This is a sweet, little Kurttany story. I like the way I progressed it, including Brittany's reasoning—and all the typos from her POV are meant to be how she thinks—and Kurt, at the very end.

If anyone wants me to continue it, just ask. It's meant to be a one-shot, but that can easily be changed.

This whole thing was inspired by a quote during the Kurt and Brittany skit during the live show (YouTube it, it's awesome):

"One day, I will make Kurt Hummel mine. You can count on it, even though... I can't count."

The song "Sober" by P!nk can be found .com/watch?v=6XVrWSdCTN4

Disclaimer: If Glee was mine, Samcedes would have been realised earlier and there would be a Kurttany/Klaine/Raine love square. The only thing I own is Penny Williams, who is an OC that I think I'm going to use in future chapters (if people want this to continue)

*.*

I really like Santana, don't get me wrong, but Kurt's lonely. Like, really lonely, and I'm really good at cheering people up—guys, girls, lips are lips and I have girl parts but boy parts are nice, too, sort of familiar. It's fun and really fulfilling, just doing it makes me feel good. Like other people feel good by volunteering or whatever, but I like making other people feel good like that.

I can make him feel good, but Kurt likes being friends, and I've been doing that. Dancing with him, being friends, giving him my project when his dad was in the hospitable, and homemade cards with crayon and bright paper for everything. I remembered his birthday—June 9th—and I gave him a nice green bowtie with strawberries on it, because who doesn't like strawberries? I gave him presents at Christmas and Easter, even dropping off some chocolate hearts with strawberry cream at his house for Valentine's Day.

Now, though, he's getting really sad. Much sadder than usual. I thought maybe if I made David Carasky happy, then Kurt would get happy, but even though we made out, he didn't want anything else. That sort of hurt, but now I've decided I'm going to make Kurt happy.

I asked him about it, and he hasn't even had a girlfriend before—or a boyfriend. Since he's seventeen, I think that's a little bit sad. I remember last year, when he wanted to date me and I got a perfect record, and he was a good kisser and his hands were really soft and his nails short and round. His jeans are really tight, too, and though he didn't let me get anywhere, I think he would be really fun to do to things with.

The key, I think, would be to get him a little drunk, since he already liked kissing me. At least, he kissed me sort of hard, even using his tongue, and his hands kept touching my boobs.

Kurt needed someone to make him happy. Maybe I could even be his girlfriend.

Then, the perfect opportunity came. One of Santana's friends, Penny Williams, was having a big party and wanted us to come early. Santana was bringing Puck and Penny was seeing a football player; they didn't invite the really hard, stupid ones that liked shouting and fighting when they got drunk. Penny threw great parties that didn't get terribly out of hand, and she had a dozen bedrooms upstairs.

"Kurt," I said, leaning against the lockers. For once, I wasn't wearing my cheerios uniform, since it was in the wash and last night I put in too much of that funny powder. I had on blue jeans that could be in competition with Kurt's for tightness, and a light pink blouse that Santana got me last year.

He looked at me curiously. He took out a can of whipped cream and sprayed his hair; a whizzing sound, but no white creamy goodness, came out.

"You don't have any more whipped cream," I pointed out.

He laughed and put it away. "Sure. What did you want?"

"You're a really good singer and I thought since you sing like a girl, you could give me help. I know I'm more talented, but I could use some help," I said easily.

"That sounds like fun," he said in a very un-fun voice.

I clapped. "Great, so maybe you can help Penny and me. Penny's really good at karaoke. Saturday, maybe at four?"

Kurt shrugged. "All right. I've got nothing else to do, I guess. I mean, I've already got a duet down for glee and—why not?"

"I don't know. Because you don't want to hang out with girls and be surrounded by boobs?" I asked.

"Brit, I'll come." He looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Where?"

"109 Q. Avenue, I think." I frowned. "It's a funny word."

"Quincy Avenue?" asked Kurt, his small, toothless smile widening and showing his white-white teeth.

"That's it!" I patted his arm. "I'll see you then!"

Kurt laughed again. He had a cute laugh; he didn't use it enough, I thought.

*.*

Penny had a big house, like a really big house. Three floors plus the basement, and the top floor was all bedrooms that had seen a lot of fun. All the rooms were really clean and fancy, but there was barely anything that could be broken, so when the parties got wild, nothing bad happened.

When I got there, Penny was pouring three kinds of chips together in a massive plastic bowl. She was really tall, with long, straight red hair that made her look like the little mermaid from The Little Mermaid. Santana hadn't come yet, which was probably a good thing.

Penny actually was a good singer, like for karaoke, but it was a drunk-hobby, not a "I wanna do this sober"-hobby. Kurt might buy it and I started to fill in Penny on my plan.

Penny was wearing skin-tight jeans and a red, fluttery shirt, already dressed for her party. My cheerios uniform was taking a long time to get clean, and Sylvester wasn't very happy; she had to send it somewhere special. I had a white skirt that came just above my knee, and a light blue and green shirt that had a ton of zigzags on it.

"Why do you really care about Hummel the Homo?" she asked, now ripping open a jumbo bag of Bits & Bites.

I shrugged. "He's sad, and I want to make him happy," I said simply.

"That's so you," sighed Penny.

"So, I kind of want to get him really buzzed when the party starts, so he'll stay."

"You want me to spike his drink?" asked Penny, her perfect eyebrows going up.

"Yeah, make it so that he doesn't really notice, like a shot or two in a Coke."

I went to her bar. Penny's parents were always going to visit their fore-in relatives for weeks, so parties were awesome. I recognised all the bottles by colour—my favourite was a blackberry thing that had a sharp bite.

Penny rolled her eyes but poured a tall glass of Coke and threw in a handful of vodka-cubes. They were sort of slushy but it looked like they had been melting, so it was okay. There had to be at least two shots in there. Maybe Kurt would drink two, then he could get really happy.

A little while later, Penny's funny bell started to chime. She ran to answer it and I heard Kurt's confused voice.

"Uh, is Brittany here?"

And Penny's sort of mean voice. "Are you Kurt?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

Kurt walked in with Penny. He had a black checked scarf, ungodly tight black jeans and a red shirt with little white buttons. He was holding a navy blue coat with black cuffs. "Hey."

"Hi," I said too loudly. I had just had one shot to calm myself. I moved to sit in the bright living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows, and changed my voice to make it quieter. "Maybe you could help us?" I gave Penny a pointed look.

"You want a drink?" she asked, being a nice hostess. "I've got Coke."

Surprised, Kurt put his coat over a white chair in the living room, which opened into the kitchen, and said, "Sure?"

Penny brought over the Cokes, all with sort of melted ice cubes, and gave one to Kurt and one to me. He took a sip and after a consideration, he took a deeper drink. An ice cube slipped in his mouth and I heard the water-vodka crack between his teeth. He saw Penny and I were staring at him and he blushed a little.

"Bad habit. I eat my ice cubes. Hey, are you having a party?" He looked at the big bowls of chips and pretzels and stuff Penny was brining in.

"Oh, that's fine," said Penny easily, putting them down. "Yep, around seven. I'm ordering, like, twenty pizzas, too. You can stay if you want."

Kurt laughed, but it wasn't a very nice laugh. "Not my kind of thing."

"So, singing?" Penny sat beside me on the long, white couch, while Kurt was sitting in a black armchair with his coat over it.

"Right, right." Kurt put his drink down after fishing out another ice cube. "Some people put, like, juice and stuff in their ice cubes—do you do that?" Before Penny could answer and I could panic, he continued. "That doesn't really matter, what music do you like?"

"Mostly pop, like Katy Perry, Pink, and"—she looked at me—"Britney Spears. Stuff like that," said Penny.

"So Female Top 40, basically," said Kurt, crunching his ice cube carefully. "I've got a lot of stuff on my iPod." He straightened his leg and pulled out a white iPod. "Can I hook it up?" He pointed to the black iPod stand.

Penny shrugged. "Go ahead."

"So what about Sober? You know, Pink's song." Kurt plugged in his iPod and scanned for the song. "I just wanna find out about your voice before I begin."

The first guitar notes started and Penny looked like she would say something, but then she started to sing. She had a nice voice, like Mercedes almost. Mercedes plus Santana. It was awesome, even Kurt look impressed.

"I don't wanna be the girl who laughs the loudest
Or the girl who never wants to be alone
I don't wanna be that call at 4 o'clock in the morning
'Cos I'm the only one you know in the world that won't be home

"Ah, the sun is blinding
I stayed up again
Oh, I am finding
That's not the way I want my story to end"

Penny started to get a funny look on her face, like she was in pain or embarrassed, but she kept on singing. Kurt looked like he was feeling bad for her.

"I'm safe
Up high
Nothing can touch me
But why do I feel this party's over?
No pain
Inside
You're my protection
How do I feel this good sober?

"I don't wanna be the girl who has to fill the silence
The quiet scares me 'cause it screams the truth
Please don't tell me that we had that conversation
I won't remember, save your breath, 'cos what's the use?"

Kurt started to sing with her, making his voice much deeper, almost sexy. He still looked like he felt really bad for her and Penny looked like she was in hell.

I looked at Kurt curiously. He was sort of cute—like, a puppy dog, a really, really smart puppy dog—but I had never thought of him as sexy. Hmm.

"Ah, the night is calling?
And it whispers to me softly come and play
Ah, I am falling
And If I let myself go I'm the only one to blame

"I'm safe
Up high
Nothing can touch me
But why do I feel this party's over?
No pain
Inside
You're like perfection
How do I feel this good sober?"

He let her sing by herself this time.

"I'm coming down, coming down, coming down
Spinning 'round, spinning 'round, spinning 'round
Looking for myself – sober

"I'm coming down, coming down, coming down
Spinning 'round, spinning 'round, spinning 'round
Looking for myself – sober"

Kurt sang with her now, tapping his finger on the mantle.

"When it's good, then it's good, it's so good till it goes bad
Till you're trying to find the you that you once had
I have heard myself cry, never again
Broken down in agony just tryna find a friend"

I really liked this song and I was feeling left out, jamming on the white couch by myself, so I joined in with a great little version.

"Oh, oh
I'm safe
Up high
Nothing can touch me
But why do I feel this party's over?
No pain
Inside
You're like perfection
How do I feel this good sober?

"Will I ever feel this good sober?
Tell me, No, no, no, no, no pain
How do I feel this good sober?"

Penny gulped, then looked at Kurt, really embarrassed. Kurt looked embarrassed, too.

"That sounded really good," I said, still dancing in my seat to the next song—So What. "Well, I think it did."

"Yeah," said Kurt, snapping from his funk. "It was. You're—" He coughed. "Technically, you could've done a lot worse, but there were a few notes you didn't reach, like the high ones. You've got a really good voice, like smoky and raspy, so that's a nice natural tone."

"Just 'cause she's got red hair doesn't mean she's on fire," I said defensively. "You can't just call her 'Smoky'."

Penny patted my shoulder. "It's a compliment, Brits."

I didn't really get it, but if Penny took it as one, then it must be one; she didn't like compliments very much.

Until around five, Kurt got Penny and me to sing different songs from his iPod—he had a lot of female singers on there, and a lot of modern things and stuff not from Broadway—and he corrected us a lot, helping us reach the notes. He took out an iPhone, which had a piano app, and got us to hit different notes.

He also ended up chewing all the ice cubes before they were completely liquid, and he had another two glasses with vodka-cubes. Drunk!Kurt was funny, he was really distracted and when I started grooving to Single Ladies, he danced to it a little for Penny and me.

"Can I have another drink?" he asked, spinning through all his songs, looking for another one to sing. "Like, orange or cream soda?"

I took his glass to the kitchen and filled it up with more ice cubes, pouring no name orange soda and cream soda in it. It made a funny sort of colour. I took a sip—really, really sweet orange crush. I went back to the living room: Kurt was singing something I didn't know with Penny.

"What's that?" I asked, giving him the drink.

"Bohemian Rhapsody," he said a bit breathlessly. "Queen." He took a long drink and crushed a few ice cubes between his teeth.

"I don't know what that is," I said.

He laughed, this laugh was a really nice one. "Oh, Brittany," he sighed. I really liked it when he said my name like that, I decided. "You're so nice."

"Thanks."

"I mean," he said, stepping a bit closer and looking at me really seriously, "I haven't had this much fun for a long time. Thank you." He took my hand with his free one. It was really soft, just like before, and just a little warm. He was almost close enough to kiss.

"You're welcome," I said, smiling.

"I don't even know Penny's last name," said Kurt quietly.

"Williams," she said loudly. I had figured out a while ago that being around tipsy people made Penny drunk, even if she didn't have anything herself.

Kurt giggled, backing away and singing again.

"So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye.
So you think you can love me and leave me to die."

Penny suddenly stopped dancing. "Shit! I need to order those pizzas." She ran off to get the phone and ordered two dozen different kinds.

Kurt was singing into the remote control, flipping his head back and forth. He looked at his iPod when he finished that song. "Aw, it's six-thirty," he said.

"So?" I shrugged.

He looked at me for a long time, his eyes a little dopey from the vodka. "Okay," he said after that really long time, smiling really nicely.

"I've gotta get stuff for the party ready," said Penny. "Wanna help me get everything set up?"

I went with her to the basement storage room. We took a ton of plastic soda bottles and put them in the fridge in the kitchen and the one in the bar room. Beer and hard alcohol were already ready. Kurt came to help us take the red and white plastic cups into the bar and hide the glasses and fragile stuff in a bedroom upstairs. Penny put more snacks and stuff in bowls around the house.

"Hey!" said Kurt when we went into the rec room in the basement. "You've got a pool table?"

"Yeah," said Penny, smirking at the look on his face.

It was big, green and took up a lot of the side of the room that had the little window; there was also a black ping pong table that Penny's big brother had made in wood shop. Big bean bag chairs and bright bean bag couches were all around some game systems, like an X-Box 360 and a Me—no, a Wii—and a shelf full of games and movies, and a huge TV.

"Kurt, wanna stay for the party?" I asked hesitantly.

"Kurt wants to play a game of pool and beat y'all asses," he said, picking up one of the sticks and setting up the balls.

I looked at Penny. "Go ahead, I'll wait upstairs for Santana and Puck," she said.

I took a stick, too, and rubbed the tip with the blue chalk square like I saw Penny do.

"I'm gonna break," he announced. He bent forward over the table and pulled the stick back before stabbing the white ball, sending it straight towards the triangle, making the balls go everywhere; a few went down the holes in the sides.

I just noticed how really tight those pants were. Life would be so much funner if all guys wore those kind of jeans.

"I'm gonna shoot at the solids, you get the striped balls," he said, taking aim from the other side of the table. "Shit." He stood straight again and pulled his red shirt from inside the belt, and rolling the sleeves up, fixing his hair as he did that.

"Do you need more whipped cream?" I asked.

He grinned though his hair, which flopped into his eyes.

He was kind of good, actually. After a few more turns, Kurt was winning by a lot. There were a lot of striped balls left, but only a few ones with no stripes.

"I'm gonna wi-in," he sang as he sent the yellow one into a hole.

"Yeah, course," I said, still noticing how tight those pants were.

He turned around to face me. He was taller than me now; he had grown a lot. His hair was messed up, even though it was trying to stay in shape, but he looked really happy. Like, really, really happy. Happier than I had ever seen him. Awesome.

He smiled that nice, nice smile. "Then, shoot at the black eight ball and we can go upstairs."

I did, since it was only an inch or two from a hole in the side, and when I turned around I saw him looking at my skirt. "You like it?" I asked, twirling.

"Yeah," he said quietly, still looking at it. "I do." Then, he met my eyes and blushed, looking down.

I took the elastic from my hair and let it down. "You wanna do something?" I asked carefully.

"Kind of," he admitted. "Well, no, actually. I mean, I'm gay."

"So what?" I said, moving a little closer. "You can like guys and girls. I do."

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Yeah." I found it funny that he was so surprised. "Guys are awesome, 'cause when you're with them you can feel all protected and safe and stuff. Girls are soft, though, and warm and... so nice."

"Really?" he whispered. He looked so worried, almost scared, really, really—not weak but something like it. Santana said it once. "Vulnerable", that was it. He had pretty eyes, too. Blue-ish, green-ish, but really clear. Like glass.

"Yeah," I said again. I took his hand, his soft, little hand. "So, you wanna do something?"

He took a deep breath and slowly nodded. "I do."

I looked down. Yeah, he did. When I looked up, his lips were pressed hard against mine. I put my arms around his neck. My fingers got into his hair and I was surprised that his hair wasn't completely stiff and hard; it was really soft and thick. His hands went on my hips and pulled me a little closer.

I broke the kiss. His face was all flushed but there was a light in his eyes and he was smiling really big.

"You wanna go to a bedroom? I won't do anything bad, trust me."

All the dark confusion left his face and he laughed. "Brittany, I don't think you even could do something bad."

That really warmed me up.

I took him upstairs. Upstairs there was Santana, Puck and Penny's boy, some hulking black football player, and a few other cheerios, like Maria and Jenni. None of them noticed except for Penny, who looked at me sort of funny, but didn't stop me from taking Kurt to a spare bedroom. Santana glimpsed me going upstairs and I heard her voice.

"Brittany has a guy already?" she asked meanly. We had had a fight and when we fought, we were really mean to each other and there were no sweet lady kisses. Other girls weren't awesome like her.

Kurt looked sort of hurt, but I squeezed his hand. "Don't worry. This time, it's for you, not me or my record." He looked much happier when I said that.

I opened the nearest bedroom and took the sign on the doorknob and turned it around. Now, it was bright red and said OCCUPIED; you could buy them at the dollar store. Inside there was a big bed with clean white sheets and a matching wooden dresser that was never used. All the rooms were the same, where the lampshades matched the covering on the windows and it looked like a hotel room.

I led Kurt in, and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. He was still standing by the door, even though it was already closed and locked.

"What's wrong?" I asked, swinging my legs; the beds were so tall that my feet didn't quite reach the ground.

"I wanna do this, really," he said, pleading with his eyes. He sat beside me. "But there's something that's saying 'no' and I don't know what that is."

"Then why not ignore it?" I asked.

"'Cause it's a bad feeling," he said, confused.

I scooted closer and put my hand on his back and started rubbing between his shoulders. "I can make that go away," I promised softly.

He looked at me again with those beautiful sad, worried, scared eyes. "Should I?" he whispered.

"I wanna do this for you," I said again. "I wanna make you feel good. This is two friends having fun." He smiled really big, showing his teeth. "Unless you want to be something more," I added in his ear.

He slowly put his hand on my bare knee, edging his thumb under the bottom of my skirt. Something about the way he did it, or the fact that it was the incredibly sexless Kurt Hummel, made it feel much better than it should have.

"I don't know anything about—about this," he muttered, embarrassed.

"You're doing great," I said, putting my lips on his neck and kissing up his jaw. He made a little "mmm" sound. His hand moved up my leg, under my skirt. He stopped around mid-thigh and just felt the soft skin around there.

My lips got near his lips, and he turned his head and met them. His lips were nearly as soft as his hands. They tasted like sharp oranges, and he was a much better kisser than I thought he would be, or remembered from last time.

We fell backwards on the bed and I decided to not go on top of him; I didn't want to scare him off with just one measly kiss. I liked kissing him. His hand went to my waist and stopped on the curve of my hip. His hand went all over my side and back, feeling the curves—even the ones that marked me as definitely not-boy. I put my hand on his chest and played with the little white buttons, opening the first two easily.

Seriously, it was like making out with a girl. Everything was soft and warm and really nice.

He nipped at my lips a little, carefully poking with his tongue. I followed through, hoping I wasn't pushing the boundaries. I don't think I was, or something cracked in him, because Kurt pushed me back on the bed and laid on top of me.

I changed positions and straddled his crotch. I looked at him from above. His hair was completely standing on end. His shirt a little unbuttoned to show flushed skin. His whole face was red, his glass eyes wide. His lips were so pink and turned into a smirk.

He was so hot.

His hands were still on my hips, slowly tracing circles under my shirt, bringing it up higher and higher.

I went in for another kiss.

I woke up with a bad headache. I tried to move my arm, but it was trapped by...

"Oh, God," I whispered. It wasn't my best comeback, but what do you say when you wake up next to Brittany with no shirt or—pants? Again: Oh, God.

Brittany was sleeping like an angel, her blond hair free around the pillow like a halo. Her face was so peaceful and innocent, instead of blank and unknowing when she was awake. She was curled up next to me, clinging to my arm. I tried to move it, but she squirmed a little.

That was when I realised she didn't have any clothes on either. Her—her breast was pressed against my arm and her leg was over both of mine; her... parts very warm and damp against my leg.

God, I can't even think the words, what happened?

I shrieked like a little girl.

Her eyes opened and a bit of awareness came into her face. "Morning, Kurt," she said in that pleasant, easy voice she had. She stretched out and took her leg from mine, bouncing on the bed a little as she moved away. "What do you remember from last night?" she asked, worry and a little fear coming into her face.

I stretched my memory and found—

"Oh, God," I said again.

Brittany sat up, the duvet coming off her top half, exposing her breasts. I tried not to look at them, and focused on her face. She looked genuinely concerned. "Kurt, did I do something bad?"

I pulled the blanket closer to my chest. "Oh, yeah."

I instantly felt terrible. Brittany looked ready to cry. "You said I could never do something bad," she whimpered. "But, I'm really, really sorry."

"Did you—did we have—?" I could barely finish the sentence. "Sex?"

Brittany looked down. "Kurt, I'm really sorry. You were so sad and I thought—"

Blood pounded in my ears. I didn't hear any more; for the first time in my life, I could hear my blood rushing through my veins. Oh, God. I wasn't a virgin. I lost it to a girl. To Brittany. This was not happening. It couldn't be. How had I even managed to do it? Was I really not gay? Was I—god forbid—bi? Bisexual didn't even exist, it was either boys or girls, so did I—was I really straight?

"Protection?" I asked, numb.

When Brittany frowned I felt my stomach turn. I remembered Puck. Quinn. Last year. Oh, God. Oh, God! "My mom gave me this pill I take, but I don't like condoms. They feel funny."

My blood slowed a little bit.

I remembered that I had come to Penny's place to teach them how to sing—I did, I remembered singing Pink and Madonna, and Taio Cruz, and Queen. Penny had a great voice. She was having a party. I had helped set it up, but I hadn't had anything to drink. I had some super sweet orange Crush and Coke, no, Diet Coke; it had that funny taste that diet drinks have. Then, we played pool—Brittany and I did, at least. I won easily. Pool was all math, angles and stuff, so easy.

And then she was just... there. She looked fantastic, no, it was more specific than that. Gorgeous. No, not quiet. Hot. Oh, God. Maybe even a little sexy? Oh, God! I kissed her. I kissed her. I—

"Kurt," said Brittany softy, putting her hand on my shoulder. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"You're too nice to want to hurt anyone," I said bitterly. This was my fault, not sweet, innocent little Brittany's.

Her hand touched my face. I didn't realise I was crying, at least a tear had leaked out. She wiped it away.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to make you happy," she said simply, kindly.

I covered her hand with mine. More details came from last night. The biggest, most explosive ecstasy I had ever felt, so strong that nothing mattered except the blond girl and that I was making her feel the same way. The different ways she made me feel that and the ways I got to make her shiver with that liquid fire.

"You did," my mouth said without my brain's permission. "You so, so did."

Brittany's little mouth turned up in a little smile. "Really?"

I couldn't help it, and smiled back at her.

Brittany hugged me. She couldn't really, but she put her face in my shoulder and her arms went around my neck. Her breast was against my chest, squishy and warm. "I helped?" she asked. "You looked so miserable without anyone, with so many people hating you. I wanted to make you happy. Sorry."

"That's not a crime." I sighed. "I just—I'm gay, so I'd kind of wish you were a boy."

Brittany let go and looked at me. Her eyes sparkled a little.

"You're a great friend, I just don't like you that way," I clarified.

"Friends can do this, too," she said. "Besides, I told you last night, you can like boys and girls. I do."

I grimaced. "I'm just having a life-changing revelation. I've built my life believing I'm gay. I knew if I was a gay guy, it'd be okay if I liked—you know, fashion, Broadway, interior design, cooking. Now, if I'm bi, what's bi?"

"Liking boys and girls," said Brittany with a shrug. "Don't label yourself. That's way worse than other people doing it to you. Just, do what you like."

I stared at her. I couldn't believe it. My world had crashed around my ears, and she had offered me a new personal mantra. Sweet, inept, innocent little Brittany knew how to rebuild my world? I was still trying to work out my attraction to her, that might have been the reason. She was smarter than people gave her credit for.

Maybe... If I tried to kiss her again, see if I really felt sparks, because the night before was a regular firework show.

I leant forward and pressed my lips on hers without warning, before I could change my mind. I could practically taste her surprise. But her lips were almost hot, and her skin was toasty warm. Her hands on my shoulders, by comparison, were cool. If last night was a firework show, this was every Fourth of July there ever was. My brain melted and oozed out my ears at the feeling.

Her breasts squished against my chest as she inched closer, and her hand slipped under the covers to my—

"Ugh. Stop." I broke the kiss.

"Sorry. Off-limits?" She licked her lips. "You loved it last night."

"Do—I mean, can we wait a little bit?" I asked. "I didn't think you'd be my taste in girls, but—maybe a date?"

"Awesome. Breadstix, eight, tonight?" she asked, smiling, still in my arms. How comfortable she was being this close to me gradually made me more comfortable with this.

That gave me a whole day to consider what being bi meant. Being with her, though, right here, made me not care. As soon as I was in my bedroom, working onthe chorography for Le Jazz Hot, it was going to haunt me.

I nodded. "Okay. Great," I said breathlessly. "Dinner. Great. What's your number?"

Brittany laughed and she said it was in her phone. She got up and I closed my eyes from habit, just knowing she had no clothes on.

"Could you get dressed?" I asked tentatively.

"I am," she said.

"I mean, if I'm seriously going to try girls, I'd rather not be a man-whore. I wanna, you know, have a girlfriend. Do this right."

"Like Gossip Girl," said Brittany understandingly. She laughed again. "I have clothes on now."

I opened my eyes hesitantly. She had a white skirt and bra on. "Clothes" my ass. My mouth went dry and I wasn't sure how I had enough blood to rush to my groin when all of it flooded my face.

Brittany pulled her shirt back on and smirked a little and the look on my face. "My phone's downstairs," she said, blowing me a kiss and leaving.

I took advantage of the time and instantly found my boxers and put them on. I hunted for my other clothes; my shirt (minus the top button) was still in the bed and I had been lying on it, my jeans were in front of the door like a mat, I completely lost my scarf and my coat was downstairs. At least I was covered.

I sat on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how this affair with Brittany was changing me, or if I had always been this way and only just discovered it. I mean, I had been in love with Finn and hopelessly thought Eric Dane was dreamy—gay. Sleeping with (and hitting all the bases with) Brittany—straight, straight, straight. I had fun, too, so that had to make me bi.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I sat up so sharply I nearly had whiplash. "You've got to be kidding!" I said waspishly. "What are you doing here, Santana?"

"Looking for Brittany, she came in this room last night." Santana stood there, in a black knit dress that even Kurt admitted looked good on her, with knee-high black boots and a drink in hand. "Oh, were you the boy she dragged in here? Lucky Kurtsie."

"How many guys did you do last night, Satan? Five?"

"Hmm. Just three." She smirked. "You did not do Brittany sober, did you? If you did and are thinking of switching teams, give me a call, Porcelain, 'cause I heard Brits screaming downstairs."

"I—" I closed his mouth and frowned.

No... it couldn't be. That Coke. It was bitter because it was diet and Diet Coke tastes awful, and the ice cubes were saturated with it. And, my headache. I just thought that was what you got after sex, and that my gay side was so repulsed by being with a girl it made my stomach turn.

Hangover.

"Food for thought," said Santana, leaving. "Even drunk, I wouldn't mind that call."

A minute later, Brittany came back with her phone. "Sorry, but here's my number. I can never—"

"Did you get me drunk last night?" I asked dumbly.

Brittany looked at me for a long time. "No."

"Did you put anything in my drink?"

"Ice cubes?" She shrugged.

I rolled my eyes. "Was it Diet Coke or just Coke?"

"Lime Coke, actually," she said. "Penny loves Lime Coke, there's tons of it in the house."

I felt a little better, but there was still a nagging feeling in the back of my head. "Was there any alcohol in my drink?"

"Just a little." She shrugged again.

My entire body went cold. "What?" I asked.

"Penny's ice cubes always have a bit of vodka in them," she said casually. "You're not hungover, are you?"

I tried to stand up but the room spun and I sat down again. "Brit, I'm gonna ask you this once and I want you to be very, very truthful. Did you intentionally get me drunk?"

"I don't know what that means."

I groaned in frustration. "Did you know that that vodka would get me drunk?"

"I wanted you tipsy, not—"

"Oh, my God! Brittany!" I stood up. "Do you know how much you've made me question my whole life?"

"I wanted to make you feel good, not make you angry," she said, almost cowering by the door.

The pathetic sight calmed me a little.

"You weren't drunk this morning, when you kissed me," she said in a very small voice. "And I really like you."

I stared at her. That was true. How I felt when I saw her in a bra and short skirt, how the fireworks went off when we kissed. That was sober. One hundred percent.

"Can—can you kiss me now?" I asked apologetically. I couldn't believe what I was saying.

Brittany came forward like a frightened animal, but stood on her tiptoes to reach my lips. I tried not to analyze the kiss, or the way her hands played with my hair, or the way one could barely put a magazine between us. I could still feel it, the heat burning up in me. The affection, the knowledge that it was sweet, nice, caring Brittany who never meant to hurt me, who just wanted to make me feel better.

It was even better than the night before, where it was all animalistic lust and vodka tipsiness. It was better than earlier, when it was just a confirmation of my feelings, when I was uncomfortable being naked and that close. This was the start of something, and, no matter how much else I didn't know, I knew that I liked this and breaking apart to see Brittany made it all better.

A little romantic Kurt-ish thinking to finish up! So, whatdaya think: continue, not, ideas for future chapters?