It’s taken Kurt hours to eat this piece of cheesecake. He chews and chews each bite, the flavors rolling over his tongue and exploding in delicious, creamy ways he’s never experienced before. An entire eternity passes while he chews, swallows, and scoops another bit of cheesecake onto his fork. A crumb falls onto Blaine’s bedspread, but Kurt ignores it, because hello, cheesecake in his mouth. The bite sticks his tongue to his palate like taffy, like too much peanut butter, and he panics for just a moment before letting the deliciousness of the cheese, the graham cracker crust, wave over him again. Blaine’s ideas are usually great, but this may, in fact, be his best one ever.
Blaine’s own slice of cheesecake is forgotten on the nightstand, which enthralls Kurt because he’s sure Blaine won’t mind him eating it, anyway. Blaine’s too wrapped up in the music, the synth beat low and thrumming, the strains of Roxy Music filling the room, invading the corners and pushing away the thick, heady smoke. Blaine babbles along over the lyrics, voice high and breathy like he gets when well-fucked, eyes blown wide and dark. He makes plans involving flux capacitors and bell bottoms, gestures wildly with their third joint still dangling from between his fingers. Kurt wants to take another drag, wants the cloying smoke to fill his lungs, wants to try that thing Blaine talked about where they’d press their mouths together and just breathe each other in, but time moves too slowly for him to do anything but swallow his bite of cheesecake and prepare another.