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i.
The first thing Blaine says when Kurt dumps him onto the bed is, “Kissing is so awesome.”
The tweedy quality of his voice trembles in the air, loud like he still has to compete the boom of Rachel’s stereo system to be heard.
Kurt shushes him, shoving him down by his shoulders. He’s damn near ready to duct tape his mouth shut if he doesn’t quiet down. It makes Kurt sickly dizzy, the thought of his dad waking up and busting this unauthorized little sleepover. Calling Blaine’s parents or Rachel’s.
No, a drunken Blaine should be kept under wraps — so deeply under wraps that no one can hear him.
"I’m serious, kissing is just- it’s just so great and- and nice and- funny."
"Yeah, what a laugh and a half," Kurt mutters under his breath as he kneels down to take Blaine’s shoes off, not exactly mindful of how hard he yanks.
It’s not hurting Blaine, though, going by his reaction.
He twists and turns on the bed, making the springs squeal, as he kicks, snorting and giggling. “Stop it, stop it, it tickles.”
“Alright.” Kurt throws the shoe off to the side, rising to stand so fast it makes his head swim. He looms over Blaine, jaw clenching tight enough to make his teeth ache when he sees Blaine’s dopey grin. “You need to be quiet or you’ll be spending the night in the car.”
Blaine chest jumps as some giggles bubble up, noises coming from his throat, but he draws his lips into his mouth and bites them closed. His eyes shine in the glow of Kurt’s bedside lamp, and it makes Kurt all the more frustrated to find himself so taken with the mess of a boy in front of him.
He’s not being fair. None of this is fair.
He’s just so exhausted.
Kurt’s shoulders slump as the spark of rage leaves him, tells Blaine, “I’m going to change. Stay right there.”
He digs in his dresser for a pair of pajamas, then hides behind his closet door as he takes off his clothes. He tries to pretend Blaine isn’t on the other side, stretched out on his bed, a feat which proves difficult once Blaine starts rambling again.
"I wish I could just, like- kiss people all the time, y’know? I want to kiss everyone, it’s so happy and great-“
Kurt rolls his eyes, placing extra attention on buttoning his shirt so he doesn’t have to pay any mind to the string of consciousness Blaine seems so content in spewing. He’d figured Blaine would be a fun drunk, but never imagined he’d be so damn chatty.
"I never thought kissing a girl would be so awesome,” Blaine says, a marveling quality to his voice.
Kurt snorts. “I’ll remind you of that little comment when you’re not loopy from booze.”
"Nooo, I’m serious, you should try it, too."
"I have, actually," Kurt says, pulling up his pants. "I told you that."
Blaine doesn’t say anything for a second, and Kurt bites his cheek, shakes his head, until he hears a bursting, “Ohhh, oh yeah, yeah, I totally remember that.”
"Right." Just get him to sleep and this nightmare of a night can end.
As Kurt closes the closet door, Blaine says, “I think you would be an awesome kisser.”
His whole body tenses where he stands. He wants to turn and look at Blaine, but at the same time, it feels safer to just stare at the door, find the swirls in the wood through the white paint, and wait until Blaine is unconscious.
This is the last time he’d ever want to hear this. It’s almost an insult.
"I know I said I want us to be friends, but I would totally kiss you if I could."
His words are slow and linked together like a train; Kurt can tell he’s falling asleep.
He tilts his head forward, knocking his forehead on the door. It feels like his chest is about to burst, like the threads holding him together are being torn off.
"Kurt?"
"Just go to sleep, Blaine."
Blaine doesn’t reply.
He still waits a little while longer before he turns around.
Mouth slack, legs still dangling off the side of the mattress, Blaine is fast asleep. Finally, Kurt can have a quiet night.
After some consideration, he decides to do the friendly thing and tug Blaine up toward the pillows. He grunts and jerks a bit, but doesn’t wake up as he moves him.
That night, he half-sleeps on the edge of the bed, resists tossing because Blaine does enough for them until the sun has turned the sky light purple and blue, and bends away each time Blaine’s hand brushes his back.
//
ii.
Kurt had known catching up to Blaine would be easy — a car versus a staggering, drunken teenager is no real contest — but he never would have guessed getting him into the car would be this hard.
Besides being the chattiest cat at the bar when he drinks — not to mention, the horniest — Blaine apparently becomes ten times more stubborn as well.
"This is really unattractive, Blaine," Kurt yells out the window.
Blaine is on the opposite side of the street and Kurt’s neck aches from looking back and forth between Blaine and the road. He’s already drifted over the line several times, and is starting to create a line of traffic behind him with how slowly he’s creeping so he can keep level with Blaine.
"What’s it matter being attractive or not if your boyfriend won’t have sex with you?” Blaine shouts back.
"Maybe I would if you weren’t being so awful!"
By this point, there isn’t an ounce of shame left to Kurt’s name. If they’re going to be a spectacle, then they may as well be an honest one.
The Jeep Wrangler behind him swerves out to the other lane, squealing its tires as he goes around Kurt’s (well, Blaine’s) car. The man driving it yells fuck you as he goes by, and Kurt flips him off in retaliation, along with all the other cars who take the Jeep’s lead.
The close proximity of the cars seems to spook Blaine to a stop, who’d been walking in the gravel along the tree-lined road. He blinks at the procession as they all zip by, honking or shouting, and a frown stretches across his face.
By the time they’re alone, Kurt is stalled in the road, eyeing Blaine as he looks around him like he’s lost.
Kurt opens his mouth to ask him if he’s okay, but stops short when Blaine heaves, turns his back, and pukes into the grass.
Kurt mutters, “Good god,” as he throws the car into park, looking up and down the road before he hops out and runs over to Blaine.
"Hey." He places a hand on Blaine’s back once he’s close enough, rubs along his shoulder blades as he spits the bad taste out of his mouth. "Hey, are you alright?"
Blaine moans, pitiful and scratchy, a pinch between his brows. He’s holding his body like someone dumped a bucket of water on him, arms out like he wants to touch no part of himself. His head is still ducked low, so Kurt has to lean in to hear him say, “Feel sick.”
"Would you be okay in the car? C’mon, we need to get you in the car," Kurt says, trying to soothe him and pull him along at the same time, even as Blaine shakes his head and refuses to move his feet until necessary.
"No, no, no," he moans, putting his free hand on Kurt’s to try and pull his wrist out of his grip.
"You’re not walking all the way home like this," Kurt says, opening the back door.
He maneuvers Blaine in front of him to whines of can’t get puke in my car no no no.
"We’ll pull over to the side of the road ‘til you feel better, okay, sweetie?"
Blaine doesn’t say anything else while Kurt straps him in — and, thankfully, he doesn’t try to pull Kurt on him again.
Kurt makes quick work of getting them out of the road and off to the side, eyes shifting between the windshield and the rear-view mirror, where he can see Blaine’s eyes, drooping and tired.
He turns the engine off and everything goes quiet except for the click and buzz of the nighttime bugs.
Turning around in his seat, he asks, “Feeling any better?”
Blaine shakes his head, staring down at his hands.
"Think you’re gonna puke again?"
There’s a pause, then he shakes his head another time, coughing a bit, then grimacing.
"I need mouthwash," he mumbles. A grin tugs on Kurt’s lips.
They sit in silence for a while, the occasional car passing from one way or another. There aren’t any houses on this strip of the road, though it’s not far off to find them. Still, it feels like they’re stranded, and a cold chill shoots up Kurt’s spine. The spaces between the trees look darker than the night itself.
"Do you just not want to have sex with me?" Blaine asks, and Kurt’s eyes dart over to Blaine, where they’re glossy in the dim lighting they’re afforded. His face is pulled into a hard expression, like he’s asking for a tough truth. "You can say so, I can take it."
Kurt bites his cheek to keep the smile in. “Blaine, sweetheart, we’ve already talked about this. If I’m going to be intimate with anyone, it’s going to be you.”
"But we were supposed to- to be-" Blaine purses his lips, eyes drifting off to the side.
"Adventurous?"
“Yeah, yeah, that one. We were gonna do it tonight, but we’re- not.”
Kurt snorts, hides his mouth in the edge of the seat before he says, “We were going to ‘do it’?”
"Yeah. We were." Blaine slumps in his seat, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. "But we’re not."
"Are you saying you wanted your first time to be in the parking lot of a crummy gay bar?"
"It was adventurous, Kurt," he whines. "And passionate and- stuff."
Kurt looks at his boyfriend, clothes rumpled, face scrunched up all moody, strapped into the back seat of his car by force, and he wants to laugh even though he doesn’t have it in him to find this funny right now.
"No, it wasn’t."
Blaine fixes his jaw tight, eyes hard like they’re trying to bore holes in the ceiling.
Kurt turns around and starts the car again, and swears he can hear his own bed calling his name.
//
iii.
Kurt has well learned the cornerstones that make up a drunken Blaine Anderson. A buzz makes him more talkative than normal. Too much makes him an emotional tornado that Kurt can’t hope to keep up with; usually Kurt can disuade him from tumbling over that edge.
The middle ground is what Kurt has the hardest time managing, just because Blaine becomes so thoughtless.
"You smell like a liquor store," Kurt says, tilting his chin up as Blaine lavishes his neck in wet, noisy kisses.
"You smell like mine," Blaine says back, smiling wide into the curve where Kurt’s neck meets his shoulder. Kurt knows he’s feeling too much pride for that line and rolls his eyes.
"No, you’re right. Liquor stores are much more sanitary."
"I’m sanitary," Blaine mumbles, kissing back up Kurt’s neck. The hand he’s got on Kurt’s knee starts a quick slide up his thigh, and Kurt flinches hard, slapping his hand over Blaine’s
"Whoa, slow down there, cowboy." No one else in the club is paying attention to them, they’re all focused on Rachel, the lovely new Funny Girl of Broadway, but the panic still pricks at his skin.
He’s much more lax than he was when they first started navigating the parameters of PDA — more lax than he’s ever been, period, to be quite honest — and tonight has been quite an interesting trip so far. He’s had more random people touch his body than he ever thought he’d be okay with.
And yet, he knows he needs to draw a line, and public handjobs seems like a pretty appropriate place to start.
"I want you so bad," Blaine mumbles into his ear.
He turns his head, tries to look Blaine in the eyes as best he can with him being so close.
"Wait ‘til we get home, okay?" he asks, just loud enough for the space between him, but he’s not sure Blaine heard him, his eyes dark and unwavering as they stare down at Kurt’s lips.
He expects it when Blaine dives his mouth onto his, an open-mouth, alcohol-sour kiss Kurt isn’t too fond of tasting. He pushes harder, powers through his grossed-out nerves because all details aside, the thrill of it is too inviting to put an end to it.
"I want you right now, c’mon." He coaxes Kurt with kisses and pushes at his lower back and encouraging words mumbled on his lips. It makes Kurt flush and his cock harden, solely from how much dirtier he talks the longer Kurt holds out.
"Please, Kurt, I can’t wait anymore, I’ve wanted to fuck you all night, please don’t make me wait, please, please, baby," he whines, hands moving up to Kurt’s face to pull him in for another hard kiss.
Kurt’s breath shudders out of him as he kisses back, swinging his leg up over Blaine’s lap to straddle him. He feels reckless and a bit like someone’s about to pull him up by the collar. He breaks the kiss, leans his forehead against Blaine’s.
"Honey," he breathes, wrapping his arms tight over Blaine’s shoulders. "There are people crawling everywhere, we can’t do that here. We need to go."
"They won’t care, you’re so hot, they won’t care, baby, c’mon." Blaine’s fingers move down Kurt’s chest, landing on his belt. He fiddles with it, struggling more than he would were he sober.
Blaine whines when Kurt grabs his hands.
"We’ll get arrested, sweetheart," Kurt laughs, straightening his spine. "And anyway, we’re not prepared for something like this."
"But I want it, I’ve always wanted it, I need it, Kurt. I need you, please."
Blaine tries to move forward, but Kurt stops him with a hand on his chest. He can’t stop staring down at his fiancé, who stares back up at him with a dark sort of intent, panting and seeming no more aware of what he’d said than he is of the lights or the music or the crowd.
Kurt can feel how wide his own eyes are as he asks, “Always wanted what?”
Blaine squirms under the pressure of Kurt’s hand, scowls when he can’t lift off the back of the plush couch, then shrugs, not looking higher than Kurt’s chest.
"People," he says, and before Kurt can prompt him further, he adds, "More people. Maybe- one more person."
Kurt goes slack enough with shock that Blaine can bend his arm with the forward movement of his body. He can only accept Blaine’s fevered kisses as he gives them, limp hand still on his chest, as the realization rolls over and over in his mind. He’s never told me that before.
Once the numb breaks, the desire rocks his body, his cock painfully hard in his pants. When he finally starts to kiss back, he presses hard enough to have Blaine back against the back of the couch.
"Do you mean that?" Kurt asks, low, before biting Blaine’s bottom lip, pulling back to let it slide out of his grip slowly.
Blaine moans, his body twitching underneath Kurt. “Yeah, yeah, I want it, so much, baby, you don’t even know-“
"We will talk about this later."
Blaine nods, says, “Remind me,” before he can’t speak at all for a while.
//
+ i.
The first thing that hits him as soon as he wakes up is the nausea. It may have been what woke him up, now that he thinks about it (thinks about it so delicately because using his brain the way it’s intended to be used hurts so fucking much).
He feels like misery.
He feels like he ate the pits of hell and it’s coming back up to punish him.
The slightest movement, the slightest sound, the feeling of the air against his clammy skin is enough to make him feel like he’s about to inspire the next exorcism movie. Or star in it. Or- whatever. He just feels sick.
The mattress beneath him bounces ever so faintly and he feels the world flip on its head, spinning fast and making him feel like he’s falling without actually moving at all.
He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, groans, “‘m gonna puke, you bastard, stop moving.”
"Sorry, angel," he hears Blaine whisper.
"Mm." The easiest thing he can manage is sound, especially when talking seems to provoke his sore stomach. There’s a heat on his face, though, coming from beyond him, and it hurts his everything. "Could you turn off the light?"
It sounds like Blaine’s laughing as he says, “Sweetheart, that’s the sun.”
"It’s making me angry.”
There’s a sigh before another bounce of the bed, evoking another groan from Kurt’s raspy, sandpaper throat. There’s some noise he can’t decipher and it takes longer than Kurt thinks it should before the brazen yellows and oranges peter out into cool blues and purples and blacks.
"Thank you." He feels his lips form the words and, though he isn’t sure if he really said it loud enough to be heard, he still gets a you’re welcome and a hand on his forehead to push back his hair for a light kiss.
He continues to lie there on his back, relaxed just enough to feel nothing beyond the dryness of his throat and the dull pound of his head. The sheets are cool and cloud-like beneath him, and he imagines laying still enough to become one with the bed, to be nothing besides comfortable and light for the rest of his life.
"I want to give you something for pain, but I’m afraid to disturb you," Blaine says, sounding too arch to be afraid of anything. If he felt human enough, or like the skin on his face didn’t feel too tight to move, Kurt would shoot him a glare.
"How are you not in a world of hurt, too?" Kurt says, barely opening his lips as he speaks.
"You really don’t remember?"
"Do I look like someone capable of thought right now?"
Blaine laughs. “I guess not. Would you rather I tell you?”
"Pl-ease,” he says, drawing out the end to hopefully let Blaine know he’s done fooling around. Just because Blaine can go on hangover free doesn’t mean he can act so chipper about it.
"You told me that you didn’t want me getting drunk on the first night of our honeymoon."
"Mhmm."
"So every time someone bought us both a drink, you drank them both."
"M-hmmm."
"And got obscenely plastered after maybe the second hour."
"Hm."
"No one’s stranded on the roof, though, so there’s nothing really to worry about."
One corner of Kurt’s mouth jerks up, and he lets out a hitched breath through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh he can get right now.
"Except for one teeny, tiny thing."
His stomach does a flip that makes the nausea flare up, his body tensing and shuddering from nerves and illness. He notices the shift in Blaine;s voice, from his usual cheerful tone to something a bit more cautious.
"Wha’d I do?"
"Well, when we got back to the room, I sat you in the bathroom and went to get your pajamas. And while I was gone, you decided to lock the door and make a phone call."
"Mm?"
"I thought you may have been talking to yourself, but there’s definitely a call in your phone history. A forty-seven minute call."
"Who?" Kurt asks quick through the bile rising in the back of his throat.
"It was your father."
His throat spasms, his stomach turning over, and he throws a hand over his mouth, groaning long and loud. The bed moves, he hears Blaine talking over him, rambling out questions that fly over Kurt’s head as he endures the waves of embarrassment.
He can’t remember a second of the night before, it hurts to even think back but it’s also just blank from his mind, and the mystery of his phone call with his father- it can’t be good, none of this is good.
After a few minutes, when the feeling has passed, he moans, “Wha’d I say?”
"I’m- not exactly sure you want to know that part."
Kurt opens his eyes for the first time to see Blaine perched on the edge of the bed, grinning though there is a distinct blush on his face.
"Was it bad?"
Blaine’s smile wobbles as he shrugs. “You should probably call him when you feel up to it.”
"I’m going to puke.”
"Want me to help you to the bathroom?" Blaine asks, reaching for Kurt’s shoulder again.
He shakes his head, shrugging Blaine away from him, skin too sensitive to be touched. “No, just- what did I say?”
"I can’t remember all of it. You just- really felt like letting him know exactly what you were thinking."
"Oh god, was I mean?" Kurt asks, eyebrows furrowing. He can’t imagine himself being a mean drunk, especially not to his own father. His friends has told him he’s been hard to handle, but they never told him he was aggressive or cruel.
"No, no, you weren’t mean, don’t worry about that. I would just- definitely call him later."
Kurt blinks up at Blaine, who is rubbing his lips together, his hands clasped in his lap.
"So I can look him in the eye again."
Kurt shakes his head, so utterly lost. “What did I even say?”
Blaine flicks his tongue across his upper lip, says stiffly, “Well. It actually sort of fine until about the thirty minute mark, when you got into some of the- plans you had for tonight. Plans for us.”
From the first mention of ‘plans’, Kurt can’t feel his face, can’t move, can’t think of anything other than the blind horror seeping its way through his body. He might not be able to recall very much at the moment, he might have been forehead-deep in planning for the months leading up to the wedding, but he knows exactly what Blaine’s referring to — he’d written last night’s plans all out in a private notebook, his eyes only.
He squeaks out, “What did I say, Blaine?”
"I really don’t want to- relive it."
His body feels like lead, but he still manages to push himself up into a sitting position. Blaine won’t look at him until Kurt reaches forward and shoves his arm.
"And you just let me go on like that?”
"I’m sorry, sweetheart, the door was locked. Believe me, I tried to stop you as soon as I could.”
They stare at each other in silence; Kurt knows all his words have left him, he is more fully speechless than he’s been in his life, and Blaine seems to have run out of words as well.
From somewhere outside of the bedroom, there’s noise — heavy footsteps and clanking metal — and they both look to see a tall, burly man standing in the doorway.
He holds up his toolbox, says, “Door’s fixed.”
When Blaine says a quiet thank you, he turns away and disappears. The sound of a door clicking shut hangs in the air, and Kurt looks back to Blaine.
"What happened to the door?"
Blaine reaches up a hand to scratch behind his ear, distinctly not looking at Kurt when he says, “I may or may not have broken into the bathroom to get you to stop.”
Kurt- blinks, feels beyond emotion as he stares at his husband, asks, “How did you manage that?”
"I- may or may not have ran at it with a chair. A few times."
Kurt nods, continues to stare at him until he finally looks at him, hesitant like a frightened rabbit.
"That probably costed us a bit."
Blaine coughs into his fist, then nods. “Oh yeah.”
Kurt watches him for another moment; he goes back to looking around the room. It’s a fairly nice room at a fairly nice hotel.
Kurt glances to the side and sees on the nightstand two pills and a couple of water.
"Wake me up when this is over," Kurt mutters before he grabs the pills and downs them with a too-large gulp of water.
"Okay, angel," Blaine says as Kurt hunkers back down onto his side, his whole body throbbing angrily at him.
"We’ve made fools of ourselves and it’s only day two."
"At least we’re doing it together?" Blaine says like a question. He feels a smile pull at his lips.
"C’mere." There’s a moment’s hesitation before more bouncing movement of the bed, turning his stomach a bit, before he feels an arm go over his waist, Blaine’s front pressed to Kurt’s back.
"And you say I’m bad when I drink.”
Kurt breathes a laugh. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”
Blaine laughs, a pleasant and close sound, and it’s the last thing he hears before sleep takes him again.