CHAPTER 2

It was almost Christmas – the first Christmas they would be spending with Carole and Finn – and there was plenty to do at the Hummel-Hudson household. Everything had to be perfect. But even as Kurt threw himself into shopping, decorating and planning the heart-healthy Christmas menu with Carole, he found his thoughts returning to Blaine again and again. True, it was nothing new for him to think of Blaine multiple times throughout the day, but usually being busy put a stop to this. This time, however, the thoughts seemed to be coming out of nowhere. Suddenly Kurt was enveloped in a mist of warm feelings in the middle of the dairy aisle at the supermarket, or spacing out with tinsel in his hand, or blushing when Finn came in and innocently stated that it was cold outside.

Damn, he really needed to get himself under control. It was just because of the fresh mark on his skin. He couldn't forget about it for a minute, fingers sneaking up to touch it through the fabric of his shirt so often that Carole finally asked if there was something wrong with his shoulder.

It felt almost creepy in a way, like having a tattoo of your crush's name done secretly, without asking for their permission. Of course, Kurt would never do that, and he couldn't be held responsible for what his body came up with by itself, could he? But the very awareness of the mark sitting there just like that, hidden and innocent, was making his heart beat faster. Add in the very fresh memories of that duet in the Dalton common room, with Blaine's eyes so sparkly and his lovely lips so close, the flirty atmosphere of the song permeating the air, and – well, Kurt really had a hard time not thinking about his best friend.

His distractedness didn't escape his family's attentive eye, so in the end he faked a headache and escaped to his bedroom as soon as the dishes were done after dinner. He spent the rest of the evening trying to find something to watch that wouldn't make him think of Blaine.

It proved impossible.

He took another long look at the name on his skin as he was undressing for the night. It was still there, of course, and already it was slightly darker, the edges of each letter more defined, final. Kurt brushed his fingertips over the mark and smiled.

The night that followed was weird. Of course, it was only natural that he dreamt of Blaine when he spent so much time during the day thinking about him, but those were dreams unlike any he'd ever had before. They were eerily realistic and strangely plot-less – just a montage of short, silent flashes, all starring him and Blaine. What was even stranger was that Kurt remembered them vividly upon waking up. They didn't disappear or even fade from his memory the way dreams tend to do when he got up and proceeded through his morning routine. Even as he stood under the spray of hot water in the shower, the pictures from the dream were still flashing before his closed eyes:

He and Blaine singing together on a stage, both in Dalton uniforms, eyes trained on each other, with the rest of the Warblers in the background.

Sitting opposite each other in Lima Bean, sans uniforms this time, Blaine's face full of so much affection that Kurt's heart fluttered every time he recalled the scene.

Laughing together on a blanket spread on the grass, the sun high and bright, Kurt's head in Blaine's lap.

Sitting next to each other in the McKinley choir room, an adorable bowtie around Blaine's neck, their hands joined and resting on Kurt's thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Dancing together at what looked like prom, close and unafraid among other people, Blaine's hair ridiculously curly and tickling Kurt's cheek as he leaned closer to brush a soft kiss against the side of Kurt's neck – a kiss that even now, in the light of day, made Kurt shiver as he recalled it.

God, he was in over his head, wasn't he? It had never been this bad before, not even with Finn. His brain was out to torment him, not letting him forget about Blaine even for a moment and conjuring fantasies that were so real and detailed there was no chance he'd get them out of his head. Already it felt awkward to text Blaine like he usually did every day – innocent, friendly chatting that now felt too suggestive, too revealing, like every word could somehow tell his friend: hey, I've got your name on my skin and vivid pictures of us as a couple in my head.

So he didn't text all day, but it only made things worse when Blaine called him in the evening, innocently asking if Kurt was mad at him for some reason. The way his voice seemed to slide right down Kurt's spine in a warm caress, causing a delicious shiver, was new, too.

It was ridiculous. And very hot. And frustrating as hell.

Kurt figured it would pass, he just needed a few days. Obviously his imagination, vivid to begin with, got too excited by the mark on his skin.

Except days passed, Christmas came and went, and the dreams persisted like the mark on his body. It wasn't like that first night, but every morning there were at least a few new pictures to add to his collection. Kurt's favorite so far was the shortest glimpse of the two of them lying on a bed together, fully dressed minus a few outer layers, so close their foreheads and noses touched. His hand was on Blaine's shoulder and Blaine's on his wrist, and there was a look of deep, quiet contentment on both of their faces. It made him blush, the way his fantasies seemed to gravitate towards intimacy, but it felt like such a beautiful moment. Which wasn't all that strange – of course his imagination would create pictures that were perfectly suited for Kurt's romantic mind.

And then, two days after Christmas, around midnight, another strange thing occurred, jarring him out of half-asleep bliss in the warm cocoon of the comforter.

Suddenly, without warning, Kurt's loose, relaxed body tensed and his back arched off the bed, an explosion of pleasure shooting through his belly, so intense he moaned loud and shameless before hastily biting on his knuckles to muffle the rest of the sounds. His hips kept canting up into the comforter, the delightful heat pulsing for a long while before he started coming down, his body tingling all over.

God, what was that?

No, okay, he knew exactly what it was. It wasn't like he'd never had an orgasm before, though probably never quite that intense but... how? Why? He hadn't touched himself, hadn't been turned on. He hadn't even been thinking of anything sexy, not even Blaine, for god's sake. Well, now he was, and ugh, he was turning into a creepy, creepy person. His cock ached at the thought and –

What?

Now that the dazed feeling gave way to more or less clear thinking, Kurt realized that he was hard, straining against the fabric of his pajama pants. His dry pajama pants, no telltale wet spots detected. So... it was an orgasm, but... not? How was that possible? He'd never heard about anything like that before. Then again, it wasn't like he read or talked about sex that much.

It took a long time to fall asleep that night, especially since he refused to take care of his raging erection in any way other than willing it away. He drew a line at jerking off to the images of Blaine in his head. He wouldn't be that guy, dammit.

Of course, his imagination decided to punish him for that, and when he finally fell asleep, Kurt's dreams were filled with Blaine's lips and his hands, with kisses and casual touches that turned into not-that-casual, that turned into a flash of Blaine on his knees, reaching to undo the buttons of Kurt's fly with dark, hooded eyes and red, kiss-swollen lips.

Kurt woke up a very, very frustrated boy the next morning.