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The house stands somewhere between “in need of work” and “in complete disrepair,” paint peeling and drunk teenagers spilling out onto the saggy front porch. Finn glances at Kurt, whose mouth is drawn tight in distaste, and heads inside as quickly as he can. Puck’s friend who invited them to the party is nowhere to be found, but there’s a bottle of vodka in the kitchen and it’s definitely calling Finn’s name.
Finn does shots quickly, one two three four five, until there’s nothing but the burn in his throat and his eyes are clamped shut and he wouldn’t even be able to see Rachel if she were here. Which she is not.
When Finn opens his eyes (just breathe, everything’s fine) Kurt is sitting next to him, throwing back a shot like it’s nothing. Finn doesn’t want to think about that, doesn’t want to think about who taught Kurt to do shots and why Kurt is drinking at all.
Doesn’t want to think about Kurt, really. So he doesn’t.
Six, seven, and then a girl is smiling at him and her hair is red and straight in a way Finn is pretty sure is fake, but her hair isn’t brown and her hair isn’t blonde so maybe it isn’t cheating and they’re over anyway, so Finn smiles back.
The girl sits on Finn’s thigh, arm around his shoulder and face real close, and her hair smells different so maybe everything is okay.
And then Kurt is there, right there on the couch next to them (did he ever even leave?). His cheeks are flushed but his eyes are cold and in thirty seconds he has used his mouth to cut the girl to shreds, repels her off Finn’s lap and all the way across the room.
“What the hell, dude?” Finn asks, and if he’s more relieved hurt than angry no one has to know.
“Fuck you, Finn,” Kurt says, and he takes another shot.
Finn doesn’t want to think about Kurt, about how Kurt is here next to him and not somewhere else.
Eight.
Finn sinks down into the throbbing of the music, just loud enough to hurt, and the pillows of the couch and the spinning in his brain and for a blessed thirty seconds he’s can just drown.
And then Puck’s friend shatters the moment with a hand on Finn’s shoulder and a cautious glance in Kurt’s direction, telling them both that he’s going outside to smoke if either of them are interested.
Kurt purses his lips in distaste, which is all the push Finn needs to climb up off of the couch and join whatever-Puck’s-friend’s-name-is. Mullet Dude.
Outside Mullet Dude hands Finn a cigarette, and yeah, maybe Finn had thought they would be smoking something else, but at this point any chemical fucking with his brain is a good chemical in Finn’s book.
He takes a drag and burns the inside of his throat, and maybe this is even better than another shot because while the booze makes everything blurry, well.
There’s something darkly appealing about burning the inside of his throat with actual fire, and Finn probably shouldn’t go there.
“So, that dude’s your brother, right?” Mullet Dude asks, and for a second Finn is so tired, so tired of everything and everybody in his goddamn life. But he’s here by choice, in so many ways, and he’s trying because he knows he doesn’t have to.
“Kurt, yeah. He’s my stepbrother.” Mullet Dude kinda hums a little, and that’s it. Finn feels relived but it’s only a surface emotion, rote and routine and unable to penetrate the sea of alcohol currently killing off Finn’s brain cells.
“Thanks, man,” Finn says as he puts out his cigarette, and he walks back inside towards shot number nine.
Kurt is dancing with a blonde girl, grinding on her like it’s nothing. At first Finn sees Quinn, but then by the way the girl’s moving Finn’s reminded of Brittany. And then his mind catches up to his eyes and all Finn sees is red.
Finn is grabbing Kurt’s shoulder (never too hard, always careful) and the blonde girl is staring at him and he doesn’t even remember crossing the room to get there.
“He’s gay,” Finn tells her, because it’s the only thing his mouth can think of to say.
The girl glances between the two of them. “Ooo-kay. Are you two…?”
Kurt turns to Finn and snarls, actually snarls, and Finn knows Kurt is fucked up over New York and NYADA and Blaine, of course Finn knows because Finn lives with Kurt every single day, but wow is Kurt seriously pissed off.
“Are you trying to cockblock everybody here, man?” Finn asks, and apparently Finn is as drunk as Kurt is angry, because he just stuck his hand in the hornets’ nest, or something.
Kurt grabs Finn’s arm, hard enough that his nails leave marks, and he wordlessly pulls Finn across the room and up the stairs into somebody’s empty bedroom.
“What is your problem?” Kurt demands, and he’s so drunk and angry he’s, well, he’s crying a little bit, and Finn can’t help but laugh. Kurt fucking would.
Kurt makes a noise that is probably a strangled scream and turns to go.
“Wait, wait a second, Kurt,” Finn says, placing himself between Kurt and the door and taking a deep breath to control his laughter. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” He gives Kurt his best half-grin, the one that usually works on Rachel and Quinn and his mom and even Burt sometimes. It used to work on Kurt, too, back when things were more complicated between them and far simpler everywhere else.
It doesn’t work on Kurt anymore.
“Why did you even make me come to this? I don’t know anybody here and you’ve been a jerk all night and—”
“Yeah, and you’ve been perfectly nice, is that what you’re saying?” It feels good to raise his voice at Kurt, raise his voice at anyone, and right now Finn could care less about regretting this in the morning. “You’ve been treating me like shit for weeks and I try to do something nice for you and guess what? You treat me like shit for that too.”
Kurt blinks dangerously. Finn’s probably screwed.
“Finn,” Kurt says, and his voice is calm but it’s too high and too tight, “I know that you tend towards the exceptionally idiotic, but did you really think dragging me to a house party full of straight boys with terrible hair and girls in miniskirts was doing ‘something nice’ for me? Are you truly that stupid? Because I’ve been drinking horrifically cheap vodka all night in an attempt to make this party bearable, and not even that’s worked, thanks to you being the world’s most moronic multicellular organism. So thank you for this, truly, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you.”
It’s Finn’s turn to blink.
“Dude,” Finn knows he’s staring but he can’t help it, “I have no idea what more than half those words mean right now.”
This time Kurt really does scream. And then Kurt is all up in Finn’s space, and he’s actually throwing punches against Finn’s chest. And yeah, Kurt’s kind of a seriously muscular little dude nowadays, but Finn is seriously drunk, so there’s not much pain involved.
Except Kurt’s face is all screwed up, and his mouth is trembling, and that does hurt Finn in all the ways he’s drinking to avoid. Finn tries to push Kurt away gently, to stop his swinging fists and his trembling lips, except Kurt must be drunker than either of them thought. Because when Finn shoves Kurt away (gently, always gently), Kurt falls to his knees in front of him. Suddenly Finn can’t breathe.
“Fuck you, Finn,” Kurt snarls from all the way down on the floor.
“Well, if you still want to,” Finn says with a raised eyebrow, because really, what else does he have to lose.
Kurt is immediately, visibly wounded.
And then his eyes narrow and his hands are on Finn’s zipper.
“Dude,” Finn says, because this is obviously not happening.
“Shut up,” Kurt mutters, more to Finn’s dick than to Finn, which makes sense because Finn is all the way up here and Finn’s dick is right in front of Kurt’s face.
And then Kurt’s hand is wrapped around Finn’s dick, which, whoa.
“That feels awesome,” Finn says, because it fucking does.
Kurt laughs a little, and it’s a really unpleasant, unhappy laugh, so Finn is super relieved when Kurt stops laughing and puts Finn’s cock in his mouth.
Finn moans, low and deep in his chest, as Kurt takes him in. His hands flutter nervously above Kurt’s head, because he’s pretty sure Kurt will try to re-circumcise him with his teeth if Finn messes up his hair, but between the alcohol and Kurt’s mouth on his dick Finn is having a little bit of trouble staying upright.
He settles for one hand on Kurt’s shoulder and one hand cupping the back of Kurt’s neck and, yeah, this is really good as long as Finn keeps his brain submerged in his dick.
Kurt’s good at this, too, making use of tongue and hands and thankfully avoiding his teeth. When Finn tilts his head he can see the stretch of Kurt’s lips around his dick, red and slick with spit, and without thinking he presses the back of Kurt’s neck forward, forcing the head of his cock further back into Kurt’s mouth, and everything is wet and tight and perfectly white-hot.
When Finn finishes he pulls back, rubbing the hand that had been cupping Kurt’s neck guiltily against his pants, as Kurt grimaces and scans the room for a box of tissues.
Kurt spits Finn’s come into a tissue delicately, which is both ridiculous and somehow adorable, and when he’s done he turns and scowls at Finn.
“It figures you’d have terrible blowjob etiquette,” he says.
“I didn’t mess up your hair,” Finn shrugs as he sits on the bed right in front of Kurt. “Return the favor?”
Kurt makes that face like Finn has said something too dumb to make sense. It’s as irritating as it is comfortingly familiar.
“What?” Finn asks, his scalp still tingling pleasantly from his orgasm. “It’s just like jacking off backwards, right?” Kurt opens his mouth and then closes it again. He looks like a fish; it’s the second best thing to happen to Finn all night. Finn pats the bed next to him. “Come sit.” Kurt does, warily, holding his body stiff and tight and far away from Finn’s. Finn reaches for him, loose and languid, and struggles with the super weird zipper on his jeans.
“You have to undo the buttons first,” Kurt says, but he’s looking straight ahead and he’s clenching the bedspread with bloodless knuckles. Finn swallows, hard.
“I don’t have to,” Finn says, wishing for drunken bravado or orgasmic bravado or anything to stop him from feeling suddenly frightened.
Kurt gives him half a smile, hands loosening. “It is the least you could do, after trying to choke me to death.”
Finn rolls his eyes and focuses on the diagonal interlocking zippers on Kurt’s pants, what the fuck, and by the time he gets the things undone Kurt is staring at the wall again, hands gripping his knees and eyes glassy.
“No,” Finn says, because Kurt won’t. Kurt turns to look at him, confused and miserable and finally without the fury that’s been lurking behind his eyes for weeks. He looks naked.
“I can beat him up for you,” Finn offers.
“What?” Kurt half-laughs.
“Blaine.” Finn swallows. “Or me. Whoever it is that’s making your face look like that right now.”
Kurt’s mouth twists into a smile. “I think you beat yourself up just fine, Finn.” He does up his maze of zippers and buttons in a matter of seconds. Finn scowls. “Can we go now?”
“I… yeah.” Finn works his jaw and wishes he were just a little less drunk, a little more articulate.
“We do have a ride home, don’t we?” Kurt’s sealing right back up again, wrapping his anger up around himself into a shield of ice and insults and raised eyebrows. Finn’s suddenly overcome with a surge of desperation.
“I love you,” Finn blurts out. Kurt’s eyes widen in horror. “Not like that, you idiot.”
“Oh,” Kurt sighs in relief, but at least he’s open again. “I… yeah. I love you too, you know that.”
Finn nods. “So this…” He searches for a way to say never happened without being a complete ass.
“My thoughts exactly,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes and heading for the door. “Our ride?”
“Yeah, I’ll text Sam,” Finn says, not quite missing Kurt’s flinch at the name. “And we’ll just… go home. And sleep. Separately.”
Kurt rolls his eyes again and mutters something Finn doesn’t catch.
Finn watches his brother walk down the stairs ahead of him and hopes, improbably, that nothing was broken tonight.