Author's Note: Recently I've gotten into Glee. Like, a lot. I really needed to get this Klaine ficlet out of the way in the spirit of Christmas.

Disclaimer: I don't own Kurt or Blaine, even though I wish I did (so I could have them make out all the time), etc.

Enjoy!

It's the way your smile lights up your eyes that makes me fall in love with you. The way your dimples indent your cheeks. The way your mouth curves upwards.

It's the way your skin feels against mine. Warm, smooth, and oh-so right. Because it wouldn't feel right if anyone but you were to touch me.

It's the way your eyes dilate when we turn the lights off. When the only sounds made are the ones we can't help but make in the atmosphere of intimacy.

It's the way your voice gets low and rough when we kiss. When we fuck. When the only thing that matters is the hot touch of your fingertips on my skin.

It's the way you talk. The way your tongue manages to enunciate my name in a way significant and different to the ways anyone else says it. The way your voice rises in pitch at the end of a question.

"Blaine?"

Yes. Just like that. How is your voice so confident yet delicate? It's heavenly.

"You're writing again? Can't you at least give me a hint of what it is that's caused you to be so enraptured in that damn thing these past few days?"

I set down my pencil and shield the page from your eyes with my arm. I scoot over on the bed to give you more room to sit next to me and the springs creak under the weight of two grown men. I wrap my arm around your lean torso. "Ah, but that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?"

You roll your eyes and I've never wanted to kiss you more. "Ugh, why do you do this to me? You know I hate surprises."

I laugh. "I know, but it's for Christmas, Kurt. And besides, it's not much of a surprise. You already know it's a journal dedicated to you."

You sniff. "Yeah, but I don't know what's written in it."

"I can't believe you would think it could possibly be something bad."

You roll your eyes and I wonder at how it's possible for anyone to be so beautiful. "Of course I don't think that. I'm just trying to imagine all the cheesiness you've managed to fit into it. Oh, God, don't let me think about it." You smile light-heartedly and I really, really just want to kiss you till neither of us can breathe.

"Don't I get some kind of hint of what you're getting me? It's only fair."

"Okay, here's your hint: it's round and sparkly and beautiful."

"Your mouth around my dick."

"Oh, God, Blaine, it's a fucking ring."

I laugh and nestle my cheek against your neck. "Kidding. I can't wait to see this round, sparkly, beautiful ring."

You smile and my heart still manages to beat sporadically in my chest. "I know you can't. I custom-ordered it. You'll probably jizz your pants when you see it."

"Blowjobs usually require the removal of my pants, Kurt." I laugh as you playfully punch my shoulder. "Hey, you set yourself up for that one."

"Perv," you reprimand lightly. "I'm decent enough to hold off the blowjob at least until after we've exchanged our gifts."

"Good to know I won't have to hold out for long."

We smile like idiots at each other and I want to capture this moment for-fucking-ever.

It's not until you raise your eyes that I realise I've been staring at you for God knows how long.

Your eyes, I think for future reference. The way they change color depending on your surroundings and the way you feel that day — blue, green, grey, and back again. The way you manage to make me blush like a schoolboy in love when you look at me like how you do.

I chuckle softly and move forward to press your forehead against mine.

"Can I help you?" you whisper with a nervous giggle. I can feel your breath against my lips.

"You always do," I reply, then press my lips to yours for a few seconds. I stop kissing you when I realise something. "Just promise me something."

"Stop talking and kiss me again."

"Kurt."

You huff in exasperation. "Sorry. Pleasekiss me again?"

"Wait. If you can stand to watch me write secretly in my journal for the rest of tonight…"

"Still waiting for what I have to promise you."

"Promise me you'll be patient? You only have one more day to wait, anyway."

You pretend to think about it for a few seconds. "Well, I don't have another choice, do I? Since you do such a good job hiding it from me…" You try to sneak a glance but I close the journal and throw it at the foot of the bed and then I'm poking your sides because I know how ticklish you are there.

It turns into a miniature war as you're laughing yourself to tears and doing whatever it takes to bring my arms away from your sides. I laugh along with you, avoiding your kicking feet and eventually collapsing on top of you in defeat.

Your laugh, I tell myself, tucking the thought into the back of my head for now. The way you laugh, a joyous tinkling that reminds of me warmth and softness and memories. You could cure fucking cancer or something with that laugh.

You're laughing breathlessly under me, sputtering phrases like "Fucking… God… Damn it… Blaine…" and I'm laughing along with you. I rest my head in my hands next to yours but our legs are tangled together. A few seconds pass before you calm down enough to form a coherent sentence. "Why do you find joy in terrorising me?"

"I find joy in hearing your laugh."

"That's a pretty twisted way to put it."

I shrug awkwardly. "I was running out of ideas and I needed a pick-me-up, pronto."

"You're just using me for my magical laugh, I knew it."

"Something like that," I say distractedly, because your lips suddenly look very kissable and we're talking way too much and I need to taste you right now. I waste no time in covering your mouth with mine, cutting off whatever witty comeback you were about to say.

Our lips move against one another smoothly and perfectly, as always, and it's the best feeling I will ever have, here in your arms, kissing you, with nothing in the entire world stopping us from swallowing each other whole.

Your lips, I realize at once. The way I couldn't imagine kissing anyone else for the rest of my life. The way they are the first things I taste in the morning. The way they taste so fresh. The way they are ridiculously soft and plump no matter what time of the day it is. The way they are always slightly pink, begging for me to kiss them.

We only come up for breath after what seems like an eternity. My brain is starting to feel foggy and suddenly I'm having very ambitious thoughts about your body underneath mine.

"I believe I'll be patient enough to wait until tomorrow," you sigh heavily, and suddenly you are all I feel,everywhere.

"That's good, me too," I say quickly, kissing you before one more word can escape your mouth.

And suddenly we're both being swallowed up in sighs and kisses and there are waytoo many clothes in the way of the desired task at hand.

The way you're perfect for me and only me, I scribble in my dedicated-to-Kurt journal later that night, when you've long since fallen asleep. Your body moves perfectly with every measured breath. I take a few moments to just marvel at the bare porcelain skin on your back; it's perfectly flawless save for the reddish purple marks I give to you to make sure everyone knows it: You're mine.

The way we both know it's true. The way you will always enough for me, because you are the only option, the only one I will ever need and the only one who will ever matter. The way we are both hopelessly in love with each other. The way you take me, at my best and at my worst. The way I know you feel the same about me. The way you love me. The way I love you.

Merry Christmas, Kurt.