The clock had yet to strike midnight, and already the majority of his houseguests were exceptionally inebriated. His basement was littered with Solo cups and bottle caps, and a playlist of pop music blared from the state-of-the-art surround-sound stereo speakers. The air was perfumed with alcohol and fruit and sweat and what he prayed wasn't sex or vomit.

He loved these friends, he really did, which is why he offered his home for the location of the end-of-the-year/graduation New Directions party, despite his better judgment. He even suggested they all sleep over, given that his parents were on their annual vacation to Antigua. He didn't even complain when Puck broke into his father's liquor cabinet, knowing that the older boy always made good on his promise to refill. (He even took pictures of the level of liquid in each bottle in order to empty the new ones accordingly.)

This love did not, however, extend to Santana climbing onto the coffee table and yelling, "NEVER HAVE I EVER! CIRCLE UP BITCHES!" He knew exactly what this game entailed, and did not look forward to revealing any information. His and his boyfriend's sex life was theirs and theirs alone. No one else had the right to be privy to that knowledge.

His boyfriend, it seemed, did not share his concerns, as he tugged him by the hand to the circle of sloppy teenagers in the middle of the basement floor. The older boy collapsed next to Quinn, who laughed and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Alright," Santana yelled, "this is how we play. Everyone take a shot glass—" Puck passed them around. "—and spread out the vodka. Some of us are going to have to refill fast." She winked at Brittany, who had shed her top to reveal a leopard print bra within moments of her arrival. "We go around the circle and say something we've never done. Everyone who has done that thing, take a shot. Let's keep this at least PG-thirteen, okay? No pussyin' out on me. I'm talking to you, Hart." She pointed at the dreadlocked boy, who was completely sober and looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Imma start!" Sugar shouted, raising her glass. "Never have I ever had sex with a girl!"

While Puck, Finn, Sam, Mike, Santana, Brittany, and Artie drank, Blaine leaned over to his far drunker boyfriend and whispered, "Are you sure you want to play this game? Our business is our business. They shouldn't kn—"

"Blaine," Kurt whined, falling over the younger boy in an attempted hug. "Of course we should play. They think we're prudes. They should know exactly how many times I've—"

"Okay!" Blaine clapped a hand over Kurt's mouth. "I guess we're playing."

Rory was next. "Never have I ever seen a girl naked. In person!" He tacked on quickly.

The same people drank as the round before, in addition to Quinn. At the raised eyebrows, Quinn clarified, "Locker room. Cheerios. Lots of naked girls." All of the boys save Joe, Kurt, and Blaine looked envious.

It was Artie's turn. "Never have I ever had a penis in my mouth."

Santana, Kurt, Blaine, Brittany, and Puck drank. "Before you ask," the latter yelled, "everyone's gotta pay their dues in juvie."

"Let's talk about my boy Kurt" Mercedes winked his way, and he giggled.

"Gross," Finn groaned. "That's my brother."

"Blaine's turn," Santana said. Everyone turned his way, and his face immediately flushed. He didn't want to let everyone in on this side of his life—that was for Kurt only.

"Never have I ever kissed a girl besides Brittany," he supplied lamely. Santana tutted, but drank with Brittany and all the other boys.

When it was Kurt's turn, he thought for a long time. "Never have I ever...given head in the choir room!"

With a groan, Blaine dropped his head in his hands. "Kurt, really?" He lifted his glass, wincing at the burn and earning wolf-whistles and catcalls from many of his friends.

"Dude!" Finn sounded scandalized. "We have class there!"

"Just don't tell Brad to inspect the piano under a black light," Kurt slurred. A hole could not open up under Blaine fast enough.

"Hudson, if you're going to keep bitching every time you find out something new about your brother's apparently kinky sex life, you can leave," Santana snapped. "Fabray, go."

"Never have I ever had sex and not gotten pregnant."

Puck snorted into his drink. Santana, Brittany, Mike, Tina, Sam, Kurt, Blaine, Artie, Mercedes, and Finn all drank.

"WAIT!" Kurt screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at Mercedes. "When did this happen and why was I not notified immediately?"

Mercedes tried to look sheepish, but her smirk gave her away. "I'm sorry, baby. I was going to tell you, I swear!"

Kurt lowered his finger, eyes narrowed. "You better hope I'm too drunk to remember this in the morning, 'cause if not, I'll be pissed."

Finn's turn. "Wait...I can't talk about Rachel, she's in New York."

"Suck it up, Finn," Kurt said. Blaine wrapped his arms around him in concern. His boyfriend was unbelievably hammered at this point, and he didn't want the older boy doing or saying something he might regret in the morning—or worse, dying of alcohol poisoning. He himself had severely limited his alcohol intake all night long, knowing full well the poison's disastrous effects on his inhibitions.

"Fine," Finn retorted. "Never have I ever gotten head at school." Kurt, Puck, Mike, and Artie drank.

"Never have I ever had sex," Joe said bluntly. Everyone save Sugar and Rory drank.

The game continued, and details were revealed that astonished everyone: Finn and Rachel had sex, Sugar had paid a kid to make out with her, Tina and Mike had considered participating in a foursome, Santana had slept with not one but two teachers, Joe of all people had gotten an erection in a public place. (For some reason everyone was too drunk to figure out, Quinn blushed violently when the latter was disclosed.)

Everyone was most surprised, however, to discover just how sexually active Kurt and Blaine, two normally prudish boys, were. They'd had sex at school, in both of their cars, on Kurt's kitchen table—"Dude, we eat there!"—in the shower, in a field, and, much to Finn's horror, in Finn's bed. ("You assholes!" "Calm down, we got lost. And we changed the sheets.") Only Kurt had gotten a blow job at school, but both had received hand jobs, especially in the boys' locker room showers. They'd roleplayed, experimented with bondage, used dirty talk, and tried domination. They'd worn special outfits and lingerie and used sex toys. They'd had sex in any number of positions, including 69, doggie-style, back-to-front, and bent over a table.

By the end of the game—most of the players had passed out—Santana's jaw seemed permanently dropped. "You guys are kinky sons of bitches."

Blaine looked down fondly at the unconscious boy cradled in his lap. "Yeah. But it's all about the love. That's what's really important." Santana's eyes began watering, and he could tell weepy-girl drunk was coming. He decided to avoid the flood by putting his boyfriend to bed. He asked Joe to turn off the stereo and make sure no one choked to death on their own vomit, and then he lifted Kurt in his arms and carried his limp and snoring body up four flights of stairs to his bedroom, staggering through his own drunkenness. He changed them into pajamas and set out aspirin and water for the both of them for later. He then pulled the covers over their bodies and snuggled close to Kurt.

"I love you," he whispered into the taller boy's hair. "I love you so much, my lovely, kinky prince."