Kurt seems to chill out about the whole homecoming thing, and even insists he help pick out Blaine's suit. Blaine's mother buys it for him, because if there's one thing that's never lacking around the Anderson household, it's money. She even has it tailored. Sometimes he almost falls for this, these rare acts of kindness, mistaking them for real maternal affection, but he knows it's far more likely that she just enjoys flaunting their income.

Blaine picks Rachel up at seven. He's been to her house before and met her dads, so at least there isn't any real added pressure. Just the five hundred pictures Rachel warned him about, and The Talk about taking care of their little girl. Blaine is pretty sure he's blushing the entire time. Rachel looks like her smile might just break her face.

The gym is suitably crowded by the time they arrive, and after some Marco Polo via text message, they find the members of glee club who are already there, taking up most of a large, round table. There's a chorus of greetings and compliments about how amazing everyone looks. It's such a flurry of excitement that Blaine almost forgets to pull Rachel's chair out for her. When he does, the entire female population of the table oohs as if on some hidden cue.

"Now you're makin' us look bad," Artie says.

“Well, general courtesy aside, I did take an etiquette class when I was younger,” Blaine says, charming smile and all.

Everyone gives him a blank stare.

“They actually have those?” Mercedes asks.

Blaine can feel himself blushing from the way everyone is looking at him. “My parents like to feel like they're important.”

“My parents work for NASA,” Brittany says out of nowhere, and just like that the attention is blessedly off Blaine, because what the hell?

Conversation flows easily after that, sometimes involving the entire table, more often breaking into smaller groups. Blaine is slightly intrigued by Mercedes' boyfriend, as he’s the only one of the group who isn’t a member of New Directions. When Blaine brings this up, the table starts telling him about all their inter-dating, which in turn leads to their mash-up names.

He fights for Rain because it’s actually a word, and sounds kind of poetic, but he and Rachel are apparently Blainchel.

Blaine is having fun mashing his name with everyone (Merlain, Bike, Blinn) when Rachel hears a song she likes and drags him to the dance floor. It’s an 80’s song by Human League that he likes it, too. They don’t leave the dance floor for a long time. This wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, Blaine loves to dance and he’s fairly good at it, it’s when the slow songs come on that everything goes wrong for him.

Slow dancing is easy, just hold each other close and sway in a circle, that isn’t the problem. But, it’s...boring, and that is the problem. Blaine can’t be one hundred percent sure, but he is under the impression that when you like someone and you get to hold them close and sway in a circle it should be exciting. Not rock-climbing exciting or anything, but that inward sort of thrill. The kind where every touch tingles and your heart beats too fast. Blaine has never experienced it, but knows it has to exist. There are too many books and poems and songs that describe that very feeling to be wrong.

He was hoping he’d experience it tonight.

“…Ohh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered, hungered for your touch, a long, lonely time…”

One of the most romantic songs in existence, and all Blaine feels while dancing to it with Rachel is friendly affection.

----

Blaine pulls up into Rachel's driveway and walks her to the door. He's filled with a sense of foreboding, like he's entering dangerous territory. It worsens when she turns toward him, hands going to his waist, face upturned and smiling.

"I had a lot of fun tonight, Blaine. Thanks for taking me," she says.

"Me too," he says, trying to match her smile. He isn't sure if he succeeds.

Rachel's staring at him expectantly, and he knows what she's waiting for. It's his cue, and he can't think of a solid reason not to. So he does it, he kisses her. Leans in, closes his eyes, and presses his mouth softly against hers.

He doesn't feel anything beyond the touch of her lips, except maybe guilt. He knew this would happen, didn’t want to admit it, but he knew one dance wouldn’t change anything. Not a dance or a kiss. All he has ever seen when he’s looked at Rachel has been a friend. There’s certainly nothing wrong with her, she’s beautiful and sweet and funny and that’s the worst part. She really is perfect for him, but no matter what he does, he just can't make himself like her that extra little bit.

Blaine hopes she feels the same. That maybe she was trying, too, but that he just isn't Finn.

When he pulls back he can't tell. Rachel leans back in and kisses his cheek. "Good night," she murmurs.

"Good night," he repeats, standing there stupidly as she lets herself inside.

He wonders if this means they’re dating now, and trudges back to his car, hoping not.

----

Blaine is about three minutes away from his house when he gets a text from Kurt.

K:  weher r u?>

Oh, great.

Blaine pulls the car over in front of someone's house and calls Kurt. He is so not spending the evening deciphering drunk texts.

Loud noise erupts from the other line, and Blaine winces.

"Hello? Blaine, s'at you?" He thinks he hears Kurt giggle.

"Yes. Where are you?" Blaine asks.

"Miss you," Kurt says, all warm-like, and Blaine glances around like there's anyone else who may have heard.

"Um. Okay, but. What do you want? Do you need me to pick you up, or something?" Blaine asks, all but shouting into the phone to be heard on the other end.

There's a very long pause. "What?" Kurt shouts.

"I said. Do. You. Need. Me. To. Pick. You. Up?" Blaine shouts back.

"Oh! Yes! Yes, come get me, Blaine!" Kurt's laughing again, and there are voices he can't quite make out. "I'm at Club Rush! Ummm! It's-- do you have a fake ID? Tell the bouncer you're with Puck, he'll let you in!"

Kurt hangs up after that, on purpose or not Blaine isn't sure. He has no idea what Club Rush is, but a quick google maps check pulls it up as twenty minutes away.

Well, isn't this a perfect end to a perfectly awful night?

----

Blaine maybe should have changed before showing up at Club Rush.

As it is, he skips the line in his suit (minus the boutonniere) and hopes that being so well dressed will make him look more mature.

"Are you kidding me?" the bouncer says, all ten foot eight of him, as he looks Blaine up and down. Or rather down and down.

"I'm here to see Puck." At the bouncer's blank stare, Blaine tries, "Puck sent me?"

Maybe this is the wrong bouncer...

"Kid, you better work on blending in. I'm not getting my ass in trouble for that punk again, even if he is my nephew," the bouncer says, ushering Blaine in, making him stumble a little.

"Thanks?" Blaine squeaks, but the bouncer's attention is already back to the line.

The place is loud. Loud, dark, and packed with people. Oh, this is just awesome. The phrase “needle in a haystack” has never applied more than in this moment. How does Kurt expect Blaine to find him?

Blaine's trying to text Kurt to meet up, when a girl starts grinding on him, and maybe if the strobe lights shine in his eyes just a few more times they'll blind him and he can pretend this isn't happening--

"You are so! Cute!" she yells against his ear.

"No thank you!" Blaine says, trying to be heard over Ke$ha, to move on and text at the same time.

But no. Still with the grinding. Now her arms are around his shoulders and he hates Kurt so much.

Blaine manages to text Kurt, even without having discovered how to disentangle the girl: where r u? im being atacked save me! ! im near teh front still ttoward the rt. He really hopes Kurt isn't too drunk to follow directions.

He doesn't get an answer. When the Ke$ha song transforms into Jennifer Lopez's On The Floor he's about to text again, and then the girl is turning her head, looking at a face attached to a Kurt-like body. Oh, it is Kurt. Except he looks half undressed and flushed and sweaty and jesus christ, Blaine can't even.

"Hey, geddoff!" Kurt says, and stops repeatedly tapping her on the back, taking her instead by the shoulders to move her away.

"Excuse me?" the girl is shrieking, but before Blaine can step in, Kurt drapes himself on Blaine and waves her away. "Mine."

Blaine literally has to grab Kurt's waist to keep from falling over. "Sorry?" Blaine calls when the girl storms off. She yells something probably super derogatory, though, so he doesn't care so much if Kurt insulted her.

"Hi," Kurt says brightly, getting Blaine's attention back on him. "Why're you here? I found a boy. A boy who is gay."

"Oh. Um. Well, you told me to," Blaine starts explaining, feeling foolish and more than a little irritated. "Do you want me to--"

"Come meet him!" Kurt says, grabbing Blaine's hand and pulling him around and through the crowd, toward the back corner. All around the room there are couches, chairs, and tables set up near the bars. They're garish purples and reds and Kurt drags Blaine right over to one of them. A tall man with dark features has draped himself along one of the couches, likely to save it, a drink in each hand. He smiles when Kurt approaches, and spares a lingering look at Blaine. It's kind of frightening; the guy looks like he wants to eat him up.

"Welcome back, baby. You found your friend," the guy says, sitting up and holding out the drinks. "I took it upon myself to get you both a round."

"You are sooo nice," Kurt says and crawls into his lap, bumping the guy's arm and spilling some of one of the drinks on his pants. Kurt doesn't even notice. "Give 'em to Blaine 'n he can catch up!"

Blaine suddenly has two glasses in his hands so Kurt and this guy can kiss. Blaine just stands there and stares, because he's never seen a guy kiss another guy, and he's never seen Kurt like this. His hands tighten around the drinks, wanting to upturn them right over this sleazy jerk's head because he's kissing Kurt like...like-- it is just not okay--

"Come on, c'mon," Kurt's saying, pulling away and trying to stand. His shirt is untucked, collar opened and unbuttoned. "I wanna dance."

"Whatever you want, baby," douchebag says, letting Kurt lead him onto the dance floor.

Blaine sits down on the couch and watches them dance. He wants badly to pull Kurt away, carry him out of this place or something stupid like that. But he can't. Kurt is lonely, and Kurt probably really likes this guy and he'll hate Blaine if he makes him leave. So Blaine sits tight and forces whatever drink douchebag handed him down his throat, convincing himself that the burn in his stomach is from the drink and nothing else.

He watches them dance. Three different girls approach him while he works on his second drink, but he waves them all away. Has to physically move one from his lap when she invites herself onto it. He doesn't want to dance, he doesn't want to make out with someone random. He has to make sure this guy doesn't take advantage of Kurt.

At what seems like the twentieth Britney remix, Kurt starts staring at Blaine over douchebag's shoulder while they dance. Blaine stares back until he feels uncomfortable. He’s a little tipsy from the alcohol, he's sweaty from his suit, and anger has been building since he stepped through the door. He doesn't know what Kurt's trying to say, because there has to be a point to his staring, so Blaine decides it means he wants Blaine to save him.

Blaine gets unsteadily to his feet and weaves through a few people to get to Kurt and his douchey boyfriend. Blaine puts a hand on the guy's shoulder and tries to move him.

"I want to dance," Blaine announces.

Douchebag turns, looking predatorily amused with Blaine's sudden appearance. "Sure, I'll dance with you, sweetheart."

Blaine frowns. "Not you," he says loudly, trying to be heard over the music. "Him." He points to Kurt.

"We-ll," douchebag says, affronted.

Blaine doesn't even wait for anyone's agreement, just moves his body until it's between them.

"You really wanna?" Kurt yells over the music.

"It's Madonna! I like this song!" Blaine says.

"'I'm A Slave 4 U?,'" Kurt says and laughs. He shrugs and continues dancing. Really dancing. Right up against Blaine. Blaine glances over his shoulder to look for douchebag, wondering where he went, and doesn't stop looking until he spots him at the bar. At least he got rid of him. For now.

Of course, now he's on the dance floor with his best friend rubbing up against him like a cat while Britney moans and pants, the bass so heavy he can feel it vibrating through his shoes.

Kurt's shirt sticks to his skin from sweat, shucked up a little, his hair is a tousled mess, face still pink from exertion and alcohol. He turns until his back is to Blaine, grabbing Blaine's hands and interlocking their fingers.

"Kurt--" Blaine's mouth parts, but nothing else comes out as Kurt starts dancing close. Really close. Blaine wasn't even aware hips could move like this, like they're a separate entity from Kurt's body. Worse, it feels good. Really good. Not because it's Kurt. It could be anyone. Friction against a guy's dick is kind of a universal turn-on, right?

It's too hot, too loud, he's too dizzy so he closes his eyes halfway and tips his head forward, face pressed to Kurt's neck. He's turned on and he knows he should move away, but he can't. Right now his legs feel like lead and Kurt's so nice and soft and easy to lean on.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder and he's sent stumbling backwards, eyes flying open.

"Song's over!" It's douchebag, stepping into Blaine's spot behind Kurt. Blaine yelps, and he'd say something else, but he almost knocks someone over. He apologizes to them and looks back to Kurt.

"--don't want to!" Kurt's yelling.

"So you're just a fucking cocktease?" douchebag's saying, too close to Kurt.

Whatever's happening doesn't sound very friendly, so Blaine makes his way back over. "He doesn't want to!" he yells, even if he doesn't know what exactly Kurt just said no to. Whatever it is, douchebag doesn't want to hear it.

"You again?" douchebag yells. "What is your deal? I was here first!"

"I had Kurt first!" Blaine yells back. "And by the way, he's seventeen and if you don't back off I'll have you arrested for...for being a pedophile!"

"Excuse me?"

Blaine grabs Kurt's hand and leads him toward the door. They should have left a long time ago. Kurt doesn't fight it, hand gripping Blaine's like a vice. He's saying something, but Blaine can't hear it over the music.

The cool night air hits Blaine like a tangible thing. He feels underwater at first with the music muted and the wind all around him, so much so that his hand tightens around Kurt's as though he might otherwise float away.

"I got you," Blaine says.

Kurt giggles and drapes himself halfway along Blaine's back. "That was fun."

"What about that was fun?" Blaine says, pausing to look over at Kurt. "You're so stupid, Kurt! That guy was a creep! Who knows what he wanted to do to you?"

Kurt pushes himself off Blaine, nearly teetering over. "So what? I have to be lonely forever?"

"I didn't say--"

"'Cause it's not like I got a lot of options! Finn's straight, Puck's straight, yo--"

"--Puck?" Blaine screeches.

"His mohawk's sexy!"

Blaine makes a face. He doesn't even know where to start.

"Oh, don't be so fucking judgmental, Blaine, you wanna fuck Rachel Berry!"

"I do not want to...do that with Rachel Berry," Blaine protests, going red in the face.

"You spend all your time with her, you go to dances with her, you look at her aaaaall the time," Kurt starts in.

"If you don't shut up I'll leave you here!"

"Fine, then leave me here!"

Blaine just glares at him. Kurt glares back.

...And bursts out laughing.

"Your eyebrows are like little triangles," Kurt says, giggling.

"Yeah, well." Blaine's gaze darts around Kurt's face, looking for some flaw. "Your skin is really pale!"

"I'm pretty like a porcelain doll," Kurt preens, giving an unsteady twirl.

"I'm leaving," Blaine announces.

"Me too!" Kurt says, and grabs the waistline of Blaine's pants like reins to a horse, merrily following him.

It takes three tries for Blaine to unlock his car, and five minutes to get Kurt out of the drivers seat and convince him no, he can't drive, they will both die. Finally they're on the road, when Blaine realizes something.

"...Wait. Where am I taking us? I can't bring you to my house like this, my parents are home - and your dad will kill you."

"Shit, you're right," Kurt says. "Dad's gonna be piiiiiissed! Oh, Blaine! Oh! Trade places with me! Please? Like in that...in that Macauly Culkin movie! Twins!"

"That does not exist. And I look nothing like you."

"You have a point. You're too short."

"I am not short!" Blaine says.

Kurt's studying his nails. He coughs discreetly. "Prettyshort."

"You're a mean drunk."

"...And you almost just drove into the curb. Can you please just drive? We can go to my house and sneak in my window. Like ninjas," Kurt whispers.

"Boozy ninjas. Awesome."

Blaine parks a few houses down from the Hummel residence, just in case. He demands the keys to Kurt’s house because it will be impossible for them to climb into a second story window. They’ll just have to be very, very quiet.

Kurt isn't so drunk that he's falling over or anything, but through Blaine's own buzzed state he can tell Kurt is more careless than usual. He doesn't want either of them to get caught, so he bodily walks Kurt through the door, closing it with the softest click possible. He waits and listens. Nothing happens, so he walks them to the staircase.

Blaine feels Kurt slip from his hold and hears him fall with a thump once they’re at the top of the stairs. He winces, hoping Burt is a heavy sleeper.

This has not been Blaine's best night.

----

Kurt refuses to get off the floor. The state of his drunkenness is bordering on ridiculous. It takes some effort, but Blaine finally gets Kurt to stand up. Kurt leans on him and giggles against his neck, sending little tickling shivers along Blaine's skin. He is relieved to finally get to Kurt’s bedroom and dump Kurt on the bed.

"Blaine, Blaine, let's sing, Blaine. Let's sing...please?" Kurt asks, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Uhh..." Blaine rubs his forehead a minute. "I think it's like three am. And your dad, remember?"

"That man could sleep through the apocalypse," Kurt says, waving a hand in dismissal.

"M'kinda tired..."

Kurt gasps. "No, Blaine. No. I want to do a mash-up! Of Umbrella and...that Beyonce song. It's here..." He stumbles over to his iPod dock, flipping through songs.

Suddenly music sounds from the speakers. It's certainly not Rihanna or Beyonce.

"This isn't it," Kurt says, confused; then a second later, "I love this song!"

He grabs his brush and holds it like a microphone, crawling onto the bed, crossing it to get to the side Blaine's nearest. Blaine doesn't move, afraid if he sits down he'll fall asleep and then a drunken Kurt will beat him with the brush to wake him up.

A female voice starts to sing, slow and sultry, and Kurt sings over her, sounding much the same.

"Swingin' in the back yard
Pull up in your fast car
Whistlin' my name..."

Kurt's free hand traces an invisible pattern in the air, eyes closed, face tilted to the side as he sings. When Kurt's eyes opens, they find Blaine and he crooks a finger. Blaine smiles a little, feeling dizzy, and comes as close as he can, legs pressed against the edge of the mattress. Kurt smiles slowly in return, but then he's pulling at his shirt, stretching it, revealing a glimpse of collarbone before he falls back against the pillows on his bed. He looks back to Blaine, reaching for Blaine's shirt as he sings to him, he fists a hand in Blaine's shirt and pulls him closer. Blaine doesn't move away, he can't. He feels stuck, sweat prickling on the back of his neck, heart pounding loud in his chest. 

"It's you
It's you
It's all for you
Everything I do
Tell you all the time
Heaven is a place on earth with you"

Kurt is staring at Blaine, still holding tight to his shirt. Blaine feels like he can't breathe. Wonders if this is some kind of alcohol-induced hallucination. Kurt tilts his head, singing about 'bad girls,' a small smile creeping at the corners of his mouth.

Blaine stares at his mouth, it's so pink...

Kurt turns away and Blaine lets out the breath he's been holding. Kurt lays back on the bed, closing his eyes. Blaine doesn't know what's happening, nothing makes sense, the things he's feeling. Maybe his drink was drugged, maybe…

Kurt sits back up, kneeling on the bed. He reaches out, holding Blaine's forearm with his free hand. Blaine unconsciously leans in toward him. Kurt lays his cheek against Blaine's chest, trying to look up at him as he sings. Kurt slowly turns until the back of his head and shoulders are pressed up against Blaine's chest, still holding onto Blaine's arm, bringing it around to hold him.

Oh god, what. He feels...

He's hard.

It repeats in his head, I'm hard, I'm hard, until he doesn't know what Kurt is singing anymore. His fingers fist Kurt's shirt, pulling him flush against his chest. He wants to touch Kurt so badly, to...

Kurt arches his back, looking up at Blaine as he sings, face flushed and hair matted down, still a little sweaty, messy, fuck. Still holding Blaine's arm, Kurt tries to drag him onto the bed, laying back. He can't let Kurt, then Kurt will know. There's a lull in singing and Kurt lays on the bed, stretching languidly. Blaine tries to pull himself together, shifting on his feet. Maybe he should leave...he's just so dizzy...

"It's you, it's you, it's all for you"

Kurt starts singing again, eyes half open and on Blaine.

Kurt reaches forward and slides his hand up Blaine's shirt, touching his stomach, palm skating along Blaine's skin. Blaine shivers and makes a small sound, but Kurt doesn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in the song. He traces a line down Blaine's stomach with his finger, hand dipping lower, fingers curling around the waistband of Blaine's jeans.

"Kurt..." Blaine pushes his hand away, but Kurt just curls his hand around Blaine's and holds it tight, tugging him insistently onto the bed.

"It's better than I ever even knew
They say that the world is built for two
Only worth living
If somebody is loving you
Maybe now you do
Maybe now you do
Now you do..."

Kurt gazes at Blaine as the song dies away, and Blaine, propped up on his arms, half draped over Kurt, can't move. He can't breathe. His heart is pounding like crazy and he is still kind of hard, and--

Piano and drums.

Blaine blinks.

"Trouble, he will find you no matter where you go, oh oh
No matter if you're fast, no matter if you're slow, oh oh"

Kurt giggles and hugs his brush. Like nothing at all had just happened. "Your turn," he says, shoving the brush at Blaine.

"I'm...too tired. I'm just gonna go turn that off," Blaine says, sliding off the bed and getting unsteadily to his feet. He shuffles over to the iPod, and after a few fumbled attempts, turns it off.

His hands are shaking. This isn't happening, Kurt is just drunk. He is drunk, too, that's all. Just lonely and drunk, and horny. Right? Teenagers have a lot of hormones, it's a fact.

Decided, Blaine turns back to the bed to find Kurt sound asleep, snoring lightly.

Okay, he'll just sleep on the bed, too. No big deal. He can't sneak into his house, he'd wake up the dogs, his bedroom is on the second floor and he's sure all the windows are locked.

First, turn off the light.

Second, take off the shoes.

Third, sleep.

Slowly, carefully, Blaine sits on the bed, scoots up until he'd finds himself a spot large enough to sleep. Kurt is kind of taking up a lot of room, but Blaine doesn't have the heart to wake him and ask him to scoot over. He curls into a comfortable position and closes his eyes, but the room doesn't stop spinning very much.

----

Blaine doesn't sleep well that night. This is probably in part because Kurt won't be still. He keeps moving from side to side, letting out these tiny groans like he's in the middle of a hundred bad dreams. Occasional contact, when Kurt throws an arm around him or shifts his body up against Blaine's, and all those little sounds - Blaine is torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to touch him.

This is not good.

Blaine's sleep is just as fitful at Kurt’s, drifting in and out of consciousness, thinking too hard to think of nothing at all.