tw alcohol – Page 2 – pianokeysandbowties back up

Blaine wasn’t sure how he got into Kurt’s car. Or how long it took them to get from Rachel’s house to Kurt’s. What he was sure of?? He had a good time along the way! The radio played and he sang along with his head against the doorframe letting the cool breeze wash over his face. Parachute, Train, he even hummed to a random song in between telling Kurt how amazing he was that he offered to take him home. And thanking him repeatedly. His firm nods backed up his conviction the he thought Kurt was a good person every time (4 and counting) that said so.

Sure, tomorrow might bring a world of pain from things that happened he couldn’t remember and others that he, certainly, would. Tonight? Nothing hurt. Not a single thing. Counting to twenty while walking a straight line would probably make his head explode but!!! Life was good. “Kurt! Are we? Wow. We are,” an uneven smile and sparkling hazel eyes stared in shock from Kurt who was standing outside the car with his door open and Kurt’s house. “That was..fast!”

Their journey inside was a stumbling mess of an arm slung around Kurt’s shoulders, Blaine grasping every other step up at the staircase railing and trying to be as quiet as possible as they climbed it and Kurt escorted him down the hall. Surprisingly, he managed it. Except for tiny gasps when he thought he might lose his footing. Or a giggle the one time he did when they were in the safety of Kurt’s bedroom behind his closed door.

“Is this your room,” asked Captain Oblivious as fingertips swatted for nearest thing to grab onto for balance. They landed on Kurt’s closet

doorknob

and Blaine held it in a vice grip, shoulder on the door trying to act way more sober than he really was. Pouting in thought, he rubbed the back. “I like it. It’s very you. Kurt? Can I ask you something?” Oh boy. Here we go.

sam evans. @jeditattoos

( sms → blaine anderson → sent ): uh, it’s cool
( sms → blaine anderson → sent ): your voice ain’t bad
( sms → blaine anderson → sent ): but the song choice is
( sms → blaine anderson → sent ): we gotta work on that

( mssg » sam | sent ) im’ stillsoryy because i don’t think most of it made sense
( mssg » sam | sent ) thanks! taht means a lot!
( mssg » sam | sent ) Wahts wrong with my song choice?
( mssg » sam | sent ) I picked taht one all for you caus it seemed liek a good idea at the time.

( mssg » sam | sent ) GEnesis is a classic choice.

chicagosfincst.

^{like he should do, he dropped everything when the bell rang. the paramedic in charge of ambulance sixty one was in his shotgun seat in record time and once his partner was in they sped off. the nature of the call was a man in distress. he knew that could be anything so nick was prepared. they pulled up to the house, a small grey structure that was fenced in on south homan avenue.}

^{“ paramedics!” he called out once they got to the door. a child opened the door and he rushed in. the paramedic that was expecting everything wasn’t expecting what he saw inside.} “ blaine? ”

The night started out relatively harmless (as far as the definition of ‘harmless’ can go in the Gallagher household) with Blaine waving off anything stronger than a beer and Carl mentioning something about a stick being somewhere a stick should never be and how Blaine liked it there too much. Lip telling his brother to ‘shut the fuck up’ and..well..the usual that made Blaine grow weirdly fond of the family. They were functionally dysfunctional (mostly) and it was a strange dynamic to watch. Their highs were high. Their lows were rock bottom but they always endured. More than his family back in Westerville with deep pockets and ‘perfect lives’ ever had.

Rock bottom. He thought he saw them hit it before. Lip told him he had no idea. Until tonight..he fully understood what he thought was their low was nothing in comparison to.. Ian. Staggering in with a blood smeared mouth and nose ranting so fast that nothing he said made sense. His knuckles were dirty, scraped open and his eyes were so gone Blaine wasn’t sure he’d ever get what he looked like out of his head.

“Just help him, he’s been like that for an hour. Please,” Blaine stood clenching his phone in a white knuckled vice grip. Seeing Lip back away and shout the same thing he said–he barely caught a vaguely familiar voice saying his name. His face went blank when their eyes met.

“..Nick?”

christian.

Christian couldn’t help the small rise of color in his cheeks when Blaine said this, cracking a small smile as he looked away bashfully. He then sighed and lowered his arms so he was looking at the mirror once more. He supposed he did look… rather pleasant on the eyes. The red of the vest mixed with the simple black and white of the rest of his ensemble stood out quite nicely. It had a bit of a poetic touch, he had to admit.

He stood slowly, looking around for his hat and placing it precariously on his head, pursing his lips as a determined little frown creased his brows.

“Well, I did promise you all I would help. I don’t go back on my promises.” Christian turned to look at Blaine and the rest of the Bohemians, smiling wide now as an air of confidence made him stand a little straighter. “Let’s go, shall we?”

“You are a good person. Thank you. For everything.” Reaching his hand up to palm over his smile, Blaine watched the boost of confidence blanket itself over Christian’s nerves and silently praised whoever was listening that their only hope felt better about the situation. Not that there wasn’t a backup plan already in the works.

“Ah? Not quite yet.. First they are going to want to–.” If he knew his friends, at any second there would be someone shouting–!! And (like clockwork!) there it was. Toulouse-Lautrec’s unmistakable voice shouting, ‘Absinthe!’ Followed by cacophony of cheers that nearly drowned out the last syllable. The bohemians never left home without drowning themselves in it.

Blaine only drank every now and then (tonight he figured one of them might need to keep a clearer head–maybe just a tiny bit) but his friends? They wasted no time gathering Christian up and introducing him to their precious muse in all her glory before they set out bound, determined, and filled to the brim with the hope of a bunch of starry-eyed, liquored up dreamers.

meme continuation. @devilraged

( mssg » bowties | sent ) Either a crevice in a possibly attractive ( i know your track record has been patchy ) gay wonderboys bedroom, or down the gutter like you seem to be.
( mssg » bowties | sent ) Alright, where are you, blackout?

( mssg » santana | sent ) lIsten, lady! Who are you do jUde my choices? i do happen to Remmber a certain stalker who shoewd up at Your aprtment and kept leaving more and more of her stuff after two dates not every long ago! so gutter me all you want! !! THat only makes you a hyprocrite.
( mssg » santana | sent ) AT the bar in the Vilage where we took RAchel. Thesea re my peopel I belong here but my pants apparently decided to elave. bring me pants.
( mssg » santana | sent ) notyour yoga pants either I know I gave you a key. don’t do that to me.

my beautiful drunk idiot.

Barry was a mess, not a horrible one, he wasn’t unhappy, depressed, no feeling that familiar twinge of guilt and remorse. He was a happy sort of mess. Carefree, and joyful. He’s laughing without a care, and when was the last time he managed to do that? Perhaps before Zoom. Since then it had been difficult, and he knew it caused his lover to worry. Yet here they were, together, with Barry being ridiculous and somehow managing to not fall over his own long limbs. Blaine was being the responsible one, mostly. “W-well, I’m being really nice, I could have said like a thousand kisses! And then you’ll never be able to stop kissing me,but yeah I guess you can pace yourself, I like your kisses.” he uttered with a slight huff. See? Super nice of him! Where he a little more coherent, he’d probably drag his boyfriend away from here, and kiss him. Not stop kissing him till they were back home, and even then more kisses would follow. Accompanied with more– fun actives. But he’s not that coherent right, running and being drunk would not go well for the speedster he knew that much. Despite the innocent kisses, his cheeks flushed more, no longer red from just the alcohol as he blushed. “Um…” he cleared his throat, they just felt intimate. “I think, I think they count– but I should return the favor.” And so he did, but he’s a little tricky too. Bringing Blaine’s hand to his lips, kissing the finger tips, till his smirked. Playfully licking at them, slipping his pointer finger into his mouth. While he might drunk, he was still Barry, and Barry could be a little mean.

Seeing Barry so content with the world around him made Blaine utterly thrilled. There was no weight of the universe behind his eyes that he often glimpsed when Barry let his guard down and didn’t realize he was letting it slip. There was no distance between them that Blaine couldn’t help feeling when he saw walls built up from secrets and stories about his horrible days seeing the worst of people that he couldn’t come home and talk to him about. Unless it was in vague enough terms that he wasn’t breaking the law by doing so. The support systems that Blaine wanted, desperately, to give him were only pieces that he begged, when he was alone, were enough weren’t really needed here tonight. They were safe, together and happy. As drunk as his boyfriend was, he didn’t mind. Not when he could manage them both by keeping himself on the sober side of buzzed so he could lasso him in if he had to. Or laugh along with him as their bodies moved together on the dance floor. Even when Barry teased him as playfully as he did, all Blaine gave was a lighthearted roll of his eyes before smirking and pulling both of their hands out of range of Barry’s mouth. Speaking of lassoing in. “Okay, okay. Slow down, Mister. I don’t this sober you would be jumping the ‘I’m going to suck on your fingers in public” line. Maybe. Probably.” Okay so Barry might but if they were going to go anywhere close to suggestive besides dancing and the kiss that Blaine was on his toes to give just now? Then he wanted Barry more sober than he currently was. Not that it didn’t feel good. Barry knew Blaine’s weakness when it came to that. The devilish man was playing a wicked hand. Blaine just had to trump him a bit higher. His finger that’d been in Barry’s mouth was still tingling when he ran the edge of it along a pale temple tracing the freckles he could find there. “Having fun?”

sam.

( mssg » blaine ) everybody likes compliments, cright?
( mssg » blaine ) uhm, jackson’s place, yuo know that tall dude from the bjasketball team. like 2 streets frowm puck’s. can’t miss it, loads of cars outsidde. oh that’s super smart thinking right there. brilliant idea! you’re a great bet friend.
( mssg » blaine ) bso drunk. gonna be in gso muhch trlouble if they see me like this

( mssg » sam | sent ) You’re right. Everyone does.
( mssg » sam | sent ) Two streets down from Puck’s place. Got it. I’m grabbing my keys and I’ll be on my way.
( mssg » sam | sent ) Don’t worry. I got your back.

Blaine tucked his phone into his back pocket with a half grin and huff of laughter. Sam. Sam. Sam. What was he going to do with him? The boy was beyond drunk and, even though Blaine appreciated the compliment (which, by the way, he already made a mental note to ask Tina when he saw her Monday in class where the description came from if only to give her a hard time) he knew his friend was more than five sheets in the wind to give it. Didn’t mean that it didn’t make him grin ear to ear happily at the words. Who doesn’t like to know someone appreciates their..um..assets? Especially someone like.. Oop! Yep! Time to go! Definitely not time for his head to wander down that path loaded with trap doors into ComplicatedTown. He had enough in his life that was complicated already.

He got there as fast as he could and parked among the dwindling number of cars. His nose crinkled at the sight of some guy he didn’t know deciding that a hedge near the door was a good place to pray to his absent ‘porcelain god’. “Well. Someone’s going to hate life in the morning.” He’d grab the guy a glass of water on his way out since he wasn’t planning on staying here long. Stepping inside the house–he overlooked several make out sessions and a few people dancing and sharing shots as he walked past. “Hey, Sam?” No sign of him. Down the hall he went towards the kitchen, calling out trying to find the blonde in question. “Sammy? Anderson Taxi! At your service!”

notsosweetporcelain.

While trying to give his fiancé as much support as he could, Kurt couldn’t help but laugh as the man’s state, thinking that he was awfully cute, and also thankful that he was a happy drunk and not a gross one. Plus, it had been a night to celebrate so he wasn’t about to begrudge him about that, but just ride it along with him until hangover would strike. “Baby, I’m confident that it’s a bit more than just that tiny bit. Now, let’s get home and get you plenty of water and some aspirin for that mighty headache you will soon have.” He looked around to see if he could spot a taxi on the streets.

The hold he had on Kurt slipped from being looped under one arm and over the taller man’s shoulder down to his waist. Why? So his head could rest against it instead. That’s why! Blaine’s eyes were bright, full of the drunken overly-chuckle happy buzz he was gazing up at Kurt in admiration with. There was nothing more beautiful than Kurt’s laugh. Has he told him that lately? Better fix it if not. “I love it when you laugh. Even if it’s at my expense,” a dramatic pout complete with scrunchy face and jutted out lip followed. Though it only lasted as long as a stumbled step and his fist clutching onto Kurt’s coat. “Hangover? No,” his free hand motioned in the negative with a wave, “I refuse.” Could he will a hangover away? Probably not. Worth a try! “Did you have fun? I did.” Way too much fun. Where were all the cabs anyway?

kurt.

( mssg » blaine | sent ) How about another solid no? We aren’t going to do that a public place. Not if either of us ever want to be on Broadway.
( mssg » blaine | sent ) Right now you’re at a solid 8 for making me come all the way out to the park, but I’m not going to make you do all that stuff, and you’re not going to get laid tonight if that’s what you’re hoping for. Maybe tomorrow if you make up for me having to come out in the middle of the night.

( mssg » kurt | sent ) dO what in a public polace? I’m lost.

( mssg » kurt | sent ) oh no i’m at 8? um. Il’l still get the card. I bet I can find a srorry i woke you up at 3 am to coem to a bridge in central park to get me and our friend because we did the how many shots can blaien take before He’s wishing he didn’t text kurt challenge card. IF not, sAntana said she’ll help me make one.
( mssg » kurt | sent ) btw? the answere is like 4.
( mssg » kurt | sent ) i love you and i’ll make it up to you.
( mssg » kurt | sent ) hey hoeny? Your’re beautiful. thank You for putting up with me. ❤