regala-electra:

you go to my head

Rating: R as it’s a kissing and drunken making out fic, oops. Future fic set after S3, wherein there’s NYC roommate shenanigans. Billie Holiday song quoted & serving as the the fic title ‘cause I love me some Lady Day.

*

It’s authentic, meaning it’s actually from France, but it’s not terribly good. Still they’re polishing off the bottle with gusto because they can. It’s a celebration after all.

Kurt takes the brunt of the drinking as he’s the only one who can be trusted. Rachel gets loopy when drunk and Blaine is infamously horny and clingy (which Kurt has learned can be beneficial as it often leads to languid making out before Blaine falls asleep wrapped around Kurt).

The first one to suggest that they pile up in Kurt and Blaine’s bed and sleep together is when the drinking needs to stop and since only Blaine and Rachel have made such suggestions in the past, Kurt has to finish off the rest of Blaine’s champagne for him if only to deflect any impending disaster.

He’s seriously doing the best job ever. His head is delightfully swimming and everything feels so fantastic.

Blaine’s already got his hand high up on Kurt’s thigh, tracing abstract patterns that Kurt can feel through his jeans. It would be more distracting if Blaine’s eyes weren’t closed and his breathing a steady rhythm puffing against Kurt’s skin. They’ll probably end the night with extreme cuddling the way Blaine’s dozing off, his head a pleasant weight on Kurt’s shoulder.

Rachel lets out an undignified snort, finishing it with a loud cackle. “It’s happening. Finally. I’m going to be a star.”

“Your first off-off Broadway lead role, Miss Berry. How does it feel?”

“Oh, Kurt,” she says, collapsing against Kurt’s free side, breath hot and not entirely unpleasant against his neck. “It’s going to be amazing. I only wish you could’ve joined me.”

“Alas, there was no part that called for Hummel-esque flair.” He sighs dramatically but doesn’t really mean it. He would have hated to be covered in dusty gauze every show night to play the entirely dead murderous ex-lover opposite Rachel’s cursed (but tragically beautiful) mummy. “There are others auditions and don’t worry, I’m still writing—”

“Your play definitely has a part for me, right?”

“Yes, Rachel,” Kurt says, draining his champagne flute. Rachel is a flurry of movement as she hurries to refill it, almost spilling over the brim. The bottle barely makes it on the coffee table. She snatches the glass from his hand to take a sip.

“You do have your own.”

“Mine has lip gloss on it.”

Kurt eyes the brim of his flute and sighs at Rachel’s unintended autograph. “Now mine does.”

“I’ll fix it!” Blaine offers, rousing from his drowsy state.

He kisses Kurt swiftly and Kurt almost drops the glass. It’s messy and way up on the scale of Blaine is Approaching Dangerous Levels of Reckless Floozydom but Kurt isn’t going to object. Falling into the kiss and adding a little force is the best course of action especially when Blaine makes that deep noise in the back of his throat as he sucks Blaine’s top lip in between his own.

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