They are in Kurt's room. Carole and his dad are out for dinner, and Finn is goodness knows where (probably at Rachel's house again), so they have the house to themselves. He is sprawled out diagonally across the bed, feet dangling up in the air behind him and chin resting on his history textbook, straining his eyes to read. In the spring of 1992, the Belgian ambassador in Kigali warned his government… God, his head hurts. Groaning, he nudges the book away with the tip of his nose and rolls around onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He stares at the light for about thirty seconds before black starts flashing before his eyes and he has to shut them. He twists languidly onto his side to stare at Blaine.
Blaine is sitting cross-legged at the far corner of the bed, eyes darting intently back and forth across the sheaf of notes held in his hand. He is practically unmoving, shifting only to peer closer at the notes. Kurt stares for a few minutes, almost entranced by the way Blaine's gaze is so fixed, his expression so serious. He notices the way Blaine's brow scrunches up whenever he reaches a confusing bit, or how his tongue flicks across his teeth from time to time. The room is very quiet.
Kurt is bored.
Stifling a sigh, he pushes himself to his hands and knees and crawls over to Blaine. He butts his head gently into Blaine's shoulder, then curls up into his side, enjoying the curve of his waist against his head.
"Mhmm," he mumbles, as Blaine's arm automatically snakes across his shoulder and across his chest to rest just below his collarbone. Blaine rubs his thumb absently across the hollow of Kurt's throat, and his skin tingles where Blaine touches it. He closes his eyes for a moment, but he isn't tired. Blaine is comfortable and warm and good, so Kurt wriggles even closer.
"I'm bored," he complains.
"Your finals are next week," Blaine replies chidingly, but his fingers still continue to trace patterns across Kurt's collarbones, finding their way up to brush around his neck. It is all Kurt can do to not moan in pleasure.
"I've finished studying already," he whines, feeling unusually childish. Blaine is usually the immature one, always whining and treating Kurt to those irresistible puppy dog eyes which Kurt has no hold over.
"Go over your notes again," Blaine responds without missing a beat. Kurt suppresses a groan and rolls his eyes, knowing full well Blaine can't see them. He squirms around under Blaine's hold to peer at his notes. For the life of him, he can't understand how Blaine manages to actually absorb anything reading notes like that. His handwriting is tiny and immaculate, and there are lines and lines and lines of carefully printed blue words. Just looking at them gives Kurt a headache.
He shifts so his head is practically resting on Blaine's chest. "I'm bored," he repeats petulantly, gazing imploringly into Blaine's eyes and pouting. It works. Blaine gives an exaggerated sigh, but puts the notes down on the bedside table and stretches his legs out.
"You're terrible," he reprimands, twisting around to face Kurt, but his eyes are sparkling with amusement. Kurt sticks out his tongue at him – goodness, he really is turning into a child – and winds an arm around Blaine's neck to pull himself up for a kiss.
"It worked," he breathes as he closes his eyes and parts his lips. Blaine tips his head down obligingly to brush his lips against Kurt's. Blaine's breath is warm and smells faintly like vanilla and roses. Kurt closes his mouth around Blaine's bottom lip, drawing the kiss out, pressing his free hand into the bed to move even closer. He pulls the other hand upwards to wind his fingers into Blaine's curls, and then drags his teeth across Blaine's lower lip gently when he pulls away with a small gasp. He realizes his chest is now almost level with Blaine's, and that his right leg is wedged in between Blaine's. Blaine's hands are on either side of Kurt's head, his eyes wide and glowing and intense. He casts his eyes downwards to stare at Kurt's lips, and Kurt is once again enthralled by how long Blaine's eyelashes are. They are thick and dark and curl upwards just the right amount. He wants to brush his fingers across them. Blaine leans in again hungrily for another kiss, and Kurt presses in, heart speeding.
Then hands grab his sides in a flurry and suddenly he is tossed onto his back into the pillows, his breath huffing out, with a figure looming over him, grinning almost maniacally.
"Didn't you want fun?" Blaine asks teasingly, with a glint in his eyes.
"What-" he begins confusedly until he feels fingers digging into his sides playfully and he starts to squeal, realizing what's happening. Blaine knows where to tickle and ohmygod he feels a million tiny jabs all over his body -
"Stop –!" he yelps before being overcome by a fit of giggles. He screeches as Blaine's fingers fly across his stomach, curling up onto his side to try to get away. He squirms and twists and flails, but Blaine's prodding fingers are everywhere, merciless.
"Blaine!" he manages to gasp, trying hard to beat Blaine's hands away even as he shrieks when Blaine's fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot.
"Is this fun enough for you?" Blaine asks joyfully, as he dives in again.
Kurt is now a hysterical fit of giggles, writhing and squeaking from time to time. He grabs a pillow to bat half-heartedly at Blaine, trying to find a way to kick Blaine away without hurting him. "Stop it!" he cries, tears of laughter in his eyes. He tries valiantly to sit up, but Blaine just nudges him back down on his back again, leaving his stomach open to more attacks.
"Do you admit defeat?" Blaine yells over the sound of Kurt's strangled bursts of laughter. Even in his distress, Kurt notices how Blaine's face is scrunched up with laughter, his hair tousled, teeth bared adorably.
"Never!" Kurt replies instinctively. He has an idea. With an effort, he lifts his hand and manages to wind it around the back of Blaine's head. He tugs downwards with a jerk, and Blaine collapses on top of him with a surprised "oof!", his face right up next to Kurt's. With speed borne of the numerous times he and Blaine had to entangle themselves from each other's arms whenever Burt made an untimely appearance outside Kurt's bedroom door, he twists around, tossing Blaine off him easily (he's so tiny it's effortless) and shifts his body so that Blaine is lying flat on his back, body straddled between Kurt's knees.
Blaine's eyes are wide and half-fearful, and he looks slightly winded at the quick turn of events.
"I surrender!" he gasps immediately, raising his palms upwards beside his head.
"Loser," Kurt laughs. His shirt is riding up his back uncomfortably, his textbooks and pens are probably crumpled and scattered across the floor, and he knows his hair is a disaster, but he's never felt happier.
"Please let me go," Blaine pleads breathlessly.
"Idiot," Kurt whispers, before bending down to press his mouth hard against Blaine's, surrendering himself to the beauty of the boy lying beneath him.