The doorbell rang insistently. Blaine glanced at the clock on the microwave and frowned. It was at least an hour before even the earliest party guest usually arrived. He wiped his dripping hands on a dish towel, and flipped the lid shut on the large chest he'd been filling with ice. His breath caught. Maybe Sebastian had asked Kurt to come over early. If so, why was he making a last minute munchie run instead of staying to make introductions? Blaine crossed the living room in hesitant strides, unsure as to whether he was excited or terrified. He jerked the door open before he could change his mind, blushing and feeling like a complete idiot.

“That's it, honey,” Santana drawled, affecting a thick Hispanic accent. “You need to nominate me to the sainthood, for rescuing you from yourself.” Blaine blinked at her, taking in her whole outfit, from pigtails and bows to plaid skirt and knee socks. She swung a garment bag into his arms with a smack, and breezed through the doorway. “I'd ask if that's what you're planning to wear, but the answer would depress me,” she called back over her shoulder, walking towards the bedroom like it was her home and not his.

“Won't you please come in?” he sighed, shutting the door and trailing in her wake. He caught his own reflection in the hall mirror and scowled, smoothing a hand down his white and red striped polo shirt. He'd pressed his jeans. “I haven't gotten a chance to gel my hair, I was restocking the bar,” he bit out, already defensive.

A fleeting expression that might have been pity crossed her face, to be replaced with her habitual superiority. “Bitch, please. Not only is tonight's theme 'naughty or nice', but you're supposed to meet the other man for the first time. For that, you need to be extra smokin' hot.” Santana took the garment bag back, and hung it over the closet door. “If he wasn't coming here, then maybe – maybe- I'd let you wear your Hippy McHipster gear, but he's coming to your house, your territory, and trust me, this is all about establishing dominance. You were here first, his thing with Sebastian isn't going to mess up your thing with Sebastian. And trust me,” her voice turned mischievous. “Auntie 'Tana knows from dominance.

The garment bag unzipped slowly, and Blaine caught a glimpse of black leather and silver metal. He swallowed hard. “Um. I'm pretty sure I can't pull that off,” he temporized.

“Okay, Hobbit. Let me lay it down.” Hands planted firmly on her hips, Santana rounded on him. “I'm going to win this fight, and here's why. One: tonight is a party, and it's 'come as you aren't'. It'll give you a chance to taste test some freaky-deaky, which I'm pretty sure you need in your life. Two: like I said, you need to show the new twink that you've got seniority here. And that you are a totally lickable piece of man-meat. After all that bullshit you heard St. Jackass going on about last week, you deserve the fanboys this is going to earn you.”

Blaine winced, looking away, and couldn't help but remember the conversation he'd overheard in the hall the previous week.

“I don't understand why you're keeping him around,” argued Jesse. “Have you even looked at him lately? He's completely let himself go.” His voice was dripping with disdain.

“So he needs a haircut in the worst way. I love him, and you don't get to tell me who I should be with. No one does,” defended Sebastian.

“A haircut? He needs to shave. And to hit a treadmill. Have you noticed you're not disagreeing with me?” Blaine had never particularly liked Jesse St. James, but he really wanted to punch him in the throat right then.

“Whether my boyfriend has put on weight or not is none of your business, Jesse. Shouldn't you be going home to your girlfriend anyway?” Sebastian's voice grew louder as the apartment door cracked open, and Blaine bolted for the bathroom. He didn't want him to know he'd heard.

“...and third,” Santana's voice cut through his reverie, “if you don't do it, I'm going to get 'trashed' tonight and tell everyone about you humping my boobs, and that you've got the biggest dick I've ever seen.” She made air quotes, then crossed her arms smugly.

It took a second for the threat to sink in. “You wouldn't,” Blaine nearly whimpered, one hand creeping up to his neck. If some of the horny whack-jobs who showed up at these things heard that, he'd never make it through another party unmolested.

Santana narrowed her gaze. “I would. Now get naked.”

Blaine gave up.

The doorbell was ringing. The sound could barely be heard over the pulsing club music coming from the living room's surround sound system. Blaine frowned, considering. The door was opened and shut all night as people came and went, so it shouldn't be locked. And no one stood on much ceremony once things were in full swing, so most people would just wander in. Shrugging to himself, he threaded through the crowd towards the entry way and opened the door. A startled young man stood on the other side, dressed in chic, up to the minute Marc Jacobs casual wear.

“I,” the kid hesitated, giving him a once-over. “Sebastian invited me?” It was phrased as a question, though the words themselves were a statement.

Comprehension dawned on him. Maybe it was the pair of shots he'd already indulged in, or Santana's lingering influence as his shoulder-Devil, but he felt a spirit of mischief overcome his normal polite good sense. “You must be Kurt.” Boldly, he stepped into the other man's personal space and smoothed his lapels unnecessarily. “I'm Blaine. You should come in.” He grabbed his hand and tugged him inside. Kurt tripped a little bit, but Blaine caught his elbow, and wound up almost pressed up against him. The kid blushed and stumbled back. It was cute. He could see the attraction.

“You're Sebastian's boyfriend,” Kurt managed nervously, as he took a good look at him.

“That's me,” Blaine smiled easily, hiding his own nerves behind a show-face.To be honest, he felt a little bit silly in snug leather pants that miraculously hugged in all the right places. His collarless black shirt had more buckles and zippers on it than it could possibly need. The tank boots weren't bad, and the eyeliner wasn't bothering him as much as he thought it would, but he still felt a little foolish, no matter how Santana had wolf-whistled at her handiwork. “Want me to show you around, or should I just find Sebastian for you? Or I can get you a drink?”

“God, yes,” Kurt flushed, then continued, “I mean, you've probably done this whole weird meeting thing, but I've never dated someone who was also dating someone else – at least, not to my knowledge- but you're kind of freaking me out with the leather and also with being nice, and I guess I'm just waiting for some kind of weird initiation cult thing, and this is all way too 'Sister Wives' for me to handle without alcohol, so bar? Please?” The words all tumbled out in a rush, turning his face bright red.

Blaine was startled for a moment, then burst out laughing. “First of all, don't judge me on the outfit,” he made a sweeping gesture, “I kind of lost a bet. I'm pretty normal on an average day. Bar's this way.” He grabbed his hand again, and guided them through the apartment. Blaine finally dropped it to fill a pair of cups with ice. “What's your poison? We've also got a pretty good selection of beer.” For himself, he got out the Kahlua and vanilla vodka to mix up a White Russian.

“Vodka cranberry with a twist?” Kurt arched a brow. “I'm not a big beer drinker.” Blaine just grinned, expertly mixing the drink and adding a wedge of lime.

“I'm not a real bartender – barista is more like it – but you pick up a few things here and there,” he confided, sliding the cup over. Blaine took a breath, and decided to just go for it. “So I've never formally been introduced to one of 'Bastian's other guys, and he was pretty insistent that we at least meet. It seems to me that makes you pretty special. There's no cult or initiation, or anything crazy like that. It's just how we work. I don't tell him no. He wants to date you, he can. Even if it turns out that you and I hate each other, I'm not going to mess with what you two have going on, and I'd appreciate the same courtesy. So let's at least try to get past the awkwardness.”

Kurt laughed, his shoulders losing some of their tension, and he raised his cup. “To getting past the awkwardness,” he repeated. They clinked the plastic together and took sips. “Stupid as it sounds, I'm sort of glad this is new to you as well.”

“Oh, well, I can at least give you the inside track on the madness,” Blaine gestured expansively, taking in the seeming mob of people. “There's some key knowledge you need to get through one of these things,” he changed the subject, trying to get back on solid footing. Something about this guy was leaving him a little flustered, and it wasn't just the vodka. “I like to think of this as a zone system. The bar zone is neutral. Everyone wants to drink, so we try not to crowd it.” He pointed to the left. “In the living room zone, we have the dancing, the grinding, and the topless make out sessions.” He pointed to the right. “The den zone has the weird party games that may or may not involve partial nudity.” He motioned to the hallway. “The back bedroom is by invitation only,” he winked, “but the guest room is home to many a drunken hookup. We ask everyone to remember that no means no, but otherwise, people just want to have a good time.” Blaine stopped to laugh at Kurt's wide eyed expression.

“Where do you hang out?” Kurt sounded a little scandalized, taking a longer drink.

“I usually can be found in the balcony zone,” Blaine pointed past the bar, where sure enough, a group of people were outside despite the chilly November air. “It's a little more low key, we used to call it the Boyfriend Club, but there are a couple of girls who hang out with us, too. Sebastian is always inside somewhere, though. I think I saw him dancing earlier.”

As if his name had summoned him, Sebastian turned up at his elbow, beaming. “Baby! I'm so glad you made it!” He wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders and planted a kiss on his temple. He was a little rumpled in his white-on-white ensemble, but still looked great. He caught sight of Blaine, and gave him a smoldering look, reeling him in for a sloppy kiss that tasted of tequila, before releasing him and turning his attention back to Kurt. “You should come dance with me,” he purred, hooking a finger through one of Kurt's belt loops.

Blaine was about to find himself in the uncomfortable position of being ditched, judging by the lust on Sebastian's face, and the stars in Kurt's eyes. Then Santana wrapped her arms around him from behind and sank her teeth into the side of his neck. He made an undignified sound and tried to turn towards her.

“Puck's finally here,” she whispered against his ear, the heated look she was giving Sebastian making it seem like she was saying something far more suggestive. She slid her hands down his chest to grab one of his wrists, gave the other two men a teasing wave, and dragged him off.

“I find it weird that you do that to me,” Blaine blushed, steering them towards the kitchen. He grabbed a few packages of Oreos down from the top of the refrigerator with practiced ease, trying to shake off her grip.

“That I grope you, or that you like it?” Santana teased, walking too close to him as they took the cookies and a gallon of milk to join their friends on the balcony.

“Both.” Blaine tried to glare at her, and they both started giggling instead.

“Munchkin, it's not about boy or girl, it's hot or not,” she pouted. “And you know I'm the hottest thing in this joint.” They made it outside and settled into the chairs left empty for them. Their tall friend Puck was busily packing a bowl, but still gave them a nod. Sam, Wes, and Trent cheered their arrival as the bearers of munchies.

“Blaine gets the first hit,” Santana announced, claiming authority as the only girl in the circle. “Sebastian is being a douche.”

Puckerman snorted. “Man, what else is new?” His pronouncement was met by various sounds of agreement. Blaine started to protest. Really, if everyone hated Sebastian so much, why did have so many friends? Instead, a freshly-packed bong was shoved into his hands, and Puck presented him with a disposable lighter. “Hey. I'm not gonna rag on you and shit. If you're happy, we're cool. I wouldn't want to suck his dick,” he shrugged, “but if that's who you love, it's who you love.”

“But the second you're not happy, they'll never find his body,” Santana grumbled beside him, sitting back in her chair.

Blaine pretended not to hear. He wanted to have fun tonight, and starting the same old argument with his friends wasn't fun. He sealed his lips over the end of the water pipe, flicking the lighter and watching in usual fascination as smoke filled the chamber. A minute later, he was sucking all that smoke into his lungs, feeling his chest expand and the familiar taste of green in his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed as he held it in. Just when he was about to exhale, Santana grabbed his face with both hands. It might have been surprising, but she did it all the time, planting her mouth over his to shotgun the first hit.

He pulled away, watching her breathe out a plume of pungent smoke. Shaking his head, he passed the bong to Sam on his left. “You're lucky I like you, San.”

“I know,” she smirked.