Little does Kurt know, by the time the party rolls around on Saturday night, the best night of his life has the potential to turn into the most disastrous night of his life.

Mercedes wakes him with a phone call early that morning, imparting awful news: she officially has the flu and will, in fact, not be able to attend the party that night. His stomach clenches nervously, already worried about showing up without a friend at his side. She apologizes through a coughing fit, and Kurt reluctantly hangs up the phone.

How is he supposed to do this without his best friend?

Kurt sits on the edge of his bed for the better part of half an hour, debating on whether to just bite the bullet and go or to stay at home and watch Ice Road Truckers with his dad. His choices make him sound - and feel - too pathetic. He doesn't want to be pathetic. He just wants one night out with the popular kids, one night of listening to crappy music and dancing drunkenly with people his own age so that he can say he's had the experience.

And maybe he'll get a few extra minutes with Blaine.

He sighs, internally cringing and berating himself for falling for a straight guy, wondering how his life has come to this.

By the time eight o'clock rolls around, Kurt still has his ass plastered to the sofa, where he's been all day, content to feel sorry for himself for just a little while.

            "Aren't you gonna get ready?" his dad asks, sinking into the opposite end of the couch.

            "I don't think I'm gonna go," Kurt says, hanging his head.

            "Why not?" his dad wonders. "Finn's going, right? Even if Mercedes can't be there, you can still pal around with him."

Kurt wishes he could tell his dad exactly how much time he does not spend with his brother outside of their house, but he doesn't want to break his dad's heart. Brothers are supposed to look out for each other. Brothers are supposed to be that kind of silent support, even if they don't always show it at first. Finn just isn't that. Sure, Kurt loves him for being such a big dope all the time and they've come a long way since freshman year, but they're still not at ‘pal' level.

            "I don't know," Kurt mumbles. "It's just going to be a bunch of people acting like idiots. Not really my crowd."

            "But you were so excited to go. You bought that new top and those boots, right? This is your chance to wear ‘em."

Kurt just shrugs in return.

            "Would you stop looking like that?" his dad begs. "You're staring into that bowl of ice cream like it was your best friend and you just ate it and now you're feeling sorry for the both of you. Go get ready. Go out. Have some fun."

            "Nobody wants me there, dad."

            "Blaine does, doesn't he? He's the one that invited you, right?"

            "I think he just did it to be nice."

            "Maybe he wants you to get out more."

            "Gee, thanks."

            "Listen, kid," his dad sighs, "I love you to death. But you've been more mopey than usual this week and I hate seeing you like this. I know parties aren't really your thing, but you never know. You could have fun. Just - you know, don't drink and drive."

            "Oh, so it's okay for me to drink now?" Kurt drawls.

            "I think you might feel a little more grown up and a little more included if you rebel with a beer or two for one night," Burt clarifies. "I'm not saying you should go get falling down drunk, but I'm not an idiot. Teenagers got their ways of getting booze. Just don't leave the house if you decide to drink or have someone drive you home. Parties are a rite of passage. I'll let you have this one if your promise not be stupid about it."

And so, because his dad is being so damn cool about this, he finally unglues himself from the sofa and heads upstairs to shower and get ready.

When he glances at his phone half an hour later to see that Blaine has sent him a text message, inquiring whether or not he was still planning on showing up, Kurt texts back that yes, he is, and feels a little better about himself as he dons his new shirt.

This is a monumentally stupid idea, Kurt decides a few hours later. He never thought he'd feel out of place in a room filled with people that he sees every single day, most of them in Glee, but he does. He really, truly does. The music is too loud, everyone seems to be screaming for some reason, and Blaine has only acknowledged his presence exactly once - when he walked inside and Blaine led him down to the basement. He feels overdressed in his new red shirt and ass-kicking boots. The beer tastes awful. And everyone is having a great time except for him.

Currently, he's sitting on a piano bench watching Blaine and Rachel drunkenly stumble their way through ‘Don't You Want Me' on the conveniently placed stage, all the while making heart eyes at each other and groping at whatever limb they can reach. He stares openly at them, wondering how people could possibly cheer them on.

            "You need a shot."

Kurt's state of confusion is cut short by Santana Lopez looming over him with something that looks suspiciously dangerous in a shot glass.

            "Why do you think that?"

            "Because you're sitting there like some sad, lost puppy, and frankly, it's exhausting to watch. So please, do us bother a favor and drink this. I even snagged the fruity kind. Just for you."

            "I don't know whether to be touched by the sentiment or offended by your obvious dig at my sexuality."

            "It can be both, for all I care. Just take the damn shot."

            "I really don't feel like getting sloshed tonight."

            "You won't get sloshed off of one shot, Hummel."

            "...You're sure?" he asks timidly, eyeing the drink and Santana before looking around to make sure that no one is paying him any mind.

Santana's gaze softens, but only for a split second.

            "I promise," she says, and Kurt thinks it's probably the nicest thing she's ever done for him.

He takes the drink, turning his nose up when he takes a sniff. It's straight liquor, he notes, but there is a vague hint of strawberry or watermelon laced into it.

            "Do I just-"

            "Down the hatch," she says with a nod.

Kurt takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and tosses the shot back with as much grace as he can muster - which turns out not to be much at all. Some of it dribbles down his chin and he wipes it away quickly before finally taking a breath. The taste is too heavy and strong on his tongue, making him want to gag, but the hint of fruit - watermelon, he decides - helps him more than he had expected.

            "Now get your bony ass off of that bench and dance with us," she demands, taking the shot glass from one of his hands and twisting the beer he'd been nursing from the other.

            "But I can't dance like that!" he squeaks when she tugs him to his feet.

            "Au contraire, my little gay. I've seen you move your hips plenty of times in Glee so you can't pull that card with me."

            "But I don't-"

            "Do you want to sit in the corner all night and have absolutely no fun?" she asks. "Or do you want to man up and look like an idiot with the rest of us?"

Kurt allows himself the opportunity to glance around at the throng of people currently dancing in the middle of the floor. She's right; they do look like idiots. But they look like idiots together and it doesn't seem like anyone really cares about form when all they're doing is grinding on someone or jumping up and down.

Except for Puck, who's walking around and squawking like a chicken.

Kurt snorts loudly at the sight.

            "I guess I'll take my dose of idiocy," he relents.

            "Good," Santana says. "Dance with me."

So he does. Kurt dances as best as he can, letting the warmth of the scant bit of alcohol he's imbibed warm him and loosen his limbs. He's not drunk, not really. He barely even feels a buzz, but he has to admit that the shot Santana had forced upon him has helped a great deal. It's not even dancing, he realizes; it's just moving to a beat and occasionally holding his arms over his head. He seems to be doing well, because Santana laughs with him and takes him for a twirl.

But then Blaine is there.

            "Kurt!" he shouts over the music. "I'm glad you came!"

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes and biting his tongue because he wants to say, "It's been an hour and you've barely said five words to me," Kurt just smiles in return.

            "Where's Rachel?" Kurt asks.

            "Finding an empty bottle and something flat," Blaine explains. "It's almost time for spin the bottle!"

            "Oh," Kurt says, his excitement immediately deflating. "I should probably go sit down. Or maybe I should leave."

            "What? No! Why?"

            "Because I - I can't play spin the bottle with everyone," Kurt states.

            "And why the hell not?" Santana asks at his side, already looking like she's ready to handcuff him to a chair in order to keep him from leaving.

            "Because no one is going to want to play spin the bottle with a queer."

            "Don't say that," Blaine says at once, taking Kurt by the wrist and dragging him away from the dancing group. "Nobody here cares that you're gay."

            "Some just might," Kurt says with a pointed look to the couch where a few football players in letterman jackets and a couple of boyfriend-lacking Cheerios are making out. They're the only people that Kurt doesn't really know here, and he doesn't have the safety net of Glee beneath his feet when it comes to interacting with them. Blaine's right about his teammates not caring, but those people - the ones whose names he doesn't even remember - they will care. And Kurt doesn't want to set himself up for that kind of pain.

            "Well they sure as shit won't say anything about it," Santana declares. "Because if they do, I'll have them on their asses in about ten seconds flat."

            "I won't let them say anything to you," Blaine adds. "I invited you here and this is my girlfriend's party. And considering my girlfriend has two gay dads, I doubt she'll put up with any homophobic crap they might decide to spew. You know Rachel. She'll kick them out if they even try it."

Kurt looks from Blaine's hopeful face to Santana's bitch glare and, quite quickly, he realizes that he has absolutely no choice in this.

            "Okay," he finally says. "I'll play."

Blaine thumps him on the back and grins broadly.

            "Yes!" he exclaims, just as Rachel shouts that she's found a suitable surface on which to spin the bottle.

            "Spin the bottle!" she hollers. "Who wants to play spin the bottle?"

Literally everyone gathers around the tiny chessboard she's found and settles in for the game. Blaine pushes Kurt down at his feet and Santana is sure to seat herself at Kurt's side.

            "Doesn't matter who spins who," Blaine says to the crowd. "Boys, girls, it's up to fate. No cheating and no copping out."

            "We're equal opportunity kissers here," Rachel agrees with a nod to Kurt before she turns her stern gaze onto everyone else. "And if you don't like it, feel free to get out of my gay dads' house."

There are a few rumbles from the football players that Kurt doesn't know, and he's not surprised to see them stand up and leave the basement entirely. They appear to drag the Cheerios out as well, but only the ones whose names slip Kurt's mind, though the girls are sure to shoot Rachel a pitifully desperate look.

            "Just as well," she decides before taking a sip of her drink.

            "Dude, if I'd known you wanted to get your man mack on, you could've just said," Puck jeers at Blaine. "I'm totally equal opportunity when it comes to mouths."

            "Oh, fuck off, Puckerman," Blaine tosses back, though he does laugh and joins them all on the floor.

It's just members of the Glee club now, for which Kurt is eternally grateful. He feels kind of bad that some of Rachel's guests left just because they were too scared the bottle might land on him, but he senses a bit of solidarity and remembers that they are all part of the same team, even if they're not all exactly friends. It makes him feel warm inside the way the alcohol doesn't.

Plus, Blaine's knee is nestled right against Kurt's where he has apparently decided to sit - in between Kurt and Rachel.

            "I'm so starting us off," Puck announces as he reaches into the center and spins.

Kurt watches anxiously as the bottle slows. For one, horrifying second, he thinks it might very well land on him. And while Puck seems to be up for making out with absolutely anybody, Kurt kind of hopes that some higher power won't let his first kiss be Noah Puckerman, of all people.

It lands on Santana. Kurt releases a soft breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

            "Get over here, girl!" Puck calls happily, waving Santana over with his hand.

She rolls her eyes - that seems to be Santana's natural reaction to everything - and leans over the circle to lock lips with Puck. Her dress is super short, Kurt notices, and he quickly averts his eyes to avoid catching a glimpse of her panties.

Or, god forbid, worse.

When Santana crawls back to her place, Puck raises his hands over his head and begins to nod along with the music, like he just scored a touchdown on the football field.

Santana spins next and -

No.

Oh, no, Kurt thinks miserably to himself.

It hands directly on him.

            "Only a matter of time," Santana sighs, though she does give him a slight wink before leaning in and pressing her lips to his.

It's not entirely uncomfortable, Kurt realizes at first. She, thankfully, didn't give him too much time to over-think the situation. Her lips are soft and when she darts her tongue into Kurt's mouth, she tastes like some kind of fruity lip gloss. Kurt, being the inexperienced kisser that he so woefully is, can do nothing but mirror her actions. It feels very clinical, like maybe she's give him some weird, too-wet dental exam, and the whole experience sparks literally nothing inside of him.

When she pulls away, Kurt feels a little underwhelmed.

Is that what kissing is supposed to feel like? Sure, she's a girl - that fact hasn't escaped Kurt's notice. But he figured he might feel something from it all considering he's never had another person's tongue in his mouth.

All in all, though, it just seems a bit anticlimactic. Also, the fact that his first kiss hadn't been with a guy is disheartening. Maybe he can just...not count it. Can he do that? Can he not count a kiss with a girl as his first one because he's gay? Well, he'll just have to, Kurt decides.

Santana grins devilishly at him, and Kurt attempts to smile back. He's knows it must look forced.

            "Your turn," she says, the words coming out a bit too sing-song for his liking.

He spins the bottle with the least amount of hesitation he can conjure, and watches nervously as the bottle spins and slows.

And lands on Finn.

            "Do-over!" Finn shouts at once.

            "Whoa," Puck cuts in, "what happened to equal opportunity kissing?"

            "Dude, he's my brother!" Finn squawks.

            "Yeah, but he's not your real brother," Puck says with a twisted smile. "So technically-"

            "Kurt can spin again," Blaine declares. "Family kills the spin."

Silently sending Blaine a huge thank you with his eyes, Kurt spins the bottle once more, glad to have avoided that particular train wreck. He watches the bottle with even more apprehension this time around, knowing that there is obviously no higher power at play tonight and he's pretty much resigned to an evening of kissing a bunch of girls he has no interest in.

The bottle stops.

Everyone in the circle proceeds to whoop and holler as loudly as possible, thought Rachel is probably the loudest of the bunch.

Holy. Hell.

There is no possible way this is happening to him.

The bottle points directly at Blaine. There's no room for misinterpretation during this round.

Kurt's breathing increases in speed, as does his pulse, and he does his very best not to blush and he hopes that, if he does, he can just blame it on the alcohol in his system.

Blaine smiles.

            "Come here, you," Blaine says softly, his voice almost drowned out by everyone else's cheering.

He slips one hand around the back of Kurt's neck, his thumb brushing against Kurt's jaw as he goes. Kurt sucks in a sharp breath as Blaine leans in and then - oh, and then:

Blaine's lips are on his, all soft and warm and pliant and perfect. Kurt can't breathe. All he can do is unfreeze after the shock passes and kiss back, Blaine's breath so hot on his mouth that Kurt feels like he might be on fire. Lips drag against lips with just enough pressure to drive Kurt absolutely mad with desire, and when Blaine's slides his tongue along the seam of Kurt's mouth, as if asking for entrance, Kurt is one hundred and ten percent positive he can die a happy boy. He parts his lips in kind, allowing Blaine's tongue to slip and slide against his own and dear god he tastes like pure heaven.

Kurt had been wrong, so very wrong: kissing isn't boring at all.

Kissing is amazing when it's with Blaine. Damn, this boy knows how to kiss, he realizes, the thought barely passing through the mush that is now apparently Kurt's brain.

He hears a soft whimper and immediately knows that it comes from him, unbidden, because that's when Blaine pulls away.

Kurt remains adrift in a sea of heat and taste and the scent of Blaine's cologne. The hand at the back of his neck slides away slowly, dragging over his jaw and down his shoulder until it's gone entirely.

And that's when Kurt wants to cry because he knows that's all he'll ever get from Blaine Anderson - a single kiss surrounded by a bunch of drunk teenagers who don't care that he's just had his first real kiss with a boy he really likes; a single kiss with a boy who sees him as nothing more than a distant friend; a single kiss with a boy who is as straight as they come, who won't ever give him the time of day ever again.

Kurt feels crushed.

He bites the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from sobbing at the hopelessness of it all, and that's when he realizes that Blaine has been staring at him ever since he pulled away.

Kurt thinks he can see pity in Blaine's eyes. And it cuts through both his heart and soul like a finely sharpened ice pick.

The game continues with nary a thought to Kurt and Blaine's kiss. When Blaine spins the bottle, it lands on Rachel, and things seem to return to normal. For whatever reason, there are no more boy on boy kisses and Kurt thinks that the universe either pities him or adores him, he just can't decide which. Eventually, the board and the bottle are pushed away and they all return to dancing. Kurt returns to his vigil on the piano bench, content to watch the festivities from afar while nursing his same beer until midnight.

The party winds down sometime around two in the morning. Finn, who had apparently declared himself the designated driver earlier in the evening, drives almost everyone home - except for Puck, who is passed out on the basement floor with his legs duct-taped together.

Kurt doesn't know if Finn forgot about him or if he purposefully left without Kurt in tow. He stares out the front window, feeling properly abandoned.

            "Where's Finn?" Blaine asks after he bounds back down the stairs.

            "I guess he thought I was okay to drive," Kurt tells him. "I stopped drinking hours ago."

            "Ah," Blaine says shortly. "Well, you're totally welcome to stay here. The couch is nice and cozy."

            "I should probably just go home," Kurt sighs.

            "You don't drink much, right?" Blaine wonders, and Kurt shakes his head in answer. "Then just stay here. Better to be safe than sorry."

            "Yeah," Kurt says, dropping onto the edge of the sofa. "Thanks."

Blaine nods, falling silent as Kurt stares at the floor. He doesn't really know what to say.

            "Rachel passed out the moment she fell into her bed," Blaine supplies, seating himself next to Kurt. "She probably won't wake up until like, noon or something."

            "You don't seem too trashed," Kurt notices.

            "I pace myself," Blaine says with a shrug. "And I know when to stop. Unlike some people on the basement floor right now."

            "Yeah," Kurt replies with a soft bit of laughter. "Puck's going to regret that tequila."

            "Puck tries not to regret anything," Blaine reminds.

They fall quiet again, and this time Kurt takes the chance to slide off his boots that absolutely no one even noticed despite the amount of money he dropped on them. When he sits back up, Blaine's still there, hands fidgeting in his lap, and Kurt just wants to slap him for being so damn adorable because it isn't fair anymore. Now he knows what Blaine tastes like. Now he knows what it feels like to kiss such perfect, pouty lips. And Blaine's presence has the ability to torture even more than it did a few hours ago.

            "So," Blaine says, turning to Kurt with a smile on his lips and a glimmer in his eyes. "First kiss tonight, huh?"

            "Oh, god," Kurt groans in misery, dropping his head in his hands. "Was it really that obvious? I'm so sorry you had to endure that."

            "No, no!" Blaine exclaims. "No, it wasn't obvious, actually. The only way I could even tell was by how you, um, just sort of froze up there in the beginning, like you didn't know what to do after the whole lip touching thing."

            "I'd just kissed Santana like, two minutes before," Kurt reminds. "I should've been able to pick up something from that."

            "But she's a girl," Blaine points out. "And you don't like girls. I think, you know, if I was in your place, I'd have tried to erase the kiss with her from my memory as quickly as I could."

            "I guess," Kurt mumbles in reply. "I'm still sorry, though. I know it's not ideal for someone like you to have to kiss someone like me. I hope it wasn't too traumatizing."

            "Would you stop being so self deprecating? You're not a bad kisser, okay? Don't even think that. I was just - look, I was just trying to say that I'm sorry your first kiss had to be like that. It should've - it should've been something special, you know? Something you had for yourself and not something you had to share with like, a dozen other people."

On one hand, Kurt is extremely touched that Blaine seems to care about him in regards to that, but on the other hand, he doesn't know why Blaine seems to care about him in regards to that.

            "I guess I'll just have to pretend that I didn't share it with them," Kurt says softly. "I'll pretend I shared it with you."

It sounds pretty pitiful, even to his own ears. But when Kurt hears Blaine swallow audibly in the otherwise silent room, he can't help but look up into Blaine's face.

Oh, wow, his cheeks are so red.

That was not the right thing to say, Kurt's conscience berates him. You are the biggest idiot to ever exist.

            "I - I'm sorry," Kurt stutters, backpedaling as fast as his tongue will allow. "I didn't mean - well I did, but I was just-"

            "You can share it with me," Blaine interrupts, speaking so quickly that Kurt can barely make out the words. "I mean, technically that was my first kiss, too. With a guy, you know? So it can - you can share it with me. You don't have to pretend."

Kurt stares at Blaine in shock. He's being so nice about this, and niceness is not something Kurt Hummel is used to being around, so it's really throwing him for a loop right now.

            "That's - thank you," Kurt finally says. "But I don't want you to have to pretend that it was anything other than what it actually was to you. You don't have to play gay for the night just to make me feel better."

            "I'm not playing gay," Blaine insists, but then his eyes widen and he realizes what he said. "I mean, I'm not gay. But just because I'm not gay doesn't mean I'm going to deny you one of the better experiences of being a teenager. You're my friend, Kurt. I'm not going to be that asshole."

            "It's just weird to hear you say that, you have to understand," Kurt explains. "It's not like you ever actively made me feel like crap, but we've never been friends before. So it's hard for me to - you know what, it doesn't matter. Don't worry about it. It was a nice kiss and now I'll thank you for not running away in terror the moment it happened."

            "Maybe you'll believe that I actually do want to be your friend when I offer to give you a do-over."

It takes a moment for Blaine's words to sink in. When they finally do, Kurt blinks back in surprise.

Wait.

What?

            "I'm - I'm sorry?" Kurt squeaks.

            "You heard me," Blaine says, and now he's got this satisfied grin on his beautiful lips and Kurt can't help but remember exactly how those lips felt when they were pressed so firmly against his own. "I'm offering you a do-over. A new first kiss."

            "You - you want to kiss me again?" Kurt babbles. "But-"

            "I want you to have a first kiss that you can keep for yourself," Blaine says. "And I'm offering to share it with you."

            "But you're not gay," Kurt blurts on cue.

            "So?" Blaine responds with a small shrug. "Kissing is kissing, except for you, because you've never done it. And you seemed to enjoy our kiss a lot more than you enjoyed the one with Santana."

There's a coy, knowing glint in Blaine's golden eyes, and Kurt has to wonder exactly what he'd done that was so amazing in his past life, because he can't think of any reason why he's being gifted this opportunity. He also wonders if he's been too obvious with his crush around Blaine.

            "That's, uh, wow," Kurt stammers. "That's really nice, but I don't want you to do anything that you're not comfortable with."

            "If I was uncomfortable with it, would I have made the offer in the first place?"

            "Your girlfriend is passed out upstairs and you're offering to kiss a gay guy just so he can have a first kiss that didn't happen around a bunch of drunk people at a party," Kurt states. "You do realize this, right?"

            "If anything, Rachel will approve of my generosity and open-minded thinking," Blaine says. "But I don't plan on telling her. This is for you."

            "And this - this isn't some kind of joke?" Kurt asks nervously. "There's no hidden cameras or - or people waiting around a corner to jump out and laugh at me?"

At that suggestion, Blaine's face falls, appearing genuinely saddened at the fact that Kurt's mind immediately jumped to such awful conclusions. He reaches out, as if to place his hand on Kurt's knee, but seems to think better and retracts it at the last minute.

            "No, Kurt," Blaine says, just above a whisper, and he's got this tragic, melancholy smile on his face that makes Kurt want to hug and hold him until he dies. "That's - no. I would never do that to you. And I'm really sorry that people have been so damn mean to you, because you shouldn't ever have to worry about something so cruel. But that's not what this is. I swear to you."

            "So you - you really want to kiss me?" Kurt asks, knowing that he sounds entirely too small and timid. "Just because you want me to have a nice first kiss?"

            "I think it's something you deserve after all the crap you've been put through at school," Blaine confirms. "And besides, I think you have great potential in the kissing department."

Kurt huffs out a light laugh, feeling giddy and terrified all at once. A few hours ago, he had been mourning the loss of Blaine's lips the moment they were no longer glued to his, and now he has the chance to feel it all over again.

Just the two of them.

            "Do you want to?" Blaine asks. "Because you don't have to if-"

            "No, I do!" Kurt squeaks shyly, feeling all of about fourteen years old.

A bright grin stretches across Blaine's face.

            "Awesome," he says, voice pitched slightly lower than it had been five seconds ago. "Come here, then."

That phrase, those two simple words are going to haunt Kurt's dreams forever. Who would've thought that ‘come here' would cause such a fire in his belly? But Kurt goes, of course he does, scooting over until his thigh is pressed right up against Blaine's on the couch.

            "Relax," Blaine whispers against his lips, sliding his hand over Kurt's cheek until he splays his fingers there, caressing Kurt's smooth skin with callous-roughened fingertips. "I won't hurt you."

            "I know," Kurt breathes. "I just-"

            "Shh," Blaine urges. "Just let me - let me-"

And there is no slow-motion lean in after that, not this time. Blaine captures his lips in a kiss that literally causes Kurt's toes to curl inside of his socks. Shivers travel up his spine, lightning fast and just as electric. Blaine's free hand finds its way to the base of Kurt's neck, fingers tangling in hair and pulling Kurt even closer and Kurt can do absolutely nothing but open himself to Blaine's mouth. When he does, he hears a deep moan between them, vibrating against his teeth until Blaine's tongue dips inside, slipping and swirling, licking against Kurt's like he can't get enough of the taste.

Blaine pulls away.

            "What-"

            "Lie down," Blaine instructs, his voice completely wrecked, pitched deep and low in a way that has Kurt almost moaning aloud.

Kurt wastes no time stretching out on the couch. Blaine crawls up over him, looking determined and predatory as he adjusts himself between Kurt's legs.

            "Yeah," he breathes, planting a kiss to Kurt's jaw, "god, like this."

For someone who claims to be straight, Blaine is pretty damn eager to have his tongue in Kurt's mouth. He kisses Kurt hard, groaning into it and pressing into Kurt's body until Kurt feels their hip bones align. That, in itself, is almost erotic enough to turn Kurt into a whimpering puddle of boy, but Blaine's fingers dragging through his hair anchors him in a way his lips simply can't. Because Blaine Anderson's lips are sweet as sin and soft as silk, and sweet hell, he knows how to use them. He kisses Kurt with so much behind it, and it's so hard to remember that Blaine is only doing this to be a good friend.

And so, Kurt allows himself a few moments to drift off into a world where Blaine is kissing him because he wants Kurt in the same way that Kurt wants him, falling head over heels with every passing second and enjoying it for what it could be.

He feels himself harden in his jeans.

            "Fuck," Blaine hisses, clambering off of Kurt as if he's just been stung.

Reality slaps Kurt in the face. When Blaine pulls away and darts around the corner, reality feels like a slushie: cold and cruel.

Kurt sucks in a deep breath, attempting to calm his hormones. He's panting so loudly that he's sure the entire neighborhood can hear him, and he tries to will away his erection. It doesn't work, of course, so he pulls his knees up to his chest and holds them there, hoping Blaine won't notice anything when he returns.

If he returns.

Oh god, no, Kurt thinks. Please say Blaine didn't feel that. Please. If there is any grace left on this earth to spare, please say that Blaine didn't feel that.

Blaine does return after a minute or two, lips flushed and swollen in a way that only kissing can cause.

            "Shit, I'm sorry," Blaine says. "I thought I heard Puck coming up the basement stairs."

Kurt offers a shaky nod in return, though he doesn't know why Blaine would seek Puck out if that had been the case. There's nothing for it now, though. The moment is over. Actually, it's been completely obliterated and if Blaine - god, Kurt is going to be mortified.

            "Is he still passed out?" Kurt asks, doing his very best to pretend that everything is normal.

            "Yeah," Blaine says. "I guess I - never mind. So was that - I mean, was it okay?"

            "It was great," Kurt says. His voice comes out a bit weak, but he can't do much about that at the moment. "Better than great, really."

            "Great," Blaine echoes. "Good. I'm glad it was great for you. Because that was - that was the point, right?"

            "Right," Kurt answers.

            "Cool. So...I guess I should go to bed or whatever."

            "Probably."

            "Yeah," Blaine says, raking his hands through his mussed hair. "Well, I'll say goodnight, then. And if I don't see you in the morning, like, if you leave before we get up, I'll see you at school."

We.

The word hits Kurt harder than reality had.

            "Goodnight," Kurt responds, and Blaine heads straight for the stairs. "Wait."

            "Yeah?"

            "Just - you know, thanks," Kurt says. "Thanks for doing that for me. And for...being a friend."

With a goofy grin, Blaine gives him a nod.

            "Sure thing, Kurt."

He bolts up the stairs without another word. Kurt's head collides with his knees. That was probably the weirdest post-make-out conversation in the history of make-out conversations. They just had their tongues in each other's mouths, and now Blaine will probably crawl into bed and snuggle up to his girlfriend, and he'll probably kiss her, long and hard in the morning just to prove a point.

And Kurt will curl up, cold and alone on the couch.

Because Blaine Anderson is straight and Kurt Hummel is so, completely fucked.