Author's Note: A little delayed but have some Klaine fluff!
"I'm going to puke. I think I'm actually going to throw up," Blaine whimpered beside Kurt on the Hummel's suddenly too small sofa. He was sandwiched between Burt and Kurt and all three of them had their eyes glued to the television set. Without even glancing over, Kurt slid a blue trash bin towards Blaine. A week prior they'd decided to decorate and personalize one for each other, should they need them come election night—Blaine's was blue with a red bowtie made out of adhesive Con-Tact paper stuck to the front, his name painted on in Kurt's careful script; Kurt's was also blue and had his name painted on in rainbow block letters, a poorly draw silver unicorn painted on just underneath it in the center.
"Told you these were a good idea," Kurt patted Blaine's knee, his eyes still focused on the television. Blaine covered his eyes with his hands and leaned back, moaning loudly in anxious frustration.
"Hang in there, kiddo. Just a little longer—there's no way this guy is going to win," Burt's tone matched his son's: determined, but somehow still trying to reassure himself through vocalization.
"Either way, I'm not going to be able to sleep," Blaine dragged his hands down his face and sat up straight again.
"I'll either be too depressed or too excited," Kurt joined in, word for word with Blaine. They both exchanged a nervous laugh and the weight on the couch shifted as Burt stood up.
"I'm going to see if Carole wants any help in the kitchen—you boys want anything?"
"Mint tea," they both answered. Burt blinked, letting his gaze linger on them for a minute before retreating into the kitchen.
"They're tied! How are they tied?" Blaine suddenly stood up, gesturing at the television with both hands in discontent. "Kurt!" he groaned loudly as though Kurt wasn't seeing the same exact information with his own eyes.
"I don't think I've ever seen you so passionate about something before," Kurt watched Blaine carefully—anxious, temporarily-out-of-his-mind Blaine—and felt his heart swoop.
"We need this. So badly. Look at all the progress we've been making so far—it'd kill me to see all of that just… go to waste," Blaine sighed and collapsed onto the imprint he'd left on the couch cushion. "I'm being so silly with all of this, I know—"
"You're not being silly," Kurt leaned to his left, bumping shoulders with Blaine, before snaking his arm around his boyfriend's tiny waist. "I think it's—" he paused with a smile tugging at his lips, knowing he'd never be able to actually capture all of the words he needed to fully describe what he thought when it came to Blaine Devon Anderson. "I love it about you; I love your passion—what it does to your eyes, your whole face. You just… light up. It's captivating."
Blaine responded with a deep blush and simpered.
"And," Kurt closed the small gap between them, lowering his face close to Blaine's. "It's contagious. I never really gave any of this much thought until you started talking to me about it. You've opened my eyes up to so much that we can do for—for kids like us."
"You're going to make me blush," Blaine laughed, breathing in the strong scent of Kurt's strawberry shampoo.
"I think we've crossed that bridge already," Kurt pressed a kiss to Blaine's nose just as Burt was walking in with Carole.
"What? What'd I miss?" he craned his neck to get a glimpse at the television, frowning upon seeing they were still deadlocked.
"Oh for heaven's sake, Burt," Carole rolled her eyes. "They don't need a reason to be affectionate."
"I know that!" Burt quickly replied, defensively. "But the two of them were just on the verge of getting sick. I thought something might have changed."
Kurt draped his legs over Blaine's thighs, watching his father and stepmother with amused admiration. "Is that our tea, dad?"
"Wha? Oh, right. Yeah," Burt carefully handed off a mug to Kurt, Carole doing the same for Blaine.
"Thank you guys so much," Blaine blew away the steam and took a sip. "Perfect as always."
They spent the next hour distracting each other from the gradual rise of votes until the spotlight was on their very own state.
"Oh god, 268. He's at 268, come on, Ohio!" Blaine rested his hands on Kurt's legs—still so comfortably and familiarly draped over Blaine—his voice strained with eager anticipation. "Come on!"
"He's going to win. He's going to win, Blaine!" Kurt hooked his arms around Blaine's bicep.
"275!" Burt yelled out the number louder than anyone else in the room.
"We did it!" Blaine threw his hands up in the air. "Kurt, we—"
Kurt disregarded the pairs of eyes on them in the room and grabbed Blaine's face between his hands, drawing him in and crushing their lips together in a victory kiss. The living room melted away, Burt and Carole, and the coffee stain ring on the end table beside the couch—they traveled down the rabbit hole and into the little world of KurtandBlaine they'd created, embracing tightly until Kurt tasted salt on Blaine's lips. "I know," he murmured and brushed his thumb against Blaine's cheek. "We did it."