So this...this is what happens when you are on a train for many many hours. It kind of confuses me. but I hope you guys enjoy it.

"Kiss a girl."

"I beg your pardon?" Kurt says dryly, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Santana. She brushes a lock of shiny black hair out of her eyes and stares right back, running the tip of her tongue slowly over red-painted lips. Beside Kurt, Puck snorts and starts giggling like a three-year-old in a Fisher Price store.

"You heard me, Sparkles. You want a Dare, you got a Dare." People are whooping and clapping and Santana basks in the glory of a true crowd-pleaser. Everyone is lying or sitting in a circle on the floor of Rachel Berry's Oscar room, and this is a little too much like the fateful Spin The Bottle game from last year for Kurt's taste. He rolls his eyes and tries to shrug it all off, although it doesn't help that his boyfriend is looking up at the ceiling and taking a long sip of wine in a vain attempt to hide the smirk on his face.

Santana also takes a drink, her eyes locked on Kurt as the whiskey slides down her throat. She isn't drunk yet, but she's well on her way, as is pretty much everyone else. It's relatively early in the night, and the last members of the club have only just arrived at Rachel's house with the rest of the refreshments—although she'd finally been persuaded to host another New Directions party, Rachel's insisted that people bring their own booze this time around so there would be no raiding of her fathers' liquor cabinet.

The result is a lot more alcohol that is being consumed very quickly. Artie and Rory brought Guinness, Sam brought a handle of cheap vodka, Quinn brought gin, Puck bought as much Budlight as he could get his hands on, Mercedes and Tina brought sake, Santana and Britney showed up with a big ol' bottle of Jack Daniels, and Blaine convinced Kurt to use their fake IDs (no way was Kurt giving his back to Sebastian after what happened at Scandals) to buy a few bottles of white wine for those who were not so inclined to take shots. Finn, ever the upright and dependable, basically got every kind of soda and fruit juice he could find at the drugstore, and so with enough drinking apparatus to keep a small nation occupied all night, Mike has suggested Truth or Dare as a way to slow down the process and keep them all from going blind before eleven.

Enthusiastic enough at first, Kurt is quickly beginning to regret his choice of Dare. Only a few people have gone before him: Mercedes chose Truth and revealed that she bought her first weave at age seven, Artie was Dared to wear his sweater-vest backwards for the rest of the night, Rachel whined and wheedled and finally Truthed that she couldn't actually recite the entire libretto of South Pacific on cue ("I didn't mean that seriously!"), and Sam did Kurt proud and told the Truth about his lemon-juiced hair, to the general amusement and cat-calling of all. Kurt, made brave by a single sip of Blaine's wine and wanting to shake things up a little, chose Dare. He just hadn't realized Santana would pounce quite so eagerly.

"That's very ambiguous," he sniffs, playing for time and trying to ignore the laughter and the looks coming his way from around the circle of half-intoxicated glee-clubbers. "Artie's was specific."

"Oh, give it up, Kurt," Tina says loudly, waving a Solo cup full of cranberry juice and gin in his face. "You heard Santana. You have to k-kiss a girl, like, you have to kiss someone who's not a boy. You gotta."

"It's not like you haven't done it before," says Brittany with a cheerful smile. "I had a great time kissing you, it was like making out with Glinda from The Wizard of Oz." A few people choke on their drinks, and Brittany shrugs. "I always imagined she smelled like cocoa butter and Revlon products too."

"I'm sorry, you two made out when?" Blaine asks, sounding much less amused than everyone else does by this reminiscence of Brit's, and Kurt winces as he remembers yet again that Blaine missed out on a lot of the more uncomfortable moments from the first year of glee club.

"Never mind—" he starts to say, but Puck gets there before him.

"Oh man, it was hilarious," he drawls, reaching over Kurt's shoulders to clap a hand on the back of Blaine's neck. "There was this week where Kurt got all manly and macho and he wore this awesome trucker hat and he sang this song so freakin' low, it was like, Lady Hummel, where'd you go? 'Cause we were all like, damn, and then Brittany did her thing where she sticks her tongue in everything male—or she used to, I guess now that's kind of a girl privilege or whatever, hopefully there'll be a public demonstration at some point—and she and Kurt were like a thing, and I don't really remember because I was sniffing a lot of paint fumes around then but I'm pretty sure she told us that they totally got it on in his basement."

"Nobody got anything on," Kurt interrupts indignantly, hating the totally obvious blush spreading across his pale cheeks and doing his best to ignore his friends' snickers and giggles. Blaine is giving him this look that says You are in so many kinds of trouble, and Puck is winking at him, and then Brittany fiddles with her phone and hands it to Blaine. Kurt tries to intercept the hand-off, but Artie whips a throw pillow at him, hitting him in the chest. He jams his face into the pillow when he sees Blaine's expression as he gazes at Brit's phone.

"Here's a picture I took of him with his overalls and his hat," she says brightly. "See how cute he is? I called him Bubba in my head. He kind of looks like a Bubba, doesn't he?"

"Oh my god," Rachel squeals as she leans over Blaine's shoulder to get a look at the photo. "Kurt, I totally forgot you dressed like that!"

"Yeah, with that hat you'd be a good Bubba, man," Finn chimes in, and he grabs the phone from Blaine and turns the Droid towards the circle so everyone can see Kurt pouting in his dad's old denim overalls and the trucker cap he bought (under cover of darkness and a red bandana) from a little bike store at the mall. Everyone applauds, and there are many toasts drunk to this least dignified of images.

"Kill me," Kurt says to no one in particular, his voice muffled by the throw pillow. That only makes them laugh more.

"I think you do look cute," Blaine says loudly, and the guffaws are stuffed back behind innocent smiles as his dark eyes cut across the circle. Kurt drops the pillow down into his lap and blushes; his face gets even more heated when Blaine turns to him and smiles ruefully and kisses Kurt on the forehead. I really, really do not deserve my boyfriend, he thinks vaguely.

"He does look cute," Brit agrees again, and smiles with genuine sweetness at Kurt. "I think it's kind of fun that we did that, because now you have Blaine and I have Santana and it's like we found out we wanted them because when we kissed it was like hugging with lips instead of sexy, and now I know I love you like a lip-hugging friend, instead of how I love Santana, and it's different but still nice. Right?"

"…right," Kurt says softly, and he doesn't understand anything Brit has said but for some reason a big flower of affection for her is blooming in his chest, and he returns her smile. Santana frowns as she looks back and forth between them, and makes a big show out of looping her arms around Brittany's waist and pulling her close.

"Hey, am I the only one who remembers that you have a Dare to do, Hummel? Pucker up," she snaps, releasing Brittany long enough to take a big drink of Jack. "And you can't choose Brittany," she adds quickly, waving the cup with dangerous abandon. "Because she's already been all over that."

"You mean he gets to pick the girl?" asks Mercedes. Kurt groans internally as Santana narrows her eyes in consideration.

"Hmmm…yeah, but I have to give final approval."

"Why you?" Kurt demands. He feels no need to justify his reluctance at giving Santana any more power over his mouth and its movements than she's exercising already. Out of the corner of his eye he registers Blaine frowning and putting down his cup of wine.

"Because I'm the Darer, Kurt," she snarls, and drains her cup with a toss of her head. "Choose. Now."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Blaine pipes up suddenly, and when Kurt turns he sees that Blaine is scowling at Santana, his triangular eyebrows all bunched up and a set quality to his jaw that somehow looks more like a concealed smile than a true angry-face. Rachel, Mercedes and Tina break into a chorus of "ooooooooh"s (and Puck throws in a "no he di-in't!").

"Excuse me, Anderson?" Santana barks indignantly. Blaine shrugs and glowers a little more, though nothing touches the spark Kurt can see dancing in his eyes.

"Well, whether Brittany's tried them out before or not, I still hold current and exclusive rights to those lips," Blaine says coolly. Artie shouts "HA!" and offers an enthusiastic high-five to Rory, who shrinks away automatically and then nervously taps his palm against Artie's. "And if anyone else is getting near them," Blaine continues, ignoring the interruption, "then I think I should be the one deciding who will…handle the merchandise."

"Oh my god, this is awesome," crows Puck as all of New Directions breaks into a round of cat-calls and whoops. Kurt is blushing so hard he can practically feeling the skin of his cheeks melting, and as he watches Blaine stare Santana down he realizes just how much he adores this tiny dancing dreamboat with the gel addiction. Blaine can be such a dork sometimes, but the gravel in his voice when he lays claim to Kurt's mouth is hot enough to erase almost all of the upset this Dare is causing.

"Hey, I'm his brother, shouldn't I get to help out?" Finn says loudly. Rachel shushes him with a subtle hand clapped over his mouth. Everyone is giving Kurt the dirtiest grins he's ever seen, and if he didn't love each and every one of them it would be driving him a little nuts. Actually, it's doing that anyway, but Kurt's learned to be a diva about bigger things than drunken leering.

"Okay," Santana finally agrees after a long moment of locking eyes with Blaine across the circle. A slow, devilish grin begins to appear as she glances at Kurt and then back to Blaine. "Pick his poison, bowtie-boy."

"I will, thanks," says Blaine haughtily, and he casts his eyes over the circle like a Swiss business man in a tie shop. Kurt feels weirdly tingly and excited, not about kissing a girl who does absolutely nothing for his teenage hormones, but about the possessiveness of his boyfriend, who does everything for his hormones. And speaking of hormones—Kurt jumps a little and only just manages not to squeak loudly when Blaine, who's still making a big show out of examining all the girls in the group, slides a stealthy hand up over the side of Kurt's leg and digs his fingers into Kurt's inner thigh. The placement of his hand is concealed by the pillow lying on Kurt's lap, and anyway everyone is too busy looking at his face to notice where Blaine puts his hands; but Kurt certainly notices, and it's all he can do to not make noise or squirm as Blaine begins to draw slow, tingling circles on the sensitive skin about halfway between Kurt's hip and knee.

"Tina…" Blaine murmurs, and Tina breaks into a wave of laughter and full-on Asian glow. Mike looks a little uncomfortable and tries to lace their fingers together, but she shakes him off and poses, running a hand through her hair and trying to look sultry. Kurt imagines what kissing Tina might be like—sort of warm and giggly, probably. Blaine looks her up and down with an appraising eye, then shakes his head.

"No, don't think so. Too young."

"Too young? I'm three months older than you, munchkin!" Tina shrieks, her lack of genuine anger revealed by the smile that stays goofily on her face as she throws an empty cup at Blaine. He maintains the greatest dignity when it bounces off his forehead and all the New Directions laugh; Kurt would laugh too, except that without warning Blaine slides his hand upwards another few inches and his fingers are still stroking and massaging the inside of Kurt's thigh and it's really really really distracting and feels really really really amazing and he has to bite his lip and curl his tongue back to avoid moaning out loud. He glances at Blaine out of the corner of his eye and doesn't see a single flicker of the devil in that innocent face, because his boyfriend is truly a better performer than anyone except Kurt knows.

"Mercedes," Blaine announces, and there's a big chorus of oohing and ahhing as Mercedes smirks and gives Blaine her what-what look. The idea of kissing Mercedes is extremely weird for Kurt: she was his best friend for two years, had a crush on him when they first met, and was the first person in the world to whom he came out. She's been inside his skin enough that she's like his conscience in some ways, a part of him that he'll take wherever he goes in life, and the thought of his lips touching hers and his tongue in her mouth (because Kurt knows his friends and he knows that if there is no tongue in this kiss, they will raise a mob and burn him at the stake) does not compute in the slightest. Also, it's kind of difficult to breathe right now because Blaine's hand is still inching ever higher on his leg, fingers kneading the flesh in a way that makes Kurt shake all over and slump forward a little as the muscles in his lower back fail him, and a familiar and extremely distracting tightness begins to make itself known between his legs.

"Ah…sorry, Mercedes, but no. I feel like I'm approving incest if I do that," Blaine apologizes, and Mercedes sniggers and shrugs.

"Here's to us anyway, Kurt," she says warmly, toasting Kurt with her cup of sake, and Kurt swallows hard, grabs Blaine's cup and bumps it against Mercedes'.

"To fabulous living," he replies; though it doesn't break his voice is still ridiculously high and breathy from the heat pulsing in his groin, and on his left Puck gives him a weird look as he leans back and takes a giant swig of white wine that only makes him dizzier when Blaine's hand slides up those last burning inches and brushes against the bulge beneath Kurt's zipper. It feels so good that Kurt can't stand it, he can sense a fully-realized moan rising in his throat, and just before it bursts out of him he balls up his free hand into a fist and slams it down against the floor. Pain shoots up his forearm and clears his head for a few brief seconds.

"Dude, you okay?" Puck asks with concern. Blaine's fingers go still, and Kurt's vision stops swimming long enough for him to give Puck a fairly normal smile and a nod.

"Yeah. Fine." His voice is shaky but normal, and Puck apparently decides that Kurt is just all wound up about this girl-kissing business, because he shrugs and returns to his loving relationship with his can of Budlight. Kurt realizes that people are looking at him, and he makes a big deal out of patting and smoothing back his hair so that they won't notice how red his cheeks are.

"Rachel, no. Sorry, but I refuse to have you in common with Kurt," Blaine continues with a small shudder. Everyone starts smirking and snickering and Rachel giggles drunkenly and presses her hands to her heart.

"Oh, no, Blaine, please? I love you and I love Kurt and I want to share the love!"

"Not on that mouth, you don't," Blaine says firmly, and suddenly the hand in Kurt's lap is moving again, fingers spreading slow and hot as hell across the front of his pants, and the feeling of it is like being punched in the stomach, it's so incredible and intense. Pleasure is vibrating through Kurt on a steady and insistent frequency, and his hands are white-knuckled fists pressed into the floor and his eyes flutter shut as Blaine palms the erection straining against his jeans and thank God everyone is drunk and doesn't see Kurt falling apart in front of them.

I am going to kill Blaine the second I have the chance, and if he dares move his hand away I am going to kill him even sooner.

"Quinn?" Blaine chirps. She smiles her E!-presenter smile and brushes her blonde hair back, fluttering her eyelids like a floozy in an old movie.

"Yes, Blaine?"

"I think…not," he laughs, and Quinn's smile falls down into her drink. She flips Blaine off and New Directions cheers.

"Screw you, gay boy," she snaps without any real malice, and Blaine blows her a kiss and grins while his hand continues to apply deliberately rhythmic and mind-blowing pressure between Kurt's legs. Beside him, Kurt sways a little and takes a deep breath, glaring up at Blaine from under his eyelashes. He doesn't quite understand why Blaine does things like this every once in a while—why he puts on his chipper-social-butterfly face and surreptitiously gets Kurt hot and bothered to within an inch of his life, stroking his knee under the table during class or rubbing his foot against Kurt's calf while they're eating dinner with his parents. It's a little strange and a little nerve-wracking and insanely hot, and even though Kurt is always terrified of being caught out, he never stops Blaine, never pushes him away, just savors this controlled and electrifying danger with as convincing a normal expression on his face as he can manage.

"Brit's off-limits," Santana snarls as Blaine looks over towards her and Brittany. "And just in case you haven't noticed, you've vetoed every female here except for your boyfriend himself. Try again, Squirtle."

"Not everyone," Blaine says slowly, and a slow build of laughter and drunken cheers rises as Santana's face drops and Blaine gives an infuriating little smile.

"No. Way. I'm the Darer, pansy-ass, you can't pick me!"

"I can and I do," Blaine declares, and his hidden hand suddenly shapes itself to the curve of Kurt's crotch and drags downwards in one devastating swipe, and Kurt gasps desperately and convulses like someone dropped an ice cube down his back as Blaine removes his hand with all the covert stealth of a pickpocket getting away with the cash.

"What's your problem, Jiminy Cricket?" Santana spits at Kurt, and as the white lights stop popping in front of his eyes and his heart begins to slow a little he suddenly understands that everyone missed Blaine's hand going away but they definitely saw Kurt almost orgasm on the floor of Rachel's basement.

Awkward.

"N-nothing, just…excited about Blaine's choice," Kurt stammers, and he turns to give his boyfriend a scathing bitch-face that Blaine meets with the most innocent and naïve smile imaginable.

"See? Everyone's happy," Blaine says cheerily, still holding eye contact with Kurt. "Unless, of course, you can't follow through with the Dare, Santana."

"I wasn't the one Dared," she mutters, but no one is going to let her get away with that.

"C'mon, Santana," "Just do it," "Get it on! Get it on!" rings out from the circle, and Santana knows she's trapped when Brittany kisses her shoulder and says, "Just think of it like me and you are making out across the mediums of space and time and Kurt's mouth!"

"Fine," she growls, and takes a long drink from Mike's cup, ignoring his shout of protest. She gets onto her knees and crawls forward like the angriest stripper ever. "Hummel, get those little pink wormy-lips over here."

Kurt is suddenly and painfully aware of a big problem: he has to move too, meet Santana halfway in the middle of the drinking ring, and the second he disturbs the pillow on his lap it will be very obvious to everyone that something has gotten him pretty worked up. His eyes dart over to Blaine again, and Blaine is smirking back at him, and oh my god that smug little bastard, he knew exactly what he was doing. Kurt is pissed off and at a total loss and still extremely horny, which isn't helping his problem-solving skills, and Santana is glaring at him on her hands and knees, and people are yelling and slow-clapping and Blaine won't wipe that self-satisfied smile off his face.

So Kurt decides fuck it, let's see him look all snide over THIS, and he rocks forward on his ass and grabs Santana's face with both hands and yanks her to him so that the pillow stays in place, swallows her yelp of surprise as he crushes their mouths together and the hoots and hollers are swirling around them.

Kurt doesn't want this to take an especially long time, but he certainly doesn't plan to half-ass it either, considering all the stupid hype of the last few minutes, and so he starts the kiss off with a go-to attitude, nipping gently at Santana's upper lip and pressing his face up close to hers. However, what he does not take into account is how Santana is going to approach this learning experience: without warning, her tongue shoves its way into his mouth like a Viking horde storming a helpless village, twisting and curling and tasting strongly of Jack Daniels. Kurt gives a muffled yelp of surprise and nearly swallows his own tongue as Santana takes advantage of his unsteadiness and sucks so forcefully on his bottom lip that Kurt is sure he'll have a huge bruise above his chin tomorrow.

Oh, it's on, Lopez.

Kurt isn't sure that this is what his father was talking about when he said that nobody pushes the Hummels around, but the message still rings true as Kurt pulls himself together from Santana's onslaught and reverses the tide, kissing Santana with enough ferocity to elicit a satisfying squeak as he shoves her backwards, grabs a handful of black hair, and clamps their mouths together in an iron grip. The horniness is gone, replaced by anger and a violent desire to hold his own, and the pillow falls to the side as Santana drags Kurt towards her and he's on his knees too now. They wrestle and push and battle with each other, each refusing to let the other win, and Kurt's eyes are shut tight in concentration but he can still hear all the laughter and the shouting petering out and there's silence from the glee club while he and Santana grunt and growl and treat this like an arm-wrestling match, which is really closer to the spirit of the kiss than any kind of romance. Lopez vs. Hummel, yet another New Directions "clash of the Titans," and if this is how it has to happen, so be it.

Kurt's mouth is beginning to ache, and Santana's nails sting where they're cutting into the side of his neck—this is coming to a climax, it has to end sooner or later and when it does there will be a winner and there will be a loser. Kurt feels Santana slipping a little, her tongue whipping against the roof of his mouth with less fury, fatigue draining the precision of her teeth, and he knows that if he makes a final push he can come out on top. With a last burst of strength, Kurt wraps his hands around Santana's upper arms and mashes their torsos together, body-checking her like they're playing lacrosse, deepening the kiss until she surrenders, breaks contact and wrenches herself backwards, gasping for air.

It's a very long moment after they break apart, and as it stretches on and on Kurt begins to realize just how strange this Dare had made everything. Santana is panting across the circle from him, looking like she was just attacked by someone with boxing gloves and a handbrush: her hair is mussed and crazy and hanging all over her face, her cheeks and lips are swollen and bright red, and she's bent forward a little like she's nursing a cramp in her ribs. Half-crazed eyes stare back into Kurt's, and he knows he must look just as bad, if not worse. Somehow this kiss became an epic struggle between two opposing forces, a war between great countries, and it seems that Kurt "Elizabeth I" Hummel has bested the Spanish Armada.

"Wow," says Quinn, and the word falls like an empty Solo cup, clattering onto the floor.

"Daaaaaamn," Artie breathes wonderingly, and now the other New Directions are starting to giggle nervously and chatter is breaking out and Kurt is getting his breath back as he smoothes his hair down and turns to look at his boyfriend, who is staring at Kurt with the most wonderfully shocked expression on his face.

"That was nuts," says Mike, shaking his head in awe. "Is that really how you guys kiss? How come Brittany and Blaine don't walk around with their faces chewed off all the time?"

"Santana doesn't normally kiss like that. Neither does Kurt," Brittany says simply, apparently the only member of the group not totally flipped out by what just happened. "Usually there's less rage."

"That was a face-fight! Like they were beating the shit out of each other with their mouths," Puck says enthusiastically, punching the air. Finn looks a little ill, staring down at his cranberry juice as though hoping to find his lost innocence in it.

"Oooow…fuck, Hummel, I think you permanently busted my lip," Santana moans, gently probing her lower lip with the tips of her fingers. Kurt huffs and makes another half-hearted attempt to corral the hair so grievously messed up by Santana's hands.

"Hey, I was going to be a gentleman about it, you were the one who tried to swallow my tonsils," he snaps. Santana shoots him a death glare and adjusts her shirt.

"You watch yourself, Lady Marmalade. Next time that pointy little tongue comes near me I'm ripping it out and mounting it on my wall."

"I don't know if we can keep playing," says Mercedes with a raised eyebrow. "Can anything really beat what just went down?"

"Seriously," Sam says, nodding in agreement. "That was the craziest combat I've ever seen, and I have played my share of Skyrim."

"It reminded me of civil war reenactments in Ireland," Rory adds earnestly, and Quinn pets him like she's quieting an agitated cat.

"Well, I think we should keep playing," Rachel sniffs, and Kurt wonders if this is the trademark Berry-competitive-instinct at work, doing its job like clockwork. "Not everyone has had a chance to Dare yet."

"That's true," agrees Kurt, and without wasting a second he turns to Blaine and asks with steel in his voice, "Truth or Dare?"

Blaine stares back, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, totally blank. Pride wells unbidden in Kurt's chest as he sees just how thoroughly he's destroyed Blaine's superior edge.

I really really love it what it does to him when I win.

"Answer the question, Anderson," says Puck with a grin, giving Blaine a hearty whack on the back. It jolts Blaine back to reality—a stammering, awkward, overwhelmed reality.

"I—uh—well…Dare," he manages, his eyes moving like magnets to Kurt's gaze. A smile spreads over Kurt's face, and the sharp triumph inside him begins to melt in the warmth of his love for Blaine, for that blob of a nose and those puppy-dog eyes and the way his voice gets all soft and shaky when he's had his fuses blown. This is why Kurt can never stay angry at Blaine, because every time he has any tough feelings about him the gooey lovey-doveyness starts gumming up the works and pretty soon he just wants to snuggle up against Blaine and live in that warm soft nook between his ribs and his strong arms.

"Dare, huh?" Kurt says with a little smile, and Blaine nods mutely. The rest of the glee club is silent as a church.

"Kiss me."

As far as Dares go, kissing your boyfriend is pretty low on the shock-value, but this isn't about proving anything, it's not about making a point or playing a joke, it's as simple as Blaine nodding and leaning towards Kurt and one hot, damp, slightly rough hand sliding up the back of Kurt's neck and pulling him into a kiss as gentle as the other one was violent, as sweet as the other was aggressive, and as hot as the other was anything but. Blaine's lips are soft and slow on Kurt's, so tender after being ripped at by Santana, and he runs the tip of his tongue over the inside of Kurt's mouth and nuzzles his nose into Kurt's cheek and Kurt sighs, a quiet high-pitched noise that moves from him to Blaine and stays safe and sound between them. It lasts and lasts and lasts, or maybe it just feels that way, like time is standing still and everything is Blaine, his tongue against Blaine's teeth and the tangy taste of wine on Blaine's lips and the warm rush of Blaine's breath as he finally pulls back a little and seals the kiss with a last press of his mouth against Kurt's, a little postscript to the most intimate of love letters.

Kurt sits back and he can't take his eyes off Blaine, doesn't want to, just sits there with his hand in Blaine's and his head swimming a little. No one speaks, no one intrudes of this world of theirs, and it was worth it to go through all that with Santana if he can have this moment with Blaine—both of them together, open and honest about being in love in front of all of their friends—to have and hold as his own forever.

"Kurt gets all the kisses tonight," Brittany finally says, a little smile on her face as she cuts through the empty air. Everybody laughs, and the spell of Blaine and Kurt breaks as they all start to move again and Blaine's eyes leave Kurt's and time goes back to relying on the clock.

"Yeah he does," Puck says proudly, ruffling Kurt's hair. Mike and Tina are cuddling together, Sam is absently playing with one of Mercedes' hands, and Rachel is clinging to Finn like a Jewish barnacle. Santana narrows her eyes as she stares at Kurt, who meets her gaze and tries not to blink.

"You know what, Hummel?" she says slowly. Kurt shakes his head, careful not to break eye contact.

"No, what?"

"Next time…you're not allowed to choose Dare," she says with finality, and suddenly a grin spreads across her face and Kurt feels one coming on too and they both start laughing, giggling and chortling and snorting like morons, rolling back and forth on the ground as everyone gives them weird looks and pulls away from their flailing limbs.

"How much have you two had to drink?" Rachel asks primly as Kurt and Santana finally begin to calm, hiccupping and wiping tears out of their eyes. Kurt sits up and keeps grinning as he catches Blaine's eye and his boyfriend gives him a what am I ever going to do with you look.

"Not enough, Rachel. Never enough. And by the way," Kurt adds, giving into his worst mischievous impulses. "Truth or Dare?"