The Idiot
by raile
Summary: Kurt is drunk. Diane isn't.
Disclaimer: the ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.
Rating: T, to be safe
Song used: This Old Heart of Mine by The Isley Brothers
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"Kurt?"
He was humming something that sounds familiar that isn't. Or maybe it was but he just couldn't get the right bars right at his current state. He had a goofy grin on his face, his hair uncombed and falling over his brow and he was humming happily out of tune.
She thought it was something of Sinatra's but she could be wrong. For all she knew and for all of his off-key humming, it was some country song she'd have no clue about. Or maybe a little of both.
There wasn't much to do except watch him closely as he sat on his front porch, leaning against the rail with his butt planted on the step. It wasn't cold enough to worry about keeping him outside but she was pretty sure there was enough in his system to keep him warm yet.
Crossing her arms across her chest to battle the cold in the borrowed plaid button-down and loose boxers she'd taken out of his drawers, she didn't have to ask how he ended up there. His brothers were in town for a friend's birthday and while she's probably never going to understand their brand of humor, she's no longer surprised anymore.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out they left his ass planted on the porch in hopes of leaving him there until dawn. In the back of her mind, she remembered an old story about Kurt leaving them like this, drunk and rambling, to the mercy of the morning sun. They still cry foul over it and probably will 'til the end of time, but Kurt simply called it brotherly retribution.
Suddenly, she was glad she decided to forgo her decision to stay in the city and instead drove home. He's an idiot for getting drunk in the first place, but he is her idiot.
"But if you leave me a hundred times, a hundred times I'll take you back!" she wasn't quite prepared for that burst of lyrics—she's assuming they're lyrics—but she takes back the startled half-step she took.
"Kurt…?"
He turned to face her and there was no doubt about it—he'd allowed his brothers to ply him with enough alcohol to get him in a state. He was no lightweight but he isn't a drinker and put him next to his brothers—younger, more rambunctious despite their ages and definitely less eager to spare him—well, he really didn't stand a chance against them.
"I'm yours whenever you want me," he gave her a goofy grin that he wouldn't otherwise use sober, "I'm not too proud to shout it 'cause I love you!"
"Kurt!"
She'd been far too caught up in him being drunk and she had underestimated his reflexes it seemed because before she knew it, he was standing and his hand had hers and the other was slipping around her waist. He smelled of bourbon and he was a little heavy against her. He had jarred her with his impulsive dancing and the first thing that came to mind when she regained her composure was that it wasn't a Sinatra after all.
He led her in an awkward dance that composed of simply swaying in place and she thought belatedly she was glad they didn't have neighbors close enough to witness this. With the way she was dressed and the way he simply seemed to take leave of his sanity, it would have been enough to get tongues a-wagging. Ah, suburbia—there's a reason she ran like hell from them.
"This old heart of mine, darling, is weak for you," he sang into her hair, "I love you, yes, I do!"
He stumbled a little but he stopped then, grinning at her through hazy eyes, "Hi."
Diane blinked at him, "Hello."
She should be mad but somehow, she couldn't find it in herself to berate him. Besides, it would be useless. She'd berate him when he's sober and he's got the ears and the rest of his senses to make sure he heard her. That, and it would be more excruciating to do so in the midst of a hangover.
"Hi."
"You're drunk."
He paused, blinking slowly then nodded, "Yep."
"Did your brothers—"
"Shhh!"
He leaned his face closer towards her, prompting her to scowl slightly and pull back.
"I can smell bourbon on you."
"You like bourbon."
"To drink, not to smell."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"No," she shook her head, placing her hands on his chest, "Come on, come to bed. It's late and—"
"Shhh!" there it was again.
"Kurt, what—"
Crossing his eyes with a huff, he reached up and placed his hand over her mouth, "Shhh!"
She glared at him then, pushing his hand away, "Kurt!"
"Shhh!"
"What?"
"I'm drunk."
"Yes, I know, now stop shushing me and don't even think about putting your hand—"
"Diane," his voice was a rumble, sounding sober for one brief moment.
"What?" she pushed him back slightly until he was leaning against the porch rail. She wasn't sure how long he was going to stay upright but she wasn't going to take any chances and have him drop both of them on the ground. She can do without that, thank you very much.
"I'm-I'm trying to concentrate," he sounded frustrated, a far cry from the singing idiot he was moments before and she wasn't sure which she preferred—the drunken idiot singing or the sad attempt at sobriety.
She was about to speak but he beat her to it.
"Made by God himself," he muttered, leaning forward and his hands were suddenly around her waist, firm and secure despite his state of inebriation.
"What?"
"Hand-crafted by God," he looked at her, leaning back but staring intently still, "You…handcrafted by God himself."
"Kurt, what—"
"Sometimes I think I forget how beautiful you are."
Eyes falling closed and her chin dropping down to her chest, Diane shook her head, "You're drunk."
But she could feel the warmth spreading across her cheeks just the same. He was as laconic as they came but he was quite the charmer when he chose to be. And she'd only found out later after the papers had been signed and their last names had somehow been connected by one tiny dash, about this little secret factoid about him.
In business, he was a man of a few words, but in his personal life, it was different. Well, he wasn't shy about his thoughts when he wanted them expressed. It was cute, in an offbeat kind of way but it still made her blush now and again. She wondered if she'll ever get used to it. Probably not and though she'd never admit it out loud, it felt nice to have such a sweet man—even if he was an idiot sometimes.
Warm.
She blinked at the sudden change in sensation after being caught up by her musings about him. She'd forgotten she was still keeping him upright.
His hand was warm on her cheek and she looked at him once more. His eyes were still hazy—visible even in lights that dotted the porch and the stars that were ever present in the countryside.
"A thousand times," he mumbled, "Leave me a thousand times, maybe a thousand and one and I'd still take you back 'cause I really do kinda love you."
"You're so drunk," she smiled.
"Shhh…"
"Again with the shushing."
"That's cause you won't keep quiet."
"Why do I have to keep quiet? You're the one who keeps singing like an idiot."
"Hey! I resemble that comment!" he protested.
She laughed, "Yes, you do."
"Wait…that came out wrong," he looked adorably befuddled, "Shhh!"
She smiled, noting the look of concentration once more, "What are you doing?"
"I am concentrating."
"On what? Staying upright?"
"No," he muttered, "I'm trying to kiss you."
And with that, he leaned forward and kissed her.
"Kurt?" his moustache tickled her lips.
"Hmm?"
"That's not my mouth."
"…oops," he pulled back. "Was I close?"
She shrugged, "Close enough but come on, Romeo, time to go to bed."
"Now that sounds like a plan."
She smirked and began to lead him into the house, "Nice try. You're sleeping this off."
"But I don't wanna go to bed."
"I don't think you'll have much choice," he leaned heavily on her as they made their way into the house and up the steps to their bedroom.
"My brothers are idiots."
She smiled, "That run in the family?"
"Hmm," he shrugged, stumbling into her and plastering her almost to the wall.
She grunted, "Hey, loverboy, help me out here or else I'll leave you out here in the hallway."
"Will you be next to me?"
"No," she snorted, gripping him tight around the waist.
"But I don't like sleeping alone anymore," he muttered, "I like you. You're better than a pillow."
"Well, that's a compliment, isn't it?"
"Yep," he grinned stupidly, burying his face sideways into her hair, "You smell nice."
"God, how much did you drink?" they stumbled their way into their bedroom and while she was tempted to drop him on the bed, she didn't. Instead, she lowered him on it and divested him of his shoes.
"Is it bedtime already?"
"Yes," she nodded, too tired to care about putting his shoes away and instead simply tossed them aside. Under different circumstances, she'd divest him of his shirt too but she didn't think that would be the easiest task. She'd leave him to his misery in the morning—he's earned that, at the very least.
"Will you stay with me?"
"I will," she nodded, "I think the ring pretty much guaranteed that."
He grinned, rolling onto the bed, occupying most of it with his limbs sprawled about, "That's nice."
"More so for you tonight," she mumbled.
"What?"
"Roll over," she nudged him.
He laughed, "—'roll over, roll over' so they all rolled over and one fell out!"
"Oh, good god," she groaned, "Kurt, do not start."
"Two little monkeys jumping on the bed, one fell off and bumped his head!"
"Kurt!"
He laughed stupidly but rolled over anyway only to go further than intended and she had to chase him, grabbing him by his shirt before he indeed rolled right over the bed. By the time she was able to pull him back—all the while grumbling how heavy he was—he was grinning with his eyes closed, a lazy stupid smile on his face.
"Okay, bed time," he mumbled, moving to make room for her even though there was enough space. She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head, getting in bed next to him and placing an arm around his waist. The last thing she really needed was to pick him up off the floor though the urge to drop him right on it was getting quite noticeable.
She waited a beat until he was quiet, anticipating one more nursery rhyme out of him but his breathing began to even out and he ceased his movements almost immediately. She sighed, placing a kiss on his shoulder and kept her arm around him—just to make sure he would stay in place.
"You really are an idiot," she smiled, pressing a kiss on his shoulder again, "Good night, Kurt."
A beat and then a mumble, "Good night, moon."
She laughed quietly in the dark and decided she would keep her idiot next to her the rest of the night.