Inviting Kurt to the frat party Elliott had been hired to perform at wasn't supposed to end the way it did, but Elliott didn't really regret it.

Singing for over an hour, Elliott hadn't been able to keep a close eye on Kurt and had been pleased it looked as if his friend was having a good time. The trays of Jell-O shots that passed all over the open plan main floor of the frat house were obviously having an effect on Kurt, who eventually began dancing hypnotically all alone, eyes closed, arms raised.

The loose-limbed grace of Kurt's slim body began to degrade with a few more passes of the deceptively strong sweet shots, but Kurt was laughing as he stumbled, and he seemed to have no lack of dance partners willing to keep him on his feet.

Nearing the end of his set, Elliott watched in concern as Kurt was escorted toward the back of the house by two men. The dim lights made it hard to see, but Elliott was pretty sure that Kurt was being taken to a corner where Elliott had noted drug use happening.

Finishing his song, Elliott excused himself and hurried to his friend.

"—won't have a hangover! It's like a magic bullet," said one of the guys holding Kurt upright as he swayed.

Elliott shook his head. He'd been fed the same line about cocaine at a party his freshman year, and had ended up sicker than alcohol had ever made him after doing two lines to try to stave off the impending hangover.

"Kurt! Hey, man, there you are! I've been looking for you. Your parole officer is here and wants to talk to you," Elliott called loudly. He saw the dealer at the table beyond a ring of people sweep his product up and vanish out the back.

"Huh? Elliott! You were amazing! You sounded so great! We need to sing together. I miss singing with you! I don't get to sing enough anymore. Can we get the band back together? Where's Dani? She was cool. She was never a bitch to me like Rach and Satan. I was a bitch to her though, after I left NYADA. Why did I do that? I'm like Blaine, I want to make music! He said that one time. He said he wanted to make music and help people. Or was it art? Then he tried to force me to have sex with him. But he was drunk. Blaine's a horny drunk, did you know that? What kind of drunk am I, Elli? I don't think I could get it up now so I'm not a horny drunk. Is this whiskey dick? Is that what they mean? You're really hot, Elli, but I'm limp as a noodle down there right now and—"

The young men who'd been escorting Kurt had abandoned him when Elliott had made his false declaration, and so Elliott was left supporting the dead drunk Kurt and trying to get him into his coat so they could leave. Kurt's babbling was accompanied by gestures which had set him off balance more than once, and Elliott finally just wrapped Kurt's coat around him and practically dragged him out of the frat house.

By the time they'd arrived at Elliott's apartment, Kurt's monologue had meandered from every sexual partner Kurt had had to all the high school friends who had abandoned him, and to how awful everyone was at Parsons, and Kurt was weeping uncontrollably.

Actually having to carry Kurt up the stairs, Elliott was looking forward to Kurt passing out. He had learned more about Kurt's personal life than he'd ever wanted to know in the time it took to get back.

Getting Kurt to drink two glasses of water, Elliott settled him on the sofa on his side with a large wastebasket just below him. Then Elliott finally got to get himself divested of his Starchild clothes and headed to his own rest.

"Oh fuck!" Kurt cried, and Elliott sighed and returned to his friend. Kurt was on all fours by the kitchen counter.

"What's up, buddy?" Elliott asked.

Kurt burst into noisey sobs. "Dad calls me bud! I miss him!"

Sighing, Elliott hauled Kurt to his feet. "Come on. Back to the couch. And stay there this time, Kurt."

"I gotta piss."

Elliott shook his head and changed trajectories.

But Kurt couldn't stay upright, nor could he manage the fly of his typically super tight pants.

Feeling quite put upon, Elliott held Kurt from behind and undid the button and zipper for him. He balked at going any further.

"Come on, Kurt. Do your business so I can get you back to bed."

There was muttering and fumbling and finally Elliott heard the splash in the toilet. Kurt tilted dangerously, and Elliott caught him, ending up with with quite the eyeful of Kurt's junk when he manhandled Kurt back to the sofa and realized Kurt hadn't tucked himself back in.

Damn. That was not what Elliott would have expected from the svelte countertenor. He'd better be a 'show'-er because if he was a 'grow'-er, he'd give porn stars a run for their money.

Shaking himself out of his observation, Elliott peeled Kurt's pants off of him, definitely not wanting to deal with any injury Kurt gave himself with his cock nestled between the metal sides of his zipper.

He rather spitefully left Kurt with his dick hanging over the waistband of his bikini briefs and covered him with a spare sheet before the quilt went on top.

He had plans for the morning.