DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "A Party Song (The Walk Of Shame)" by All Time Low.
Warnings are: SPOILERS for episode 3x05: kissing, groping, underage drinking, backseat romp.

Reviewers/subscribers/alerters/favouriters, I bet you're as excited as I am about this sffdh. You all are amazing and I love every single one of you.

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY
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It's too much. Too much noise, too much alcohol, too much passion.

It's not enough because they can never get enough. Kurt always wants Blaine's hands: on him, over him, caressing and feeling and loving. They know each other, of course they do; they know their limits, they know their body language and noises and everything else, what means stop and what means oh, god, please go.

At least, Kurt thought they knew their limits.

He'd let go, had a few drinks and danced obscenely in the mass of other sweating men, men far older than he and Blaine, men who looked at them and really looked at them, these two high-schoolers who are so completely and tangibly in love as they sway and grind to whatever song is pumping through the speakers and rattling the ground and seeping its way into their chests to rattle around their insides.

Blaine sweats, Kurt knows this, but under the strobing lights, the pink and green and blue and purple and yellow, he glows. He glows and his head is tipped back, hair mussed and falling loose around his face in waves, black against olive. His eyes are shut and an arm is pulled up, hand grasping loosely at the back of Kurt's neck.

Kurt's hands are on Blaine's waist, hips pressing into his backside in rhythm to the techno song, something fast-paced with far too much eletronica and bass. Blaine's head is on Kurt's shoulder and Kurt can smell sweat and gel and cologne, smell Blaine and feel his hips undulate back and Kurt knows he shouldn't be getting aroused, not here in this sweaty mass, but he is and Blaine's never, ever felt so good.

He's never thought about doing this and now he is. He's holding onto a boy, a boy who respects and loves him, and he's able to. In here they can kiss and touch and be themselves without being afraid of someone else seeing them. Kurt can't get enough, but they have to leave once the clock strikes one and Blaine's had just a few too many.

Staggering out of the humid and sticky bar into the cool, crisp early-November air is a shock, something that sends Kurt reeling. Blaine is stumbling, clutching onto Kurt's shoulder, arm, side, draping himself like a pashmina over Kurt's body. He's slurring and giggling.

Kurt is better off—still a little tipsy, but unlike Blaine he'd stopped early on.

Kurt manages to extract Blaine's keys from his pocket—not without more giggling of slurred words about untimely seduction and uncoordinated hands slapping at his as Kurt digs into jeans pockets—and unlocks Blaine's car when they approach.

"If you don't stop drinking so much you're going to have a problem long before you turn twenty-one," Kurt says softly, mouth curved around a smile as he opens the back door to Blaine's car, getting ready to push him gently into the backseat.

Blaine smiles but it's gone in an instant, fleeting and flittering away like a butterfly. He grabs into Kurt's forearms, still unsteady on his feet, and lets go of one in favor of curling around his hip. He steps closer, closer, sealing the space between them until all Kurt can see are Blaine's wide, unfocused eyes, until all he can smell is alcohol. Blaine licks his lips, Kurt catching the movement with curious yet hungry eyes.

With great resolve Kurt pushes Blaine away slightly, maneuvering him into the backseat. As he turns to open the driver's side to sit and sober up a little more and just think Blaine's hand is back on his arm, grabbing and tugging and Kurt definitely isn't the steadiest on his feet right now because he falls into the backseat of the car with an undignified yelp of surprise, landing right on Blaine's lap.

How they end up spread out in the back, Blaine flat against the bench and Kurt straddling him with one leg folded up and the other bracing on the small amount of floor allotted, Kurt doesn't know, but he does feel and nothing they've ever done feels like this. Blaine's hand is on his cheek before they kiss, just a weight as he touches; they stare and don't say anything. Adrenaline still rushes through them, dizzying, and having seen Blaine dance like that back in there, having felt him grinding and rubbing while other men watched, Kurt's never been this turned on before. He's never felt like this and it's overwhelming but welcoming, like he's growing up.

Blaine tastes like whiskey and bourbon and that stupid cocktail he'd gotten right before they'd left, its sweetness the most prominent as Kurt's tongue slides into his mouth. A hand slides into his hair, twisting and curling through the strands as Blaine shifts a leg, sliding it up and along the seam of Kurt's jeans so that he gasps and lets out a little surprised moan, shifting down to meet it slightly before it's gone and Blaine is completely unaware.

They kiss, lips sliding over lips, and there's too much saliva involved as Kurt grabs onto the headrest of the driver's seat, arching his back and moaning a little more boldly as Blaine shifts his focus to Kurt's neck, kissing but not sucking, biting gently enough to send electric tingles down Kurt's body.

"Oh, god," Kurt breathes, gasps into Blaine's mouth as he weaves his fingers into Blaine's hair, gel mostly gone, maneuvering him, tilting his head up as he licks into his mouth. This is amazing. This is perfect. This is better than any fumbling handjob they'd had in the past and why hadn't they done something like this sooner?

Because you're drunk a little voice nags at the back of Kurt's mind as Blaine makes a soft, breathy noise when Kurt shifts his hips, pressing down a little further before Kurt frames Blaine's face with the hand that isn't holding himself up, cradling as he feels Blaine's jaw work underneath his hand as his mouth opens and closes against Kurt's.

The air in the car is steadily growing to match that of the club's, little tendrils of fog teasing the edges of windows against the colder air outside. Blaine moans, Kurt moans, bodies and lips moving together as they rock and are just there. Blaine's hard under him, something that isn't completely new but still relatively new nonetheless, and Kurt grinds and swivels, struggling to find hold somewhere in the car as he arches again.

Blaine grabs and tugs, pulling Kurt's shirt out from where it had been tucked into his jeans, fisting into the fabric as he pulls Kurt closer, closer. He works a hand up, brushing against Kurt's abdomen and he twitches, shivers, as Blaine's heated fingertips run up and down his stomach. Kurt kisses him, harder and deeper, so much so that he has to open his mouth wider. He tugs at Blaine's shirt, unsure if he wants it off or if he just needs something to grab a hold of that tells him that this is real. It almost can't be real.

Then Blaine's hands are on the back of Kurt's head, tugging him away and down; Kurt immediately attaches his lips to the side of Blaine's neck, teasing the sweat-damp skin with his tongue. He feels Blaine's breath fanning over his ear, ruffling his hair with each labored intake.

Kurt's kissing and licking and Blaine is moaning, still moving his hips up and around in slight circles and this is a lot, almost too much; he can feel it curling and licking at the base of his spine, ready to spread and consume, and then Blaine is whispering, words slurred and he says, "Want you, Kurt."

"You have me," Kurt replies breathily, understanding but not fully understanding in this mix of alcohol and lust and the familiar sensations of each other.

"More than that," Blaine says, hands on Kurt's shoulders, touching like he's afraid he's going to forget, almost tentatively. "I want you, Kurt."

The words sink in slowly, heavy and frightening.

And then Kurt is up; scrambling, afraid, angry. He wants to have sex with Blaine, oh god he does, he's dreamt about it and fantasized about it with sheets curling and tangled around his ankles, but not like this. Not after they'd just broken laws and they're in a parking lot in the backseat of a car like every stupid cliché straight teen movie. This isn't what Kurt really wants. He wants to taste Blaine, not alcohol. He wants their movements, wants whoever will top to be sober and coordinated with bright eyes and a clear mind. He wants to remember everything.

He's out of the car faster than he thought possible.

Blaine's blinking blearily, mouth swollen and jeans forming around the shape of his cock hard against his thigh, hard and inviting and Kurt wants to touch but not like this, he keeps telling himself as he tries to clear the cobwebs from his head, tries to see through the slight haze of arousal. "Kurt?" he asks.

Kurt knows that Blaine isn't pressuring him because this had all been about spontaneity; that's how they'd ended up at Scandals in the first place. But he can't help but feel a little disappointment that Blaine would spring this now, spring the biggest step they'd been putting off because they're both scared. Rationally, he knows it's because Blaine's drunk and horny and Kurt hadn't exactly stopped him. Rationally, no matter how turned on Kurt is right now, they absolutely cannot do this.

Not like this, Kurt eventually says.

Not when we won't remember it in the morning.

And Blaine's angry, sad, upset, so many emotions playing across his face that Kurt can't keep up. The music is still pounding from inside the club but no one else is exiting the doors. It's just Kurt and Blaine, yelling and misunderstanding and hurting too much. Then it's Blaine storming off, away from his own car and no matter how much Kurt yells his name, pleads for him to come back, Blaine keeps walking, blinking back tears, until he disappears from the parking lot.