“No, Kurt,” Blaine said, stopping him from taking another one of Puck’s margaritas. Blaine had smelled them, and if there was even a splash of margarita mix in the tequila, he’d have been surprised.

“Oh, Blaine, you’re such a party pooper,” Kurt giggled as he sucked down the end of his first margarita. “Ooh, come on. Brittany and Santana are doing tequila shots. I want to do one!” Kurt’s smile and eyelash batting had Blaine sighing and taking the boy’s hand and going over to the table, where the salt and lime had been laid out already.

“Okay, but only one.” Kurt just rolled his eyes.

For the first shot, Kurt had refused to lick salt off of Santana’s chest, so he’d had to drink straight from the shot glass without the offer of the salt or the lime. Kurt looked at Blaine and smiled.

“No, Kurt. I’m not about to take off my shirt so you can take a shot.”

“Come on, Warbler. Get with the program,” Santana offered as Kurt’s defense. It’s not the end of the world. Have you even had anything to drink?”

“Please, Blaine?” This came from Kurt, who pressed a soft kiss to the other’s lips. Blaine smiled and kissed Kurt back, purposefully ignoring the taste of alcohol on his lips and taking hold of Kurt’s jaw to pull him in closer.

“Dude, stop making out with each other and do this damned shot!” came the voice of one Noah Puckerman. Kurt looked up and glared at him.
“As it is my boyfriend, Noah,” he began, slurring his words only just a little. “I will make out with him for however long I want.” He paused to prove his point, dipping his head to kiss Blaine again. He was dizzy with lust when he pulled away. “Give me the tequila,” he commanded, taking the shot glass in his hand. Blaine started to take off his shirt, thought better of the action, and pulled his shirt up, revealing a tightness of his stomach and the definition in his abs. Kurt licked his lips as Santana handed the Warbler a lime wedge and sprinkled salt across the top of his chest. Kurt could hear Blaine’s soft moan and felt his body shuddering underneath him as he lifted up to toss back the shot. After swallowing, Kurt made a face at the taste and exhaled, then bent his head down, parted his lips, and let the flat of his tongue touch Blaine’s skin.
The first thing that he tasted was the pure bitterness of the salt, and then he felt the heat of Blaine’s chest on his mouth. His cock jumped to life, and Kurt whimpered softly. His brain shut off, and once the salt was gone, Blaine tried to sit up. He was pushed back with an insistent hand, and then Kurt was licking over each of his nipples, making Blaine grip his boyfriend’s hips as he tried to control himself. Kurt looked up, his eyes glazed over, and remembered that he was in the presence of the rest of New Directions. They were all staring at him, jaws wide, except for Santana, who looked utterly pleased with herself.

“Blaine, it’s time to go.”


“No, Kurt.” Blaine had to assert himself for the umteenth time that night as he carried a drunken Kurt home from another night of debauchery at Rachel’s house. This time, he’d been the sober one, especially after realizing that Kurt had been watching him all night the first time they’d partied together, and while Blaine had a tendency to get physical while drunk, he wasn’t exactly horny. Kurt, however, was a sexual firecracker, especially after three tequila shots and a Noah Puckerman mixed margarita.

“But Blaine,” Kurt protested, stopping and putting a hand solidly between the boy’s legs. “Don’t you feel it for me?”

“Kurt! We have to get you home. To bed.”

“Only if you’ll come with me.”

“To sleep.” Kurt blinked and pressed himself against Blaine before pushing their lips together.
“I don’t want to sleep. I want you to fuck me until I’m screaming and begging for you to make me come, and—”

“Okay!” Blaine’s face was beet red. Apparently, along with Kurt’s sense of propriety went his language filter. He had to admit, though, when Kurt spoke like he knew exactly what he wanted, Blaine could feel his cock jump through his jeans. Kurt’s hand grabbed at it again, this time noticing that he was hard. With a chuckle, Kurt pressed his own hips against Blaine’s, pushing them down a side street and against a wall.

“You see? You want me too,” He cooed, and reached one hand to stroke the soft skin of Blaine’s cheek. “Please, please.”

“Kurt, you’re drunk.”

“I don’t care. I want you to make me feel good. I want you to blow me, here and now. And then take me home and fuck me.” Kurt’s voice was slowly edging toward hysterical as he tried to throw himself at Blaine, who seemed to only want to take him home. “If this is because of what happened last time at Rachel’s party, it’s fine. We’re here now, and that’s what’s important, right?”

“Kurt, you’re drunk and I’m not about to have sex with you. I care about you too much to take advantage of you drunk.”

“Damn it, Blaine! Santana sleeps with Brittany, and they care about it each other. They’re probably together now. And I can’t even get my boyfriend to touch me, and here we are in a damn alley.” Kurt whacked the wall with an open palm to make his point. Blaine shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and Kurt frustrated, put both hands softly against Blaine’s chest.

“I just…you feel so good all the time, and when you’re on your knees, the way you move your tongue, Blaine.” Blaine’s breath hitched, and he tried to remember exactly why he wasn’t doing this. He was trying to take care of Kurt, and sure, he wanted to drop his pants and take his boyfriend here and now, but it was dangerous. “I just want you to touch me.”

The dam broke. Blaine took a deep breath and took hold of Kurt’s arms before turning him so his back was against the wall and kissed him hard, hands scrambling down to take hold of the top button of the jeans Kurt had on. When he couldn’t find the right angle to unbutton the damn tight pants Kurt insisted were fashionable, Blaine pulled away from the kiss and dropped to his knees.

His fingers went to work immediately, undoing the button-fly of Kurt’s jeans. He was pleased and a little bit shocked to find that Kurt hadn’t been wearing underwear. He swore and looked upward at Kurt, who was staring at him with an unapologetic smile. “They’re tight pants, Blaine,” he breathed, because it wasn’t really speaking, not the way that Blaine had him falling apart, and was barely even touching him. Blaine shook his head and swore again.
“Gonna blow you now,” he said with a nod, and before Kurt could even nod his assent, Blaine’s mouth was on him, hot and fast. Kurt opened his mouth and his head fell backward, rendered incapable of making a sound. Blaine’s tongue worked the underside of Kurt’s cock, tracing obscene shapes and working its way up to the juncture between the shaft and the head. When Blaine’s tongue went flat and licked across the head of his dick, Kurt’s knees gave out. His head fell forward, and it was only Blaine’s hand on his hip keeping him steady.
“Blaine, Blaine, please,” Kurt moaned softly, his head forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to be making noise. He inhaled sharply as his hips bucked forward of their own accord. Blaine had just done something with just a hint of tooth that undid him. Blaine pulled off of Kurt long enough to look up and give brief instructions. Blaine’s eyes were blown wide, and his lips were swollen.

“Do that again.” Kurt was confused, and opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but Blaine was already on top of it. “Fuck my mouth,” he growled, voice low and sex-filled and desperate. Kurt’s fingers threaded through Blaine’s curls and he nodded, incapable of denying him anything when he spoke like that. Blaine opened his mouth and Kurt was there instantly, his hips snapping forward in quick, needy thrusts. Blaine knew he was close, and he grabbed Kurt’s hips with his hands and pushed him in further, relaxing his throat and taking Kurt until his nose was pressed against the small patch of pubic hair.

“Kurt…fuck.” In an instant, Blaine was up turning Kurt against the wall. It only took a moment before his pants were undone and around his waist. There was something about it when Kurt played dirty that made Blaine incapable of rational thought. He was undoing his pants, then, and then spitting on his palm. After a few thrusts through his hand, Blaine lined himself up and was pushing himself into Kurt in hard, quick thrusts. Kurt cried out, whimpering by the time Blaine was buried inside of him, babbling for him to just keep moving.

“Blaine please. Blaine please. I just…fuck me. Fuck me hard. I want you to make me…oh my God. Yes, please, just like that.” Kurt’s voice was the only one other than Blaine’s harsh pants and the occasional moan as he fucked his boyfriend quick and dirty in the alley. “Blaine, I can’t…I’m—”

And then he was coming, hitting brick wall as Kurt cried out and pushed himself hard against Blaine, who was grabbing Kurt’s hips and coming too. Blaine pulled out and fixed Kurt with a look of disbelief. Kurt was simply smiling as he adjusted his pants, the gleam of alcohol still glazing over his eyes.

“What now?” Blaine asked as he licked his lips. Kurt leaned over and kissed him soundly on the mouth before answering.

“Sleepover at your house?”


It was two in the morning when Blaine woke up to Kurt retching in his bathroom. Shaking his head, he got out of bed and padded across the room until he could see his boyfriend hunched over the toilet. Blaine got on his knees and sighed as he started rubbing slow circles on his back.

“It hurts, Blaine.”

“I kept telling you not to,” he whispered, to which he was earned another round of retching from Kurt, and then a punch on the arm. “What have we learned?”

“Two things. One, I’m going to kill Noah Puckerman.” Kurt spit and flushed the toilet, but didn’t move from his perch.

“And the second?”

“I’m never drinking tequila again.”