Illicit, Part Three. Kurt/Blaine 5+1 pot-smoking fic.

[emilianadarling]

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Four:

“Night, boys!” a female voice croons teasingly, before the door to one of Thad’s spare bedroom closes behind them with a definitive click.
The nice thing about Warbler house parties, Kurt decides as he flails slightly in order to keep his balance, is that they’re really so tame by his refreshed set of public high school standards despite the occasional light drug use. This particular event had been an ‘it’s almost midway through summer!’ blowout, but the result was still fairly subdued, considering. There is always a full table of potluck dishes with cue cards in front of each one, containing the full set of ingredients and allergy warnings. Nothing ever gets trashed or even that badly messed up, and all of their cups usually even get popped in the dishwasher before everyone heads to bed. They never have more than a little alcohol, or more than a little pot, or more than a little bit of shenanigans.
They never stay up more than a little bit late, either. Which is why he and Blaine have just been shoved into a spare bedroom with their overnight bags thrown after them, the buzz of the (thankfully decent) weed they just smoked still swimming in their ears.
“That was sudden,” remarks Blaine casually, from a little bit to Kurt’s left. There are no lights on in the room - Thad and his girlfriend hadn’t given them time to turn any on before slamming the door shut, the jerks - and it’s impossible to tell exactly where his boyfriend is.
Kurt makes a small noise of agreement, trying not to freak out at how dark everything is. It feels almost like a physical presence over top of them, choking him in, and he has no idea what could be happening in those corners. His eyes aren’t adjusting, and the shadows seem to twist into something secret and awful -
“Light,” says Kurt quickly, fingers twitching. “Light now, please.”
Thankfully, Blaine quickly obliges; stumbling over one of their bags until he succeeds in finding and flicking on a bedside lamp. Kurt lets out a large sigh of relief as the warm lamplight washes over the room. Everything is still floating a little bit, but the indistinct and irrational scariness of the dark has been banished.
Banished by Blaine. Who is standing with his hand still on the lamp, looking mussed up and flushed, his dark eyes fixed on Kurt with an intensity that makes him shiver.
“Blaine?” asks Kurt, still feeling ridiculously grateful for the lamplight. He runs a hand absently through his own hair, enjoying the way at catches at his hand and slows the movement. His limbs feel weightless and heavy all at once, and the way the light plays with the shadows makes everything seem... less solid. Outside, Blaine had been giggly and fun and smiley with his friends, buzzing around the room in a way that made Kurt dizzy to watch. But he doesn’t seem to be manic anymore. Kurt tugs at the neckline of his shirt, feeling warm in the small room. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Fuck, Kurt,” Blaine whispers, voice low and heated, before striding forward in a movement so quick Kurt can barely process it. All at once he’s right there, hands on either side of Kurt’s face, and dragging Kurt in for a sloppy, desperate kiss.
A small noise escapes from Kurt’s lips involuntarily in surprise, and the vibrations buzz through two sets of lips. Kurt kisses back automatically, eyes fluttering shut as he opens his mouth and lets Blaine’s tongue slide inside. They haven’t done this with the sticky taste of smoke on their tongues in months, and Kurt had honestly forgotten how incredible kissing feels like this. The smallest brush of Blaine’s fingertips on his arm sends sparks all up and down his body, and the heat of Blaine’s mouth is just criminal.
It helps that they’ve done this a great deal since last time, too; this, and so much more. They know one another’s bodies so much better than before: how to tease, and wring out gasps, and get reactions. Blaine’s mouth tastes so good, too, and that’s something Kurt will never be able to figure out. How the taste of Blaine’s mouth is so incredible it makes Kurt groan up into the kiss, wrapping his arms shakily around his boyfriend’s neck. It’s hard to focus on standing up and kissing at the same time like this, Kurt discovers, with the room already floating around them and every touch a million times more. So he clings on as hard as he can, struggling to stay upright as Blaine’s mouth breaks away to trail along his jaw.
“You’re so beautiful,” mutters Blaine, nipping at the skin of Kurt’s neck in a way that makes him stifle a groan. “So beautiful, Kurt, and sometimes I think you know it better than anyone and you’re just taunting me because I can’t do anything with our friends all around.” He pulls away slightly, reaching up to unbutton Kurt’s shirt with unsteady fingers. Kurt gasps. “But then I realize that you don’t actually know how beautiful you are. You don’t, and that’s so special and even hotter, and oh, god. I wanted to touch you so badly out there, I could barely look at you.”
“Blaine,” Kurt gasps breathily, hands coming up in a half-hearted attempt to still Blaine’s hands. None of his boyfriend’s words are really making that much sense, but they’re going straight to Kurt’s cock anyways, and if Blaine doesn’t stop they’re going to wind up doing something entirely inappropriate in Thad’s house. “Blaine, we shouldn’t... oh, Jesus, nngghh.” He can’t stop himself from tipping his head back and groaning as Blaine leans down and licks a hot, warm tongue over his now-exposed nipple. “We... we shouldn’t being doing this at someone else’s house, should we?”
“The door’s closed, that makes it okay,” says Blaine, matter-of-fact and apparently still fixated by Kurt’s the tiny peak of sensitive skin. Half crouching to get a good angle, he swirls his tongue over it and blows. The noise Kurt hears himself make in response is practically pornographic, and he slams a hand over his own mouth as his face flushes in vague embarrassment. What if people can hear them? “Besides, I’m pretty sure they were angling for this to happen. They got us stoned, then shoved us in here and closed the door, Kurt, remember?”
“Oh,” chokes Kurt through his hand, tying to stop his hips from stuttering as Blaine leans down and starts sucking on the pink puckered flesh. Without even noticing, his free hand comes up and tangles into Blaine’s curls, holding him in place, because god. Everything feels so amazing and incredible and more, and Kurt just cannot be bothered to feel awkward about anything right now. It feels too good for that. “Okay,” he acquiesces after a moment, groaning again when one of Blaine’s teeth scrapes over the sensitive skin.
Kurt isn’t usually this loud when they do things together, but it feels as though his internal filter has been yanked out, ripped apart, and thrown on the ground. Like a dam has been lifted, and the stream of little noises and gasps and groans he usually at least tries to clamp down on are just rushing out of his mouth all at once. The part of his brain that censors him is muddled and addled from the weed, unable to stop him from letting out noises that don’t exist in real life apart from in the atrocious gay porn videos Puck always tries to send him.
“Oh my god, yay,” says Blaine, moving away from Kurt’s chest (don’t stop don’t stop why are you stopping) to press a firm kiss against Kurt’s lips. Before Kurt can even respond, though, Blaine is gently pushing him backwards towards the bed. “I have the best idea,” says Blaine happily, attempting to keep undoing the buttons on Kurt’s shirt as they walk awkwardly together. “It’s going to be really awesome, and I’ve been wanting to do it all night.”
“You have?” asks Kurt absently, still flushed and shaky and excited, deciding to take pity on Blaine by undoing the rest of the buttons for him. It’s harder than he thought it would be, though, because they’re small and slippery and his fingers are so fuzzy. He finally manages to succeed after a too-long pause of fumbling, but Blaine doesn’t push the shirt off his shoulders. Instead, Blaine stares for a long moment, eyes raking up and down the exposed front of Kurt’s chest.
It shouldn’t still be like this, Kurt thinks. They’ve been seeing one another at least partly naked for months, and entirely naked for a few weeks now. It shouldn’t still be so exciting, seeing exposed lengths of skin on display, free to touch and taste and do whatever they like because they’re one another’s and they can. But the look on Blaine’s face - enraptured, and heated, and entirely fixated - makes something clench ever so nicely in the base of Kurt’s stomach nonetheless. There’s a tightness between his legs and he desperately wants to know what Blaine’s idea is right this very instant, please.
A little too clumsily, Blaine guides him into a sitting position on the side of the guest bed before lowering himself down onto the ground.
“Now,” says Blaine, reaching forward to undo the button of Kurt’s fly. “You’re absolutely not allowed to make fun of me, because we’ve only done this the once and I finished you with my hand so I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count.”
“What?” mumbles Kurt, feeling addled as Blaine tugs his pants down around his knees and slides his hand into Kurt’s underwear. Distantly, some part of Kurt’s brain knows that he usually feels awkward and embarrassed at this part, but he honestly cannot figure out why because Blaine’s hand is on his cock and even the quick brush of fingertips as he pulls down his underwear is amazing. And now Kurt’s boyfriend is kneeling between his spread legs, and something in him is getting excited, even though he can’t quite remember why. “What are you talking abou - oh, fucking Jesus fuck, Blaine, oh my god.”
Because without any explanation, Blaine leans forward and wrapped his lips around Kurt’s already hard cock, and oh my god this is heaven.
They really have only done this once before, with Kurt’s dad and stepmother downstairs watching “The Godfather” with the volume on low and the bedroom door still technically cracked the smallest bit open. Kurt had sprawled on the floor in the space between his bed and his vanity, where there was at least the smallest amount of privacy offered since the bed obscured them from the door, while Blaine had clumsily and wetly sucked Kurt’s cock down his throat and tried his best not to gag. It had been awkward, and had taken far too long because the only real things Kurt could think had been oh, god, my boyfriend has his mouth on my dick and please don’t let them hear us please please please please please as he squeezed his eyes tightly closed and listened for any noises from downstairs. Blaine had been forced to take him in hand to get him off, in the end, but the sentiment had been very much appreciated.
This, though. God, this is beyond anything. Blaine’s mouth is hot and wet and eager around him, and Kurt can feel everything so much more than he usually can. Every little hum, every slide of his lips - god, even when Blaine’s teeth lightly graze him, it rocks Kurt to the very core with pleasure. The room is swirling and indistinct around them, but none of that matters because every one of Kurt’s nerves is buzzing to life as Blaine strips him apart and wrecks him with his mouth. Kurt’s hand tangles up in Blaine’s hair without even thinking, desperate for him to keep up that perfect fucking pace. Head bobbing up and down around his cock so right, so hot, and all Kurt can do is fist his other hand into the sheets and arch up into that perfect fucking mouth. When Blaine actually pulls back enough to swirl his tongue around the head, Kurt is fairly sure he almost dies.
Someone is muttering nonsense streams of words into the air, sounding choked off and desperate, and it takes Kurt far too long to realize that the room’s only other occupant has a very busy mouth just now. The voice sounds high and clear and broken in the air, and oh god, and the words must be coming from him.
“... can’t even believe how good you feel, doing that, Christ, Blaine. It’s better than anything, better than breathing, I just need your lips wrapped around me like this so perfect...”
And oh, wow. Apparently his lack of a mental filter right now extends to actual words, because Kurt just cannot stop. His mouths is flying without his permission, and the babble is unending - words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup - as he twists his hand through Blaine’s softsweetbeautifulperfect curls and leans back, exposing the curve neck to the dark of the night as he looks down at Blaine through his eyelashes and just keeps on talking.
“... beautiful, so fucking beautiful with your lips stretched around me like that. Blaine - god - I have no idea how this is real life right now, it feels like I’m dreaming because you feel so good and look so good as you swallow me down...”
He half-expects Blaine to pull away and laugh at the words, to groan and turn his nose up at how ridiculous Kurt sounds. Because by anyone’s sense of logic, the words that are coming out of Kurt’s mouth should make everything awkward and weird and strange in the extreme.
But Blaine doesn’t laugh. Instead, his eyes roll back in his head and he groans, the vibrations shocking and delicious around him - before redoubling his efforts. Trying to take Kurt as far down his throat as possible, and barely choking at all as he lets Kurt tug his hair to make him stay there as Kurt bucks his hips up helplessly into the perfect perfect perfect wet heat of Blaine’s mouth. There’s spit sliding down Blaine’s chin and Kurt’s cock, but it doesn’t matter; it’s sexy to know how eager Blaine is to take him all down.
He’s getting close, now, the familiar tightness coiling up deep at the base of his spine. Every inch that Blaine touches is tingling shocking buzzing, and Kurt realizes vaguely that the taste of him and the taste of sweet sticky smoke must be mixing on Blaine’s tongue. Everything feels amazing, and Blaine isn’t stopping, and all at once Kurt has the earth-shattering realization that Blaine is getting off on this. He can see the motion where Blaine’s hand is moving frantic-fast in his own lap, and Blaine is groaning around him, and oh, god, that does it.
“... fuck, you’re loving it, you love doing this - love s-sucking around me so good so hot so sweet so perfect, and I can’t - Blaine, I’m - I -!”
The rest of the sentence gets choked off into a wordless shout as Kurt aches back, his whole body tensing - and then he’s coming, coming hard and fast and devastating into Blaine’s willing mouth. Shaking as his entire body gets narrowed down to one point in space and time, to Blaine as he groans and whimpers and keeps his lips sealed over tight as Kurt bucks up into the wet heat of it, hands clenching in Blaine’s hair and the sheets and it’s perfect, perfect, so fucking perfect -
He spills over the edge and is left shuddering and shaking as Blaine’s mouth stays on him, mouthing him through it. Only moving away when Kurt starts to get oversensitive and he tugs at Blaine’s curls, pulling his mouth away with an obscene little pop. The sensation of tingling pleasure spreads to every other part of Kurt’s body, running along his fingers and his neck and the parts of him covered up by skin, gasping and panting as he looks down into the eyes of the beautiful boy in front of him.
Blaine looks absolutely wrecked. His hair is a complete disaster from Kurt fisting his hand in the curls, dark eyes wild and dark and satisfied from bringing Kurt over the edge. His cheeks are flushed, eyelashes damp from where his eyes have watered from the effort of not choking. Chin slick with spit, lips swollen red and damp and upper lip sweaty with exertion. He swipes a hand over his mouth to wipe away the worst of it, lips still carefully pressed together. Blaine catches Kurt’s eye - and his throat works, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows something down.
“Did you - did you just -?” asks Kurt urgently, panting hard with his toes still curled inside his socks.
“Yeah,” gasps Blaine, eyes searing, and oh, fuck, his voice. Gravelly and choked, a little bit, and Kurt is probably the worst boyfriend in the history of the world because he didn’t even bother to warn Blaine that he was about to come in his mouth, what is wrong with him? “I didn’t - um. Really know what to do if I didn’t, so. Yeah.” He licks his lips, still breathing hard.
“Fuck,” pants Kurt, and he honestly doesn’t swear this much most of the time, but there have to be extenuating circumstances for one’s boyfriend just blowing the fuck out of you and his brain-to-mouth filter is still completely shot anyways. Suddenly he remembers Blaine’s hand, moving hard and fast just out of Kurt’s line of sight as Blaine sucked around him. Kurt pushes himself up a bit, moving toward him and gesturing vaguely. “Do you need -?”
“No, I - I already,” says Blaine shakily, swaying where he kneels, and Kurt’s body moves before he can fully process the action. Sliding down onto the floor next to Blaine, who flumps sideways so that he isn’t kneeling anymore. Kurt snakes his arms around Blaine’s shoulders, kissing him hard everywhere he can find. On his cheek, on his forehead, on his neck, on his clothed shoulder. On his mouth, where Blaine tastes slightly bitter and salty and tangy and oh, god, don’t think too much about that. He chances a glance into Blaine’s lap to confirm that, yes, Blaine definitely got there. His jeans are unbuttoned and open, and he still has a hand wrapped around his softening cock. It is splattered with sticky white come.
“Thank you,” says Kurt, squeezing Blaine close and kissing him hard on the mouth (fuck the taste, it’s amazing because Blaine is amazing and he swallowed, Jesus Christ) over and over, murmuring words against his lips. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, that was - god, so incredible. You’re incredible. I’m sorry I just... went for it, I didn’t mean to, you don’t deserve -”
“No,” says Blaine quickly, shaking his head earnestly back and forth. “No, that was - god, that was so good. I love you, I loved it, I loved every part, and -” He laughs, hard and unexpected, face scrunching up in amusement. “And I think being stoned seriously dulls my gag reflex, by the way. And my jaw’s ability to get sore. So. You know. That’s something.”
And Kurt can’t help himself from giggling at that. “Oh, my god, I love you,” he manages to choke out, gripping Blaine’s shoulders and holding him tight against his chest, because his boyfriend is the most amazingly ridiculous person in the entire world, and damn. That was just about the best thing ever. Blaine nuzzles back into him, carefully keeping his hand fairly still in his lap to avoid getting sticky whiteness all over everything, and they sit together on the floor for far too long to be normal.
“C’mon,” says Blaine eventually, nudging Kurt’s neck with his nose. “Can you get me a tissue? We have to get cleaned up, and I definitely have to brush my teeth because my mouth tastes a lot like smoky sperm right now and it’s starting to weird me out.”
They laugh, and snort, and it takes Kurt about a million times too long to find the box of tissues on the bookshelf across the room. Their skin still tingling and their heads still spinning, the two of head out into the hallway together. Trying not to laugh out loud and wake anyone up more than they already have as they skitter down the hallway hand in hand, stealing through the shadows and suppressing their giggles as much as possible.

Five:

“Maybe if you actually took two seconds to think about it, RuPaul, you’d realize that nothing’s changed. You still want to fly away to New York in a burst of sensationalism and failure, and Finn still wants to stay here. You’re leading him on even though you know it won’t work out, which makes you a - a tiny, loud, irritating little whore!” Quinn’s short hair flies around her face as she points her finger straight at Rachel, the drink in her hand sloshing all over the grass of Puck’s backyard. Her face is flushed, and she looks absolutely furious.
“I’m the whore?” Rachel fires back incredulously, slurring slightly. Finn is attempting to tug her away by the waist, but she’s fighting back hard. “Says the girl who cheated on her boyfriend with his best friend and got knocked up last year!”
“You guys!” exclaims Finn, looking slightly frantic as he dodges one of Rachel’s flailing arms. “Can we please just... calm down a little bit?”
Both women turn to face him with eerily identical icy glares of fury.
“You lied to me about Santana!”
“You broke up with me at a funeral!”
Eyes blown wide and whole body rigid, Kurt freezes - and ever-so-slowly backs inside through Puck’s opened patio door, hoping that the three of them on the lawn don’t notice his presence. As soon as he’s back in the Puckerman family kitchen (a bit dirty and small, but completely serviceable), he slides the door shut as quickly as possible and leans against it, panting.
“Woah,” says Blaine, blinking at Kurt’s sudden reappearance with two full drinks in his hand hands. The liquid inside slops around a little bit, but doesn’t spill. “You decided you didn’t want that fresh air after all, or -?”
“Don’t go outside,” says Kurt quickly, shaking his head back and forth. He can feel he expression of disdain tugging at his lips, even as he attempts to stop it. “Just... oh, god, don’t. Sometimes, I wonder how on earth my idiot stepbrother manages to get himself into these situations at all.”
“Are those three at it again?” asks Blaine, cocking his head and looking worried. “I could go out there and try to talk them down, maybe -”
And oh, no, because Blaine always likes to try to solve problems that are far beyond the reach of any mortal man. “No, Blaine, please don’t, it’s not -”
There’s a strangled screech from outside, and a smacking sound - and oh, god, Kurt does not want to know what’s going on out there. Blaine’s eyes widen, and he nods knowingly as he hands Kurt his drink. It’s only their second round of the evening, and they probably won’t be drinking anything after it. Relationships are about compromise, after all: so now instead of Blaine’s out-of-control alcohol consumption and Kurt remaining dry as a bone, they usually have about two drinks each at parties. Compromise, and Blaine doesn’t wind up fawning over anything that moves. It’s a win-win situation.
The plan had been for all three of them to walk back together to the Hudson-Hummel household before it gets too late; Blaine has Burt’s permission to crash on the downstairs couch. But if Finn is having a blow up fight of this magnitude... well. It might be a little longer before they can head out.
Something gets hurled into the sliding glass door - not hard enough to break, but hard enough to cause a horrible thump when it contacts with the glass - and Blaine and Kurt share a panicked expression.
“Other room?” asks Blaine.
“Other room,” confirms Kurt, grabbing Blaine by the hand and all but running them downstairs to the basement where he knows at least a few people are hanging out.
The party itself has the dubious distinction of being - as Puck referred to it, at least - a “fuck, you guys, school’s back in session and we should probably get plastered” gathering. Kurt honestly has no idea where Puck’s mother and sister have disappeared to for the evening, but he doesn’t envy them the inevitable cleanup. Parties with the New Directions tend to take a turn for the ludicrous even when a good portion of its members aren’t desperate to claw one another’s throats out. He genuinely has no idea what kind of havoc Finn, Rachel, and Quinn are wrecking in the backyard, but he suspects that half the neighbourhood will be privy to the most intimate details of their loves before the evening is through.
Sam’s sudden and unexpected departure a few days ago, with only a few days to go before the start of term, hasn’t helped the rowdiness levels either. The entire evening has taken on a note of mania and frantic desperation, a loudness and bluster to hide everyone’s surprise and pain at the loss of one of their friends. Kurt feels a twang as he thinks about it; Sam had been one of the only guys in glee club to never pick on him, or intentionally make him feel small. Having him leave town with so little warning... it hurts. He can’t even imagine how it must feel for everyone who spent the entirety of last year with the boy.
The two of them descend into the dimness of Puck’s basement, careful to watch their step on the bare wooden steps and not to slosh their drinks. Before Kurt’s eyes have even adjusted to the lower light, however, someone calls out to them.
“It’s my boy and his boy!” shouts Puck’s voice, and after Kurt blinks a few times he’s able to make out his large form. Hands up in the air, looking excited and flushed with his eyes shining with inebriation. There is a group of people sitting in a circle; on ratty couches and flimsy metal chairs and, in one case, a large crate.
“Oh, how sweet. It’s the Princess and the Hobbit,” sneers Santana, raising an immaculate eyebrow. Brittany waves happily from beside her, and Lauren rolls her eyes from her position next to Puck on the couch.
“If you’re referring to the Princess and the Goblin,” says Blaine smoothly, walking ahead to pull a few spare chairs toward the small circle, “then you’re out of luck, because I loved that movie.”
“Where is everyone?” asks Kurt curiously, swiping at his chair to remove most of the dust before sitting daintily down into it and crossing his legs. They hadn’t seen anyone else upstairs for a good long time.
Santana rolls her eyes, holding up a hand to count off on her fingers. “Well, Trouty Mouth hit the road, as we’re all far too aware. Three’s Company are outside smashing shit up and being hilarious. The Asians and Wheels are all playing some weird video game in the den upstairs -”
“ - which doesn’t sound like an awkward combination of people at all -”
“- and Aretha’s at home upchucking into a toilet or some shit. Straight up, this party blows just as many chunks.”
Kurt can feel his brow furrowing in a remembrance of concern at the mention of Mercedes. Right after the news that Sam’s dad had got a job out of town and they needed to leave as soon as possible to make his first shift, Mercedes had come down with a sudden and apparently awful case of flu. Locking herself up in her house, his best friend had even stopped responding to anyone’s calls or text messages. The entire situation is making something shiver at the edges of Kurt’s mind - a half formed notion, not ready to be looked at yet - but he pushes the feeling down for now. He’ll drop by tomorrow, Kurt decides, just to make sure she’s getting better.
“Hey,” says Puck, trying to look commanding at the same time as nuzzling into Lauren’s shoulder. It isn’t very effective. “This party rocks. There’s booze, there’s food -”
“I don’t know if half a box of slimjims and a vodka-soaked watermelon really count as food, Puck,” Kurt points out idly, tapping his foot and taking a sip of his drink. He winces. Blaine’s done the best with what they have to work with, but there isn’t very much mix left at this point in the evening. The concoction in his hand tastes mostly like a strange and very strong combination of black liquorice and rum. He puts it down on the floor beside his chair.
“ - and besides,” Puck continues, gesturing at Blaine with a wave of his large hand. “We’ve even got private school fuckers coming out in droves.”
Brittany nods enthusiastically. “I had a pet drove once. It flew away and left a mess, though.”
Grinning and raising his eyebrows, Kurt looks over to share a glance with Blaine. To silently laugh at him being the ‘private school fucker’, and at the fact that his presence is apparently equal to a whole host of Dalton’s finest. But Blaine looks... contemplative. Slightly awkward as he fidgets with his glass and takes a long sip. Kurt resolves to ask him about this reaction later, putting a mental note down in his head next to ‘find out if Mercedes is doing okay’.
There’s an awkward moment after that for some reason, most of them sipping their drinks with different levels of enthusiasm. Lauren raises her eyebrows at Puck. Brittany stares around the room with her ever-glazed eyes, almost as though she’s waiting for something to appear. Finally, Santana lets out an annoyed little huff and points at them.
“Ugh. Look, Hummel. Blanderson. We were kinda just about to start something down here, so if you two can shift your asses back upstairs to play Super Smash Whatever-the-Fuck with everyone else, that would be peachy.”
“Wait, what?” asks Kurt, sitting up straighter in his chair and looking around the circle. Apart from Blaine, who looks confused, everyone has an air of excitement about them. “Oh, god, please tell me you aren’t about to have an orgy -”
Puck laughs loudly, slopping some of his drink onto the front of Lauren’s shirt. She gives him a death glare in response. “Ha! I gotta say, Prep Boy, good on you for making that the first thing that came to my boy’s mind. Get it, Hummel.”
Lauren looks around the room appraisingly, eyes lingering on Kurt and Blaine. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” she grins lecherously, grinning. Puck tugs her possessively closer to his side.
“We haven’t -!” starts Blaine, looking horrified, but Kurt cuts him off with a wave. He’s learned from long experience that the best way to make Puck forget something is to have absolutely no reaction to it.
“Seriously, though, what are you up to?” asks Kurt, genuinely curious. “We won’t tell, I promise. And if it’s something really awful, we’ll just leave.”
Lauren and Santana exchange a silent look from across the circle. Eventually, Lauren shrugs. Santana lets out a large huff of breath before reaching behind the couch - they must have stuffed something there quickly to hide it when they heard the two of them coming downstairs - and pulls out an object made of orange and red striped glass. For the briefest of seconds, Kurt’s face heats up at the shape of it; considering the size, and with one end bulbous and the other long and smooth, his slightly tipsy head mistakes it for some kind of weird sex toy for a brief moment.
But then he notices the similarities to the bong the Warblers sometimes use; the similar curve and sheen of the glass. Recognizes the shape even more so from one of the movies he’d caught a few glimpses of with Puck and Finn. It’s a pipe.
“You’re smoking?” asks Kurt in surprise, feeling his eyebrows fly up into his hairline.
“Skip the lecture, Hummel,” says Santana in an irritated tone of voice, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “It’s fun, you’re a buzzkill, whatever. Please leave.”
“How did you recognize it, Kurt?” asks Brittany, tilting her head to one side. “I thought it was a magic wand the first time I saw one.”
“You still think that sometimes, Britts,” says Santana, her tone caught somewhere between affection and frustration. She gets halfway through rolling her eyes before she pauses mid-motion, lips tightening as she looks between the two of them as though seeing them for the first time. “Actually, that’s a damn fine question. How did you know what this was, Hummel?”
“I...” trails Kurt, feeling the heat growing in his cheeks, for once caught without something to say.
It had occurred to him a few times that Santana or Puck had probably tried marijuana at some point - he still does remember the incident with the cupcakes for the bake sale. Intellectually, he’d been aware that some members of the New Directions had to have experimented before. By no means are all of his friends squeaky-clean do-gooders, after all. But... none of them had ever brought any out during parties, or talked about it in more than vague terms. It had been easy to cordon off marijuana in his brain as something he and Blaine and their mutual Dalton friends sometimes did together - and nothing more.
The fallacy of this notion is currently crashing down around his ears. Santana looks utterly delighted, eyes lighting up in the way they do only when she’s taking pleasure in making someone else uncomfortable.
“Oh my god,” hisses Santana, sitting up straighter in her chair. Her mouth is slightly opened in surprise, the corners twisted up in evil pleasure. And oh, god, it’s too late now to talk her down. Kurt groans, burying his face in his hands. “You’ve done pot, haven’t you? You totally have. You and your curly-haired tinyboy.”
“Shut up,” Kurt groans, voice muffled through his hands, shaking his head back and forth. “Shut up, shut up, shut up...” He feels Blaine place a comforting hand on his knee, but it really doesn’t make anything less horrible.
“Are you fucking serious?” asks Puck, sounding affronted. “Hummel, you’ve done dope? Had reefer madness? Got down and dirty with Mary Jane?” He flails for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words. “And you didn’t tell me?
“Don’t,” says Kurt, pulling his heated face out of his hands. His voice sounds strained to his own ears. “Don’t say it like that, like it’s something awful. It isn’t.”
“They showed us a video about it in my health class,” says Brittany helpfully, nodding fervently. “About how mary-y-wanna is a gateway drug.” She shrugs. “Santana says it’s fine, though, and I trust Santana. And I like it because it makes the room float and my hands look cool.”
“You guys,” Blaine cuts in strongly, and for once Kurt is more than grateful for his boyfriend’s ever-present White Knight Mode because Kurt honestly cannot form proper words right now. “There’s nothing wrong with any of us trying it out a few times. We’re young and we’re allowed to experiment. But I think what Kurt is saying is that he’d get in a whole lot of trouble if this ever got back to his dad, which means that Finn can’t know because he’s... not the best with secrets. Which means that other people at your school can’t know, either.” He raises his thick eyebrows expressively. “Deal?”
Aside from Santana muttering ‘a few times, Hummel?’ under her breath, there is a long moment of silence. And inexplicably, Kurt feels frustrated. Why isn’t he allowed to try things, too? Is it because he’s already so weird and wrong and the outsider that normal teen activities are off-limits to him? Or because he went to private school for most of last year?
The stupid desire to prove himself is flaring up hard and hearty in Kurt’s chest as he stares at the rest of the circle, at the pipe in Santana’s hand. Eventually however, Lauren crosses her arms.
“Deal,” she says, raising one eyebrow. Kurt lets out a sharp sigh of relief, and Puck looks disappointed. But after a moment, Lauren continues: “As long as you two smoke with us tonight.”
“I -” starts Kurt quickly, fully intending to object. They have to go back to his house, tonight, after all. Back to his dad and Carole, and no matter how old they may be Kurt is fairly certain they’ll recognize the smell if he and Blaine walk in reeking of pot. They would notice, and they’ve already had a few drinks, and they have to walk home with Finn...
Finn, who is currently having a drunken blow-up fight in the backyard with his girlfriend and his ex, and who will probably be too intoxicated and upset to notice any difference in their behaviour. And they do have to walk home for a number of blocks, as well. The night air is cool and fresh; it shouldn’t take too long outside to air out the worst of their clothes. That and a few breath mints should take care of most of the smell.
Plus - Kurt glances at the tiny amount of fuzzy green clusters in the small metal pill box in Santana’s hand - they barely have enough for two sweeps around the circle. That’s hardly enough to feel much of anything, and they’d still be able to fake sobriety convincingly even if his dad has chosen to wait up for them.
This is also his chance. To prove that he can live on the wild side, a little bit. That he isn’t boring and lame and a buzzkill, with his orderly clothes and good grades and monogamy. Kurt glances at Blaine, who is sitting with an expression on his face that clearly says they’re your friends, sweetheart, this is your call.
“All right,” says Kurt at last, shrugging his shoulders as nonchalantly as possible and re-crossing his legs deliberately. He smoothes some imaginary loose hairs back into place as his friends woop and catcall around him, trying to suppress the smile trying to creep across his face.
“Awesome, dude!” exclaims Puck, giving his girlfriend a grateful squeeze and looking at her as though she is the absolute best thing in the world. She grins back evilly, slinging an arm around his neck.
“I totally want to get buzzy with Kurt,” agrees Brittany, nodding seriously.
“Fucking yes,” caws Santana triumphantly, pumping her fist in the air. “I wants ta get mah blaze on, bitches. Plus, I bet you act like a total tool when you’re stoned, Hummel. You’re way too tightly wound for it.”
“He is not,” says Blaine loyally, but Santana isn’t paying any attention. She is already packing the concave indentation of the pipe with weed from the pill box, loosely but to the brim.
And all of the sudden, it occurs to Kurt that he’s never used a pipe before. A bong with the Warblers a couple of times, and joints with Blaine - but he’s never actually had first hand, real-life experience of smoking with a pipe. And he really, really doesn’t want to look like an idiot in front of this particular group of people, especially considering the conversation that just occurred about his apparent tool-dom.
Beside him, Blaine has pulled out his phone and is texting something quickly. Kurt ignores him, eyes trained on Santana as she pulls out a lighter and begins to get to work. He only has a few people to watch before it’s his turn, after all, so he’s going to have to try to catch every detail.
He jumps when his phone buzzes in his jeans. Startled, he slides it out of his back pocket - with difficulty, because these pants are tight- and clicks ‘read’ when it informs him that he has one new message.

From: Blaine Anderson
September 2nd, 2011, 9:42pm
Almost exactly like a bong in mechanics but w/o bubbles. Breathe in as you light weed if its not already smouldering. Keep ur finger on hole while you pull, then release finger and clear the chamber. <3

Sometimes, Kurt loves his boyfriend so much it feels as though his heart is about to pound through his chest.
He texts back a quick ‘I love you’, and even though Kurt can see Blaine’s phone going off in his pocket his boyfriend doesn’t answer right away so as to not give the game away. Kurt watches as Santana finishes her hit, smiling like the cat who got the cream as she grins with her lips pressed tightly together to keep the smoke inside. She holds it in far longer than Kurt ever does, as if as a challenge to everyone else in the room. This is illegal and exciting and I can do it better than all of you.
She passes the pipe to Brittany, who accepts it eagerly. It takes her a couple of tries to properly figure out the order in which to do things, and when she does finally manage to fill the chamber and suck the smoke into her lungs it quickly makes her double over in a little coughing fit. Santana leans over and rubs her hands comfortingly into her shoulders a little too gently, murmuring about what a great job she did and glaring around the group as though challenging anyone to say otherwise. When Kurt looks around for a glass of water to hand to the still-choking blonde, he realizes that no one has bothered to bring any downstairs.
Huh, he thinks, blinking. I suppose they’re too hardcore for not coughing their lungs out.
When Brittany has sufficiently recovered, she grins and hands the pipe to him. He carefully wraps his fingers around the long chamber, keeping his fingers away from the bowl under the suspicion that it’s probably far too hot to touch. The shiny brightness of the glass is almost comical, considering the purpose of the object pinched between his fingers; he finds the colourful stripes especially amusing. The marijuana is still smouldering gently inside.
Just like a bong, he thinks. Easy.
It takes him a moment to locate the carb on the foreign instrument, sliding his finger overtop and wrapping his lips around the end of the pipe. It’s wider than he’s expecting, his lips having to stretch more than he thought they would to seal around it. The obvious parallel image makes his face heat up, and he thinks he hears Puck snort loudly from somewhere in front of him. Kurt tries to ignore it, sucking in at a slow, unrushed pace. The weed in the bowl simmers, and he can see the small chamber begin to fill with coils of smoke if he looks down through his eyelashes. When he thinks he’s probably got enough to not embarrass himself with the size of his hit, he takes his finger off the carb - and sucks the smoke to his mouth.
The amount he gets is much, much smaller than with a bong: Kurt is starting to realize that bongs are in a class of their own in terms of getting high hard and fast. The taste is slightly ashier than he’s expecting, but still thick and green and sweet in his mouth. He makes sure to suck all the smoke from the chamber - leaving stale smoke is too much of a faux-pas for him to be okay with it - and seals his lips to hold the smoke in his mouth. It’s warm and pleasant, burning at the back of his throat in a way he’s come to enjoy. He passes the pipe to Blaine on his left, lips still pressed together as he enjoys the first little illicit tingle of it. The tiny rush he still gets every time from doing this.
“Lighter?” he hears Blaine ask - apparently the pipe needs re-lighting - and someone passes it to him. Deciding he’s held it in for long enough, Kurt closes his eyes and shapes his mouth into the tiniest of ‘o’s, expelling the smoke in a long, thin stream into the dimness of the room.
“Shit, Hummel,” says Puck, sounding impressed, but Kurt is already turning to watch Blaine. He loves this the most, he thinks. Seeing Blaine’s throat move as he pulls the smoke in, the flush that rises in his cheeks. There is a dangerous tingle in his throat, but Kurt attempts to push it down as he watches Blaine light the pipe and draw.
The width of this particular pipe truly is obscene, and something sparks hot and needy in the base of Kurt’s stomach as he watches Blaine wraps his lips around the end of it. Pink and stretched around the colourful glass, Blaine looks more than a little bit vulgar - and Kurt winces at the hundreds of potential jokes that must have run through everyone’s head when it was his own turn. Flicking the lighter above the weed, Blaine sucks in air to pull the heat through and light it. Finger over the carb, pulling in, the muscles in his neck straining ever-so-prettily, and - there. Sucking the smoke into his mouth with his hazel eyes open and burning the whole while. Kurt watches the smoke disappear between his lips, and when Blaine pulls away and closes his mouth a few delicious coils of smoke escape through his pressed lips and rise up to the ceiling.
His boyfriend passes the pipe to Puck on the couch, turns to Kurt - and grins. It’s a lazy smile, easy and languid, the ruddy features of Blaine’s face even more relaxed than they usually are when he isn’t in uniform. Kurt can feel his heart beating faster in his chest, an infinitesimal tugging at his perspective as he watches his gorgeous boyfriend open his mouth and let out the smoke from between his damp lips in one large, thick puff.
“Huh,” Kurt hears Lauren say, and when he wrenches his eyes away from Blaine to look at her across the circle. Next to her, Puck is popping the pipe between his lips and preparing to take his hit. Lauren’s eyebrows are raised, and she actually looks... impressed? “You actually have done this before, haven’t you?”
Kurt coughs softly as a twinge tugs at his throat, forcing himself to stop before he can’t anymore. His eyes water a bit with the strain of it, but he smiles as he looks Lauren in the eye. “Yeah,” he admits, grinning. He feels somehow freshly-scubbed and dirtied at the same time. He scoots his chair slightly closer to Blaine, resting a hand over his knee as Puck exhales his hit.
Puck goes into a brief coughing fit, which makes Kurt wish doubly hard that there was at least a little water to share. Just a bit, to soothe the light burning in his throat. He rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder partly because it looks incredibly comfortable, partly to ward off thoughts of cool liquid they don’t have any of. The position is warm and comfortable; Kurt nuzzles in a little closer, rubbing his nose against the fabric of Blaine’s cardigan.
When Lauren exhales her smoke - Kurt can see the muscles in her throat clenching down, trying her hardest not to cough in front of everyone - she raises an eyebrow at the two of them. “You two don’t do that very much.” At Kurt’s questioning and exasperated eyebrow raise, she shrugs and elaborates. “Touch in public, I mean.”
Blinking, Kurt stares right into Blaine’s shoulder. Across the circle, Santana squints down beadily at the bowl, noting how much ash is left inside, and glances at Lauren for confirmation. When Lauren nods, she begins to empty the bowl.
“Yeah,” Santana agrees, pulling a small metal implement out of her handbag and using it to scoop out the remains into what appears to be a lidless Tupperware container. “For all you two are so disgustingly cutesy it gives me diabetes, you, like. Never touch in public. What up with that?”
“We’re touching right now,” Kurt points out, eyes fluttering slightly. There’s the slightest touch of something floating and vague tugging at his vision. Nothing much, however. He’s nowhere near being truly buzzed yet at all. Santana sends him a crippling glare as she blows out some of the excess ash from the bowl, touching it to make sure it isn’t too hot before she begins to re-pack it.
“Not like that, bro. Sexy touches,” adds Puck helpfully, running a hand along Lauren’s thigh. She lets him, which is surprising in and of itself. They must have had a good summer.
“It’s just not safe,” explains Blaine softly, wrapping an arm around Kurt’s shoulder protectively. “I mean... even with people we know, a lot of the time. You just never know who’s watching, or how they’re going to react. Maybe one day when we live somewhere a little less conservative, we’ll be able to be more open. Until then...”
“We keep it private,” murmurs Kurt, shrugging a bit.
“That sucks,” says Brittany sadly, eyes looking a bit glassier than usual. “It’s, like. Totally not fair.” Kurt waits for the inevitable non-sequitur to follow - but it doesn’t come. Brittany just keeps shaking her head, looking a little upset. Something crumples in Santana’s face; she reaches out and clasps Brittany’s hand in hers, making the blonde smile shakily again. Santana smiles back, then lets go in order to keep packing the pipe. The tiny pill box is empty now - it really was a miniscule amount of marijuana. Kurt wonders idly who her supplier is.
“Well, you’re safe here,” declares Puck loudly, propping his feet up on a crate in the middle of the circle. “None of us give a shit if the two of you decide to start going at it like rabbits.” A few places over, Santana lets out a small triumphant noise as she gently presses her thumb down onto the bowl and sucks an experimental breath through the pipe. Kurt raises an eyebrow.
“You’re kidding,” he says flatly, lip curling up in distaste. “This coming from the guy who used to give me swirlies and throw me in the dumpster just for being gay, let alone acting on it. Sure thing, Puck. I believe you.”
Puck’s face falls, and he looks genuinely wounded. Santana is flicking the lighter over top of the bowl, breathing in to draw the flame through.
“Hey,” Puck says quietly, eyes shockingly focused for the amount of booze - and now pot - Kurt is sure he’s consumed tonight. He removes his arm from Lauren’s shoulder, leaning forward on his knees to better meet Kurt’s eyes. “You know I’ve changed, dude. I’m different now: that shit doesn’t bother me anymore. You’re my boy, remember? That means something to me.”
“I -” Kurt begins, but his throat suddenly feels choked with something more than the sticky burn of smoke. He swallows, forcing down the witty retort on the edge of his tongue. “Thank you,” he says instead, giving his lead a little shake. Blaine squeezes him tighter for the briefest of moments.
Santana chokes out a loud cough, spluttering smoke everywhere as she does so. They shake her small frame as she clutches at her chest, gagging on air until she can breathe properly again. She smiles when she can, even as she gets drawn into another round of coughing.
And all at once, it is as though some sort of tension pulled tight between them has been broken. They don’t have to try their hardest not to cough, or splutter, or fuck up in front of one another anymore. None of them have anything to prove, or anymore to impress. They’re just a group of friends doing something fun together, and talking, and floating in the same shared space. Lauren pats Santana hard on the back, and eventually she comes back to herself.
“Wait,” she gasps, clearly forcing down more coughs. She leans over to look at Puck. “Did you just basically admit you’d be okay with watching Gay 1 and Gay 2 bang? Wanky. I picture them as Ken dolls down there.”
“Hey!” exclaims Blaine, only sounding pretend-affronted. Everyone laughs, Puck rolls his eyes, and Santana passes the pipe to Lauren with the explanation that she didn’t think the larger girl had managed to get a very good hit so near the end.
After Lauren expels her air, smoke coiling out of her mouth without a single cough, an absolutely dastardly expression comes over her face.
“You two could totally kiss, though,” she says, waggling her finger in their direction. “That’d be hot.” Her arm is a bit loose, and it occurs to Kurt to wonder how many drinks she’s had this evening - before he registers the full meaning of her words.
“Wait, what?” asks Kurt, blinking hard and feeling his whole body tense up. It’s a joke. She’s making fun of them, and in a few seconds everyone will laugh and change the subject.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” shrugs Santana, crossing her arms in front of herself. “It’d give me a reason to believe that you two actually have a sex life of any description, which I’m not exactly convinced about right now.”
“I liked kissing Kurt,” Brittany adds helpfully, looking at Blaine. “He has soft lips. You’ve probably noticed.”
“... erm,” says Blaine, clearly not wanting to be rude by not responding. “I... have, yes. Thank you?”
“I - what?” asks Kurt, shaking his head in disbelief. “I... you guys can’t actually want to see that. Santana, you look like you want to strangle both Rachel and Finn whenever they start making out in public -”
“That’s them, this is you,” says Santana, shrugging. “It’d just be a kiss, Hummel. Whatever if you’re too much of a girl to do it.”
Puck exhales his hit in a short burst, managing not to cough this time. His eyes look a little bit droopy, now, and glassier than before. “Go for it, guys,” he says, sounding a bit croaky - but still puffed up, full of himself. “My lady’s opened my eyes to a whole bunch of things. Do it, dudes. Could be hot.”
“Puck,” says Kurt, aghast, but Blaine pulls away from him slightly. Turns so that they’re facing one another, his dark eyes mostly clear amid the shadows. Blaine looks calm and collected, face relaxed except for his raised eyebrows in an expression of open questioning.
“It’s up to you,” says Blaine quietly, running a thumb along Kurt’s cheek. The touch is sharp and lovely, and it makes Kurt shiver. “They’re your friends, Kurt. It’s your call. I don’t mind.”
Exhibitionist, Kurt thinks derisively, but he feels torn. For one thing, doing something so intimate knowingly in front of others goes so sharply against all of the instincts they’ve developed together in this relationship. The threat of being found, of being hurt, is so very real ever-present that it’s hard to tamp down the worry bubbling up in his stomach.
But... simultaneously, that same desire to prove himself from before is creeping up through Kurt’s veins. To show that there’s more of him than can be displayed to the public eye, that there’s more to his and Blaine’s relationship than tight hugs in courtyards and sitting next to one another at coffee shops. Half of the people down here are already drunk, anyways, and they’re doing some other fairly recreational things as well. If he feels embarrassed about it later, Kurt supposes, they could always blame it on the impulse-following effect of the drug. And of course Blaine is okay with it, performer and attention-seeker that he is.
Plus... the idea of kissing his boyfriend in front of one of the people who used to torment him for his sexuality and being accepted is... well. It’s more than a little exhilarating.
“Oh, sweet lord,” groans Kurt, rolling his eyes. “We are definitely both going to need another hit before this happens, okay?”
Grinning maliciously, Puck hands the pipe over to Blaine as Brittany cheers and Lauren lets out a loud woop. The entire time Blaine draws back on the pipe, Kurt is practically twitching with nerves dulled slightly, but not very much, by the weed. His whole body feels on edge, and he suspects the anticipation is going to be way worse than the actual demonstration of the act. Blaine passes the pipe over while he still has smoke in his mouth, sending a little secretive smile in Kurt’s direction.
When he takes his own turn, Kurt makes sure to fill the chamber up with as much smoke as humanly possible. He’s going to need all the mind-altering substances he can get a hold of to survive this experience without blushing to death, he thinks, sucking the chamber full of smoke right up into his mouth. Beside him, Blaine is coughing slightly. The taste of it is sticky and heavy in his mouth, pleasant in a way Kurt is starting to grow very familiar with. It’s the taste of excitement and tilting rooms and rushing heads, and he’s already beginning to edge closer to ‘buzzed’ with this toke and he hasn’t even let out the air yet.
Without speaking, Kurt passes the pipe to Brittany. When he turns back to Blaine, he fully intends to let out the smoke in his mouth - it’s burning a bit in his throat - when he takes a proper look at his boyfriend. Blaine is red-eyed and loose-limbed with alcohol and pot, that familiar hapless grin stuck onto his face as though sealed there with glue. His foot is swaying absently along the floor, and he seems to be enjoying the movement. The rest of the room practically seems to fall away, and it’s just the two of them. Together, and close, and here right now.
When Kurt gestures for Blaine to open his mouth, Blaine obeys immediately. Leaning in to close the space between their chairs, opening his mouth and never breaking Kurt’s gaze. And oh, god, his eyes. Heated and playful, just asking for Kurt to kiss him in front of all these people. Someone - Brittany, he thinks - says something off to the side, but Kurt cannot be bothered to pay attention anymore.
Slowly, ever -so-slowly, Kurt leans in close and breathes the smoke from his own mouth into Blaine’s. It is open and waiting for him, and Blaine sucks it all in as best he can. It twists around the outsides of his face, stinging both of their eyes with heat. And just as Kurt pushes the last of it from his mouth, Blaine is leaning in to twist his hands in the front of Kurt’s shirt and pull him in to kiss him full on the lips.
The slide of their mouths together is hot from the smoke they just breathed in deep, and the taste of one another and sticky sweet green coils over both of their tongues. The other people in the room ebb away with the touch of Blaine’s lips to his; Kurt arches up into it, a tiny noise escaping his throat that Blaine captures with his own lips. Sliding his tongue deep into Kurt’s mouth in front of everyone, tasting him, tasting it, and Kurt groans out loud and edges his teeth along Blaine’s bottom lip. Grasping helplessly at Blaine’s upper arms, trying to hold himself in place as the room floats around them like a bubble with the two of them the only solid things in sight.
Eventually, they pull apart. Kurt leans in to press their moist lips together one more time as they pull apart like a goodbye, and Blaine lets out a silly-sounding giggle and presses their foreheads together. Slightly slick with sweat and heat, grounding one another as their bodies grow lighter.
“Hot damn,” comes a voice from across the circle, and Kurt jolts away in surprise. Most of his brain had actually forgotten there other people in the room. Santana nods her head in approval, fanning herself comically. Beside her, Brittany is letting out a puff of smoke and grinning like an idiot. Lauren has a smirk on her face, and Puck’s eyes are slightly wide. “I’m going to have to re-evaluate your sexitude, boys.”
“That was hot,” adds Brittany fervently, sounding a little bit hoarse.
“Oh, god,” says Kurt dully, but Blaine slides a hand up his arm. Shakes his head, as if to say it’s fine, beautiful, it’s fine. And Kurt feels absurdly, stupidly proud. Because for the first time, he has finally been able to show just how much he cares for Blaine in front of his own friends. Without being afraid of being dismissed, or belittled, or called into question. It feels as though he just stood on a table and shouted ‘this is my boyfriend, and I love him more than anything, you fuckers’ to the entirety of the McKinley High cafeteria.
“Well,” says Lauren, reaching to stroke a hand down Puck’s face. He looks a little shell-shocked, but not repulsed at all. Just... surprised? Impressed? “I doubt we’re going to beat that, losers. And we’re all out anyways. Shall we go up to catch the tail-end of the main event?”
“Um. Yeah,” says Puck, giving his head a shake. “Hang on, let’s get this shit cleaned up first. My mom will be so pissed if she comes down here and finds ash and shit all over the place.”
Standing, Santana tucks the pipe into a cloth bag and slips it into her handbag before grabbing Brittany by the hand, leading her out of the room quickly before either of them can get stuck with clean-up duty.
Lauren groans and rolls her eyes but begins tucking chairs back into place, apparently under the notion that as the girlfriend of the host she does actually have some hosting obligations. Puck disposes of the Tupperware and the ash quickly, and Kurt opens a window to let the basement air out. Blaine holds his hand the whole time, trailing his thumb over every part of Kurt’s hand he can reach. His wrist, the back of his hand, the fleshy part of his palm - every drifted touch sending shivers up and down Kurt’s arm. There’s the beginning of a high beginning to tug at Kurt’s mind, so he focuses as hard as he can on completing the task.
When the rest of them trek upstairs, the brightly-lit main floor of Puck’s house drifts a little around them. While they finish their drinks, Kurt and Blaine tuck themselves on the couch in the other room next to Mike, watching with him and Artie as Tina sloshily attempts to defeat pixelated bad guys at the same time as drinking in gulps of cider. Everyone around them is excitable and loud, messy. The two of them stay curled up together like that for a while, letting the room shift and ease gently around with smoke and drink as they remain firmly anchored in one another.
It isn’t long before Finn comes in from the backyard and declares it time to leave (oh my god, Rachel’s asleep and Quinn’s getting creepy, can we go? ). They’re not too buzzed to respond to questions and comments within the right amount of time, thankfully, although Kurt most of the rest of the evening trying to carefully mimic normal human reaction time. No one suspects, and no one calls them out. Puck sends them a wink as they head out the door a few minutes later, but that’s all.
It feels a little colder outside to Kurt than it should on the walk home, but Blaine takes off his thin cardigan and lets him wrap it around his shoulders. The three of them head back to the house, idly listening as Finn recounts his disaster of an evening. The school year - their senior year, god - is just about to begin. There is so much potential just around the corner from the two of them, just waiting to be explored.
And Kurt can’t wait to experience it all.

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