In the days following Kurt’s semi-voyeuristic episode, he’s finding it ridiculously hard to stop jerking himself off in the shower. He’s also finding it increasingly difficult to do so without imagining the quiet little moans Blaine was making the other night.

This was unhealthy. Really.

He was having sex and getting blowjobs and giving hand jobs at least once a day and now he’s taken to masturbating in the shower every morning or evening. His dick might as well just fall off by now because this was just outrageous.

“You’re taking longer showers lately,” Blaine decides to point out one night before bed.

“Well if Brandon didn’t like coming on my chest so much, I wouldn’t have to scrub as much as I do,” Kurt tosses back, thankful for his quick wit.

Blaine laughs loudly. Kurt is also thankful for their friendship, their easy conversation and the fact that he can make these types of comments without it being over-sharing.

Some days are worse than others, actually. Once, they were both sitting in history and Blaine gave a deep, tired sigh. It was just a bored sigh, the kind you make when the material you’re learning nearly bores you to tears. There wasn’t anything special about the sigh, it was just a sigh.

But Kurt couldn’t stop the tidal wave of images flooding his brain. He couldn’t stop imagining Blaine on his back, legs spread wide with someone’s tongue licking his hole.

He became hard as a rock in about ten seconds. Kurt crossed his legs and turned to glance at Brandon, who winked as if he thought the bulge in Kurt’s pants was for him, and when class was over Kurt shoved Brandon into the nearest supply closet.

When he comes down Brandon’s throat, he knows things are going too far.

Kurt’s obsessive lust for Blaine’s dick dies down a week later after constant repression of vulgar thoughts and a run in with two homophobes.

He and Brandon are at the movies, attempting to have a night together that doesn’t involve lubrication of any kind. They’re simply being a couple, leaning their heads on one another’s shoulders when small bits of popcorn appear in their laps. Kurt turns, expecting some kid to be seated behind them. Instead, about four rows back, two grown men sit side by side, snickering behind their hands. Kurt faces the screen again.

“Ignore them,” Brandon whispers, pulling Kurt lower into their seats so just the tops of their heads are visible to their tormentors.

But the popcorn eventually turns into candy and the candy turns into an empty box that hits Brandon square on the top of his head.

Despite his own advice, Brandon stands, unable to ignore them. Kurt tugs his sleeve, trying to force him back into his seat.

“Sit down, faggot!” one of the men shouts

Brandon’s fist clenches at his side. He walks out. Kurt stumbles after him, tripping on the empty candy box that had clattered to the ground.

“Brandon!” he calls out once he’s out of the theatre. His boyfriend doesn’t turn to face him until they’re outside. The night air is chilly and Kurt pulls his coat tight around his middle. “Why’d you-”

“You know,” Brandon interrupts him, “sometimes I hate Dalton Academy.”

He begins to head to the car. Kurt can do nothing but tighten his scarf and follow quickly.

“Why?”

“Because it gives you false hope,” Brandon states. “Inside Dalton, I’m safe. You’re safe, we’re safe. Things aren’t thrown at us. We don’t get beaten. But as soon as you leave the gates to the grounds, you realize that it’s all a farce. It’s temporary. One day we’re going to leave Dalton and we’re not going to have walls to keep us safe anymore.”

Kurt frowns as Brandon unlocks the car doors with the key remote and they climb inside. “School should be about safety, though,” Kurt decides to point out. “Everyone goes into the real world some day and it’s always scary.”

“Yeah, well some days I think about failing my senior year on purpose. Just so I can have another year of not being terrified.”

Kurt opens his mouth to say something but he snaps it closed upon second thought. That idea sounded entirely stupid to Kurt, even if it made the tiniest bit of sense in the back of his mind. Altogether, though, it was irrational.

The ride back to Dalton is made in silence.

When they’re back in the dormitory, Brandon walks Kurt to his door and then departs without a second glance. Kurt watches him go, unsure what to say or how to feel.

There’s an absence of a tie on the door so Kurt walks into his dorm room quietly. Blaine sits on his bed, book in his lap.

“How was the movie?” he asks without looking up.

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t see the end.”

“Too busy giving head?” Blaine teases.

“Too busy being harassed by two ignorant assholes a few rows behind us. We left.”

Blaine’s head snaps up in alarm. “What?”

“They were throwing food at us and called Brandon a fag. He got pissed and we left.”

Shocked, Blaine sets his book aside and stands in front of Kurt, whose hands are shakily undoing the knot in his scarf.

“Here,” Blaine says gently, pushing Kurt’s hands away to untie the scarf himself. “You look like a wreck. Calm down, it’s okay.”

“He didn’t…when we got back he wouldn’t even look at me. He didn’t even give me a hug or a kiss goodnight. I know he was scared but – but I feel like he’s ashamed of me.”

“Why would you even think that?” Blaine asks, draping the scarf on Kurt’s bed. His fingers begin to methodically work at the buttons on Kurt’s coat.

“Because he – because he likes me. Because I’m a guy. Because he’s fucking a guy and I think he wishes he could be normal sometimes.”

“Implying that we’re not normal,” Blaine points out, slipping the coat off Kurt’s defeated shoulders.

“You know what I mean,” Kurt says.

Blaine nods, placing the coat on the edge of the bed. “I know. You meant straight. Socially acceptable. Unlikely to be ridiculed.”

“Yeah. That.”

“I think you shouldn’t take his actions to mean something bad about you. Whatever’s going on in his head is about him, Kurt. If he has issues with who he is or who he’s attracted to, that’s his problem. Don’t think of it as a negative reflection of yourself. You’re lovely. You’re unashamed of who you are and you stand up for yourself.”

“I’m hiding here. How does that show that I’m standing up for myself?”

Blaine smiles sadly at him and for a few seconds, Kurt’s reminded of the way Blaine used to look at him, back when they first met.

“Sometimes courage means self preservation. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you a coward. It makes you smart.”

Their eyes lock for a brief moment and that’s when Kurt realizes that he’s missed this Blaine, the one who always knew what to say.

“You’ve always been wise,” Kurt says quietly. “I need a shower. To wash off the stench of homophobia.”

Blaine tilts his head and suddenly he’s got his arms wrapped securely around Kurt’s body, hugging him close. These arms remind him of some place nice, some place safe, Kurt notices, and he can’t help but hug back.

“There’s no stench. You smell sweet.” Blaine whispers.

And then, catching Kurt completely off guard, Blaine presses a gentle kiss to Kurt’s cheek.

“Goodnight,” Blaine says softly.

The arms are gone.

But at least he got a hug and a kiss goodnight.