"How much longer do we have to do this for?" Blaine groaned out, hitting his head against Kurt's wall. The slightly taller boy had been trying to pick out an outfit for prom, which was coming up soon. He'd transferred back to McKinley, so he and Blaine tried to spend as much time as possible together, since Blaine was still at Dalton.
"As long as it takes for me to find a color that fits both of our complexions," Kurt said, staring at two shades of red. "Damn your tan."
Rolling his eyes, Blaine stood up, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. He still can't believe that he and Kurt are actually together now. He's the happiest he's ever been, knowing that he can kiss Kurt whenever he wants to, he can hold his hand; just knowing that Kurt's his makes his day ten times better. He nuzzles his head into Kurt's shoulder, moving his hips side to side, slowly. A reversed slow dance.
"Blaaaaaine," Kurt moaned, trying to supress a smile. "I need to get this done. We have to look better than everyone else at prom."
"Kurt, you're designing the clothes. Of course they'll be fabulous," he said, spinning Kurt around. "Now, we should at least practice our dancing, right?" It's Kurt's turn to roll his eyes now, and he places his hand on Blaine's shoulder.
"There's no music," he said very matter of factly.
"Shh, just pretend there is."
And they dance around in circles in Kurt's room, laughing at just how ridiculosley cheesy they look right now.
"We should do this more often," Kurt said, placing a light kiss on Blaine's lips.
"I can't help but agree," Blaine said, the two boy's foreheads placed together. "We should dance like this at out wedding."
"Wedding?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow. Blaine got worried for a minute, expecing Kurt to think that he was weird, or rushing things. "I like the sound of that," he said giving a grin. "You'll be a Juilliard graduate, and a Grammy winner, and I'll be an FIT graduate, with my own clothing line. We'll live in a beautiful spacious apartment on the Upper East Side, and have two kittens named Tchaikovsky and McQueen."
"With three kids," Blaine added in, their future life spilling out in front of him. Plans dangled above his head like shooting stars. "One boy, named Thomas. A girl named Elizabeth, for your mom, and another girl. Named Natalie."
"I like the way you think, Mr. Anderson," Kurt said, the two boys falling onto his bed, giving kisses to each other, smiling as thoughts of kittens, apartments, morning with coffee and the New York Times, and children dressed to the nines floated around in their heads.