#tacogrande

Once she gets some alcohol in his system, Kurt Hummel’s defensive walls crumble like nachos and he’s (almost) more outgoing than her.

Especially when a certain old-fashioned cutie is in the vicinity.

Oh, to observe Kurt being enamored with Blaine like they’re only just meeting all over again is almost enough to make her tear up--thank God Mercedes always make her stop drinking when Blaine joins the party. Otherwise Santana would be a snotty sobbing mess and nobody wants to see that.

(Well.

Mercedes doesn’t seem to mind any of the different states Santana gets herself into sometimes.

Then again Mercedes is a godsend and Santana doesn’t quite know what she did in her past lives to deserve her evil angel, but kudos to her Karma)

Anyway.

When Blaine arrives, Kurt always react in the same fashion : a gasp, a shot down, and a flirt.

The way he flirts is the most entertaining part, as far as Santana is concerned.

So far she has witnessed (and recorded. For the future children the couple will have. What’s a good aunt if not a provider of shameful memories of the parental unit) :

bad puns

So bad.

Even Sam was appalled and that’s saying something.

movie quotes

The Godfather.

Of all movies, Kurt had to quote the mother effin’ Godfather to “seduce” his husband.

And it worked.

(“Let me make you an offer you can’t refuse”, ha! Santana doesn’t want to know what exactly he whispered in Blaine’s ear, but she has a hunch it didn’t involve a dead horse’s head.

Maybe another horse body part, and a very much alive one?

… Oh Lord.

Brain bleach please).

straight up PDA

Santana was so shocked to see Kurt literally throwing himself at Blaine, pressing his body against Blaine’s back and pulling him closer, she forgot to record it.

The one time.

a striptease

What a night to remember.

One, because she didn’t expect McClumsy over there to get out of his pants without face planting, and two, because Blaine literally had a nosebleed.

Ah, good times.

But tonight seems to be a combo of Santana’s favorite, a best of Drunk Kurt On The Prowl, if you will, and she’s not missing one bit of it.

Blaine was late to the party, but he was already vibrating with energy and excitement when he crossed the threshold of the apartment.

Which, can you guess it, triggered all of Kurt’s .. hunting senses.

That is Santana’s only plausible explanation for the scene unfolding before her very eyes.

Kurt has a drink precariously dangling from his fingers, his other hand cupping the back of Blaine’s neck. His fingers are either caressing Blaine’s ear or playing with the loose curls at his nape, and it seems to hypnotize Blaine.

Kurt leans closer, whispering in the aforementioned ear, and though the light is barely present, Santana can see Blaine blushing from her chosen seat.

“Having fun?”

“Ha!”

How did Mercedes manage to sneak on her?!

She laughs, in any case, her hand cupping Santana’s knee in comfort. “Sorry,” she says, sounding anything but, “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to--”

“Turn me into a ghost?!”

“Surprise you.”

Santana’s heart is beating faster for a completely different reason now, and she covers Mercedes’ hand with her own. “You always surprise me.”

The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself, and she totally, completely, 100%-ly, blames the strength of the Cosmos Kurt has been making by the liter.

“Oh, you big softie,” Mercedes purrs, pulling Santana down to peck her lips and leave a trace of black lipstick in her wake.

“Shush,” Santana mutters, putting the cocktail glass away before she starts the waterworks. “You’re making me miss the show.”

“The show?”

“Drunk Kurt Mambo Number Five.”

Mercedes’ boisterous laugh rings in the apartment, and it even pulls Blaine out of his Kurt-induced trance.

Which brings an adorable pout on Kurt’s face, even as he tries to hide it in the bottom of his glass and hiccups in disarray.

Blaine turns back to him and pulls him close, hands on the lowest part of his back--ooh sneaky, Santana gives it a 8.2--as he whispers in Kurt’s ear.

Kurt straightens up immediately, eyes and smile wide, before lifting Blaine over his shoulder in a fireman carry.

“Kurt, put me down, we can walk to the room!”

“No time!”

The rest of the conversation is drowned out by the music and the closed door, but Santana doesn’t need to hear it.

The foreplay, yes, she’s interested.

The gay sex, not rea--okay, she can be interested in watching those two get at it, but only if the mood strikes right.

And right now, the mood leans closer to her kneeling between her angel’s legs and take her back to Heaven.

(Yes, Drunk Santana is weepy, but she’s also a cheesy romantic.