Santana just watched in amusement as Blaine tried to down the liquor straight. It was fairly obvious that being a Warbler didn’t come with too many drinking lessons. Where as with Puck for a friend, && the Cheerios as a team, Santana had plenty of practice. Hopefully the poor boy wouldn’t try to keep up with her. Then again nothing would be more amusing than a wasted Blaine Anderson trying to pretend he’s fully functioning. While he tried to speak, the female fought back laughter. The way he winced && choked between words from a simple two chugs, was nothing short of hilarious. “Of course. If you ever think I’m cheap, it’s because you’re looking at Rachel’s extensions in the bathroom. Not mine.” Her lips curled upwards in a confident grin as she took the bottle back. Warmth emanated from her chest as she took the two gulps down easily. The burn only lasted a moment, so she tried not to make as big of a deal out of it as Blaine did. Without hesitation, she handed the bottle back, watching him expectantly to try going on. “I’m a little worried. What if I want to light a candle? Do you think the insane amount of hair gel in your hair mixed with the alcohol in your system will make you EXTRA flammable? Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you rubbed one out tonight && became the next fashion nightmare of elm street.”
Blaine was a little too concentrated on not drooling from the fire in his mouth to really mask the lopsided grin that appeared when Santana went off on her comparison between cheap and Rachel’s hair extensions. Seriously? Where did she come up with this stuff? He watched her take the gulps like a pro and give no outward sign of the nasty taste. Impressive. But that meant she probably burned enough tastebuds off to achieve that level of pro and he’d gladly keep the ones he had that held him back. Taking back the bottle with a nod of thanks–Blaine stopped in his tracks when the Bag of Witty Insults was tossed in his direction. Aw. Ones like this? Were Santana’s way of saying I love you and you know what? The feeling was mutual. Not taking it to heart–Blaine shrugged and hovered the neck of the bottle by his lips so he could give her a lift of his brows. “Okay–Santana,” he hummed and gave her a cock-eyed smirk, “First? Did you really have to use the phrase rub one out?” He put quotation marks around that one with one hand. “Second? Then just don’t light a candle to be on the safe side. If I go down? I’m taking you with me. Human Torch style.” And down went two more gulps as those tastebuds he swore he was keeping earlier screamed in protest–just a little quieter this time.
pianokeysandbowties 