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"Move over Hummel, you're not the only one who uses the couch."
Kurt was sprawled out on the sofa in the common area of the loft, with Rachel seated in the armchair. On the floor, there was a mess of blankets and pillows, where Mercedes and Sam were happily lounging, waiting for the movie to start.
"Something wrong with the floor?" Kurt drawled, stretching his arms luxuriously, and crossing them behind his head, his face a mask of innocence.
"Yeah. It's the floor," Santana sniped back testily. "You're not going to make Bowties McHelmetHair sit on the floor...Come on, Porcelain. Budge up. Move. Skedaddle. Scram. Move your skinny gay ass." Santana punctuated each demand with a jab of his finger in Kurt's ribs.
"Alright, alright, Jesus!" Kurt relented. He glared at Santana as he hauled himself into a sitting position, legs still stretched out to cover the third couch cushion, but opening one up behind his head. As soon as Santana sat down, though, he lay himself right back down, his head plopping down in her lap, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
"I should just smothered you with a pillow," Santana muttered. However, she made no real effort to push Kurt away. After fidgeting for a moment, unsure where to put her arms, Santana ended up with one arm on the armrest, and the other resting along the back of the sofa.
A moment later, Blaine entered from the kitchen, bowl of popcorn in hand. After handing off the bowl to Sam, he took in the scene before him on the couch. "Awwww!" Blaine cooed, cocking his head to the side and grinning. Santana tilted her head back, and rolled her eyes, making a noise of annoyance. Blaine, thoroughly unfazed, made his way around to the other side of the couch, where Kurt lifted his legs obligingly, lowering them once Blaine was seated. Blaine's hands immediately settled on his boyfriend's ankles, fingers slipping underneath the bottom of Kurt's pajama pants. If Santana felt such emotions, she might have thought it was endearing.
"Can we start the movie, already?" complained Sam from his position on the floor.
"Babe," Mercedes giggled. You're the one with the remote."
"Oh! Right!"
As the group sat through the obligatory do-not-pirate-this-movie-or-you-will-be-taken-from-your-home-in-the-dead-of-night-never-to-be-seen-again warning, Sam was grinning in anticipation. "I can't believe three of you have never seen this movie!" he enthused.
"I'm just not all that interested in superheroes, but hey, I'm open to new things," Mercedes replied.
"Mmm, me either, but I'm told Scarlett Johansson wears spandex and beats up a bunch of burly men, so..." Santana trailed off suggestively, waggling her eyebrows.
Blaine patted Kurt's feet consolingly. "Don't worry, Kurt. The guys all have tight costumes too."
"Yes, so you tell me," Kurt mused, aloofly. Regardless, Santana could see that Kurt's expression was one of bemusement and fondness, not of indifference.
"Shh, guys, shut up! It's starting!" Sam exclaimed, as if he'd never seen the movie before, and their remote's rewind button was broken. They all gave murmurs of understanding, before falling quiet.
Throughout the threeish hours they spent in front of the television, Santana had the warmth and weight of Kurt's head on her lap. She saw Blaine mouthing along to the dialogue, the pale blueish glow of the screen lighting up his face. She heard the soft scraping of Rachel filing her nails. At some point, the popcorn bowl had migrated around to sit on Kurt’s abdomen, and Santana found herself dropping pieces of popcorn into Kurt's mouth. She missed on purpose every so often, just to annoy him, and to watch the way Kurt scrunched up his face when a kernel landed on his cheek.
And when the movie was over, and Kurt sat up, calling dibs on brushing his teeth first––much to Rachel's protest, that she needs her beauty sleep, Kurt! Kurt?!––Santana decided that maybe she didn't mind being a human pillow all that much.
Not that she was going to tell Kurt that.
She did have a reputation to maintain, after all.