose, closer and closer until Elliott snakes his hand around Kurts waist again and pulls him in, crotch to crotch as they undulate to the pulsing beat.

Kurts eyes never leave Elliotts; he smirks and brings a finger to his lips and taps, kissing the tip of his own finger.

A smile curls at Elliotts lips as he wraps his hand around the back of Kurts neck and pulls him in for a scorching kiss, off-center and a little obscene. Elliott tastes at Kurt, forbidden sweet, sucking on his tongue as he feels Kurts hands slip from his waist down his ass, pulling him in.

They break, loud and wet, heard only by them as they smile and pant, their bodies moving together with a magnetic pull. Maybe its a lot obscene. "Kiki... you little tart."

Kurt closes his eyes and shakes his head with a chuckle. "I have no idea what Im doing."

"Bullshit." Elliott kisses him gently, dragging a finger down his cheek, adding a shimmer of glitter to Kurts sticky skin. "Turn around. Put on a show for him, sweetheart."

He spins Kurt around, snaking a hand around him and up his chest to keep his body close. The silky fabrics of their shirts cling to their sweaty skin and outline every muscle, every valley that begs to be traced with Elliotts fingers.

Kurt lets his head fall back onto Elliotts shoulder, stretching his neck out for him as Elliott had watched him do for Blaine earlier—and time and again on the field after long rehearsals. "So hot. Cold cloth?" Blaine would have one at the ready, pressing the cloth then his lips to the sweaty skin again and again, an intimacy with 225 other people standing around surviving the summers heat.

Somebody wants to hear you say
Ooh somebody loves you
Ooh somebody loves you

Elliott sings the lyrics of the current track into his ear, grinding into Kurts ass, his eyes on Blaine, who is seated on the couch next to their friend, draped open and inviting. He has one arm looped back around her neck, the other resting on his own thigh, fingers twitching for something. "Look at him over there. You make him want to touch himself."

"I do make him touch himself."

"Fuck..." Elliott slides his hand down Kurts belly and hips, close to, but not breaching the trust these two boys have given him.

Kurt hisses, moves his hips toward the heat of Elliotts hand. "You—you can... tonight."

"No. Thats for you two." But the teasing continues, a sultry dance from the platform to the couch, touch and temptation, pulse and heat. Blaines lips part and his fingers inch closer to cupping himself, to relieve the pressure, his eyes on Kurt and only Kurt. "Look what you do to him."

Kurt twists back and kisses Elliott again, dirty and wet, and Elliott cant believe little Kiki is coming undone, on display for all to see. Hes hard against Kurts ass and feels the pull of fabric in Kurts pants too. He closes his eyes and wants to touch, but doesnt dare, unwilling to break what these boys have so perfectly built together.

"Care for a threesome?"

Elliott cant remember her name, but their friend has joined them on the platform, rounded ass pressed back to Kurts crotch, as Kurt slips his hands around her tiny waist and nuzzles into the thick of her long black hair.

They dance with Kurt in the middle, swaying, pulsing, writhing effortlessly as the music pounds around them, the lights a rhythmic flash when Kurt turns to face Elliott and twists back to his friend to steal teasing, friendly kisses from her, and another wet, tongue-heavy kiss from Elliott. Six hands everywhere, a show for the boy on the couch who has finally pressed his hand to his fly, his head snapping back and breaking eye contact for the first time.

Elliott turns Kurt to face Blaine again and giggles in Kurts ear. "Youre going to have a good night when you get home."

Elliott invites Blaine to join them with a crook of his finger, but Blaine shakes his head. He pats the seat next to him and sends a kiss through the pulsating air.

~~~**~~~

"Come with me?"

It is a question because as confident as Kurt is pretending to be, is beginning to feel, hes still a bundle of nerves concerned that hes making a first class ass of himself. But Elliotts played along from the first glance and Kurt isnt quite done with this game yet. He wants to taste Elliott at least one more time.

Only this time with Blaines breath in his ear urging him on—the tastes of sin and virtue melding in perfect harmonious fusion.

After sharing a quick kiss in greeting, Kurt splays himself backwards on the couch across Blaine and Santanas laps. Elliott sits on the back rest and they all sink under the spell of the driving beat, the constant thrust of surrounding bodies, of the club. Kurt is lost to the music, his arms in rhythmic motion and he grasps back and catches Santanas knee with his left hand. His right hand is up and reaching. He makes contact with Elliot and—oh. Oh god.

That is Elliotts dick. Kurt trails his hand down Elliotts thigh and flashes a glance up at him. Hes met with a raised eyebrow and a laugh. "Careful, Kiki."

Kurt laughs and closes his eyes. The smell of sweat and booze, various colognes and perfumes a heady mix to the constant sensation of touch, touch, touch. Santanas silky smooth legs move under his neck and the softness of her breasts pillow his cheek, and if he turns just right, even his mouth. With all the times hes had the opportunity, tonight he takes it and traces his tongue along the edge of her plunging neckline earning him a sultry moan of his name and a tug at his hair.

"Kurt... fuck." Blaine leans down for a kiss, awkward and far-reaching right in Santanas lap. His taste mixes in Kurts mouth with Elliotts, swirls around the bite of Santanas perfume on his tongue. Its all too much, too exquisite, too erotic. And while the soft allure of Santanas body seduces him, the memory of Elliotts arms around him, strong and in command still prickles at his skin, all he wants now is to get Blaine home.

To unleash all thats built up with Blaine and Blaine alone.

Blaines hand drags against Kurts back and pauses, his mouth open in a ridiculous grin as he catches Kurts gaze. His eyes are dark with want and his hips tilt to his own hand, to Kurts back, seeking, chasing. Kurt traces his finger along Blaines bottom lip, smiling when Blaine gently bites down on it. "That feel good? Do you feel good?"

"Itd feel better if it was you."

Kurt looks to Elliott who, even with a hand caressing up Kurts thigh, is lost to the crowd, still present, but obviously aware his role in this party is about over. Santana is making out with a redhead whod draped herself across her shoulder as if she knows her. Maybe she does.

Maybe Kurt doesnt care.

Blaine eyes the exit and thats Kurts cue. He pulls Elliotts hand from his hip and kisses the tips of his fingers to get his attention. Elliott smiles like the kid about to pull the funniest prank. "Pull me up, Star."

Elliott clasps Kurts hand and lifts him off the couch, spinning around so his legs hang off the back of it. He drags Kurt around with him and Kurt tugs Blaine closely behind.

And when Kurt stares up at Elliott, their fingers still entwined, he suddenly blushes as if Elliott is his superior again, and Kurt is sweaty and nervous before the first band rehearsal. "Th—thanks for the um... "

Elliott wraps a leg around Kurts calves and pulls him in and kisses him hard, lewd, open-mouthed. He slips his tongue into Kurts mouth and Kurt sucks on it, taking every last touch and taste home with him, every last blue-eyed stare, leaving the nervous rookie band geek gasping for air on the floor of the nightclub.

The kiss breaks and Blaine has his head on Kurts shoulder, pawing at him desperately, blindly, drunk on seduction and desire and Kurt needs to get home with him. Now.

"Ill call, Kiki. If I ever get there—"

"When. When you get to New York. It needs you."

"When. Okay, when. Now go home and take care of your man." Elliott chuckles at Blaines doped out expression and cups his hand under Kurts chin, bringing him in for one last kiss. "Thank you, by the way. I cant say I havent always wondered."

"Yeah. It was, uh... fun." Kurt looks at Elliotts mouth one more time, sneaks in one more kiss, and whispers a final thank you across his lips.

Elliott grins and slips off of the couch with a wave as he struts into the depth of the dance floor, hands in the air welcoming the touch of everyone he shimmies by. Kurt makes to say something to Santana, but shes gone as well, lost in the sea of people.

Blaine steps in front of Kurt and nips at Kurts chin. He stares up at Kurt, his eyes dark and penetrating, bringing Kurt right back to where he needs to be. "Take me home, Kiki."

Home, yes. Home is good. Because while the idea of Blaine bending him over a toilet in the stall of the nightclub bathroom is hardly unheard of, and while Kurt just wants Blaine now, hard and fast and immediate, hed much prefer it in the privacy of their apartment.

They grab a bus that is only a short wait away after they stumble out of the club. Six stops. Surely they can make it home.

Except Blaine is so turned on, hes drunk with it, insisting they stand for the short ride.

"No. Up here. I want to feel all of you."

"Blaine... "

But Kurt stands and ignores the amused look from the guy sitting a few seats behind them. Blaine curls himself into Kurt as much as he can while still hanging onto the vertical grab bar. "So that? That was fucking hot."

Kurt side-eyes their traveling companion, thinks fuck it, and kisses Blaine hard and wet. They spin around the bar with the force of it until Kurt pulls back with a chuckle and a fib. "It was just a dance."

"That was not—" Blaine hisses as Kurt slips his hand into Blaines back pocket and squeezes his ass. "That was not just a dance and you know it."

Kurt laughs and Blaine kisses him again, full of tongue and chase. "Tell me," he stops to check on their neighbor and their progress up High St.

Kurt smiles and waits for him to finish. He takes him in, his sweat-dampened curls framing his face, the dance and light in his eyes as if the strobe from the club follows them home. Hes the over-eager teenager waiting to dethrone his crown in high school and the sexy, confident man who makes his life sing. "Tell you what?"

Blaine kisses Kurt up on his tip-toes, smacks and nips and licks and finally takes a breath to ask in a desperate whisper. "What does he taste like?" He dives in again and Kurt can only laugh against his mouth, as they spin in each others arms loosely draped around the bar, grateful when the bus stops and the staring passenger steps off.

Kurt sweeps his tongue into Blaines mouth and pulls back before Blaine can finish the kiss. "Can you taste him?" He does it again, sinking his hands into Blaines curls, kissing him short and soft, a little tongue, a little lip, asking between each peck, "What do you think?" and "Does he taste like sex?"

Blaine gasps and finally answers, tipping his forehead to Kurts after one more taste. "Its sweet—like candy."

Kurt laughs again as the bus finally stops at Euclid. Theyre out, crossing the street, practically jogging to their apartment, stopping only when Blaine tugs on Kurts wrist for another kiss. "Blaine, inside." Hes unable to resist, unwilling really, and they kiss and walk and Blaine tosses out flavor options and Kurt only wants to find his goddamned key.

He does. They fall in Kurt tosses his keys on the small dining table inside the door. "Here." He grabs for Blaines shirt, but Blaines whipped it up and over his head before Kurt can find his footing. "Fuck me here."

"Jesus, Kurt..." Blaine makes for his belt and Kurt takes the five steps to their bed in the small studio apartment and flips through the sheets until he unearths the lube from that morning. Blaines standing—well, more like hopping—like a flamingo trying to untie his shoes, pants open and hanging loose on his hips, his fingers a flurry of uselessness.

"Keep em—" Kurt gets his pants off, his shirt left on and unbuttoned, fabric brushing against his cock with every motion. He leans onto the table on his elbows and lubes his fingers, ready from the foreplay on the dance floor, on the platform, with Blaines eyes needy and hot on his skin.

With a look tossed over his shoulder, Kurt runs his fingers down the cleft of his ass, pressing at his rim with a groan. "Keep your shoes on. Keep everything, just... please."

Blaine looks up and he drops his leg to the floor. His pants drop with it and it would be hilarious if Kurt wasnt so fucking desperate to be filled. To have Blaine all over him, in him, owning him. "Kiki. Fuck. You cant just—" He skitters the few steps to where Kurt is bent, fingering himself, presenting himself, begging with his moans and arched back.

Blaine lubes his fingers and takes over, pressing two fingers slowly inside the heat of Kurts ass, his body curled beside him as his dick rubs at Kurts thigh and hip. Kurt growls and presses his ass back, fucking on his fingers. "One more. Come on. Come on."

Blaine obliges and nips and licks at Kurts shoulder, twisting his fingers inside, pleasure shooting through Kurt with a snap. "Is this what you were thinking up there? Elliott doing this to you? His lips on your neck while I watch?"

"Blaine... please." Blaine slowly pulls his fingers out and Kurt hears him shift, hears the snap of the cap of lube. He moans deep and long when Blaine runs the tip of his cock along the crack of Kurts ass.

"So fucking sexy up there." And then hes spreading Kurt slow and steady, filling him, a leg up on the seat of a dining chair to lift himself just enough. His breath stutters as he adjusts, pushing in deeper with a groan and Kurt almost collapses with the relief of it. "You loved him on you like that."

Kurt pushes back, loving the strength of Blaines hands hard on his hips, the warmth of his breath on his back and the initial burn giving way to the slick drag of Blaines cock filling him then retreating, slow and steady. Exquisite. It is exactly what Kurt has wanted since Blaine sent him off to Elliott. "And then you come home with me."

Kurt turns to look over his shoulder and Blaine is focused on Kurts ass. On watching his cock disappear into the soft rounds, into his reddened rim, slick with lube and probably more sweat than Kurt would like to consider. Blaine loves to watch, in the mirror, in the reflection of the shower door. Just the other night, he caught Blaine watching them in the reflection of the television screen, mumbling poetic nonsense about Kurts body, his hair, his eyes, his arms and skin. About the size and shape of Kurts cock, the strength of his hands, the heat of his ass and mouth.

Blaine simply admires and Kurt soaks it in as if he is made to be admired. He puts on a show, enjoying the response as Blaine plays to it, strong muscles and deep thrusts. The tongue-led kisses and tender caresses as he worships Kurts body. And tonight when they add a third, even just for the pre-show warm-up, escalates the intensity of it.

Kurt rests his head on his arms and can still smells Elliotts cologne on his wrists, recharging the energy from the club. He pushes back now as Blaine works into him, his hands soothing his back and then his mouth when he wraps an arm around Kurts hips to take hold of his cock and whispers into his ear, "Loved his arms around you, his hands on you. His tongue slipping into your mouth."

"Yes. Loved you watching me. Wanting me."

Blaine bends to give an awkward, sloppy kiss and the table shakes when he pulls back. He cocks a crooked grin, evil intent etched on his face as if he wants to break Kurt, if not the table. Kurt slams his ass back into him begging for it.

"Yeah? You want more?"

"Yes—please. Blaine... "

Blaine grabs Kurts shoulder and speeds up, hard and fast and Kurt gives in to it, into the slap of Blaines hips against his ass, the sweat-slick of their skin, finally taking himself in his hand, his fist working, chasing the twist in his gut, the twist thats been spinning and tightening from the throbbing bass on the dance floor, to Elliotts mouth on his, Elliotts crotch against his ass as they danced on the platform, the dark need in Blaines eyes as he palmed himself right there in the view of anyone who dared to look at the cute boy on the couch.

Stroking and sinking onto Blaines cock and finally he snaps, his orgasm pulsing through him like a wave, he spurts onto his fist, against the side of the table, onto the floor and before he can catch his breath Blaine thrusts into him one more time and stalls, pulling at his shoulder as he fills him, swearing and shuddering until he curls onto Kurts back, laughing and breathless. "Holy fuck."

Kurt laughs with him as Blaine slips out still catching his breath. He wonders where theyre going to go from here, half-dressed, dripping with come and no strength to stand. Or desire to stand for that matter. "Holy fuck is right. I cant move."

Blaine laughs again and grabs for a napkin. He hands it to Kurt, apologizing for the scratch of it, but it suffices. They wrestle out of their remaining clothes and tumble to the floor, Blaine straddling Kurts lap and kissing him as if he hasnt just fucked his brains out only moments before. As if its the first time hes seen Kurt in weeks and needs to savor him anew. "Im still trying to," he licks at Kurts lip, "figure out... "

Kurt cackles now and grasps Blaines face in his hands with one more soft kiss. "Youve wanted him too, havent you?"

Blaine blushes, naked and spent and sweaty on their "dining room" floor, and nods. "Who wouldnt?"

Kurt could be jealous. Hell, Blaine could have been jealous and this night never would have played out like it did. But hes not. Blaines not. This thing they have is sure and right and true. And Elliott is... Elliott. And Kurt doesnt know what he tasted like—just that it was good. And maybe like something he wants to try again.

So, with another kiss, he gropes in his pants pocket for his phone and shows it to Blaine as if in explanation.

To Elliott: So, what were you drinking tonight?

To Kurt: Are you implying I was drunk and not in my right mind?

To Elliott: No. Actually. It, um. The vote is that... you taste good.

To Kurt: Ha! I think the bartender called it a Hawaiian mule. Coconut rum mostly. Is Maynard drunk on you now, sweetie?

To Elliott: I think were both a little intoxicated. Promise me youll come see us in New York.

To Kurt: How about if I make it my first stop?

Kurt shows Blaine the exchange and Blaine gasps and bites his lip, his hips rolling on Kurts lap. "A little anxious, babe?"

"Y—yes. I, um." Blaine groans and blinks as if trying to compose himself when really, Kurts more than okay with this little display. "You need to say goodnight."

To Elliott: I think wed like that. Well see you soon then?

Kurt doesnt even wait for the answer. He tosses his phone up on the table and looks back at Blaine whos already disappeared into his own little fantasy. "Bedroom?"

"Bedroom. And then a run to the liquor store."