A/N: Hello, new fandom! Hardcore Klaine shipper here – but this is my first Glee fanfic. Whee!

I hope no one is mad that I didn't update for "Illogical and Stupid" or "A Halfblood Wedding," I just got nommed by a plot bunny.

Written hastily to rid myself of plot bunnies. HASTILY. Let me know if you like how I write Kurt/Klaine/Glee fanfic in general – if it turns out I'm good at this I might make it a thing! This story, if it works, will probably end up being a three chapter story.

Read, review, enjoy!

"He's a REALLY," said Rachel, giggling and tipping over, "Really, REALLY, good kisser, Kurt. You…You need to try that out sometime!"

"You're kind of drooly, but a good k," Blaine interrupted himself with a laugh, "Good kisser."

I could not believe I was dealing with this right now.

"I'm sure of that, Rach," I said, "Now I think the two of you have had enough."

"You haven't had anything, Kurt!" said Rachel with this garish grin on her face. I fought back a laugh – she reminded me of a gremlin or something with that look on her face.

"I had a little," I said, "but I don't think I'm a lightweight like the two of you evidently are."

Blaine closed his eyes and waved his hand. "I'm not a light – WHOOPSIE!" Blaine skidded off the stage, landing on his back. I expected him to actually be in pain, but he just started laughing hysterically. "I'm not a lightweight!" he said, clumsily getting to his feet.

"Yes, I definitely believe that now…" I said, punctuating it with an eyeroll.

"GUYS!" shouted Brittany, "Guys, we should drink more! Alcohol makes me feel like…Smart."

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"Then I want to kiss someone. ARTIE!" Brittany stumbled off into the opposite direction.

"Did she have a dollar bill in her shorts?" I asked.

"Yeah, she did," said Rachel. "I put it there. Santana glared at me though. I don't know why."

I smirked. With all the crap I got from Santana, it was all too obvious that I wasn't the only person in the room with an unrequited gay crush on someone.

"Lovely," I said, folding my arms over my chest. "Now, seriously you two, no more. It's three in the morning, we should probably be heading home to be honest."

Rachel shook her head. "No, no, no, no, no!"

"Let me get my guitar!" said Blaine. "Wait, where's my guitar?"

"Probably at your house," I said. "And why would you want your guitar?"

"I'm not home," said Blaine with this shocked look on his face.

I shook my head. "Yeah, and from the looks of you you're not going to be driving home tonight either."

"I'm," he hiccupped, "I'm fine, guys!" As if trying to refute his own point, he face planted in Quinn's chest on the couch.

"Blaine!" she shouted. "Get off!"

"S'alright," he mumbled. "Don't like those anyway."

That did it. I burst into laughter. "Oh, wow, Blaine, you're…Wow."

"My hair's all bouncy," he said, walking over to a mirror. "Whoa! I can't decide – do I like the gel better or do I like it like this?"

He pulled on my hand and pressed it onto his head. His hair was really soft without the gel, but at the moment I couldn't exactly appreciate it.

"Okay, bud," said Finn, clapping a hand on Blaine shoulder. "We're bringing you home. You're not driving today."

I looked up at Finn. "Seriously?" I asked, "You're going to drive everyone home."

Finn shrugged. "Well, I was thinking I'd cram everyone in my car and then you could drive Blaine's to our house, let him sleep on the couch or something. The girls are all staying over at Rachel's. I'll drive Puck and the other guys back to their places." He spared a small smile and leaned closer to me. "And maybe you can have some time on your own with Blaine. Maybe the two of you could get closer. I know you still like him."

"Shut up, Finn, he could hear you!"

Finn gave me another small smile. "Just head home, okay? I'll be home a little later."

"Thanks, Finn."

"No problem, little brother."

I narrowed my eyes. "By five months. And you know I'm more mature."

Finn shrugged and made his way towards Puck and Mike Chang, who were on Rachel's stage, singing "Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy," at the top of their lungs.

"Blaine, let's head out."

"I want more."

"You can't have more. There," I looked around, hoping he was drunk enough to believe me, "there, uh, isn't any left."

"Yeah, there is."

I shook my head and grabbed his hand, pulling him from the beer that was dangerously close to his hand. "Nope, that's not alcohol."

He pouted, and with the hand I wasn't already holding, held up his pinky. "Pinky swear?"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

"Pinky swear!"

Rolling my eyes, I held out my hand. "I swear."

"Good!" His smile got brighter.

I pulled him with me and grabbed our coats, and he fell over himself walking up the stairs. Then, while pulling his coat on, he got stuck.

"Help?" he whimpered.

"Why do you become a helpless kitten when drunk?" I asked him. "And why do I think it's adorable?" I added under my breath.

"Help?" he asked again, a little more desperately, this time with a button snagged in his hair. He looked so much younger like this – confused and significantly less composed than I'd ever seen him. I adjusted his coat and buttoned him up like I would a child, and steered him by the shoulders as he walked out to the car.

I also had to help him open the door, sit on the seat, buckle himself, and I had to stop him from nearly shutting the door on his foot.

"I swear, it's like babysitting a three year old, taking care of you right now, Blaine."

"M'sorry," he said, leaning his head against the window. "Goodnight."

I drove home playing Taylor Swift, who Blaine hated and would never have let me play if he was sober or awake. Lucky for me he was neither. I, for one, was not the biggest fan of hers, but the fact that I hadn't listened to her in ages made me want to listen to her more.

And then came dragging Blaine into the house. He was still half asleep for all of this, and I would have thrown him over my shoulder in a fireman's carry if I wasn't worried he would vomit all over my new coat.

I walked up to the house and dug for my keys. Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye I saw Blaine, stumbling down my walkway. For a few minutes I watched him, bemused, as I stood in the doorway, but when he started fiddling with Carole's garden gnomes I decided to put a halt to his front yard discoveries.

"Blaine, please stop poking at my gnomes."

"But they're cute!"

"You're drunk. You think everything's cute." I moved so he could walk into the door and he strutted in as if he owned the place, stretching himself out on the couch. I tried to ignore the sliver of – I swallowed hard – pale and toned skin exposed between the waistband of his pants and his cardigan as he stretched his arms over his head.

Would this guy ever make things easy for me?

Behind me, the door slammed on its own.

"Finn, you're kind of cute," slurred Blaine as he peered over the couch. Finn walked in the door and kicked off his shoes.

"See?" I said to Blaine, "You think everything's cute."

"He still drunk?" Finn asked.

"Oh, you have no idea.."

Blaine smiled. "Rachel's weird at kissing, Finn, was that a problem with the two of you?"

Both of us didn't dignify that with a response.

"Uh, do you want help with him?" Finn asked me, conversing with his shoes. "He's not exactly light as a feather. I could babysit him down here while you get the blankets."

"No!" said Blaine, shaking his head. "I'm going to get the blankets with you, least I can do."

Finn looked at the two of us skeptically. "You want me to carry him upstairs?"

I grunted as I hoisted Blaine up off of the couch. "I'm gay, Finn, not weak. I can carry him."

"Finn, don't you think he's cute?"

I rolled my eyes at Finn's uncomfortable blush. "I, uh, he's my brother, it's not –"

"Ignore him, Finn, he's more hammered than Ke$ha on a Friday night." Blaine stumbled over the carpet and took me down with him. I shoved him off of my legs, forcing down a blush as he accidentally clawed at my waist.

"Oops," he laughed. "I'm not supposed to touch there. I like kissing. And Rachel kissing was fun. I never kissed Jeremiah – he had nice hair."

"Alcohol talking for you, isn't it," I muttered.

Finn was still giving the two of us a weird look. "You're sure he isn't going to try anything weird when you're drunk?"

I laughed. "Finn, I think we'd be more worried about him trying something with your mother than with me when drunk. His level of gay decreases exponentially as his BAC increases."

"I…Don't know what that means. Is he going to hit on my mom?"

"Go to bed, Finn."

He shrugged and stumbled up the stairs ahead of me. "You sure you don't want help with him?" he asked, gesturing to the partially catatonic Blaine who was currently playing with his hair in the mirror.

"I should be fine," I sighed. "Yes, Blaine, your curls can't be tamed, I get it, now get your drunk ass upstairs."

Blaine dropped on all fours and began climbing up the stairs. When he reached my doorway by some miracle, he stood up and said, "Hey, Kurt!" he said. "Why don't we do a –"

"Blaine, shut up!" I said, shoving my hand over his mouth and glancing over to my dad and stepmom's bedroom. "They might hear you," I hissed. "And you did not just lick my hand."

I removed my hand and walked hastily to the bathroom to wash them. Blaine followed me, his hands in his pockets. "Yeah I did. You weren't moving your hand."

"That's quite…" I paused for a moment, searching for the word to describe Blaine on a normal day. "Undapper of you, Blaine."

"What?"

"You're usually dapper. You know, elegant, neat, poised. And now you're stumbling upstairs and licking my hand. It's enough to make you wonder which of these two Blaines is the real one."

"I'm tired."

"I know that. Now we have to get you some blankets so you can crash on the –"

Apparently he instead was going to curl up in my bed.

"Blaine, that's my bed."

"I know, it's comfortable. I'm tired."

"I know," I said, tapping my foot. "But you need to get up. You've got the couch tonight."

He grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, a contented smile playing across his lips. "That's okay, I'll sleep here. I don't mind if you sleep in your bed too, just don't steal the covers."

I folded my arms and glared at him. This was SO not the way I expected Blaine to be sleeping in my bed the first time. My idea involved a lot less clothes and a lot less alcohol.

"Night night, Kurt."

He passed out in seconds. I couldn't decide whether to be angry at him or just amused by his nonchalance about sleeping in my bed.

"What I do for these people…" I muttered as I peeled off my jeans and shirt. In the back of my mind I half wondered if I should have helped Blaine out of his clothes and into some pajamas, but I realized that he probably would have yelled at me for being too forward or going too fast.

Once I was fully moisturized and clad in pajamas, I slid into my bed. For the first time in my life, I was entirely uncomfortable in that bed. Blaine was snoring – IN MY BED – and I honestly had no clue what he was going to say when he woke up or even if he knew what would happen when he woke up the next morning.

"Freakin' alcohol," I said, scooting to the very edge of the bed and trying to lay still. "Next time I'll be the one getting drunk."