Title: You Can't Always Blame It On The Alcohol
Author: Aristide
Fandom/Pairing: Glee, Kurt/Finn
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Not all bi-flexible drunks are the same.
Spoilers: This takes place after S2 x 14, Blame It On The Alcohol. Spoilers through that ep.

So, the first thing that happened that really shouldn't have happened was that he, Kurt and Blaine all went to the movies. The going to the movies part was fine. The part that wasn't fine was that they had to go to the super-skanky theater because apparently Blaine was crushing hard on this weird kid named Zeke who ran the popcorn concession (personally, Finn thought Zeke looked like a cross between a heroin addict and a refugee from a Tim Burton movie, but he was pretty sure no one cared, so he kept that opinion to himself). The theater was gross, and Blaine kept ducking out on the movie to go get more snacks. Finn went with him the first time (because, hey, snacks), but apparently Blaine couldn't flirt without serenading, using lyrics he made up on the spot, and after Blaine rhymed 'my regrets' with 'Raisinettes' Finn just grabbed his extra-butter popcorn and went back to the theater.

Kurt was doing that thing he did where he looked and acted like he was okay but he really, really wasn't, and the whole experience kind of sucked except for when Blaine handed over all the snacks he kept buying but didn't eat. That part was awesome.

The second thing that happened that really shouldn't have was that Kurt spent the afternoon teaching Santana how to make a flourless chocolate-kahlua cake for her dad's birthday, since he was apparently allergic to gluten and she was apparently his 'Little Princess'. Finn tried to imagine anyone calling Santana that, but the only person in his mind who could pull it off was Arnold Schwarzenegger, which only made him think about the Terminator being Santana's dad, (which would actually explain a lot). The cake-making part was fine—awesome actually, since Kurt and Santana each made one, and his came out right but hers didn't, which meant Finn got to eat the messed-up one.

The part that wasn't fine was that Santana decided to thank Kurt by giving him a bottle of Patron she had 'liberated' from Rachel's party, and after she left Kurt just sat at the kitchen table with his chin resting on the bottle, staring off into nothing and being really, really quiet. Quiet and sad.

Finn thought about talking to him, thought about it a lot, but in the end it seemed like a better plan to just clean up the kitchen without being told to, which was a nice thing to do and didn't involve actually talking about anyone's feelings.

"You should probably hide that before Dad and Mom get home," Finn said when he was done, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

Kurt looked at him, then looked at the bottle like he'd forgotten it was there. "Yeah," he said quietly, and stood up. He got a small juice glass out of the cupboard, grabbed the bottle, and headed for the stairs.

"Hey," Finn said, squeezing the dishtowel. "Hey, Kurt? Kurt?" No response. Finn looked around the kitchen, looked down the hall to where Kurt was headed up the stairs with his head down and his feet dragging, then tossed the dishtowel on the kitchen island and went after him.

When Finn woke up, the first and most urgent thing he became aware of was that if he didn't hit the can soon, he was going to whiz in his pants. The second (and still pretty fucking urgent) thing he became aware of was that it was kind of going to be a toss-up between puking and peeing—and he was deep into planning all the ways he could manage to do both at the same time, except that the third thing he became aware of was that he wasn't in his own bed, he was in Kurt's bed—but that third thing totally got blown out of the water by the fourth thing, which was that Burt was right there, standing over him, staring at him lying in Kurt's bed. Burt had a look on his face that was… that kind of made Finn wonder whether or not he was going to end up puking and peeing right where he was.

"What." Burt said, then cleared his throat. "What are you doing in here?"

"Dad," Kurt's voice came from the hallway, from outside the room. "Dad, it's okay—look, we traded rooms for a night, okay? We just… we just swapped. For one night. I spent the night in Finn's room. By, uh, by myself." Finn squinted. Kurt was leading Burt out of the room, talking to him a mile a minute about eastern exposure and natural light and square footage, and Finn was very, very confused by basically everything and not at all sure what the hell was going on, but he was also very, very grateful that it looked like he was going to make it to the bathroom after all.

He made it. Just.

He was in the shower, wishing water didn't have to be so fucking loud and generally just cursing his existence, when he closed his eyes and stuck his face under the spray and opened his mouth and—

"Kurt!" He at least managed to get the water turned off and a towel around himself before he stumbled out into the hallway. Kurt came running up the stairs with a look on his face that suggested he maybe expected Finn to be on fire or something.

"What? What is it? What happened—"

Finn swallowed. "We made out. Last night."

Kurt took a step towards him, looking back over his shoulder. "Keep your voice down," he hissed, and waved Finn back into the bathroom. "Just… look, we'll talk, okay? Just… not right now. Wait until dad and Carole go out for their 'nature hike' thing. Go… finish your shower. And, uh, put some clothes on. Afterwards. Not. Not in the shower, I mean—oh, just go."

Finn swayed a little on the tile. "But. But we—"

"Not now," Kurt said sternly, and closed the bathroom door between them.

Finn licked his lips. He felt… sober. Really, entirely, shockingly sober. He didn't even really feel hung over any more—just thirsty.

Great. He'd accidentally discovered the world's best hangover remedy. Although he couldn't see himself recommending it to anyone any time soon.

"Okay," Kurt said. "First of all, we did not 'make out', okay? There was… it wasn't making out. You were drunk. I was drunk. We were talking. You… you kissed me. I kissed you back, then I… we stopped." He shrugged. "Apparently it's my lot in life to be surrounded by guys with alcohol-related orientation issues."

Finn rested both elbows on the kitchen table so he could use both hands to squeeze his head. He'd been squeezing it for some time now. "You… what?"

Kurt pressed his lips together. "Bi-flexible boy drunks, is what I'm calling them." He looked down at the floor for a moment. "Mostly because calling them 'inebriated sluttish man-whores' just doesn't seem classy."

"Um. Thanks? Is… it's okay if I panic now, right?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You don't need to panic, Finn. You're not bisexual. You aren't bi, you aren't gay—you were just drunk. It's the same thing that happened with Blaine, kissing Rachel last weekend."

Finn blinked. "Blaine's… bisexual?"

Kurt rubbed his forehead like it hurt. "No. No, he's not, and that's kind of the point I'm trying to make, here, so… you should probably pay attention." He sighed. "Blaine was smashed when he kissed Rachel, and of course it felt good, so he was confused. As soon as he kissed her when he was sober, he knew it wasn't right. Blaine's gay." He pointed at Finn. "You're straight." He tapped his chest. "I'm gay—but all of us, me included, can act like idiots when we're drunk."

Finn felt the knot in his stomach relax, just a little. "I'm not… I mean, so I'm not—"

"Nope," Kurt said, but Finn must not have looked entirely convinced, because he sighed again. "Look." He reached out and grabbed the front of Finn's t-shirt, and before Finn knew what was happening Kurt kissed him full on the lips—quick, but firm and sure. Then he let go. "See? You are straight, Finn Hudson. I ought to know." He got up from the table and walked towards the hall. "Now, stop worrying about it. Or, if you can't, try to see the upside: once you're in college, you'll have a leg up on the competition in all those ridiculous fraternity hazing rituals."

Finn sat there until he heard the door to Kurt's room close, and then he put his head down on the table and closed his eyes. His hands were shaking, and he really, really wanted to touch his lips, but he didn't.

"Why was I in your bed?"

"Huh?" Kurt looked kind of surprised by the question. Of course, Finn had to admit that it was possible that he was surprised because he was in his bathroom shaving and Finn had just barged right in and asked, but still.

"I don't remember… I don't remember everything, okay? So, if we just kissed once and then stopped, how did I end up in your bed?" he closed the bathroom door behind him. "I woke up in your bed."

Kurt eyed him, then went back to scraping the foam off his face. "You passed out there, he-man, that's why. I wasn't about to try and move you, so I just went and slept in your room."

"So… we kissed… in your bed."

Kurt let his head drop back for a second, staring at the ceiling as if he were praying to the exhaust vent for patience. "Look, Finn, I can't… I already told you, you don't have anything to worry about, okay? So can you just please—"

"And I kissed you first?"

"Yes." Kurt said it to him, straight to him, almost accusingly. Then he looked away and started rinsing his razor with quick, economical motions. "I promise, I didn't get you drunk and try to slap the make on you. You just… we were talking, you were telling me things, and the next thing I knew you had me by the neck and…" he turned away for a moment, and turned back with a washcloth in his hand, which he ran back and forth under the tap like it was a fascinating operation. "That was it, really."

Finn swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Kurt looked at him then. "What?"

Finn put his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry I did that to you. I never… I should never have done that to you. Like that. Without… you know, when you didn't… when it's not what you wanted."

Kurt was staring at him like he was speaking some kind of exotic language. "I… Finn. I'm fine." His voice was softer, gentler than it had been. "Really—I'm just fine. And you're fine. And we're fine—no harm done, okay? It was stupid, but it's over. Let's move on."

"I… okay." He waited a bit, until Kurt turned to him inquiringly, one eyebrow raised. "I, uh. Hey, maybe… that is. I wanted to ask you…"


"Do you know how to make pie?"

Kurt bit his lip like he was trying not to smile. "I do."

Finn didn't even bother trying not to smile. "Can we make one?"

Kurt nodded. "Sure, Finn. We can make pie."


The pie was amazing, but Finn didn't eat as much of it as he thought he would have (which was basically all of it that the rest of his family didn't eat), because even though he'd had the hangover freaked right out of him he still felt… off, like something was off, like his head was full of things that he couldn't quite get a grip on—like he wasn't quite himself.

That not-quite-himself thing was familiar, at least: it had been coming and going for a while now, and he had just assumed it was another one of the sucky parts of growing up that nobody ever told you about, like the fact that a lot of wet dreams were more like nightmares, or the fact that butt-crack sweat exists—sometimes, you were going to feel like someone you weren't, and sometimes that other guy was in charge. It sucked.

It felt like a far-off thunderstorm brewing in his head, dark and ominous and somehow charged, so it wasn't really surprising that he had a hard time falling asleep that night, even though he was exhausted. His brain kept circling back through stuff, picking and prying at the things he couldn't remember—which was epically stupid, because he didn't even want to remember, not really; he'd been firmly on the side of not-remembering or quickly forgetting or somehow moving right on past the whole thing since this morning's first, shocking recollection of kissing Kurt—but his dumb brain kept it up anyway.

He didn't even notice he was licking his lips, over and over until he finally, finally slipped over the edge into sleep.

Kurt was at his vanity in his always-ironed-looking pyjamas, wiping cream off his face, his bare feet crossed and tucked under the bench. Finn stared at his feet for what seemed like a long time, stared and watched Kurt's pink toes curl into the nap of the carpet until it was just too fucking much and he had to lean against the door jamb. The door creaked, and Kurt looked up, startled for one split second before he smiled. Finn's cheeks burned.

"Oh, hey, Finn—good morning." Kurt picked up a bottle and spritzed some kind of mist on his face. "I was wondering, do you want to do something today? Blaine has some college tour thing with his parents, and dad said he and Carole won't be back until dinnertime, so if you want to, maybe we could—"

"It wasn't because I was drunk," Finn said, and Kurt put the bottle slowly back down onto the table. Finn took two steps towards him and stopped there, his hands curled into fists. "It… wasn't. Just. That."

Kurt stood up, and turned towards him with a careful, set look on his face. "Finn," he said quietly. "Don't. It's… you shouldn't—"

"You liked it," Finn said, and those words were like breaking a dam; they made him free, somehow, free to take that last step forward, free to let the things spill out of his throat that felt like they'd been lodged there. "I remember now, you kissed me back and you hung onto me and you liked it. And I got in your bed because I liked it—because I wanted to feel you under me, because I wanted, I wanted…"

"Please," Kurt's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Finn—stop—"

"Did you know this about me, before?" Finn asked, his voice hoarse. "Always? Did you always know?"

"Finn—" anything else he might have said got cut off, because they'd been circling as they spoke and now Finn had Kurt backed into the wall, backed right up against it with nowhere to go. Kurt's eyes were huge.

"You felt… sweet," Finn said, and reached out, almost touched—Kurt's shoulder, his neck, his chest. But he didn't. "You felt… I couldn't believe, how good. But… you stopped me. All I wanted was… and you stopped me." His hand hovered in the air a second, and then dropped. "Why did you stop me?"

"It wasn't—it's not you, Finn. You were drunk, we were both drunk—"

"I'm not, now." He waited, but Kurt only looked down at his feet. "Are you gonna stop me again?"

Kurt didn't answer. Finn leaned in, close, closer, until his breath moved the hair above Kurt's ear. Kurt shivered. "Tell me you don't want it—that you don't want me," Finn whispered, "and I'll stop."

Kurt made some tiny, quiet noise—one that brought back even more memories from last night, and Finn closed his eyes and breathed in, deep. "I don't think you can," he said, and heard Kurt sigh a little. Everything was rushing, in his heart and in his head, and even though he was freaked out and near-terrified he felt… huge, weirdly powerful, like he had everything—almost everything—right there, his for the taking.


"I'm not Blaine," Finn said, and saw Kurt close his eyes, a small frown-line between his brows. "I'm not… I don't think he sees you the way… the same way. I don't think he… I mean, since I remembered, all I can think about is touching you, kissing you—"

"You don't know what you're doing," Kurt said, and it sounded like it hurt to say it.

"Neither do you," Finn said, and moved in, as close as he could without—quite—touching. "Kiss me."

Kurt jumped a little, like he'd been shocked. Finn tilted his head, watching the pulse under the skin of Kurt's neck flutter. "Do it. Kiss me."

Kurt was already gasping when he fitted his mouth to Finn's, hands shaky and tentative on Finn's cheeks. For Finn, it was like unlocking something, something different and entirely new—not permission; he'd had that, once, and not being desired; he'd had that, too—it was… both of those things together, both things at once that had his head spinning and his heart pounding and his dick already hard from just one soft kiss.

He took everything Kurt gave him, every sound and taste and wet, sweet slip of tongue. He soaked it up and fed on it, like he fed on Kurt's open mouth, holding tighter and tighter until there was no space between them at all and he could feel Kurt hard against his thigh—and what should have been freaky and scary and weird was just… hot, because it was for him, because of him.

"I want… I want to make you come," he breathed, dizzy from kissing, dizzy from saying that out loud, but then Kurt's arms tightened around his neck and Kurt's head went back and both of them moaned when Kurt went for it, did it, arched hard against his thigh and came just like that, shaking hard, and Finn almost went over the edge himself but he banged his head into the wall instead, biting his tongue hard, and managed, somehow, to hold off.

But it changed things. It changed… everything. Finn had been thinking of himself, of what he wanted, but holding Kurt close to him while he came down was—it was wonderful, but also terrible, like all of a sudden he could feel how lonely, how hungry Kurt had been—how badly he'd needed to be touched like that. And Finn had been lonely before, yes, but something in him knew, without knowing how, that Kurt's loneliness was on another level entirely—a level Finn could feel from the outside, but never from the inside. Not really.

He picked Kurt up, almost cradling him, and carried him to the bed. He laid Kurt down and stayed close, as close as he could, one hand pressed hard right over Kurt's racing heartbeat. "What do you want?" he asked, low and husky and breathless, and it was ridiculous, how much he wanted Kurt to want something from him. "Tell me."

Kurt's eyes were luminous, brilliant, fringed with damp lashes. "I… everything," he said, and then closed his eyes and swallowed, visibly. "I want… I want you to… to fuck me. Will you fuck me?" He shivered as he said it, so Finn kissed him until his shivering stopped.

And even though that was just about the scariest thing he could think of, he was glad—fiercely glad that Kurt had asked for something that… that meant something. "Yeah," he said, closing his eyes. "Yeah."

Kurt was on his side with one leg pulled up and Finn curled around him, and even though Kurt was tight and hot and smooth and felt so, so good, Finn realized that the hardest part of this wasn't trying not to come from the feel of it, but trying not to come from everything else—from looking at the sweet, spare, soft-skinned curve of Kurt's hip and thigh and shoulder, from listening to the sounds he made, which were low and helpless and kind of… needy, in the best way, or from the weird, zingy closeness, the rightness, of doing this, this thing he never knew he wanted until he had it, until now, when it felt like it might kill him to give it up.

"Oh, Finn," Kurt said, half-whispering and half-moaning, over and over and "Yes—Finn—ohh—" and Christ that was making him crazy, he was squeezing Kurt's hip probably way too hard but he couldn't stop himself, pulling them together and pushing in and sinking he was sinking he was just… fucking… losing it.

"How…" he swallowed. "How hard can I… how—"

Kurt whimpered. "God—please—do it—" so Finn did it, pushed Kurt flat onto his stomach and got between his legs and fucked him hard, making some truly ridiculous noises but he couldn't care and couldn't stop and Kurt was rolling, bucking under him, gasping and taking it and getting off on it and just like that Finn knew what he wanted, seeing everything perfectly, where he needed to go. He got Kurt up on his knees and up towards the head of the bed, and put Kurt's hands on the headboard and left them there, trusting him to keep them braced while he fucked Kurt's tight ass and used his own hands on Kurt's hard nipples and the sweet, shallow dip of his navel and then his hard cock and his balls and—everything. Everything he could reach.

"Will you come… when I tell you to?" Kurt only groaned in response, but his head fell back against Finn's shoulder and he nodded, all of him shaking and making these soft, high noises that made Finn want to growl. He stuck his fingers in Kurt's mouth and closed his eyes while Kurt sucked on them, panting hard, then put his wet hand back on Kurt's cock and worked it, slick and fast and tight and Kurt's whole body was jerking, twitching, rocking into his hand and back hard onto his dick and fuck fuck fuck that was just… "Do it—come now," he managed, and Kurt surged against him, all his weight and strength right there, coming and Finn got his mouth on Kurt's and came so hard his vision went black, gasping and swallowing Kurt's throaty, grateful moans until they were nothing more than soft, sweet sighs—the kind of sounds he thought he could listen to forever, better than any music could ever be.

He expected some kind of regret. He expected panic. He expected all kinds of things in the aftermath, but that worked out about as well as it ever did for him because what he got instead was a deep, deep need to wrap Kurt up in his arms and keep him as close as possible—so that's what he went with. Kurt's kisses were slow and sleepy and wet and open, and it was actually really really nice to make out without the constant distraction of a raging boner—only by the time he got around to thinking that his raging boner was back, so that went out the window.

"Finn," Kurt said with his eyes closed. Finn kissed him one more time, then pulled back.


"Are you all right?"

Finn blinked. He thought about it. "Well, I'm kind of horny," he admitted, feeling his cheeks burn. "And, uh, hungry, I guess—but that's normal."

Kurt opened one eye and looked him over. "That's it?"

Finn shrugged. "Isn't that enough?"

Kurt stared at the ceiling for a long, long moment, then looked at him and relaxed back into his arms. "Okay. Gift horse. Mouth. Yes."

Finn frowned. "Are you calling me a horse?"

Kurt blinked, then smiled. A sweetly sexy smile. "Uh-huh." His hand slipped from Finn's shoulder to his chest, and started sliding down. "Want me to show you where the mouth part comes in?"

Finn groaned. Kurt laughed and rolled Finn onto his back, chuckling until it was simply no longer possible.