Disclaimer: These characters, while they belong fiercely to my heart, primarily belong to Glee and Fox.
"To me, there is no greater act of courage than being the one who kisses first."
Rachel reaches for the wine cooler bottle, squealing, wobbling a little on her knees. Kurt is impressed that she manages to remain upright while spinning the bottle with one hand and clutching a cup of something in the other. He bobs his head to the music, some eighties-sounding song with a twee female vocalist, and feels sparkly, connected to his body. The fact that Blaine is sitting next to him, all warmth and cologne and curls, is just a little devastating but mostly delightful.
Everyone whoops as the bottle lands on Kurt. Rachel tips her head at him in a way that's probably supposed to be coquettish but really just looks ridiculous, and Kurt giggles. "It's about time, my darling." Rachel pushes her cup into Sam's hand and throws both her arms around Kurt's neck, attempting a wink before she puts her lips on him.
He's surprised by how grown-up it feels in its absence of teenage desperation. Not that he's given much thought to what Rachel kisses like, but he would have figured it was kind of too forceful and needing, born out of practicing for years on her pillow and the back of her hand. But she kisses him sweetly, chastely, and tastes like wine and lip gloss and also some inexplicable sadness. Maybe that's just the salt from the body shots, or maybe he's way drunker than he thought.
They pull apart to claps and whistles—Finn is rolling his eyes in a way that's almost fond—and Kurt can't resist kissing her sloppily on the cheek. "Everything I've ever dreamed of," he announces. "And now it's my turn." He's surprised by his own voice, pitched lower than usual and full of some weird, almost sultry confidence that compels him to reach for the tequila bottle next to Brittany and take a brave swig before reaching for the wine cooler bottle in the middle of the circle.
"Kurt, you are bad," Mercedes sings. The liquor flames in his throat and stomach, not unpleasant, and he throws her his most dramatic simpering face as the bottle clinks to a stop on… Blaine.
For a second, Kurt freezes. He feels rather than hears Rachel's soft gasp, sees Finn's mouth fall open a centimeter, but everyone else is yelling encouragement and raising their cups, totally unaware. Kurt looks over at Blaine to find him grinning, a little bashful all of a sudden but mostly just wine-eyed and willing, it's all in good fun. Kurt feels the tequila shimmering in his lips and palms and is suddenly grateful for the fact that it's preventing him from thinking too much.
So he does the only thing that makes sense, which is to lean over and kiss Blaine.
The first thing is teeth—Kurt actually hears their teeth click together, and he knows he's drunk but Blaine must be twice where he is, because his mouth is warm and mashing against Kurt's like he's a particularly delicious dessert that Blaine is greedy for. On some level Kurt is conscious of the cheering, the music, but it's all kind of starry, fuzzed around the edges in the face of Blaine's mouth on his.
He doesn't know how long the kiss lasts, but it's long enough that it could probably be quantified as more than one kiss, and at some point Kurt feels Blaine's tongue teasing apart his lips, just for a second, so fast that he's not sure it happened, and when they break apart his hand is on Blaine's cheek, the warm pad of his thumb dragging a line from Blaine's chin to the top corner of his lip. Blaine's mouth is as red as his sweater, and behind the glaze of alcohol his eyes are totally inscrutable.