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This has been a night.
He’s far too warm. So is Blaine, but Blaine is always like that, always warm and cozy because Kurt married a furnace, and that’s okay because their little vintage apartment has radiators that work on a spotty basis at best, and--
“Kurt? You okay?”
Kurt sighs and presses his cheek against the side of Blaine’s face. Warm, warm, warm. “I’m okay,” he slurs, and though the sound of it (”Uhm-kay”) tells him exactly how drunk he is, he doesn’t care, because they’re at the threshold of their apartment and Blaine’s holding onto him just fine. He’s so hot, and a little sweaty, but that’s okay too, because they have the best times together when they’re hot and sweaty, and it’s Valentine’s Day, so--
“Are you sure?” Blaine pauses his attempt to get his keys out of his pocket and tightens his grip around Kurt’s waist. He reaches up and pushes Kurt’s bangs out of his face where his coif has finally fallen out of its hairspray.
Kurt just kisses him in response, because he loves him and because he can, savoring the sweet, lingering taste of his last cocktail on his lips. Warm lips, warm body against him, warm hand on his forehead. Warm Blaine, warm warm warm. Kurt sighs happily, and kisses him harder.
They’ve both been drinking tonight, of course, but over the years, Blaine’s alcohol tolerance has grown, and Kurt’s has only plateaued. It seems he will always be a lightweight. The cab ride home from Washington Square Park had been so lovely, Kurt full of a magnificent Valentine’s dinner from his favorite French restaurant in Lower Manhattan, drunk on expensive cocktails and cuddled up with his husband in the back seat. Blaine had held him close, running his fingertips up and down Kurt’s arm, his other hand intertwined with Kurt’s in his lap. The city lights were as gorgeous as ever, their ride across the Brooklyn Bridge underscored with some beautiful music in a language neither of them understood, their cab driver singing along softly under his breath. It was perfect, and so “New York rom-com” that Kurt couldn’t have written it if he tried.
Blaine pulls away with one last kiss to Kurt’s bottom lip, then lets them into the apartment, guiding Kurt slowly through the doorway with a firm grip around his waist.
He stumbles anyway, gripping Blaine’s coat in his fist to catch himself even though Blaine’s got him perfectly safe and secure in his arms. “Uhm-kay,” he says again, giggling into Blaine’s neck before nuzzling at his cheek with his nose. Warm, warm, warm. “I’m home with you now. Tha’s always okay. But -- but not just okay, you know, iss’great.”
“It is,” Blaine laughs, full of affection, his eyes betraying his own level of drunkenness but still sparkling and focused as he gazes at his love. “Great is an understatement.”
“Iss’all unner--understatements.” Kurt shakes his head, looking back at Blaine, feeling feelings start to swell and rise in his throat. He cries when he’s really, really drunk, he knows this about himself, he’s known ever since he was sixteen and he threw up on Emma Schuester back when she was Emma Pillsbury and he was crying at her over a fictional dead deer, and he’s not going to throw up now, but he is going to start crying, but he’s so happy, why is he crying--?
“Shhh, baby, what is it?” Blaine pulls Kurt into their bedroom and sits him down on the end of the bed, holding Kurt’s face in his hands and wiping under his eyes with his thumbs.
Kurt tries to pinpoint the reason, his emotions all pushing forward at once as he tries to encapsulate everything that he’s feeling about this wonderful man standing in front of him. His voice comes whiny and thick with tears when he finally says, “I really wanna fuck you.”
Blaine laughs so hard that he’s snorting at first, doubled over with his head on Kurt’s shoulder.
“Blaine?” he sniffles. “Why’sso funny?”
“I’m -- I’m sorry,” he says, climbing onto the bed on his knees to straddle Kurt’s thighs. “Why is that making you cry?”
“Iss’nothat -- It’s. Not. That,” Kurt answers, carefully enunciating with determination as he looks up at Blaine. “I’m too -- I’m okay,” he insists, “but the words for how much I love you are too hard. And they’re always like that because I love you so much, not just today ‘cause it’s Valentine’s Day, but I can never say it right or say it enough, and I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Kurt.” Blaine’s sits completely on his lap, grounding him with his familiar weight. ”I know how much you love me--”
“No, you don’t,” Kurt says. It’s the sharpest and most alert he’s been for hours.
Blaine blinks and goes quiet again.
“I can’t tell you suff--suffis--suf-fi-cient-ly. I can’t. ‘Cause it’s too much. And I know you love me like that too, but you can ackshully--act-u-ally say it right. So the only way I can tell you is if I show you, but I can’t show you ‘cause I can’t fuck you ‘cause I’m too drunk and I’m just...” At a loss for anything else to say, Kurt sighs, “You can do that, too. That thing with your eyes. The hearts. I can’t. I can’t do any of that, and you need to know.”
He’s tipping backwards, then, Blaine gently pushing him down on the bed with the warmest, sweetest look on his face -- always warm, warm, warm -- as he lays down next to him. “You can. You do all of that and more, Kurt. Every day, when you don’t let me forget my keys, when you make sure I have a protein bar in my bag on busy days, when you cut your shower short to make sure I get hot water -- on days when we don’t shower together, I mean,” Blaine adds, smiling into Kurt’s kiss and stroking his cheek. “And yes, when you... make love to me.”
He says it to make Kurt laugh, and it works. They haven’t called it that since high school, even though that’s almost always what it is for them.
“Baby, believe me: I can’t really tell you how much I love you, either.” Blaine settles against Kurt’s side, cradling the back of his head to keep him in place as he sucks and nips at his bottom lip.
“Yeah, okay,” Kurt gasps, resting a hand on Blaine’s chest. “But I’m -- Whiskey dick. Or wine dick. Vodka dick? Whatever we had. Iss’not happ -- hap’ning tonight and I feel bad. It’s Valentine’s Day and we’re s’posed to.”
“We’re supposed to love each other, Kurt, that’s all. We can do that, right?” Blaine rests their foreheads together, his fingers toying with the knot of Kurt’s tie as he waits for his answer.
“Yeah. Always.”
Kurt lies there as Blaine works, carefully undressing him and setting his things aside or in the hamper the way Kurt likes them. Blaine follows his handiwork with soft, almost chaste kisses, murmuring, “Love you,” every so often as he glances up at Kurt’s drowsy, half-lidded eyes.
Kurt responds with the same, every time.
Each lost layer is a relief for Kurt’s flushed, clammy skin, though watching Blaine undress afterwards does nothing to help him cool off. Blaine leaves the room for a moment, and Kurt just stares up at the ceiling while he’s gone, blinking slowly and giddy with happiness. His feelings are no less intense than they were a few moments ago, but now they’ve settled back into that place where they rest most days, where he’s so in love and so grateful for his life that the only way he can stand it is to accept it, and let it be.
Blaine returns with a bottle of aspirin and two full glasses of water; he sets one on the nightstand on his side of the bed, then makes Kurt take a pill and drink half of the other glass before he sets the rest on the other nightstand. Then he slides under the covers with Kurt, scooting backwards into his arms with a happy little hum.
“That’s the kind of thing you meant earlier, huh?” Kurt asks, spooning Blaine and pressing an admittedly sloppy kiss to his shoulder. He yawns and rests his cheek against Blaine’s skin. Warm, warm, warm.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant. Even if you never said it again, I’d still know.”
Kurt hums, sleep finally beginning to overtake him--
“But... Kurt?”
“Hmm?”
“Never stop saying it?”
Kurt squeezes Blaine tighter, rubbing his nose against the back of his neck. This is what he meant. Half the reason he needs to tell Blaine so badly is because he knows Blaine needs to hear it. They both do, no matter how much they trust it, no matter how much they love and care for each other on a daily basis.
He takes a deep breath and presses his lips to Blaine’s ear, taking the words slowly and carefully because they are the most important words he could ever say. “I love you, Blaine.”
Blaine clutches the arm Kurt has wrapped around his torso and says, “I love you, too, Kurt. So much.”
They can always show each other in the morning.