Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.
"So, what should we do with them?"
Kurt sighed. For the past two days, little else had occupied his and Blaine's late night discussions beyond the ID cards Sebastian had unhelpfully forced on them. For his part, he just wanted to dispose of them as quickly and neatly as possible without arousing any suspicion from either Carole or his dad. Finn would probably blackmail him about the cards for months, but at least he wouldn't impose restrictions on him for not just breaking house rules but breaking the law.
Blaine, on the other hand, was intrigued by the cards. He said that it would be easier and quicker to just go to Scandals, find a nice inconspicuous corner to drop them off in, and then spend the rest of the night back at home safely relieved of the burden. His plan was appealing in some regards: Kurt wanted a simple route out of the responsibility of carrying them. However, it also implied going into a gay bar,and Kurt was fairly certain that that would get him grounded for life if his dad ever found out.
Then again, you and Blaine practically sleep together every night and he doesn't care about that, even though he must know by now, his logical side pointed out.
Sleep together made Kurt's face flush involuntarily, but thankfully the darkness prevented it from showing too much.
"Kurt?" Blaine asked, when a suitable period of silence had passed without response.
Kurt shook his head slightly, fingering the cards in his hand. He had no idea what to do with them, if he was being honest with himself. All of the mundane solutions were too likely to be interrupted by either his dad or Carole. The only method insofar that would actually work was Blaine's suggestion about the gay bar, yet it still entailed illegally going to a gay bar and dropping off fake ID cards.
Rubbing his forehead slightly, Kurt slid the cards underneath his pillow once again. He didn't know what to do with them. He just wanted them gone.
Blaine seemed to sense that he wasn't in the mood to talk about it, draping his arm around Kurt's waist and cuddling up close to him. Kurt huffed a little as he settled himself in, already long past the stages of worrying over whether Kurt's dad would walk in and yell at him for stealing his son's innocence. More educated than Kurt but also a gentleman through and through, Blaine would never harmfully break Kurt's dad's rules. Just productive rule-breaking.
Resting his forehead against the side of Blaine's, Kurt mentally decided that tomorrow he would figure out what to do with the cards, come what may. Tonight, he just wanted to sleep and forget about them, and so that was what he did.
"I can't believe Berry won the part of Maria," Mercedes groused, moodily stabbing a piece of lettuce with her fork. "I mean, I know she has a good voice and everything but does she always have to get allthe leads?"
"I thought you were amazing," Blaine said loftily, biting into an apple. "And I don't care what the judges said, you would make the best Tony ever," he added, nudging Kurt's ribs.
Kurt made a noncommittal sound. "Mmmhmm," he said aloud. "You should just be happy that I like you, Anderson, or our professional relationship would be in crisis mode by now."
Blaine pretended to look wounded. "I thought you supported me auditioning for the production?"
"I did," Kurt said, then let the unspoken until you actually beat me hang in the air.
"Hey," Blaine said, not wanting Kurt to look all distant and almost-moody like Mercedes was. "I'll go talk to the directors right now if this isn't okay. I don't want to be a part of any production if it makes you upset or feel ignored or—"
"You," Kurt said, putting such emphasis on the word Blaine had no choice but to stop speaking and pay attention, "are insufferably sweet."
Blaine paused, blinking.
"You two both rot my teeth out," Mercedes chimed in helpfully, breaking their stare. Kurt's eyes were light and intense, an unusual combination that left much for speculation. Blaine wished he could have taken a photo of them and looked it over for later evaluation, even if he knew there was no way he could put a name to all of the sense of go for it, I love you, this changes nothing there. "Where's Marcus, anyway? At least he doesn't make me feel like I need to floss every ten seconds."
"Sorry, baby girl, I was in line for the tots," Marcus said, sitting down beside her and setting a tray filled with tater tots down. Blaine grinned at Marcus while Kurt shook his head slightly in fond amusement.
"Still obsessed?"
"Hey," Mercedes said, pointing a tot at him importantly before tossing it in her mouth. "You had a boyfriend before I did. You never knew what it was like, watching your beau run around with his new best friend."
Blaine looked at Kurt curiously. The latter had flushed slightly and looked between apologetic and almost embarrassed. "I didn't . . . we were just friends then, 'Cedes. It wasn't like we were boyfriends the day we met."
"Oh, boo, you were in denial so deep I had to start a riot just to get your attention. Do you even remember the time we went to the Breadstix, besides talking with Blaine here?"
Blaine blushed slightly, although he was mercifully able to hide it behind his apple as he took a large bite from it.
Kurt was clearly thinking hard of a response that would not sound like five-year-old logic. "You ordered tater tots," he said at last, with such resounding confidence that it would have been impossible to argue with him.
Mercedes laughed, threw one at him accusingly and ignored his yelp, before settling down to eat the tots more comfortably.
"You ignored my girl?" Marcus said, looking deeply surprised.
Kurt sighed. "I didn't mean to," he said, his tone apologetic. "I just . . . really didn't want to mess things up with you."
"You wouldn't have messed things up with me," Blaine assured softly.
"And there you two go again. Cavity-inducing. That's what you two are."
Kurt laughed. "You sound like Finn," he accused when he had gotten himself back under control.
"Maybe Finn's right," Mercedes said. Kurt cast her a dubious look and she laughed. "All right, all right. I know what you mean, white boy. Young love and all that." She smiled adoringly up at Marcus, who grunted in acknowledgment before smiling back.
Kurt looked at them—Mercedes, who he had once commiserated with over the possibility that they would never find boyfriends, and Marcus, who was pretty much the most laidback comfortable guy at McKinley—and smiled himself. He felt a hand squeeze his own slightly under the table, reminding him that there was a third party present, and gave Blaine's a squeeze in return.
I didn't forget you, he teased silently, chatting with Mercedes almost mindlessly. I just was admiring how far we've come.
"We will be completely responsible," Kurt drawled, doing his best not to think about the fake IDs sitting in his pocket right then. "Don't even worry about us, Dad. I promise to keep Finn away from the matches."
"You didn't even like that scarf," Finn grumbled from the living room, rubbing the back of his neck. "How can you blackmail me about something you didn't even like?"
"You burned one of my scarves," Kurt said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. It honestly needed no further explanation: Finn had been trying to get a nice fire in the fireplace when suddenly Kurt found one of his old scarves partially in flames. From then on Kurt had resolutely put Finn on a matches ban and extended it to include other appliances as need be. For someone who could catch a football under high pressure with two-hundred-pounders coming at him, Finn was terrible at doing anything that required more than three steps.
"Yeah, well, you boys take care of yourselves," Kurt's dad said gruffly, reaching forward and wrapping Kurt in a tight hug. He reciprocated, feeling briefly the pang of loss that he would be stuck in boring Lima, Ohio while his dad and stepmom toured D.C. The moment was gone as soon as he remembered that his dad had not retracted the invitation for Blaine to stay over even while they were gone.
I trust you two, was all he had said when Kurt had approached him at the shop after school on Friday hesitantly asking. He had not wanted to impose too much—his dad had already been generous beyond expectation when it came to letting Kurt and Blaine have relative free reign—but it had still made his heart ache slightly at the thought of Blaine returning to his parents for the six days that his dad and Carole would be gone. Trying to picture Blaine with Emily and Brian was not an easy task, an uncomfortable one at best and downright repulsive one at its core. Kurt hated Blaine's parents' indifference, and he knew that it was destroying Blaine far more effectively than open resistance or hostility would have. Keeping him away from the toxicity was immensely therapeutic for both of them: Blaine could let his shoulders down and relax, and Kurt could rest easy knowing that Blaine was right there and happy.
Still, not knowing whether his dad would agree to Blaine staying at their house while he was going had put Kurt on edge for the two days he had delayed asking him. At last, it was at Blaine's insistence that he would make arrangements with his parents soon that prompted Kurt to try. At worst, his dad would say that Blaine had to leave and Blaine would, and they would both forge through the week somehow. Living with his parents that long wouldn't kill Blaine, but it certainly wouldn't be considered 'progress.' The fact that Kurt's dad had just looked at him for a minute while rubbing his palms on a clean towel before saying gruffly, "He can stay," alleviated more unspoken tension that Kurt could put into words. He would not have to face the next parent-free week alone, then, and the prospect of spending that time with Blaine was admittedly kind of exciting.
They had always restricted themselves to an almost cordial relationship because of the frank possibility that either Kurt's dad or Carole would walk in on them at any moment. Despite Kurt's bravado when he was half-lost in the sensations, one logical portion of his brain remained on high alert, ever wary for that tell-tale knock or gasp that would let him know someone else had seen them lying on the bed together. They weren't scandalous in any regards, but Kurt simply could not feel comfortable doing anything more than maybe letting Blaine stroke his bare stomach a little while knowing that either his parents or his stepbrother would walk in.
Not only did he want to see what it would be like if Blaine let his fingers wander just a little more (and when had Kurt Hummel become this daring, he had no idea), he wanted to reciprocate that as well. He felt almost guilty for how little he had participated in the 'feeling each other up' department. Sometimes he wondered if Blaine ever worried about being unattractive in Kurt's eyes, even though he absolutelywasn't. Kurt knew that he had had his own trepidations at first, wondering if Blaine's caution was actually a sign of discomfort, perhaps even outright dislike. Blaine had quickly remedied that and since then Kurt had had no doubts. But he wanted Blaine to know that it was a two-way street and, for all his complaceny, Kurt was interested, too. Very much so.
It was hard to bring himself back to the present with thoughts of Blaine wandering unhelpfully through his mind, but he managed. It helped that Blaine was out with Mercedes for the night while Kurt said his farewells to half of the Hudson-Hummels. He had originally wanted to go all the way back to Westerville and just meet up with James or Sadie and spend some time with them, but after Kurt assured him that he could come back for the night (and the unpleasant reminder that if he went out to Dalton, it would be a four-hour-drive total to get back) he had opted to spend time with Mercedes instead. Apparently Marcus was having a 'guys' night' with Puck, Mike, and Artie, although what they were doing Kurt didn't know. He also figured it was more wise and less confusing to just not ask.
So Kurt had left Blaine in Mercedes' hands, which probably meant she was either forcing him into outfits at the mall (highly probable: while Mercedes loved Marcus, Marcus wouldn't sit down for long shopping trips, whereas Blaine would) or giving him a facial. Kurt smiled inwardly to himself at the thought of either and made a mental note to laugh with Mercedes about it in private later. (Once he had comforted Blaine for following through with his gentlemanly duties, of course.)
"Bye, sweetie," Carole said, startling him as she wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. "I'll miss you. It'll be strange in D.C. without you to offer advice when I need it."
"My phone's always on," Kurt assured, squeezing her back before letting her go. Finn had already apparently bid his farewells as he lingered behind, looking at Kurt's dad and Carole with an expectant look.
"All right, all right," Kurt's dad said, shaking his head and clapping Finn almost playfully on the shoulder. "We'll get out of your hair. You two be good, okay? Call us if you need anything. My phone's always on, too, and I don't care what time of day it is or who's in trouble, you let me know. Okay?"
Kurt and Finn both nodded.
"Have fun," he said, holding open the door for Carole. It was dark outside—just after six o'clock but, given the fact that it was early November in Ohio, normal—but the pair had booked a late flight, so that was expected. With a last wave as they pulled out of the driveway, Kurt watched with Finn leaning against the doorway beside him as half the Hudson-Hummels drove off down the street.
They exchanged a look. Then Finn crossed his arms, as though he expected Kurt to start laying down ground rules, and lifted an eyebrow expectantly.
"No matches," Kurt said at once, prompting an indignant huff and Finn shutting the door behind them.
"Are you really that obsessed with those?"
"It was my scarf."
"You have like, thirty of those."
"That doesn't make them any less important."
It was almost normal, arguing with Finn while he started pulling out ingredients for cookies for something to do. The only difference was the quiet, a sudden, intense lack of noise that seemed pervasive and everywhere. Kurt suddenly wanted to call Mercedes despite being two hours before the appointed eight o'clock pick-up and demand that Blaine come home. Maybe another voice would make things seem a little less quiet, a little less like half of the world had suddenly vanished.
"You okay, dude?"
Kurt blinked, not having realized how out-of-it he must have looked for Finn to notice. "You look kind of pale. Don't tell me you're missing them already."
"I'm not," Kurt lied, because yes, he did miss them already. He missed that extra background noise. Everything seemed very, very quiet without it, and no matter what Kurt told himself—honestly, if you can't handle this, how are you supposed to go to college next year?—he couldn't help the memories of his dad's heart attack resurfacing. The house had felt the same way then as it did now, with the only exception being Finn's company. Back then, he had been utterly alone. This time, at least, he had someone, and soon enough Blaine would be home and everything would be okay.
Still, he drew in a slightly shuddering breath as he started working on the cookie batter (from scratch, of course). He nearly dropped the bowl on the floor when a firm hand clasped his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We'll be okay," he said, backing away into the living room and turning on the television. Within moments the familiar sounds of Call of Duty drifted into the kitchen and Kurt sighed slightly to himself.
We'll be fine.
Maybe if he just got all this melancholy out of his system now he would be okay for the rest of the week. Letting the moodiness overtake him, he started badly when a pair of warm arms suddenly wrapped around his waist, blinking out of his reverie and lifting his cheek from the palm of his hand.
"You owe me," Blaine murmured before pressing a light, warm kiss to his cheek. And oh, yes, Mercedes had definitely given him a facial because his cheek was even softer and smoother than usual and even though Kurt loved his slight stubble he loved this a lot, too.
"She hardly mistreated you," Kurt said teasingly, lifting a hand to trail across Blaine's cheek. Blaine closed his eyes, smiling slightly, and Kurt pecked his nose. "Why, I would even say she did you a favor."
"Ha," Blaine huffed, stepping aside. "You didn't have to sit through almost three hours of trying on different bow ties to see which one was the most 'me.'" He wrinkled his nose slightly. "I didn't know there was a specific brand that made me more me."
"Poor baby," Kurt cooed, turning the oven off as he pulled the final tray of cookies out. "Absolutely abhorrent, making someone try on bow ties."
"There were forty, Kurt. Forty. I counted," he added.
Chuckling slightly, Kurt led him away from the stove and towards the stairs. "Well, maybe you should consider just finding the right one on your own and telling her you've already found it the next time."
Blaine shuddered dramatically. "There's a next time?"
Shoving his shoulder slightly, Kurt shook his head and smiled at him. "Of course. I like what's she done," he said, cupping Blaine's face in his hands meaningfully.
Blaine pouted. "That has nothing to do with bow ties," he pointed out.
"How would you know?" Kurt countered, kissing him before he could retort.
"Oooh, we shouldn't be doing this," Kurt said, darting over to Blaine's side of the car the moment the ignition was off.
"We're just going to go in, drop off the cards somewhere, then leave," Blaine said, striding confidently ahead. "Come on. It'll be over before you know it."
Kurt was less certain, but he trusted Blaine and had decided that this was the quickest way of getting rid of the ID cards without alerting his dad or Carole. Granted, it would still mean venturing into a gay bar in the first place, a thought that made Kurt's heart race with anticipation, but at least he would only have to spend as long in the bar as it took to find a good hiding spot to ditch the cards at. A trash can would work just as well as a secluded corner, and once he found them he wouldn't have to worry about them or gay bars anymore.
Walking briskly beside Blaine, staring at the ID in his hand, Kurt shook his head to himself. "I don't know about this," he said doubtfully, while Blaine rolled his eyes and nudged him forward, holding the door.
"It'll be fine," he assured.
The first thing Kurt noticed about the bar was the pool table located conspicuously at the door. Four burly men were surrounding it, apparently in the midst of a just-begun game, while several others roamed freely nearby. There were women interspersed, too, although mostly Kurt's attention was stolen by the fact that a few dazed-looking couples were arm-in-arm and, in one bold pair's case, nuzzling each other's necks on a nearby bench.
"I can't believe we're in here," Kurt hissed under his breath to Blaine, who simply nudged him in the ribs until he passed over his ID to a morose-looking guy sitting on a stool. He knew that he looked nothing like the 'Chaz Donaldsworth' on his card, but his bubbly stage personality chose that moment to make an appearance. "Aloha!" he chirped, while Blaine looked down slightly and waited.
Aloha? Seriously? Sober up, Kurt, you haven't even had anything to drink.
And he had no intention of doing so, despite the fact that the bar was right there and the guy on the stool had let them through with a gloomy 'enjoy. It's drag queen Wednesday.'
Oh. Charming, Kurt thought, speculating on some of the more eccentric characters' identities aloud for the sake of trying not to look completely like an inexperienced ten-year-old. Even with Blaine beside him, he still felt out of place at the bar, way out of his league and completely lost. The heavy, almost musky scent around them was not helping matters, either, despite Blaine's comment that it was 'hardly scandalous.'
It didn't need to be scandalous—they were at a gay bar. That was plenty scandalous for Kurt's Broadwaysy mind.
"Relax," Blaine murmured, noticing his discomfort and putting a soothing hand on his shoulder.
Kurt harrumphed. "How am I supposed to relax?"
Blaine tossed him a grin that made his eyes narrow almost wickedly before saying, "I could get you a drink."
Rolling his eyes to show him what he thought of that, Kurt gave him a slight shove. "You look over there, I'll look over here," he said dryly. "Meet at the bar in five. Then we're back home and I'm going to wash all of this—" he made an airy gesture at the bar as a whole "—off of me."
"Okay," Blaine agreed, grinning at him still in that mischievous way before turning and strolling off. Kurt frowned at his back, wondering what he had in mind, before shaking his head and hesitantly venturing forward.
Trash can. Trash can. That's all I need.
Scanning the ground hopefully, he bumped into at least four people, including Tina Turner, who cast him a look that clearly said, Watch where you're going, elf. Kurt shimmied around a couple of sweatier gentlemen and finally found the far wall. There were no trash cans in sight, however, and all of the corners currently seemed occupied by couples. Doing his best to amble with purpose, Kurt walked along the wall, nearly leaping out of his skin in surprise when he bumped into a familiar figure.
"Karofsky?" he asked, stunned, while the latter whirled around to face him.
Karofsky's eyes narrowed briefly as he opened his mouth before shaking his head. "Say anything, Hummel," he warned, his cap almost low over his eyes. "I'm not here to gain any publicity back at school."
"I'm not going to say anything," Kurt pointed out, slightly exasperated. "If anything, I'm trying to protect it."
Karofsky cast him a wary look, seeming deeply uneasy that he had caught Kurt there. "Yeah, well, you better not," he said gruffly at last. "Or I'll let everyone know you were at a gay bar," he added, smirking as though this resolved all problems.
"Right, as though I couldn't just turn that on you and say that you were at the same bar," Kurt pointed out, sidestepping as a drunken man swaggered into him before wandering back off. He grimaced in distaste as he gave Karofsky one last look before shaking his head. "Just know that I'm not your enemy, Karofsky. We're trying to help you."
Karofsky made a face. "We?"
"You know—Santana, Blaine, and I."
Comprehension dawned on Karofsky's face but he still rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever," he said, shrugging it off. "Enjoy your time—I'd keep a closer eye on your boyfriend if I were you," he added.
Kurt frowned and turned around, striding carefully through the crowd of mostly drunk people, including a few very drunk people that tried to shimmy up to him as he passed. He yelped and hurried past them until at last he was sitting on a stool at the bar, heart pounding once more.
"One shirley temple," the bartender said.
"Oh, no, I don't want—" Kurt began.
"Already paid for," the bartender said with a shrug. "Some guy came in already."
Frowning, wondering who had done that, Kurt scowled at the beverage before reluctantly accepting it in hand. At least if he wouldn't drink it, he would pretend to be interested. That might make him feel a little less like a virgin in a crowd of Santanas.
Oh stop. They're not all having sex. That's so stereotypical.
Then: This is a bar. Of course they are.
Looking around anxiously for Blaine, not wanting to leave the drink behind in case he stupidly forgot and then took a sip of some spiked version later, he frowned as the general dim lighting yielded no results. He half-considered just taking his drink with him and searching before discarding that as soon as he saw one of the really drunk guys bump into another guy hard enough to nearly topple them both. The last thing Kurt wanted was to ruin his night by getting shirley temple all over himself. Nothing quite like having to explain that one to Finn when they got back.
"Blaine, where are you?" he muttered under his breath, pretending to take a sip of the shirley temple.
"Hi," an all-too-familiar voice said, and despite his best efforts Kurt started hard enough to spill a little bit of the shirley temple over his hand.
Whirling around, he scowled deeply at the grinning Sebastian, shaking his head. "You," he said, putting as much venom and distaste into his voice as possible. "What do you think—"
"I'm glad you liked the drink. I figured that since you're the designated driver you'd be better off with something a little more lightweight." Tossing back a quaff of his beer bottle, Sebastian smirked at Kurt as he set it down. "Where's your boy, anyway? He get lost?"
"What did you do?" Kurt growled, gripping his fingers so tightly around the glass he briefly worried about shattering it.
Sebastian laughed, sliding smoothly out of reach as he glided to his feet. "What, you didn't think I'd be above lacing his water a little, would you?"
"You're kidding."
"Nope. Your boy's a lightweight. Had the bartender put in an order, gave it a little extra punch, and he ate it right up. Just like you did," he added, nodding at the shirley temple in Kurt's hand. "Although, I didn't put anything in yours. Figured your delicate system wouldn't be able to take it." He vanished into the crowd before Kurt could protest that his delicate heel would still make a fine memento driven into Sebastian's groin. Following him as quickly as he could without touching anyone was difficult. People kept swaying and moving and just generally making things impossible to keep straight. The low lighting didn't help, either.
You're out of your league, a small voice taunted in the back of his mind.
How could Blaine be so stupid to accept a drink? Kurt retorted, shaking his head to himself. Then again, he had accepted the drink rather unthinkingly as well, although he hadn't gone so far to drink it. He would definitely have to have a nice long talk with Blaine later about the importance of not accepting drinks from strangers (assuming that he could convince Blaine that he had not done the same, of course. There was no fun being a hypocrite when the other person knew he was a hypocrite). Especially strangers at a gay bar.
You shouldn't have left him alone, Kurt chided himself.
"Your boyfriend's over there," a gruff voice pointed out. Kurt looked up, blinked at Karofsky, then whirled around where he was pointing. "I'd keep an eye out, if I were you."
Kurt frowned at first, confused, then scowled as he spotted Blaine.
There was Blaine, all right. Clearly tipsy, if not completely drunk. And there was Sebastian, dancing with him as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Of course, at a gay bar, no one would contest whether Sebastian was actually Blaine's (hard-won, devoted, loving) boyfriend or just some (horrible, evil, manipulative) jerk he had just met. Either way, Blaine didn't seem to mind. He was grinning so broadly he was almost laughing. Even though his movements were mostly steady, Kurt mentally re-evaluated his sobriety and pegged it a few notches lower than his first evaluation as he noticed the complete unconcern he expressed around Sebastian.
"Nice that you could join the party," Sebastian said while Kurt stormed over. He had to literally pry Blaine off Sebastian, wrapping his arms around his waist and tugging.
Blaine, misinterpreting the gesture, tugged forward briefly as though he would break free and go back to dance with Sebastian before enthusiastically—if sloppily—grinding back against Kurt.
Oh. Oh. Well then.
Kurt grabbed his hips to still him, blushing to his hairline, and did his best to push him away without actually knocking him to the floor. He partially succeeded: Blaine staggered aside, bumped back into Sebastian, and promptly resumed dancing front-to-front with him. He seemed either completely unaware or completely unconcerned that his dance partner was a cold-hearted bastard.
Sebastian grinned at Kurt over Blaine's shoulder, such a clear Bring it on invitation that Kurt decided that if he was going to sneak into a gay bar with his boyfriend, he was going to get him away from the jerk that had spiked his water. (With what, Kurt didn't know. It had to have been pretty potent, because there was no way sober Blaine would be within ten feet of Sebastian unless it was to reach a wary compromise. 'Compromising' that did not include grinding.)
Sashaying forward, Kurt slid neatly between Blaine and Sebastian, shimmying Blaine back to put distance between Sebastian and them. Sebastian circled, grinning with all his teeth, and managed to briefly distract Blaine by sidling up close to him, unconcerned with politeness that Blaine already had a dance partner, thank you very much. Kurt twirled Blaine once, forcing his attention back, and threw a look over his shoulder at Sebastian that said Bitch, please more clearly than if he had spelled it out in permanent marker. Then he snapped neatly back into place, his attention re-orienting on his boyfriend as he did so. Blaine was just bobbing his head along and half-smiling, his eyes alight and distinctly glazed.
Sebastian stayed near, his body rocking in time to the music, and Kurt did his best to ignore him while trying to nudge Blaine towards the exit.
"Come on," he urged, while Blaine grinned goofily at him and just continued his sloppy dance. "Did you at least get rid of the card?" Kurt asked belatedly.
"Of course he did," Sebastian answered, smirking while Kurt ignored him.
Noticing that Blaine's hands were empty and hoping that he hadn't thought to put it in his pocket, Kurt guided him a little more firmly towards the exit, at last managing to plant his hands on Blaine's waist in a way that he was guiding him forward without Blaine trying to turn around and dance with him. Blaine pouted about it, even digging in his heels slightly when it became clear that Kurt was steering them towards the door but eventually relenting with an almost boneless sigh.
"You're hopeless," Kurt said, wrapping a firm arm underneath his.
"'M not," Blaine grumbled, swaying slightly as he walked. "Man, I just . . . I just wanna live here. I wanna live here and make art. Make art and help people."
"Well, you could certainly light fires with your breath," Kurt said, laughing slightly in spite of himself. There was something about drunk Blaine that was—he had to admit it but he couldn't help himself—endearing. Even the way he stumbled slightly as he walked and leaned into Kurt was cute. Doing his best to keep his thoughts firmly focused, Kurt opened the back door to the car one-handed.
"All right, B, you just lie down and focus on not vomiting," Kurt said, prodding him towards the door. Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist instead, leaning against him and tilting his head towards Kurt's neck.
"Kiss me," he urged softly.
"No, come on," Kurt said, rolling his eyes and giving him a slightly harder nudge towards the open door.
"Kiss me, come on," Blaine repeated, leaning forward while Kurt tilted his head back.
"No, no, no. In you go. Don't you dare vomit on my floor," he added, just in case Blaine had forgotten.
Blaine sighed. "All right, all right," he mumbled, shimmying back into the car awkwardly. He was clearly still out of it, bumping into the back seat before managing to get horizontal.
Then he yanked Kurt in after him, working his way insistently up Kurt's neck with kisses, his hands flustered and frantic as they pawed at Kurt's torso. "No, Blaine, no, Blaine, stop it," he warned, trying to grab Blaine's wandering hands as he turned his head away from the quick, desperate kisses.
"Ooh! Cold hands, cold hands," he squeaked, Blaine's icy fingers resting briefly on his bare stomach as he jerked upward. "Blaine, Blaine! Stop it!"
"Come on, Kurt, just—just let go. I-I want you. I want you so much. I just—mmm," he said, trying to tug Kurt down.
"No, Blaine, no, come on, stop it," Kurt said sternly, pushing back up.
"Hey, hey, listen, I know—I know you wanted this to be really special, but it doesn' matter where we are. It's about us. Just us. So why not—" he trailed off, gripping Kurt's hips insistently as he planted sloppy kisses against Kurt's cheeks, trying to reach his mouth.
"Right, it's about us," Kurt snapped, pulling away forcefully and breaking Blaine's drunken grasp as he jerked out of the car.
Blaine looked at him with furrowed brows and hurt, angry, embarrassed eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked, sounding deeply confused and accusatory at once.
"What's wrong is that I don't want to be intimate with someone who's not even sober enough to remember it in the morning!"
Blaine blinked at him, frown deepening. "You wanted this," he accused.
"I wanted this to mean something," Kurt retorted heatedly. "But you just spent half the night dancing with Sebastian. We weren't even supposed to stay, Blaine, but because you were stupid enough to take a drink from a stranger at a gay bar and now just tried to molest me—" His voice was rising in pitch without his permission as his agitation crept up. Blaine looked a mixture of enraged and remorseful, an interesting combination on any person.
"I asked you," he pointed out in a low voice.
"Oh, so if I just tried to rip off your clothes and have sex with you in the back of a car while I was drunk it would be okay as long as I asked?"
Blaine pushed his way upright, swaying dangerously before staggering off. "What are you doing?" Kurt demanded, angry and frustrated and a little bit terrified that this wasn't just an argument over Karofsky, this was an argument about them.
Blaine tossed him a single cold look over his shoulder. "I'm sorry for trying to be spontaneous and fun!" he said, storming off. It amazed Kurt that he could stay upright, let alone move as quickly as he was.
"And where do you think you're going?" Kurt called after him.
"Home," Blaine snarled back.
Kurt looked at his vanishing back in disbelief, agitated and frustrated and flustered beyond belief. "Blaine!" he called, hoping that if he could just convince Blaine to come back and talk to him, or at least shout it out, things would be okay.
Blaine just kept walking.
Turning in a circle unconsciously, looking for something that would make things better, Kurt sighed and shut the back door firmly, climbing into the driver's seat after a moment.
He shivered slightly as he looked over his shoulder at the empty back seat. He could still hear Blaine's almost frantic pleads in his ear, an unpleasant reminder that he had talked about going . . . further with Blaine and shown 'interest' tonight. It didn't matter that he had no intention to be intimate with anyone tonight: Blaine had mistaken his eagerness to dance and his own intoxication as permission. Granted, he had still had one shred of rationality left that still insisted he ask, but compared to the overwhelming force of his questing hands, it was a feeble argument.
Kurt put his head in his hands and just sat at the wheel for a long time. Blaine had made him feel trapped and claustrophobic and uncomfortable in the car, exactly what he didn't want if he wanted to be intimate with anyone. He had subsituted physical closeness for actual intimacy and, in the haze of his own inebriation, mistaken the two for the same. It made Kurt shudder again, such a sharp, unpleasant contrast to the sweet and slow Blaine Kurt had come to know. He wanted to be outright angry at him—he had crossed lines, and those were important to Kurt, no matter how attractive or nice Blaine was—but he couldn't hold back a feeling of regret.
Was I sending the wrong signals? he wondered. Did I act too desperate? Make it seem like we could just throw everything to the wind and do it?
They had been practically inseparable since Kurt's dad and Carole left, yes. Even more so than usual, at any rate, which was quite a feat. Kurt had become a little more adventurous, telling Blaine that he wouldn't mind exchanging their 'hands visas' for more 'permissive' editions in the future. Blaine's face as he looked at Kurt then had been so filled with different emotions that Kurt found it difficult to pick out even the predominant ones. Want and love were foremost, as well as concern and uncertainty.
Are you sure this is what you want?
This isn't what I wanted. Not at all, Kurt thought, wishing the steering wheel wasn't in the way so he could simply huddle in on himself and forget the fact that tonight had gone so horribly. He didn't know if he was more to blame or Blaine: obviously, Blaine had overstepped the boundaries, and yet he had been the one to practically goad him to it with near constant discussion about what it would be like if they just kept going further rather than holding back deliberately. Kurt knew Blaine wanted it, no matter how polite he acted, and once he tapped into that sheer stark area of want in him he knew it wasn't fair—especially when he was drunk—to expect him to form a coherent argument against it. Maybe dancing with him had gotten him away from Sebastian, but it had also definitely sent some signals in Blaine's direction Kurt hadn't meant to give.
Let's break the rules. We're having fun at a gay bar together. Why not be a little more adventurous tonight?
Kurt doubted that it was anywhere near as cohesive in Blaine's mind, but he suspected a more primal radar was definitely picking up the signals and his mind had just set aside the more 'normal' protests and, well, gone for it.
Groaning, rubbing his temples with his fingertips and turning the key in the ignition at last, Kurt sighed as he waited for the car to warm up. He hated feeling so out of sorts, almost shaky with indecision, his throat choked. Part of him was furious at Blaine. That part wanted to simply bury his face in a pillow and scream until he couldn't anymore. The other part was guilty. He had led Blaine on and just expected drunk, practically incoherent Blaine to make logical decisions in the face of temptation.
We're boyfriends. We've talked about it. My parents aren't around and his don't care. Of course he would connect the dots now.
Feeling disconsolate, Kurt waited until the last of the bitter November night air had been chased out by the heat, at last turning the dial down a couple notches to a more normal level.
Blaine's touches had been freezing, completely uncharacteristic of him. Of course, Kurt and Blaine had been walking to the car in less-than-wintry gear, and Blaine's hands were exposed to the cold air just like the rest of him. Still, it had startled Kurt when his chilly fingers brushed against his stomach, icy and eager, so unlike they're usual gentle warmth.
I don't want to do this with you. Not here, not now.
Putting the car into park, Kurt pulled out of the parking lot. He had failed just as bad as Blaine at this by not setting the boundaries clearly. Blaine's drunk mind was his subconscious more than anything: exaggerated and uncensored, perhaps, but still his basic instincts. He wanted Kurt, and beneath groping hands and a hot, desperate mouth was a pleading conviction to convince Kurt to agree. He wantedKurt to agree, even if his body was already moving two steps ahead of him.
He's drunk.
He's alone.
It's really cold out.
Then: Shit.
Kurt had no idea which direction he had wandered off, but he thought he had seen a shadow heading west, so he started driving that way.