Wes really hated Kurt Hummel. He really, really fucking hated Kurt frickin' Hummel. It was because of him, him and Jeff and Nick and that stupid champagne that he was here, rock bottom.
That is, if you consider rock bottom waking up shirtless cuddled up against one also half-naked Kurt Hummel with a massive headache in an unfamiliar bed.
They'd placed fourth.
Fourth in the nation, to be exact. It wasn't first place, but hell if it wasn't something to get excited about.
They'd spent the whole o their week in New York practicing, debating a bit over their choreography, and all too happily exploring their ways through the Big Apple.
Wes, himself, had spent their last day there, the day after Nationals, with the rest of the Warblers, visiting NY's many overrated tourist attractions. Namely, the Empire State Building.
"Oh. my. Gaga," Kurt breathed, appearing unnoticed next to him. "This is amazing!"
Wes felt his mood sour. Trust Hummel to come along and ruin what had previously been a fun trip for him. He turned away silently, fuming.
"Who put itching powder in your coffee this morning?" David asked him, raising an eyebrow. "You look as if you're just waiting for some puppy to come along so you can step on it."
"I'm fine," he grumbled, shooting a look over his shoulder at Hummel, who was currently chattering away with Blaine, remarking in that annoying high-pitched whine of his about the view and how it's so beautiful and other such nonsense.
"Wes..." David was eying him suspiciously.
"Don't tell me you're still upset because you two are rooming." He said this more as a statement than a question.
Wes snorted. "Please, David. As if I'm that petty. I mean, who cares if he wakes up at three in the morning because, as he claims, he needs his moisturizing routine? Who cares if he keeps me up late at night, talking away to his friends back in Lima for two hours each night? What does it matter, really, in the long run?"
David had listened through his little rant quietly, for once letting him speak before smiling at him.
"Good to know that you understand the situation, Wes. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
He gaped after the retreating figure. Either Hummel had managed to brainwash him, too, or David had the best deadpan Wes had ever seen.
It had to be the first one. Because, really, David? With a sense of humor?
Simply preposterous.
"Warblers!" Wes called from their meeting room in the hotel, "Tomorrow, we head back to Ohio." Boos and cries of displeasure filled the room.
"It has been a long journey: But-"
"Cheers, bitches!" Jeff's voice called from the back of the room. He and Nick stood in the doorway of the hallway leading to their rooms, identical grins on their face as they held up several large buckets.
Nick stepped up with a flourish, bowing before them. "Fear not, fellow party-loving songbirds,"
"And Wes," Jeff stage whispered.
"And Wes," Nick agreed, "despair not, for we bring alcohol!"
At this, they waved about champagne bottles, beaming as the rest of the group scrambled for the beverages, cheering loudly.
Wes glowered at the scene, hands shaking. How he wished he'd remembered to bring his beloved gavel.
David popped next to him on the couch he'd previously been standing on, two wine glasses filled with sparkling liquid held aloft delicately in his hands.
"David!" He cried, aghast.
Said boy merely shrugged, holding out one of the drinks.
"No, thank you," Wes declined haughtily. David ignored him, forcing the drink in his hand before wandering off.
He glanced around, feeling his stomach curl at the sight that met his eyes. There was Hummel, laughing and giggling away as he talked with Blaine, sipping daintily at his glass, smirking in what Wes had come to recognize as his seductive look.
Blaine certainly wasn't complaining, leaning in just a bit too close, cocking his head as he looked Hummel up and down with a matching smirk.
Of course, there had been a fair share of rumors about Hummel and Anderson, rumors if they were or were not secretly dating, speculating and much betting on when the two would publicly declare themselves together.
Wes' blood boiled;maybe he would have some champagne. Just one glass, though, of course.
The world was just beginning to blur into a warm and happy haze around Kurt as he flirted with Blaine and Blaine flirted back, and he was just beginning to think maybe he should stop with the champagne but hell; screw it.
Not that he had any intentions to date Blaine; he was just a tease that way.
"I'm a tease!" He declared drunkenly, giggling away as the others roared around him.
"You are," Thad agreed, slurring slightly as he eye-fucked the curly-haired boy next to him, Blaine all too readily returning his attentions.
"I-I'm a tease, and B-Blaine's a, a slut!" Kurt brazenly announced, falling to the ground in a fit of hysteria at his own words.
A pair of strong hands picked him up, yanking him up from the ground as they dragged him to the side of the room.
"Blaine?" He questioned stupidly.
"Shut up," the voice above him said, Kurt not able to see his face, only carpet, and even if it was nice carpet, he didn't like the world spinning the way it was.
It was over soon, though, as he was propped up on his feet, leaning heavily against the wall behind him.
It was only when the world stopped rushing all around him that he could get a proper glimpse of his kidnapper's face: Wes. He found himself inches away from the semi-tall boy, brown eyes boring into his.
For the longest time they just stood there, Wes staring unflinchingly at him.
"Hi," Kurt finally said, bored with the 'I-spy-Kurt's-eye' game.
"You," Wes stated, gaze never leaving him.
"Me," Kurt agreed.
"You," he repeated, eyebrows flaring.
"Me," he said slowly, as if speaking to a child.
"I hate you," Wes muttered, moving closer till they were nose-to-nose. "I really, really hate you."
Kurt pouted at that. "I'm too adorable to be hated," he protested.
Wes went on, swaying on his feet as he began to rave in that same, low voice.
"You walk around, you fucking strut around the room like you own the place, you, you, mock me and countless others like you're so much better, and you know what? You know what you do?"
His eyes were wild, pinning him to the wall.
"You make everybody fucking fall in love with you," he hissed. "With that ass, and that face, and those fucking gorgeous eyes-"
He broke off, shuddering sharply as his breath hitched.
Blinking at him, Kurt staggered slightly, all the lights swirling about and there was nothing, nothing but Wes, eyes dark with lust, pupils blown, right there, lips moist, and suddenly Kurt was leaning forward, closing the space between them, and-
Everything faded into black.
"Fuck," Wes groaned, consciousness smacking him full in the was he? A bed, unfamiliar, far too-clean and perfect to be his.
The rest of reality hit, alerting him to the body curled next to him.
Well, fuck. Just what the hell happened last night? Nick and Jeff brought in the alcohol, and...
Oh, fucking hell. He slowly opened his eyes, the sight that met him confirming his horrified suspicions.
A shirtless Kurt Hummel, curled up against him, head resting on Wes' chest with one arm thrown across his lower torso.
He still had jeans on, thank God, as did Wes, looking oddly...peaceful on sleep.
The full severity of his actions occurred to him. Okay, he'd pinned Kurt-he couldn't bring himself to call him Hummel after last night-up against the wall, made out with him pretty heavily...what else happened?
Goddammit. He couldn't remember what happened after, couldn't recall how they'd gotten in the bed or what might have happened once they were in the bed.
Shit. He could have lost his virginity last night, and he wouldn't even remember. That sucked. Still, it seemed unlikely, as they were only half naked, but...
Kurt chose that moment to shift in his sleep, eyes fluttering open as he lifted his head up drowsily.
They froze as their eyes met, Kurt taking in their...intimate position.
"Well, shit," he spoke, words hanging in the air, "just how much did we drink?"
Wes just shook his head, easing out from under Kurt's grasp uncomfortably.. He all too willingly let go, scooting away from him as they stared at each other.
A pregnant pause.
"...I still hate you," Wes finally said.
Kurt let out a strangled laugh at this, throwing his head back in silent laughter.
"I think we're past that point, Wes," he told him, squatting to the ground as he began to search for what Wes presumed was his shirt.
"Found it!" He suddenly called.
Wes whimpered at the loud noise. "Not so loud!" He whispered.
Kurt popped up, gripping a...makeup case?
"What's that for?" He asked, frowning as he slowly massaged small circles into his temple.
Kurt stopped, gawking at him openly. "Honestly, Wesley, have you even looked at your chest since you woke up?"
Obligingly, he peered at his chest, feeling the blood drain from his face at the sight of it.
"Kurt!" He growled angrily, said countertenor looking everywhere but at him, a light blush working its way onto his cheeks.
Countless hickies littered his torso, dark bruises that made him wince to look at them.
Kurt coughed, drawing his attention. "There are...more on your neck," he said, faltering at the look he was receiving. "I'll help you cover those," he offered weakly.
"Goddammit, Kurt," he snarled, brushing past him to the bathroom, "I have to change in the locker rooms for football! The others are going to notice!"
The silence following his sentence told him Kurt had already considered that as he padded after him. "Here," he sighed, setting the kit down and rifling through the contents.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror facing him, Wes had to look away. His neck was almost worse than his chest, more bites than he could count marking his skin.
Picking out a certain skin tone, Kurt gently began to brush the powder across the marks, being surprisingly tender.
"Maybe if you hadn't kissed me..." Wes trailed off, slight bitterness apparent in his voice.
In an instant Kurt's eyes were burning into him, glaring at him with righteous fury. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said icily, "I suppose I just imagined the part where you pushed me up against a wall and all but molested me, you were so close."
He continued coldly, "And I suppose I just imagined it later, when we were in bed when you just so happened to reach for my zipper!" His voice had gone shrilly, high even for him.
Wes stared at him, watching as he exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry," he muttered.
"You should be," Kurt informed him briskly, returning to his previous task.
His face softened slightly. "It's my fault, though, too. As you said, I kissed you. And, I um,..."
He blushed bright red. "I tend to get rather, ah, territorial when drunk. Hence, the many hickies." He gestured with one hand to Wes' chest.
"Ah," he tilted his head backwards, allowing better access.
There was a pause there, the near inaudible sounds of the brush playing across his skin the only noise in the room.
"I still hate you," he grumbled, a light smile flickering across his face.
As if to answer, Kurt merely grabbed him by the -still-bare shoulders before tugging him forwards, mouths meeting each other.
They just kissed their for a few minutes, the silence around them deafening.
Kurt nibbled on his bottom lip, drawing a small whine from the back of his throat with a laugh before moving back, resting his forehead against Wes' as he smirked evilly at him.
"Of course you do," he murmured, leering at him slightly before walking out, leaving Wes dazed and flushed behind him.
Yeah, he hated Kurt Hummel. Or, at least, only when he was sober.
Oh my God so fluffy. *faints*
So, I know I've been neglecting my other story, The Bamboozlement of One Wesley Hushes, so I bring you this, in hopes of tiding you over.
I am so happy with this, you have no idea. :)
Please review!
-Mel