“Okay, okay, okay, we’ve covered whips …

“… chains …”

“… and underwear. So since we’ve answered all of the serious questions, what should we talk about now?” Nick asked, clumsily reaching for the Jell-O shot closest to him. His fingers danced around the tray as he zeroed in on the blurry shot. As soon as his skin brushed plastic, he grabbed it as if it would scurry off. He lifted the little plastic cup of orange gelatin to his lips and sucked it into his mouth like an oyster from The Four Seasons.

Kurt stared wide-eyed, as if amazed by Nick’s Jell-O shot eating prowess, then barked out the word, “Butts.” A pause later, he laughed out loud, rolling on the floor like a giddy kindergartner.

Nick raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his usually more sophisticated mentor, but then burst out laughing, too. In the midst of their guffawing, Nick grabbed another shot, this time purple. He slurped it out of the cup and swallowed it in one go, but the noise he made in the process made Kurt laugh so hard, his entire face went a shade of red to rival the paint on the walls.

“Okay, but whose butts are we gonna be talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt said, catching his breath. He tried to sit up, but the room started to spin, so he decided to shimmy over to Nick and rest his head on his friend’s thigh. “Who do we know who’s got a great ass? I mean, one really worth talking about?”

Nick struggled to think, his brain thick with technicolored fog. “Brad Pitt?”

Kurt made a face. “You know, to be honest, I’ve never really been much of a Brad Pitt fan. I’m more of a Robert Downey, Jr. kind of guy.”

“Nicccce,” Nick said, prolonging the consonant with a grin and a nod … but only one since moving his head in any way proved to be a bad idea. “Definitely a nice set of buns there. How about Leonardo DiCaprio?”

Kurt bobbed his head in lukewarm agreement. “I guess so. But I don’t think I’ve seen him from behind lately. What was the last movie he was in where you got a really good shot of his glutes? He can’t just ride his Romeo and Juliet laurels his entire life.”

“You have a point there,” Nick said. “But those were some fine laurels.”

“Yes.” Kurt looked up at his friends with unfocused eyes. “Yes, they were.”

“So, are we looking for, like … Ryan Reynolds?”

“Ah-ha!” Kurt points enthusiastically. “There you go! Now you’re getting it! Hugh Jackman.”

“Oh! Don’t forget Jason Momoa. Phew!” Nick fanned himself, sighing dramatically. “That Justice League Trailer with him as Aquaman had me wet.”

“Damn it!” Kurt exclaimed. “Where have I been? He should have been first on the list! Just … you know … right up there.” Kurt motioned with grabby hands, pushing Jason Momoa’s invisible tush up to the top.

“Nu-uh,” Nick said with a far-off look and a loopy grin. “Do you know who should have been first on the list?”

Kurt looked at Nick curiously. “Who?”

“Jeff.”

“Mmm,” Kurt hummed. “And Blaine. But we didn’t want to play home field advantage,” he added to quell the guilt that was killing his buzz. “Need to give other players their shot at bat.”

“Good call,” Nick said, pretty sure that Kurt was mangling his analogies, but he couldn’t care less. “Good call.”

“But God, Blaine’s got the greatest ass,” Kurt remarked, biting his lower lip to keep from openly salivating.

“Yes, he does have a great ass,” Nick agreed. “He’s been working on it his entire life. You are soooo lucky you get to tap that.”

“And your man,” Kurt wedged in. “Not that I’ve been looking, mind you, but he looks like he can do some serious thrusting. He was a dancer.”

“Still is if you ask him nicely,” Nick slurred. “But so’s your man.”

“True.” Kurt grinned bright and goofy picturing the man who slept beside him night after night, thinking about how Goddamned lucky he was. “But yours was like … a dancer dancer. A professional dancer. He lived, ate, and breathed it, didn’t he? Of course, he did. You can tell just by looking at him.”

“Yeah.” The two men fell silent at the same time, staring off into the distance, each with their own image of Blaine or Jeff’s ass playing in their minds. Nick idly reached for another shot, but his hand met with empty space on the tray where several rows of plastic cups used to be. Nick looked at the tray, squinting to count up how many shots were left. When he couldn’t remember which number came after ten, he stopped counting. “Did you want another shot? They’re going fast.”

“No,” Kurt said, waving his offer away, “thank you, but, I don’t wanna get drunk.”

“Kurt,” Nick said, voice strained as he tried not to laugh, “I think you’re already drunk.”

Kurt rolled his head to look at Nick and tut, but laughed when the world swayed left before his eyes. “Yeah! I think you’re right!”

A knock on the door interrupted Kurt and Nick’s giggle fest, but they couldn’t stop. And Kurt didn’t want to. Dave and Adam were watching the kids specifically so Kurt could have this night of stress relief with his best friend while Blaine and Jeff worked late, so he refused to feel guilty for taking advantage of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he got good and properly drunk – probably way before the kids were born, if he ever did. He got to be Mr. Strict and Severe the majority of the time.

He deserved this one night to be stupid and carefree.

The door swung open and a head peeked in, smiling mouth and bright hazel eyes popping open in surprise at the sight of the two men, drunk as skunks, tangled together on the floor.

“Uh … hey guys. How are you doin’?” Blaine opened the door wider to let Jeff in, stifling a snicker when Jeff stopped short in the doorway.

“Hey!” Nick and Kurt cheered from their pile on the floor.

“You’re just in time,” Kurt said, trying to stand up and failing incredibly. “There’s a handful of shots left. You guys can catch up.”

“I wish I could,” Jeff said, swooping in to pick up his boyfriend, who didn’t even make an attempt to move, “but I’ve gotta drive.”

“No, you don’t,” Kurt argued, grabbing for Nick’s hand and trying to steal him back as Jeff lifted him into the air. “You guys can sleep in here. We’ve got plenty of room.”

“Jeff’s got an early morning,” Blaine explained, catching Kurt before he hit the floor too hard.

“Party pooper.” Kurt frowned, but he couldn’t keep it up for all of his giggling. “See you guys later.”

“See ya! Thanks for the party,” Nick called, wrapping his arms around Jeff’s neck and surrendering to being carried off like a damsel in a silent movie.

Blaine followed. “Drive safely,” he said, then shut and locked the door behind them.

“Go ahead and have a shot,” Kurt said when Blaine returned. “Nick bought the vodka. It’s apparently really expensive.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Blaine said with an amused shake of his head. He could put it on Nick’s shoulders for being a bad influence, but Blaine only had himself to blame. He’d introduced the two men. How was he supposed to know the effect they’d have on one another? “Tell you what - let’s sleep out here tonight so the kids don’t have to see you wasted. Hmm?”

Kurt chuckled deviously. “That sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Anderson.”

Blaine felt a chill when Kurt called him that, and he knew that Kurt had something other than sleep in mind. He did the same as Jeff, lifting Kurt in his arms bridal style, and carried him off to his futon. Kurt smirked at Blaine, his beautiful and obedient sub. Kurt’s hands rose to Blaine’s shoulders, but instead of looping them around the back of Blaine’s neck, he started unbuttoning his collar.

“Make love to me,” Kurt said, part sounding like a command, which Blaine would normally drop to his knees to obey, but part sounding like a plea, from a man to his lover. Because that was what they’d always been to one another, aside from Dom and sub. Lovers. But regardless of their positions, or who had the authority, they both had a responsibility to one another, and that responsibility mattered most, above all other things.

And for that reason, Blaine said, “I can’t.”

Kurt snickered, his brow wrinkling once he realized Blaine was serious. “What? What do you mean you can’t? Why not?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“We’ve done it drunk before.”

“That was different.”

“How was that different?”

“We got drunk together,” Blaine explained gently, “but we had decided sober that we were going to have sex. You can’t consent if you’re drunk.” Blaine leaned forward to run his nose over Kurt’s. “You taught me that.”

“Come on, Blaine,” Kurt whined. “I promise it’ll be fine. I know all the safewords.” Kurt tittered, and then he snorted. Blaine was tempted to laugh, but he needed to be serious. He needed to make the Dom side of Kurt’s brain listen. Blaine knew Kurt. Drunk or sober, Blaine knew he’d come around.

“Look, if you want me to have sex with you while you’re drunk and I’m not, we’ll hash out the details when you’re sober, and work from there. We’ll write them out. We’ll make rules. Add them to the contract like we always do. But not until then.”

Kurt went quiet, assessing his sub while Blaine put him down on his futon and started unlacing his shoes.

“You’re really turning me down?” Kurt asked. There was an insecurity in Kurt’s voice that drove hooks into Blaine. It almost reeled him in. Blaine had heard that tone in his own voice, and when it was there, Kurt always took care of him. Blaine had to do the same.

“I’m really turning you down,” Blaine said.

Kurt sniffed, and Blaine braced himself for whatever Kurt’s Dominant side might dish out. But no sooner did Kurt sniff then he smiled, tenderly putting a hand to his sub’s cheek. “You’re a good man, Blaine Anderson.”

“And so are you, Kurt Hummel.” Blaine, kneeling at Kurt’s feet, took his Dom’s hand and kissed his wrist. “The best. So I’m not going to risk losing you.”

“Don’t worry, my love,” Kurt said, resting his cheek on Blaine’s curls. “I don’t think that’s possible.”