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I wrote half of this in a dream this morning. That sould tell you whats on my mind lately.

Title:
a long night is alright
Author:
[livejournal.com profile] stardustonsable 
Pairing:
Kurt/Blaine, background: Santana/Brittany
Word Count:
2,900
Summary:
Blaine learns some new things about Kurt
Warnings:
Graphic use of an illicit substance. Christ, that makes it sound so serious. High schoolers smoking pot.
Author Notes:
I seem to have committed Glee!fic. I’m not really sure how that happened. The stoner!band referenced is Animal Collective and the song lyrics are from “Did You See the Words?” and “We Tigers” respectively. Cut tag is also from "We Tigers". Guys, they’re a total hipster stoner band. I say that with love. There isn’t an official playlist for this but if you want you should read it to We Tigers, Winter’s Love and Firework by Animal Collective and Captian Badass by Songs: Ohia.


Blaine is late. Blaine is so totally late. There’s no more room in the driveway of the Hummel’s new house so he parks on the street. The only lights inside the house that are on are upstairs, where Burt and Carole’s room is so Blaine bypasses the house and polite hellos and goes straight around to the gate leading to the backyard. He can hear the faint strains of music already, something with a weird but rhythmic beat that makes him guess that Kurt’s pulled out the weird hipster music already.

The Hummel’s backyard isn’t huge, in comparison to their new, bigger house (Blaine has heard so much about how lovely the new house is, and more specifically how lovely Kurt’s new, singly occupied room is) but it’s large enough to fit the entire glee club and let them spread out. Blaine nearly trips over Rachel and Finn who are sitting on the ground near the gate, not quite in a dark corner but they aren’t especially visible. They’re only holding hands but Rachel’s head is on Finn’s shoulder, close enough that if she looks up their faces would be really close together.

“Hey, man,” Finn says, smiling up at Blaine. Blaine smiles back and waves a little. Finn had spent a few days giving him weird looks after Kurt announced they were dating but after a marathon Call of Duty campaign with the guys Finn apparently considers them friends.

“Hello, Blaine,” Rachel says pleasantly. She’s wearing a light sundress and Blaine pulls at his sweater, feeling overdressed. “Kurt and the others are on the porch. Probably still massacring their voices.” She shakes her head and sighs. Blaine isn’t sure what she means by that but by now he’s pretty used to Rachel saying things that he doesn’t understand. Kurt has given him full permission to ignore everything she says, but Blaine thinks he might still be a little sore about the whole Spin the Bottle Incident. Blaine knows Kurt capitalizes it in his head.

“Thanks guys,” Blaine says and waves again. “I’ll see you later.”

Now that he’s in the backyard he recognizes the song. Not only has Kurt pulled out the hipster music, the song floating around the backyard is by a band Kurt calls “total stoners, Blaine, you can just about smell whatever they’re smoking when you listen to them”. Blaine mumbles lyrics to himself Give me rabies, bring your babies in the hospital..

He gets to the larger group next. They’re spread out across the grass and Mike seems to be teaching Sam some dance move. They’re both standing and every few beats Mike moves his arms, then his chest. Same does the same movement but it’s not nearly as cool looking as when Mike does it. Mike pats him on the back either way, so he must be getting better. Blaine idly wonders if getting Mike to teach the Warblers some choreography would be too much like cheating but he casts the thought off. Its summer, he doesn’t have to worry about the Warblers for at least a few weeks until Wes or David calls him up with ideas for what their first back to school performance could be. Tina and Artie are talking but Mercedes is looking up at them, at Sam, and smiling. Blaine makes a mental note to ask Kurt about that later.

They all wave to him and he waves back but keeps walking. He’ll come back to talk in a moment but Kurt needs to know he’s here or he’ll never hear the end of the teasing. He finally reaches the small, but tastefully decorated back porch. The only lighting out there is a single light attached to the house and strings of light hung across the roof (The aren’t Christmas lights. Blaine can hear Kurt saying disdainfully in his head. That would be out of season. They are accent lighting.) They wash the yard in soft, pale lighting that fades out into gold further away from the porch. Out in the dark corners Blaine can see fireflies flashing, but here he can just see Kurt, Santana and Puck sitting on the porch, their legs hanging over the edge. Brittany stands between Santana’s legs, playing with the hem of her skirt and Santana is tapping something against the edge of the porch, but Blaine can’t see what.

“Be careful with that, Santana.” Kurt says. His eyes are closed, face tipped up towards the lights and he’s speaking in a slow, lazy way that Blaine’s only heard a few times, when they’ve stayed up all night talking on the phone and Kurt’s about to fall asleep. “I only got two in New York and that one is my favorite.”

“Calm down, Ladyface,” Santana replies. There’s no venom in her voice though, and Blaine thinks he may even hear some fondness. “It’s double-blown. This shit won’t break. Though you probably know a little somethin’ somethin’ about blowing things. Or your boy here would.”

Blaine waits for the insulted squawk that Kurt usually emits when Santana makes a crude reference to their sex life but Kurt just shakes his head and smiles. He tips his head forward and opens his eyes and two things happen. One, Blaine smiles back at him because Kurt is relaxed and happy and he’s gorgeous like that and something in Blaine’s chest tightens just looking at him. Two, Blaine notices the smell. When he was walking over, everything just smelled like early summer. Warm, grassy but mostly like air. Over here though, something smells…pungent. It definitely isn’t good, but it isn’t quite bad either. Blaine feels like he remembers it from somewhere, but nothing comes to mind immediately.

He comes closer to Kurt, stepping between his knees, mimicking Brittany. Kurt is wearing hilariously tight jeans and some thin t-shirt with faded letters. Blaine can just barely make out an H and a U so it’s probably an old shirt from his dad’s shop. He may not love the distance and how much he misses Kurt during class but he’ll never get tired of seeing Kurt out of uniform, especially as casual as he is now.

Kurt smiles at him sweetly and slowly and leans over, tucking his head into Blaine’s neck. Kurt smells the same way as the air, if stronger and as he mumbles tiger tiger tiger tiger into Blaine’s neck Blaine’s brain suddenly supplies where he’s smelled this scent before.

There was a room near the end of the hall back at Dalton. Two upper classmen lived in it and while Blaine had never been in there, he saw guys come in and out fairly often. One of the few times that he’d passed by the room he’d smelled that same pungent, kind’ve bad in a pleasant way scent that was all over his boyfriend. He remembered passing it one day with Kurt. Kurt had paused, raised an eyebrow at the door then shook his head. “I take it Dalton doesn’t do random drug tests, then?” he’d asked and shook his head when Blaine gave him a confused look.

“We’re celebrating,” Kurt mumbles into his neck. His breath is warm and its hot and Blaine will be sweating soon but he just hums an affirmative and tries not to sigh at the feeling of Kurt’s lips brushing against his skin.

“I know. End of summer party. I got the invite.” A text last week that had been nearly overlooked because it was sent right before a flurry of what were definitely not sexts, according to Kurt, but merely suggestions of what they could do when they got a little time alone.

Kurt shakes his head now and huffs a laugh. “No, no. Well, yes that too. But we’re celebrating for Puck. Lauren gave him his balls back while she’s out of town.”

It sounds more like something Santana would say but Blaine snickers all the same, feeling Kurt huff more laughter into his neck while Santana cackles next to them. Puck doesn’t reply to that but he taps Blaine’s shoulder while Brittany asks why Lauren took Puck’s balls in the first place and if he needs some of Lord Tubbington’s to play with.

“New gay kid,” Puck says and taps him again. Blaine knows Puck knows his name. He’s in Puck’s phone as Blaine, yet he is always New Gay Kid to Puck. He supposes it’s better than some of the things Santana has called him; Lady Hummel’s Lover, Dorian Gray and for a few memorable weeks, Patroclus. He couldn’t help but be impressed with how well-read Santana apparently was.

“Yes, Puck?” Blaine likes Puck, even if he refuses to call him by his name. He insists on referring to Kurt as one of “his boys” and he’s told Blaine many times that he’s “got both of your backs. In a straight way. No homo.”

“You wanna hit?” Puck is holding a lighter and…something glass. Its pretty, decorated in squiggles of black and white. Blaine just has no idea what it is.

Kurt lifts his head and takes the glass thing and lighter from Puck and now, closer, Blaine can see an opening and a tiny clump of green.

Oh.

Oh.

Blaine’s never seen pot before in real life, but he’s been on the internet so he has at least an idea of what it looks like. He watches in fascination as Kurt scoots back just a little, to give himself room. Then he puts the pipe to his lips, leans over a little bit, and flicks the lighter. Blaine is a little worried for Kurt’s hair and the cloud of hair spray that surrounds it, but Kurt seems sure, lowering the lighter to the opening then inhales. After a moment he opens his mouth and smoke curls away from his lips. It’s really, unfairly hot.

“You smoke?” Blaine asks unnecessarily, because Kurt is leaning down to hit the pipe again and hold the smoke in while he passes it to Santana.

“I do,” Kurt says, smoke creeping out with the words. “Very occasionally. As Rachel has probably told you, it isn’t great for my voice. Come here.”

Kurt pulls him closer and slips his hands under Blaine’s sweater and makes a frustrated noise when he encounters a shirt. “You wear too many clothes.”

In Blaine’s defense, it’s usually freezing in the Hummel house, so he always wears a sweater there. Also, the last time Kurt said that there were decidedly fewer people around them, but the words have the same effect on Blaine.

“You’re under the influence,” Blaine replies, though he takes the sweater off and puts it on the porch behind Kurt. Kurt giggles, honest to god giggles, and that’s what Blaine was expecting. He hasn’t had any exposure to people that smoke weed, even back at his old school he hung out with the “good kids” so his only frame of reference is those stupid stoner movies that come on tv when it’s so late its basically early morning. Kurt and his friends don’t seem especially giggly, or clumsy either. Santana is playing with Brittany’s hair, and Puck is just staring out into the middle distance, looking strange without Lauren to hang on to.

“Blaine,” Kurt says and slips his thumb under Blaine’s t-shirt. “I’ve been smoking since I was…whatever, before Santana decided she was too cool for me. Fourteen? Fifteen? My mom was a little bit of a hippie and my dad doesn’t like it but he doesn’t stop me from smoking. I am the influence. A few hits from a bong is not exactly under the influence for me. Not from this stuff anyway.” The last part is thrown in Puck’s direction. Puck shrugs at him.

“You gave me short notice, Hummel. It’s not like I’m gonna find medical grade kush in Lima on a week’s notice.”

They start to bicker and it’s like normal if not a little slower and Blaine is really really distracted by the way Kurt’s thumb has turned into his entire right hand slowly stroking across Blaine’s lower back. It’s strange to think about at first, a younger Santana and Kurt hanging out, sneaking around to smoke pot. But somehow Blaine can see them, two little fourteen year olds with bad attitudes that don’t like boys in quite the right way. Blaine wonders if the boy touching him now is how Kurt was before. Before McKinley and before slushies and bruises so deep that they’re still there by the time he and Kurt got around to being shirtless together. He wraps his arms around Kurt’s shoulders, because Kurt’s not a big fan of PDA and Blaine knows how to take advantage of a good thing when its offered.

“Skin is awesome,” Kurt says happily to him when Puck finally stops arguing back. Blaine whines a little when Kurt pulls his hands away, but the pipe has made its way through Puck and Santana and been refused by Brittany, so its Kurt’s turn again. Blaine watches him take hits from the pipe.

It isn’t exactly elegant, the way he’d imagine it would look if Kurt smoked a cigarette, which he probably doesn’t. Blaine didn’t know this about him but he knows how conscious Kurt is about his health and he has a vague idea of what his mom died from. The weed came from left field but Blaine is positive Kurt doesn’t smoke tobacco. But there’s something about the sureness of the way Kurt holds the pipe. Its practiced ease, and Blaine sort’ve wishes he could’ve been around when Kurt first started smoking, to see if his hands were just as sure back then.

“Would you like to try?” Kurt is looking at him. His eyes are a little glassy, but his smile is soft and Blaine knows that his answer won’t change a thing. It doesn’t matter if he says yes or no, this boy will still smile at him just the same. He waits for the weight of peer pressure to settle over his shoulders like the movies and those anti-drug commercials say but nothing happens. Brittany is the only one looking at him, but she’s just looking in that curious way she always looks at people. She’s looking at him because he’s interesting to her, not because she’s expecting him to do anything.
He shrugs. Dalton doesn’t do drug testing and even if they did, it’ll be months before he goes back. He can almost hear Wes and David, looking at him horrified and telling him how ungentlemanly it would be to indulge in illicit substances

“Okay,” Blaine says. Kurt cheers a little and Santana flashes him a thumbs up before going back to Brittany’s hair, which she’s braiding now.

“It’s not going to do anything this time, Blanderson.” Blaine doesn’t even know how Santana knows his last name. “Your body won’t know what to do with the THC.”

“Tetrahydrocannibinol.” Kurt says helpfully.
“The stuff that gets you high,” Brittany says, even more helpfully.
Blaine shakes his head because of course he gets to smoke up with stoner nerds. Puck hands Kurt a baggy and Kurt flips the pipe over, tapping an ashy clump out of the pipe’s end.

“That one was cashed,” Kurt explains. “No more green. It’s all burned. This,” he touches the round end of the pipe, “is the bowl. You suck on the other end. When you light it, put your thumb over this,” he touches a smaller knob on the side of the bowl. Blaine is struck by how surreal this moment is. He’s a prep school kid, being taught by his public school boyfriend how to smoke weed from a pipe. He thinks this would make an excellent scene on some movie on Logo.

Kurt puts the pipe down to refill the bowl then hands it to Blaine. He arranges Blaine’s fingers, places it against his lips and lights it. Blaine inhales when he’s told to. The smoke is warm and tastes like it smells, still not quite good, but he’s gotten used to it. It stings his throat, but not nearly as bad as the first and only time he tried a cigarette. He tries to hold it in the way Kurt did but he coughs and the smoke plumes out of his mouth. There’s a little cheer from behind him, the rest of the glee club had started watching at some point, apparently. His eyes are watering a little and his throat burns but his boy is smiling at him sweetly, fondly. He doesn’t feel anything from the weed, or maybe he does, he’s never been high so he doesn’t know what to expect, but he feels warm and happy and he hands the pipe to Santana and tucks his head into Kurt’s neck and sighs. If the rest of the summer is anything like this, he hopes it never ends.
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