Title: Intoxicating

Summary: Blaine realizes that it doesn't really matter either way, because all the feelings he has aren't exclusive to a gender, but to a person. And with this realization, everything finally fell into place.

Author's Note: My positive outlook on the upcoming Perez-Hilton-confirmed bisexual!Blaine storyline, put into fanfic form. What I think—rather, what I hope will happen during Blame It On The Alcohol. Fear not, my worried Klainers, because Klaine is, and always will be, endgame. Yeehaw!

He just wanted to flirt with Blaine.

Really. That's all Kurt wanted to do. He was still a little hung over from Rachel's party the night before (yes, he did stoop so low as to drink an alcoholic beverage other than champagne or wine. It was one of his weaker moments.), and all he wanted to do now was spend time with Blaine. He had trudged through school, through homework, through the entire day with that painful plucking in the back of his head; at this point he had absolutely no patience for anyone but his curly-haired, hazel-eyed friend. He wanted to pull out all the stops, bat his eyelashes, hold his hand, and everything. Dammit, he was in love, impatient, and hung over; this may or may not have been affecting his entire attitude throughout the whole day. He only wanted to be totally irritable and headache-y in Blaine's presence. Sue him.

His situation with Blaine was indeed going swimmingly. Two days ago, the pair had a filmed-live-on-Broadway-DVD night (Chicago, to both of their delight), and Blaine's head was resting on Kurt's shoulder the entire time (by definition, and Kurt even double checked online, they were in fact snuggling). But Blaine had also made it clear that he wanted to take things slowly. In all honesty, Kurt thought Blaine was absolutely lovely and charming in the romance category (or at least the flirting category); the older teen just refused to realize this himself, thanks to previous situations. This baggage Kurt referred to lovingly as 'crippling modesty'.

So he just wanted to spend some sweet time with his sweet, soon-to-be boyfriend.

But his boyfriend—er, Blaine—happened to be quite the conundrum, so it never was quite that simple. This was seen particularly as Kurt sat on his favorite bench in the Dalton hallway, right in front of the window looking out over the gardens and letting in the late afternoon sunlight.

"Kurt, I need to talk to you about something," he approached him, and usually Kurt would have greeted him with a teasing remark, but Blaine looked terribly distraught and a bit like a lost puppy. Similar to how he looked after the Gap incident. Not good. Kurt immediately laid down his book and moved his bag to make room for his friend. He really hated seeing Blaine like this, he wanted to just smooth back his gelled, curly hair and reassure him and touch him and kiss him and—

—okay. Kurt blinked. "What's wrong?"

Blaine sat down beside him on the couch, shoulders tense as he stared at the ground, biting his bottom lip in deep, bewildered thought. "I'm too young to be going through a mid-life crisis, right?"

"Holy hooker, what's wrong with you?" Kurt placed his hand on Blaine's incredibly uptight shoulder, and dark eyes darted toward him.

"I'm just confused. Really, really confused. And you're probably going to think I'm even more difficult than before, but…," he tilted his head toward Kurt, and the younger boy was honestly alarmed.

"First of all, I never thought you were that difficult. Now please just tell me what's wrong, you look like you're about to have an aneurysm," Kurt rambled, petting at Blaine's shoulder and smoothing out his uniform. The older boy glanced over at him again, and then took a deep, reluctant breath.

"Okay. You know Rachel's party last night?" he was exceedingly hesitant, but the hand on his shoulder reminded him that Kurt was always there for him, was always there to listen—they had a two-way street for advice and comfort.

"Yes, Blaine, I was there."

"And you know how most of the time we stuck together there, but there was like a half-hour or so where you went with Mercedes to play karaoke?"

"We totally killed that Beyoncé number regardless of how—er, intoxicated we were, yes I remember."

"And you know how there was, you know, alcoholic beverages present?"

Kurt's eyes widened as he cocked an eyebrow at Blaine, "I'm kind of scared to hear the rest of this," and now he was tense, tightening his grip on Blaine's shoulder. The older boy quickly swatted at it with a glare, forcing Kurt to loosen his grip. The younger boy complied, and then, soothingly, "Tell me what happened, Blaine."

Music was pumping. Blaine could feel the vibrations through his entire body, an extra pulse in addition to his own crazy heartbeat. He felt good. He wished Kurt was beside him; right about now he really wanted to dance. But Kurt had pardoned himself to prance off into the other room, Blaine could see him through the doorway with a microphone in his hand, beginning to belt out some Beyoncé tune with Mercedes. Awesome. Blaine grinned to himself, taking another sip of his…whatever it was. It definitely was not punch, that much he was certain of. His head spun a bit, and he began to make his way to Kurt, slipping between the crazy party people and narrowly avoiding a quite rambunctious grind line. McKinley sure knows how to have a good time, he mused to himself.

His attempt to reach Kurt and maybe impress him with his Single Ladies dance routine (he knew the entire thing, so there) was cut short. She was wearing a red dress—and hello there, boobies. Her hair was curled and her eyes were dark, and the pink cup she dangled between her fingers was empty.

It was that girl. The one who sang at sectionals, the bona fide mean girl Kurt had told him about. Satan? Santana? Was there a difference?

Either way, she bared her teeth at him lustfully, and prowled closer to him. Blaine took another sip of his…whatever it was.

"Wanna dance?" she growled, and suddenly her arms were around Blaine's neck. Blaine grinned, and maybe giggled a little, okay that stuff was definitely not punch.

"Totally," he replied, and at that moment some crunk, 'hotel, motel, holiday inn' song came blasting through the speakers, and Blaine and this girl proceeded to tear it up.

It was tremendous. Blaine was tipsy, Santana was a little more tipsy, but they had moves, twisting and turning and jumping and swaying and shouting along to the music.

As the song ended, Santana took Blaine's hand up in hers, and with another shameless smirk, pulled him into an unoccupied corner. And Blaine thought that was great and all, hey, maybe she wanted to dance somewhere else? Or get more of whatever they were drinking? They stumbled past a couple who were doing a dance move that, had they not been (scantily) clothed, would definitely have qualified as sex. Past a boy conked out on the floor—a lamp on his head? How cliché. Blaine giggled, and hiccupped, and then Santana suddenly had him pressed up the wall.

"You're awfully banging for a gay boy," she comments, slurring her words.

"Gay guys are always hotter," Blaine explained, duh, and maybe if his mind wasn't all loopy right about now, he would have been able to see the trap he was stepping right into.

"I won't believe it 'til I see it, all of it," she mumbled, reaching downward. Blaine gasped. Oh.

"I...I, uh—men! I like boys," was his flustered response; like, please, bitch. But he only received that same sensual, crimson smirk in return.

"I think I can change that," she purred, and before Blaine could respond with a 'I don't think it works that way, darling', her lips were on his, and—oh.

This was hot. She was very soft and rough at the same time, and her tongue was in his mouth, her lip gloss tasted like sugar, and gross, her boobs were pressed up against him but Blaine really didn't mind that much, placing his hands on her waist. He hummed a bit into her mouth. This was really kind of hot. As she pulled back, she bit his lip, and Blaine chuckled, and tried to lean in for more.

And then he realized what he was doing. As soon as their lips met for a second time, Blaine planted his hands on her shoulders and pulled away.

"I am homosexual," he yelled over the music, and he wasn't quite sure if he was convincing Santana or convincing himself. She let out a laugh—an evil laugh.

"You sure about that, shorty? You seemed pretty into it," she smirked at him again, running a hand down his arm, and Blaine was speechless. She stepped in close, pressing him back up against the wall, "If you ever question which team you play for again, boo, call me. You'd be such a good screw. We wouldn't have to tell Kurt." And then she winked, and Blaine was left totally confused and guilty, and feeling as if his whole life had been a lie. He took another sip of his beer.

The sky outside was beautiful—the sun was a dark red, continuing to descend beneath the trees outside of Dalton. The light shone in through the window of the hallway, orange and full and accentuating all the warm colors throughout the room—all the reds and yellows and gold. Everything seemed to have a gilded, heavenly glow about it at this time of the day—it was so peaceful and brilliant. There was a natural beauty in this room when the sun shone through, which was why it was Kurt's favorite place in which to spend time.

"Santana?" Kurt all but shrieked, and it echoed painfully in both of their hung over heads. Blaine groaned a bit, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Are you absolutely sure it was Santana?"

"Yes, yes. I'm sure. The Latina one who sang Amy Winehouse at sectionals," he replied, and Kurt's jaw might have dropped. Blaine added, "She's awfully persuasive. And she's pretty, for a girl."

The younger boy spluttered a bit. Of all actual human beings in the world, the devil in a human, female body decides to step into Kurt's almost-existent love life and shove Blaine—his Blaine— into this outlandish position. And she managed to somehow kiss Blaine before he did. I mean, come on. Come on.

"I am going to kill her," he said solemnly, after a careful attempt at collecting his thoughts, and went to stand up, but Blaine abruptly pulled him down.

"Wait, Kurt," he said, placing both hands on either of the fuming younger teen's shoulders. Big hazel eyes looked into his own with concern—and was that amusement?—and Kurt couldn't help but do whatever Blaine asked of him. He calmed down. Blaine put on a cocky smirk and quirked his eyebrow for a moment, despite the problem at hand, "Jealousy is a surprisingly good color on you."

"I am not jealous of Santana," the younger boy self-righteously combed back his hair with his hand, because absolutely not, "And don't change the subject."


Kurt took a deep breath, and no matter how angry or sad or confused or, okay, jealous he was, he was going to face this problem head-on. He knew that Blaine was very sensitive, that was one of the reasons why he was so impossibly enamored by the boy. And if this situation was truly troubling Blaine so much, Kurt was going to help him through it. For Blaine. "So, you're telling me Santana kissed you."


"And you enjoyed it."

"Please no Katy Perry jokes."

"Of course not," Kurt said, squishing down his 'what flavor chapstick was she wearing?' question (he couldn't help himself, regardless of the situation). "So, do you like…girls?"

"That's the thing! I don't know, Kurt. I know I liked guys, and I still do like guys, I think," the older boy leaned back, resting against the window and covering his face with his hand. "I'm sorry I'm dragging you into this."

"Don't be sorry, Blaine," he patted the others knee soothingly, "I love drama. Even if it makes me want to burn off Santana's lips with a blowtorch."

Blaine glanced at him.

"Because of what she's putting you through."

Blaine grinned, and Kurt refused to be a victim of that infectious smile, averting his eyes.

"So," the younger boy started, breaking the brief silence, "Least Expected Conversation 2011, but. You think you might be bisexual."

The other let out a loud groan, and Kurt took that as a 'yes'.

"So, ah, would you ever…," Kurt faltered a bit, trying to word this in a way that wouldn't make them both blush and entirely refraining from using hand gestures to aid himself, "You know, with a girl?"

Blaine's face almost instinctively contorted with repugnance, to the point where it was comical and Kurt nearly laughed. "I don't think so. Who knows. I've never really had the opportunity to, well, experiment…?"

"Okay," Kurt sat up straighter, turning towards Blaine as a plan unfolded itself in his brain. Blaine sat up as well, attentive and hopeful. "I—close your eyes."

Blaine quirked an eyebrow at his friend, but at Kurt's insistence, he complied with a chuckle. Kurt couldn't help but smile along, at the sheer craziness of this whole situation. "Um, okay."

"Now, replay that kiss in your mind. Think about—was there tongue?"

"Maybe," Blaine squirmed a little, cracking open an eye. Kurt sighed, and Blaine felt the need to rub at his arm, "Sorry."

"Ew. Think about her tongue in your mouth, her lip gloss on your lips—her tits all pressed up against you," Kurt began, and Blaine cringed a bit, then lewdly mimed squeezing and grabbing boobs with his hands.

"Stop!" Kurt laughed, pulling Blaine's hands back down and holding them still, and Blaine halted his goofing off. "Just…think about how you felt during that kiss." How would you feel if we were to kiss?

Blaine stopped smirking, eyebrows drawing together, "If you say so…" he replied uneasily, then proceeded to give himself in to his thoughts.

After a second or two, he opened his eyes. Kurt gazed down at him, then quickly glanced over to the mural on the opposite wall, "Would you have felt the same way if a guy had been kissing you?"

Kurt's breath hitched with anxious anticipation, and Blaine shrugged, "I don't know," he complained, massaging his temple with his fingers.

"Well, think back—uh, have you ever been kissed by a guy before, Blaine?" Kurt asked softly, wandering into very personal areas, but whatever. They were definitely at the point in their friendship where no secrets were kept secret. Complete intimacy.

"I have. But it was a while ago, like a year and a half ago," the older boy replied, glancing over to Kurt with a frown, "The only feeling I remember from that kiss is pain."

Kurt immediately went doe-eyed with empathy, totally prepared to comfort his friend. The older teen realized this, and quickly smirked, bumping his shoulder into the younger boy's, "Aw, but I meant physical pain. We both had braces. Emotionally, it was only demoralizing, if anything."

"Ah," Kurt said with a laugh, "First kisses aren't among our wide range of aptitudes, are they?"

"No, sir," Blaine bumped their shoulders again, and all was dandy, but in only a moment Kurt saw Blaine visibly tense up again beside him, the burden of something on his back. The older boy then turned to Kurt, their knees brushing together, eyes wide and earnest, and a little doubtful. Kurt swallowed, caught totally off guard as he suddenly had to try to block out how lovely Blaine looked with the warm rays of the setting sun glimmering on his skin and glowing radiantly in his eyes. He swallowed again.

"Um, Kurt? Can I ask you a favor?" the older teen started slowly, as if Kurt could say anything other than 'yes' to him right now. He briskly nodded, eyes locked firmly with Blaine's.

"Okay. Don't get upset with me. I'm really not sure of what's going on inside of me for the first time in, well, a long time," he took a deep breath, and Kurt held his, "And if there is one guy in the world that I was going to kiss—and if there is one guy who'd make me feel something at all. Uh, it would be you."

Heart pounding in his chest. Wow. Kurt could pull his eyes away from those penetrating hazel ones only to look down at—Blaine's lips. His pink, slightly parted lips. Kurt didn't even try to stop himself from sighing. Oh, definitely.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spring this on you like…" Blaine paused, breath hitching as Kurt's hand gingerly found its way to Blaine's cheek, sliding back softly, resting on the side of his neck, stroking his skin with his thumb. Kurt scooted himself closer, pulling Blaine in. The sun continued to set and splay all sorts of vibrant colors around them, like a personal, divine spotlight for this very intimate moment—their moment.

Kurt liked the weight of being in charge here, he liked having to gingerly angle Blaine's head just how he wanted it—was he doing this right? Kurt couldn't even take a moment to worry, because he felt Blaine's hands on him—one lying tentatively on his forearm, the other against his back, both pressing gently.

He felt Blaine's breath against his own mouth, he could smell a blend of his cologne and his hairspray, and he had never wanted something more than he wanted to taste Blaine, right now. Salivating. And he wasn't even slightly ashamed.

The younger teen finally tilted in, slowly, trying to remember how it was done in movies. Kurt's eye flickered up to Blaine's, and their mouths twisted into small smiles for a brief moment—nothing in his life ever felt more right than this, Kurt could safely say. His lips lightly brushed against Blaine's, and then pressed together with that lip-locking noise—soft, sweet, sincere—and suddenly everything came to them as if second nature. Talk about fireworks. Somewhere above them, planets were aligning, but right then and there, all he could taste was Blaine. His lips, his—wow, his tongue. So sweet, and wet, and Blaine; their teeth clanked together but that made it all the more perfect. Kurt felt himself humming pleasantly into the other's mouth as his hand rested against Blaine's chest, the heart beneath it racing as fast as Kurt's. They both pulled each other closer, hips flush against each other in a way that felt too good to be true, sucking gently on each other's lips, deepening the kiss into a slow to-and-fro rhythm, and in Kurt's head, the word 'finally' echoed in gratitude. Except, there was nothing 'final' about what was going on between them.

They broke apart. It was a moment where they stared at each other, eye-to-eye, and Kurt almost panicked until Blaine smiled fondly, eyes glittering. The distance, although small, was too much for either of them right now, so Blaine settled with resting his forehead against the other's.

"So?" Kurt breathed, not removing his hand from Blaine's chest, or untangling his other hand from Blaine's hair, afraid that if he were to let go for a moment, Blaine would be swept away from him as easily as he was brought to him.

"Santana pales in comparison," he whispered, confident and definite as his hand stroked up and down Kurt's side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Kurt hummed, and pressed closer.

"I should hope so," Kurt mewled, tenderly pushing forward with his forehead, and Blaine pushed back.

"And—listen, I don't think it matters if I like girls, or boys, or both, because I—um," the older boy took a deep breath again, pausing to pull back slightly and look openly into Kurt's eyes. His were intense and shining, reflecting the dying sunlight with vivid liveliness. Kurt couldn't think straight. And then, deliberately, because if Blaine was never going to say an honest word again for the rest of his life, this had to be from his heart: "Because I also think I've really liked you for a long time, and I've never been as certain—about anything— as I am right now."

There was a bubbling that started inside him. A feeling of happiness, like a song, starting low in his stomach and spreading up to his chest and to his head and to his entire body, and it was all too much; Kurt grinned giddily. This was what he wanted to hear, this was what he needed. Their hands found each other, entwining in Blaine's lap as the older boy leaned closer again, matching the other's grin.

"What do you think?"

"I think we should kiss again," Kurt whispered, breathless and beyond satisfaction.

They did, and Kurt smiled into this one, because, finally.