The sun. Is too fucking bright.

Kurt groans lowly when his eyes crack open just enough and the sunlight seems to sink into his pupils and burn into his head. He squeezes them shut again, attempting to ignore the cacophony of drums pounding behind his eyelids. He sits up, an action which proves to be deadly; his stomach rolls dangerously, ready to rid itself of the sins in his belly.

He surrenders to his hangover and collapses back onto the bed.

“Mmmf.”

Kurt freezes at the sound that most certainly did not come from him.

No…

No way.

That’s when he realizes he’s completely naked and the cool air is prickling at his skin. Taking a chance that the sun won’t kill him, he peers through his eyelashes, sticky from sleep, and turns his head ever so slowly.

Fucking. Hell.

Blaine’s there, just as he had feared, and he’s naked as well. The sheet is twisted round his feet, shoved to the bottom of the bed and Blaine turns to face Kurt, eyes still closed.

Kurt remains immobile. He’s far too unsure about what he should or shouldn’t do in a situation like this. Blaine simply snuggles closer and drapes an arm over Kurt’s naked stomach. He nuzzles his face into the little spot right behind Kurt’s ear.

“Morning,” Blaine mumbles sleepily.

“…Good morning,” Kurt replies, expecting Blaine to immediately recognize his voice and realize that no, ha, this is not his boyfriend.

Instead, Blaine shuffles in closer and twines his legs with Kurt’s.

Okay, he can’t – they can’t – Kurt can’t let this keep going, especially when Blaine doesn’t even know who he’s cuddling.

“Blaine. Wake up.”

“ ‘M up.”

“Open your eyes.”

“S’gonna be too bright,” Blaine groans.

“You need to see that I’m not-”

“I know you’re not,” Blaine interrupts with soft words.

He holds Kurt tighter.

“You- you do?”

“I know you’re not Thomas,” Blaine confirms. “You’re Kurt.”

For some reason, Kurt’s heart swells in his chest, but he refuses to acknowledge the issue and squashes the sudden, unidentifiable emotion back down in his chest.

“Yeah. And we-”

“We had sex,” Blaine states.

“Drunk sex.”

“Fantastic drunk sex.”

“Fuck,” Kurt groans, finally allowing his cheek to press against Blaine’s hair and place a hand atop Blaine’s arm covering his stomach.

Blaine sighs against his neck. Kurt shivers.

“But we – it was just – you know?” Blaine fumbles to say.

“One time thing. Dealing with sexual tension,” Kurt says, though his fingers squeeze tighter on Blaine’s arm.

“It doesn’t happen again.”

“And we never tell anyone.”

“Never.”

“Right. I don’t know if I can walk,” Kurt admits.

“What?”

Slowly, so as to not upset his hung-over body, Kurt disentangles their limbs and sits up. “You kind of fucked me really hard last night.”

“And you were kind of begging for it, don’t you dare blame me.”

“Fuck, what time is it?”

Blaine squints at the tiny clock on his desk. “11:52.”

“Eleve – it’s almost noon?” Kurt panics, standing, though he almost falls over and has to grip the edge of Blaine’s bed to keep him up.

“Yeah, why?”

“Brandon and I were supposed to meet at noon to have lunch!” Kurt informs him. “He’s probably walking to our room right now to walk me down!”

“Shit,” Blaine mutters under his breath, scrambling out of bed as they both begin the frantic search for clothing.

A knock sounds at their door as soon as they both get underwear on.

Their heads snap toward each other, eyes glued in terror.

“Kurt? Are you ready?” Brandon’s voice sounds through the door.

“It’s okay,” Blaine whispers, tripping over a pair of jeans in his haste to grip Kurt’s shoulders. “He doesn’t know. He won’t know. There’s no way he’d know.”

Kurt nods shakily and pulls on a worn pair of sweatpants.

“Just – put on a shirt or something,” Kurt mumbles, moving over toward the door.

Luckily, the fact that they’re roommates can mask the true reason for their clothes being scattered together throughout the room. Just as he’s about to reach for the doorknob to unlock it, Blaine tosses a t-shirt at the back of his head.

“Your hips!” Blaine hisses, tugging on a t-shirt of his own.

Kurt glances down, scared of what he’ll find, and gasps in horror as he finally sees the smattering of tiny bruises all along his hips. They’re especially dark on his hipbones.

Bruises from Blaine’s hands.

Almost whimpering in panic, Kurt tugs on the shirt with shaking hands and finally unlocks and opens the door.

“Jesus what took you so long?” Brandon wonders as he stands there, looking perfectly nice in his jeans and plaid shirt.

“If I move too quickly, I’ll vomit,” Kurt groans, temple colliding with the doorway as he lets his eyes fall shut.

He’s doing his very best to be calm, to seem normal, even though his heart is fluttering madly in his chest with nerves.

The bathroom door slams closed behind him and suddenly the sound of retching fills the little dorm room. Kurt’s stomach rolls at the sound.

“Oh right you had that Glee party last night didn’t you?” Brandon remembers. “With the Warblers.”

“And none of us really paced ourselves,” Kurt says. “Though I know Jeff was passed the fuck out on a table when I finally left.”

“Did you have fun, though?”

Kurt schools his features as images of shadowed bodies, drenched in sweat, moving, rocking, thrusting, flood his mind. He’s remembering hushed moans and wet tongues tracing heated skin.

Don’t stop, please, please don’t stop.

Never, fuck, never.

“It was alright,” Kurt eventually says.

Lunch ends up going far better than Kurt expects, considering he can’t stop thinking about how delicious Blaine’s dick had tasted on his tongue the night before. He keeps up his end of the conversation as well as one can when they’re hung over as shit. He panics, however, when Brandon asks if he wants to go back to his room because his roommate is gone for the weekend and they’d have the place to themselves and he could suck Kurt off as many times as he could handle.

Kurt blames his hangover, saying he just wants to go back to his own room and sleep it off.

The truth, of course, lies in the fact that the bruises on hips will stain his skin for days and he can’t let Brandon see him naked until they’re gone.

Brandon leaves him at his door, looking slightly annoyed, but is sure to kiss his forehead before he goes. When Kurt enters the room, Blaine is huddled under his blankets, curled around Thomas who sleeps peacefully in his arms.

Kurt kicks his shoes off and crawls into bed, having little to no energy to worry about undressing. He sinks into the mattress and just before he closes his eyes to sleep his hangover away, Blaine opens his.

He stares directly at Kurt over Thomas’ blonde head. They do not speak. Blaine doesn’t ask him how lunch went, he doesn’t ask if it was easy to pretend they hadn’t slept together, he doesn’t ask anything.

Kurt’s thankful for that.

Blaine, still staring at Kurt, strokes Thomas’ arm and presses a silent kiss to his hair. His eyes fall shut.

Kurt sighs and lets sleep claim him for the afternoon.

When he wakes, neither Blaine nor Thomas are anywhere to be found and the sun is slowly sinking beyond their dormitory window.

His opinions on the matter begin to seem clearer in his head.

Obviously, they would keep the incident to themselves. Brandon would never know, Thomas would never know, no one would ever know. That being said, Kurt could only pray that the memories would leave him quickly and he’d stop remembering how perfect Blaine’s skin felt against his. He would allow the telltale bruises to fade and then he would corner Brandon and bend over willingly, begging to be taken, begging to forget how Blaine’s dick felt inside him.

Because that’s how it was supposed to work. There were only two options and they had taken the Devil’s path. The only thing left to do was to move on, to lock the memories somewhere deep inside his mind.

They’d fucked. That was it, that was the end of the story.

And Kurt would remain with Brandon.

By the time the weekend ends, the bruises are already fading and Blaine’s mark on him is washing away.