So, since Fauxfire101 insisted I write a series of oneshots about Kurt's battle with the evil that is Blaine's hair gel, here it is ;) This is just an introduction, so look forward to more of a story line later on xD I'm so going to have the time of my life writing this, so thanks a lot for the prompt :D

The Gel Wars

How It All Began

My name is Kurt Hummel. Recently, I've been able to call Blaine Anderson my boyfriend. Yup, you've heard right, the Blaine Anderson. Even more recently, I declared war on his hair gel.

In the beginning of our relationship it didn't really bother me all that much. I even thought it charming and adorable. It only really started to annoy me when we got to a point where our kisses were more than just sweet and gentle.

As a self-proclaimed baby penguin, the rate at which we progressed in that area surprised me. Though it probably surprised Blaine more (he actually pulled away and fell from the couch in shock the first time I started to be a bit bolder while kissing him. I never heard him complain about the fact that he accidentally took me down with him and I just kept going where we had stopped, though).

Maybe that was due to the fact that I spent a few precious months of my life pining over him while he went off and serenaded another guy, kissed my best friend, accused me of being like Karofsky and last but not least told me to my face that I wasn't sexy (as if I needed to be reminded of that).

See, I had a lot of pent-up frustration to run on. And finally being able to kiss the man of my dreams whenever I pleased to do so (if it wasn't in McKinley. I wanted to keep my head, after all) didn't help calming down my teenage hormones (yes, I posses some of those, thank you very much).

To get back to the point: As our kissing became more passionate, the urge to run my fingers through Blaine's hair became more urgent. Like, by the second. Only problem was that I'd probably break them if I tried what with all the product that's in those heavenly curls (and I only happened to know they were this deliciously curly thanks to Wes and his blackmailing material. Which consisted – among other things – of baby photos of almost all the Warblers. I think I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek after hugging him in thanks – was that before or after I threatened to decapitate his gavel if he ever dared to show my baby pictures to anyone? Oh, well...).

At first, I tried to be subtle. You know, play with the hair at the nape of his neck – where it didn't stick completely to his head – to hopefully get the point across. Either he didn't get the meaning or he didn't want to get it, but the gel stayed where it was – which was, to my great dismay, in his hair.

So I tried to be more obvious. I started by carefully asking him why he used so much gel all the time. He just shrugged his shoulders and didn't even bother to answer me in words. When I told him that so much product couldn't possibly be good for his hair he just shot me a disbelieving look (okay, I admit it, I'm sort of addicted to hair spray myself...) and continued whatever he was doing.

Since simply asking didn't work, I attacked at another front. I asked him if he couldn't let me see it without the gel for once. With puppy dog eyes and pout and everything. I think I even shed a few tears (hey, I really wanted to see how those cute curls would look on him now that he definitely wasn't a five-year-old any more).

As you may guess, none of it worked. At all. Usually the pout and the eyes would get me almost everything I wanted (I never had to use them much since we usually didn't have problems finding something to do we both actually wanted to do and I'd never use him to buy me things or something. Every now and then I applied their effect on him when he tried to get me to eat something almost dripping with grease because 'it was fun'. Personally, I don't see what's funny in a heart attack or clogged arteries).

However, this time was different. I had no idea why, but Blaine obviously hated his curls and had declared war on them as much as I had declared war on that stupid gel. And it seemed none of us was willing to back down in that matter.

It was a few weeks after I first brought it up (I had avoided the topic ever since as Blaine seemed to develop a great fascination with his homework whenever I even said the word 'gel'), when I finally got to see those gorgeous curls for the first time – even though it was an accident.

As usual, Blaine's parents were out of town (probably out of state, too) and he had invited me to come over (no, not what you think, you pervs! We were still far from going down that road, but my Dad seemed to have a sixth sense all of a sudden. He always found a reason to barge in my room whenever we did so much as look as each other for more than five seconds).

After ringing at least three times without getting any response whatsoever, I decided to try my luck. Blaine had told me where his parents kept their spare key (underneath the doormat, how very original). I let myself into the house and returned the key to its original place. I called for Blaine but once again received no answer.

Shrugging my shoulders I decided that the best course of action would be to just go up to his room and look for him there. Maybe he was listening to his iPod and didn't hear me.

The moment I entered his bedroom, the door to the bathroom also opened. We both froze and shock and all I could do was stare helplessly at my boyfriend – who wore nothing but a towel. A towel that hung dangerously low on his hips, at that.

My eyes came to rest on his chest – a few droplets of water still clung to the skin there, inevitably igniting a desire to lick them off I could hardly suppress – before they finally stayed on the wet mop of curls that rested on his head.

They were beautiful. Like, really beautiful. The kind of curls everyone who didn't have them wanted and everyone who was actually lucky enough to have them wanted to get rid off. The kind of curls you just wanted to bury your hands in or pull at one to see if it would snap back into place like a spring.

Just when I started to wonder how soft they would feel if only I could get my body to move over there so I could run my fingers through them, Blaine seemed to regain some power over his motor functions. Of course he just had to use his returned abilities to run his right hand through his curls, blushing madly but obviously unable to look away from me.

I could practically see the exact second he became aware of the state of his hair in his expression. The blush disappeared and instead he paled drastically. Before I could say anything, he dashed back into the bathroom and left me standing in the doorway.

I assumed that it would be no use to wait for him in his bedroom (since he seemed to have forgotten to take clothes with him when he went into the bathroom in the first place, and I didn't really trust myself around a more than half-naked Blaine; especially not with those curls), so I headed down to make myself comfortable in the living-room.

Although I expected it – what with his panicked reaction when he'd realized his hair had for once been curly around me – I couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed when Blaine came down the stairs to join me, hair gelled down as usual. The look in his eyes told me not to mention any of that for now, though.

Seeing no other option, I resigned myself to another movie-marathon-afternoon like every other. Just as expected, Blaine's head claimed my chest as its rightful pillow in a matter of seconds after he'd sat down and we stayed like that until it was time to put in the next DVD.

But all the while, I didn't pay the least bit of attention to the movie. I probably couldn't even name it if you'd ask me to. I was way too busy planning the next step of operation 'gel-free'. Because now that I had seen how drop-dead gorgeous those curls looked on my beloved boyfriend (even when wet) there was no chance in hell I wouldn't get my hands on that beautiful hair of his.