It wasn’t any different from the other times they’d been in Kurt’s room while his parents and Finn were out. The only difference was that now they were boyfriends, and their studying was interrupted every few moments by a shy glance or a small kiss on the cheek as Blaine leaned across the sheets, a soft smile on his face.
It wasn’t long before Kurt chased him, after the third or fourth time, pulling Blaine back to him for a much deeper kiss – he’d never imagined how convenient the Dalton ties could be, and vaguely wondered how else they could be used.
some experimental kurtana in the new york apartment just because (PG-13? i think, i’m not good at this)
They were both slightly buzzed, the sting of the alcohol still burning, strangely pleasant, in their throats. Kurt was stretched out on the couch, completely relaxed and extremely relieved that Rachel wouldn’t be home until later. He loved her, but she was incredibly wearing on the nerves.
Santana, on the other hand, was leaning against the wall across from Kurt, watching him with a calculating expression.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she hummed, shrugging. “I’m just trying to figure out how you managed to go from a prepubescent Pinocchio to vaguely Disney prince-esque in the span of four years.”