Kurt was a little tipsy, but he was by no means drunk, not like the rest of the people in the room, Finn aside. Blaine, even so drunk that he had trouble standing up, could tell that Kurt was faking the buzz that the party emanated. He’d been about to wander over to Kurt to offer him some of the rum and coke he was drinking when Rachel interrupted everyone by turning on that damned bedazzled microphone. What she’d announced made Kurt blush, Santana grin, and there were a few whoops and cheers scattered from the rest of the party crew. Blaine, however, simply inhaled slowly and held his breath, praying that things would work out for him the way he needed.

“Who wants to play Spin the Bottle!?”

When they were all seated, the wine cooler bottle started spinning. Everyone was kissing, laughing, and having a fun time of it. Blaine kept his eyes on Kurt. Partially because he couldn’t bring himself to look at the bottle while it was in rotation, and partially because Kurt looked positively queasy every time the bottle passed him. Blaine didn’t even notice that it was his turn until Puck said “Dude,” and he was torn from watching the boy. Blaine’s hand trembled as he set the bottle down and twisted his wrist, and then held his breath.

The first thought to cross his mind was that the bottle shouldn’t land on Kurt. That would be too much, too soon. He liked Kurt, but Kurt needed a mentor, not someone fawning over him. Kurt needed someone to be there for him, not someone who wanted to be all over him. Up until recently, Blaine had been okay with containing himself, refusing to allow himself to be interested in Kurt to protect him, but apparently the alcohol in his system had evaporated any such morals.

The second thought was that it couldn’t be anyone else but Kurt. Because Blaine wanted Kurt with something so big inside of his chest that he was frightened by it. Blaine looked up, but all eyes were on the bottle. His eyes flickered over to where Kurt was perched, and when the bottle passed him, instead of nausea, there was almost a certain sadness that the cooler hadn’t stopped.

Okay, that was definitely the alcohol talking. Right? Blaine heard a squeal as the bottle slowed to an excruciatingly glacial pace, which came from Rachel. Blaine bit back a grimace and willed the bottle to move just a little bit more until—

“Kurt!” Rachel’s voice reverberated in the small circle, and Kurt very nearly jumped out of his skin. Blaine simply smiled and tried not to look too smug. He quickly downed the rest of his rum and coke, chuckling to himself as he thought about his booze as “courage.”

Blaine could feel himself roll up onto his knees so he could reach across the circle to where Kurt was sitting, but all he could see was the trepidation in the other’s eyes, telling him how terrified he was of a real kiss, one that mattered. One that he wanted. Blaine’s face contorted into a watery half-smile as Kurt maneuvered himself into a half-sitting position, his hands coming to rest on either side of Blaine’s knees for balance.

His entire face was beet red.

Blaine leaned up, his lips a hair’s breadth away from Kurt’s, and he could see all of the muscles in Kurt’s face tensing up. “Relax,” he whispered, and then their lips were touching. It was barely more than a peck among close friends before Blaine was pulling away and running a hand through his hair. It took all of his self-control to pull away, to stop before he got carried away and lost in the way that Kurt melted underneath him. His hands searched for his cup, looking for something to fidget with, when Santana spoke up.

“Whoa. That is not how the game works. Did you see me and Britt getting’ our mack on? That’s how it’s gotta go. You can’t just pansy out now, white boy. Unless you wants to have an argument. And I will win.” Blaine looked up at her, eyes wide in confusion and glazed with inebriation. He wanted her to understand. He wanted nothing more than to sit and kiss Kurt until he was breathless and whining underneath him, but he couldn’t. He knew the way Kurt reacted to sexual situations, and Blaine couldn’t handle being rejected like that. Not by this boy.

There was a murmur of assent, and then Rachel was pulling at Blaine’s neck, bringing him in close. He was off balance and stumbled forward, practically in her lap. “Blaine. Blaine Warbler. You can’t do that. You have to kiss him. Like. Kiss him. Do you want me to show you?”

“No!” Kurt’s voice was immediate, and everyone turned to look at him. He backtracked quickly, stammering. “Well, I mean. Blaine, they’re right. We are playing this game, aren’t we?” Blaine looked up from Rachel’s lap, and whoa, Kurt’s face was upside down. With some difficulty, he righted himself, and was again inches from Kurt’s mouth. “Please kiss me,” he whispered, meant for only Blaine’s ears, and even drunk, the boy knew when he was supposed to take advantage of the situation.

This time, when Blaine and Kurt’s lips met, Blaine refused to pull away. Instead, he raised his hand and tucked it against the contours of the countertenor’s face, his thumb coming to rest right in front of his ear and the rest of his fingers threading into Kurt’s hair. There was a small whimper into the kiss, and Blaine recognized it as a sign to go further, so he parted his lips. Kurt’s mouth opened almost instantly. When Blaine gripped Kurt’s face just a little harder, pulled them a little closer and snaked his tongue just so into the boy’s mouth, Kurt gasped and used his hands to tug on the red cardigan, smashing their chests together.

Unfortunately, Blaine was drunk and Kurt had never been very stable, so the duo toppled backward. Blaine pulled away from the kiss, startled as they shifted from vertical to horizontal, but Kurt would have none of that. He lifted one hand from the cardigan and stuck it into Blaine’s hair before pushing them back together. Kurt made a noise in the back of his throat that could have been need or confusion, but to Blaine, it was the single most sensual noise that he’d ever heard, and it drove him wild.

From their position, Blaine could feel the heat radiating from Kurt’s chest and stomach, and he dropped a hand to slide up Kurt’s shirt and rest on his ribcage. Feeling Kurt’s stomach quiver as they kissed made Blaine realize that Kurt wanted this just as much as he did, and Blaine groaned before pressing his hips down into the other boy’s, and reveling in the fact that Kurt’s hips trembled and bucked forward to meet him.

Neither boy heard Santana say “So fucking wanky,” in her drunken drawl, and neither heard when Rachel and Quinn started catcalling, focused simply on each other. What Blaine did feel, though, was the way that Kurt’s hand gripped his cardigan just a little bit tighter on ever forward thrust, and Blaine heard every near-silent plea for more that Kurt whimpered. What Blaine heard was that Kurt wanted him, too. It triggered something in his brain. Blaine started to shift against Kurt’s pelvis with a sense of urgency, every other thrust punctuated with a low, burning moan from the back of Blaine’s throat that Kurt swallowed and replied with one of his own. Kurt’s hips moved a little more slowly, providing just enough friction that the both of them forgot where they were, but not so much o that Kurt was going to do something he regretted.

Or so he hoped.

Blaine pulled his lips away a minute later, and Kurt tried valiantly to chase them with his own kiss-bruised pair, but before he could move his neck very far, Blaine was back and nuzzling at Kurt’s neck; porcelain, perfect. Kurt gasped, a small groan slipping from dark red lips, and his eyelids fluttered, but from a very heated kissing experience at his friend’s house, Blaine knew that Kurt wasn’t seeing very much of anything.

First there was one small red mark, and in the process of creating it, the speed at which Kurt’s hips moved just about doubled until Blaine couldn’t do anything but rut helplessly against him, intentions of leaving hickeys and being tender forgotten. Kurt was making small noises against Blaine’s ear and Blaine was mimicking them at a lower pitch into Kurt’s neck, coherent sentences and words forgotten. Blaine’s hands slipped down, pushing Kurt’s hips down and grinding into them. He could feel the heat that had pooled in his stomach starting to spread throughout his body, leaving him feeling numb and almost weightless. He lifted his head and crushed his lips against Kurt’s again, not taking the same care he had with the first and second kiss, but Kurt didn’t seem to mind.

Nobody seemed to mind, in fact, aside from Finn, who had been uncomfortable since Rachel suggested that they play the damn game in the first place, but he’d endured it in quiet silence. That was, until he heard his brother whine into the mouth of another boy loudly enough to shock him to the core.

Blaine had just gotten Kurt to let go, to make noise, and then he was gasping as he was pulled off of the boy and sat upright. His head was spinning, mostly from kissing but still a little bit from the alcohol. Okay, maybe a lot from the alcohol, but either way, his chest was cold because Kurt wasn’t pressed against it, and Blaine turned to see who had been so cruel as to pull them away. He was faced by none other than Finn. He opened his mouth to ask why, but the taller boy beat him to it.

“Dude. That’s my fucking brother.”

“Yes. I was kissing him.” Blaine was confused. He looked at Kurt, who had managed to sit up, compose himself, and blush like he’d never pale again.

“No,” Santana interjected. “You were well on your way to something else. What I don’t know is why Hudson here stopped you. That was hot.” She winked at Blaine, and he scowled. He held out his hand to Kurt, who, after some internal struggling, took it. Blaine’ shoulders relaxed, and he felt himself calm down knowing that Kurt wasn’t pulling away from him. He didn’t respond, though, choosing instead to sulk in silence.

“Well, I think they killed the game. Who wants to sing a duet with me!?” Rachel was quick to recover from the moment, yelling into that damned microphone again. Mercedes agreed, if for no other reason than to shut her up for a little while, and the party went back to normal. With the exception of Kurt and Blaine, who continued to sit on the floor in the same spot, holding hands. Blaine did nuzzle closer, though, resting on Kurt’s shoulder.

Three songs and a lot of laughter later, Kurt was shaking Blaine awake. The party was over, and he’d fallen asleep. “Blaine, Blaine come on, wake up.”

“No, Kurt. You’re so cozy. Just sleeping, okay?”

“Come on, Blaine. You have to get home.”

“’S too far away from you. I don’t want to sleep alone. Don’t make me sleep alone.” Blaine put on his best puppy dog pout, which Kurt thought looked entirely ridiculous, but he caved.

“You can stay at my house.” Blaine was trying to get to his feet immediately, but he was still uncoordinated and tired, so it took a little bit of help. He caught Finn’s attention, and they were in the car on the way home in under twenty minutes.

Blaine watched Kurt for the car ride home, watching the way he breathed, the way he tried to pretend that he wasn’t really looking at Blaine even though the boy had caught him twice. “Kurt,” he whispered, leaning close.

“Yes, Blaine?”

“That wasn’t just booze, okay? That kiss. I wanted to kiss you. A lot, actually. You know that, don’t you?”

Kurt smiled, and he thought that he could feel his heart skip a beat. “Yes, Blaine.”

“Good.”