Oh, don’t get Elliott STARTED on motherfucking Donald Trump. He rarely HATED someone with every fibre of his being - rarely wanted to see someone strung up and left for dead - but that giant great talking cheeto from hell? Now that was someone he could LOATHE.
Yet, Elliott’s tolerance was somewhat higher than Kurt’s when it came to the alcohol they were steadily consuming, and he possessed enough control over his own mouth to stop before he started. To save that anger for another day, holding it inside until a time it was appropriate.
“It’s a pretty cute dog though, you gotta admit.” Elliott would coo over him with a heart of love, even as he moved closer to Kurt, allowing an arm to snake around the others waist - black inked skin PRESSED against cotton as he pulled him close, hating to see Kurt talk badly of himself.
Especially his body - had that guy SEEN HIMSELF?
“Come off it gurl, you’re ADORABLE. Fuckin’ just...the cutest little fuckin’ thing, ya know? Y’can eat as many pretzel things as you wanna.” Stubbly chin found it’s way to Kurt’s shoulder as he stood behind him, just resting there as Kurt tore at his food with distinct annoyance.
“Pretty boys don’t get to complain, they’re PRETTY. You’re pretty.”
Okay...Maybe he was a LITTLE less sober than he cared to admit.