"I want to start a band."

Carson looked at Kurt over his morning cup of coffee, his eyes still bleary with the remnants of the previous night's sleep. "Kurt, it's 6 a.m. You know I can't process words until I've been awake for at least forty-five minutes."

"I'm just thinking out loud," said Kurt defensively. "I need a creative outlet now that the play is over and our next glee club competition isn't until the spring."

"You could find a creative way to get the fuck out of my flat," muttered Carson through a gaping yawn. "That would be a good start."

"Maybe a cover band," Kurt mused out loud, deliberately ignoring Carson's last sentence. "I mean, that's not too different from what we do in glee club all the time, but my band would be better. Much more edgy and rock-ish."

"Mmm-hmm," murmured Carson in a bored tone as he reached for his phone and unlocked it, sipping his coffee as he swiped his thumb over the screen.

"Maybe a cover band for just one artist," continued Kurt, getting more excited now as his idea started to take a solid shape. "Like Britney Spears. Or… oh… or Madonna!"

Carson snorted, sending a small spray of spit and coffee in Kurt's direction as he gave him an amused look.

"What's so funny?" asked Kurt.

"The fact that you want to start a rock band and dedicate it to covering Madonna," replied Carson, shaking his head and snickering to himself. "Jesus Christ."

"What's wrong with Madonna?" demanded Kurt, grumpy over his twin's blatant dismissal of what he considered to be one of the best ideas he'd ever had. "I'll have you know that she is the undisputed queen of pop music, continually pushed the envelope and trailblazed the way for all other artists that came after her, and continues to keep herself relevant after more than three decades in the business. She's as edgy as they come."

"Yeah, right. Sure. Ok," snorted Carson, smirking at Kurt as he took another sip of coffee. "I look forward to hearing your band's super edgy, punk rock version of "Material Girl."

"Well, you don't have to be a condescending asshole about it," Kurt grumbled as he nibbled on a piece of grapefruit.

"Yes, I do. Being a condescending asshole is kind of my thing," replied Carson. "Tell me, who do you plan to let into this wonderful band of yours?"

"I don't know," Kurt admitted. "I haven't thought that far. I'd hold auditions, I guess. You want to join? I know you aren't that into music, but..."

"Wow, let me think about that one for a hot second," interrupted Carson, sipping thoughtfully on his coffee. "How about no?"

"Oh, come on," Kurt said, reaching across the table to prod Carson gently on the arm. His twin gave his hand a withering look and yanked his arm away, as though Kurt's hand were full of garbage. "It could be a way for us to spend some time together," Kurt tried, unsure why the hell he was even pushing this. He did genuinely want to find a way to reconnect with Carson, but a band? Seriously? I shouldn't voice any ideas anymore that I have this early in the morning. Not until my brain functions properly.

"Let me see if I can make this as easy as possible," said Carson. "There's the list of dangerous and probably horribly embarrassing things that I would do on a dare on a good day, there's having drunk sex with Rachel Berry, there's sending Dad a heartfelt Father's Day card, and then, way down at the bottom of the list, there's being in a Madonna cover band with my annoying twin brother. Does that cover it?"

"Extensively," sighed Kurt.

"Besides, I think we spend entirely too much time together as it is," Carson continued. "Considering the fact that you've been squatting in my flat for weeks now and generally cramping my style and making my life as inconvenient as possible."

"Have it your way," said Kurt, defeated.

"No, I mean, seriously, every time I turn around, you're there like a creepy little horror movie troll, and-"

"Okay," said Kurt through gritted teeth. "You've made your point, ok? I'm annoying and you don't want to be in the band. I've got it."

"Good," said Carson, settling back in his chair, his bare chest heaving with a relieved sigh. "Glad we covered that, then."

Kurt ate the rest of his grapefruit in silence, trying not to stare at Carson's half-naked form as his twin continued sipping his coffee across from him, reading something on his phone. Walking around half-naked (and, sometimes, even fully naked) was a pretty regular thing that Carson seemed to do now that he had his own place, and even though Kurt wasn't complaining and sure as hell appreciated the view, it did absolutely nothing to help him forget that he couldn't have him anymore the way he used to. He strongly suspected that this was most of the point behind Carson doing it in the first place. To intentionally torture him with what he couldn't have, but which countless strangers could have at any time, for a price. Kurt sometimes wondered what Carson would do if he were to hand him a stack of money and ask for his "services." If his twin would actually take him up on it, or if he would tell him to fuck off. He had come dangerously close to trying it a couple of times out of desperation, but he stopped himself every single time. He reminded himself that, no matter what Carson seemed to think about himself, his brother was not an object to be used, and for Kurt to even consider treating him as such would feel disgusting and wrong. So he never did it.

He was strong. He could stick this out until he broke through and got Carson to start liking him again. Hell, he was already tolerating him, wasn't he? He hadn't kicked him out. Well, ok, that one time, but….

"What the fuck is your problem?" Carson asked suddenly, his voice piercing through Kurt's reverie.

"Huh?" spluttered Kurt, startled back into the real world.

"You've been sitting there for like five minutes, staring at me like a freak," said Carson. "You're creeping me out. Stop it."

"Sorry," murmured Kurt. He stuffed the last of his breakfast into his mouth and got up from the table, passing by Carson's chair with his plate just as his twin was getting up with his mug. Carson's chest brushed his arm, and Kurt shivered at the contact, gripping his plate tight for something to distract him as Carson looked at him quizzically.

"You ok?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You look like you're going to barf grapefruit chunks all over my kitchen floor."

"Lovely visual," said Kurt, getting a hold of himself and giving Carson a haughty look. "I'm fine. I just… I had… I had a cramp."

"Sometimes I wonder about you, Kurt," said Carson, shaking his head as he placed his mug in the sink. "Sometimes I fucking wonder."

He did manage to get Carson to give him a ride to school, which he considered a small victory, since his twin usually left the flat long before Kurt was even remotely ready to go. He had to admit, his brother's car was actually really nice, and he felt stylish riding in it if he pretended that he didn't know how it had been paid for.

"I like your car," he said by way of starting an awkward conversation as Carson drove, his long fingers draped gracefully over the steering wheel and stroking it gently every time he had to make a turn. Leave it to Carson to somehow manage to make something as mundane as driving look sexy.

"I know," said Carson. "Most people do."

Kurt decided he didn't really want to know what he meant by "most people." He turned his attention to the stereo instead, wondering if he would get in trouble if he turned it on.

"Don't touch it," Carson ordered, as if he could read Kurt's mind. "Ugh.… how about using your turn signal, asshole!" he yelled in frustration, honking the horn as the car in front of them abruptly turned.

"Sorry," Kurt mumbled in response to the radio admonishment, settling back in his seat as Carson opened the driver's side window and flipped the bird to the offending car. He didn't stop looking at the stereo, though.

"Is that an iPod jack?" he asked, pointing to it.

"Yes."

"Can I-"

"No."

Kurt sighed and looked out of the window for the rest of the ride, not wanting to risk pissing Carson off and end up coming home to all his shoes hidden or something. His twin had taken to playing childish practical jokes lately, though, thankfully, nothing quite as damaging as the glitter in his face cream. Though, he did have to admit that he'd sort of had that coming. Regardless, Kurt liked to prevent that as often as possible. He distracted himself from the awkward silence by concentrating on his band idea. He had no doubt he could pull it off, he would just have to find the perfect combination of people.

By the end of the week, he'd ended up with a group that consisted of Santana (who had pretty much invited herself into the band before Kurt could protest), Santana's new girlfriend, Dani, who actually wasn't that bad of a singer, and Elliott, the only person Kurt had actually picked personally. He really did like the guy, and, as a bonus, he was blessed with quite a set of pipes. Thankfully, Kurt had narrowly escaped having to invite Rachel Berry into the band, too. Not that she hadn't done her best to strong-arm him into it, but Santana had put a stop to that shit real quick.

"All positions have been filled, Berry. Sorry," she'd said sweetly with a shrug when Rachel had asked one day at lunch.

"But, as you both know, I'm by far the best singer in the entire school," Rachel protested. "And as someone who is definitely bound for the West End after I finish my studies here, I think it's only natural that you should want to have me in your band. I don't like to brag, but I won my first singing competition at eighteen months old by performing a spectacular rendition of "Express Yourself." Everyone gave me a standing ovation, and several of the judges actually cried."

"Yeah, I don't think they were crying for the reason you think they were," replied Santana dryly as she calmly took a bite of her macaroni and cheese. "There's no room for you, now scram."

"But-"

"Berry, do I needs to open up a can of whoop-ass on you? Because I will. You have no idea how much pent-up rage I have inside of me," said Santana with narrowed eyes as she silently dared Rachel to say one more word. "I'd be happy to explode it all over your face, if you want."

Rachel just glared at her and walked away in a huff as Kurt gave Santana a grateful look.

"I know we've had our, um… differences, but thanks for that," he said awkwardly. He still didn't know how to be around Santana sometimes, considering her history with Carson and the absolute shit show that had resulted. He'd be lying if he said he didn't sometimes think it was her fault that Carson started on the path he was on, but then the rational part of his brain usually chimed in to remind him that wasn't really fair. It wasn't like a broken condom was anyone's fault, really.

"Yeah, well, it's not like telling Rachel to shove it where the sun doesn't shine is any kind of hardship," said Santana with a shrug. "That girl needs an ass beating from here to her precious West End."

"She does," Kurt agreed.

"So, this is me being a nosy bitch, but what exactly is the deal with you and Carson now?" asked Santana. "And don't give me that look I know you want to give me, ok, because I've healed and moved on and all that jazz, and I have a girlfriend so I have zero interest in getting on your brother's dick anymore. Especially not after what happened the last time I did, and especially considering what he's been doing with it lately. I'm just curious, and when I'm curious I either ask people shit or I snoop through their stuff."

Kurt just blinked at her for a minute, considering how to answer that question. "Well, we live together, but…"

"But?" Santana prompted him, through a mouthful of macaroni.

Kurt sighed. "But he's less than thrilled about it, and everything I do annoys him, and I'd like for us to repair our relationship but he's being difficult about it and I don't know why."

Santana gave him an amused look. "You're fucking kidding, right?"

"About what?"

"You don't know why? Jesus, Kurt, are you really that dense? Need I remind you of the blowjob heard round the world?"

Kurt sighed in exasperation. "Is nobody ever going to let that go?"

"Considering that's the entire reason he ended up balls deep in Snix that night, I'd say that no, he's not going to let it go any time soon," replied Santana. "You really fucked him up. Just sayin'."

Kurt frowned down into his lunch, knowing she was right but refusing to let her know that he knew she was right. Santana Lopez needn't think she was always right about everything.

Somehow, when Kurt had said he wanted to start a band, Carson felt like he should have fucking known that would involve loud, obnoxious rehearsals in their living room, of all places. And that, of course, these rehearsals would always be going on at the most inconvenient of times. Now he got to deal not only with Kurt on a regular basis, which was bad enough, but also with Santana, the dancing guy from the party, and some girl he'd never met before in his life.

"Wow, Phillips, I have to say, when I first heard that you were exchanging deep dickings for cash, I had my doubts, I really did. But I have to say, this flat is pretty fucking amazing," Santana said to him the first day he walked into a rehearsal in progress. Kurt glared at her, while Dancing Guy and Mystery Girl both looked uncomfortable.

"Thanks, I guess?" said Carson.

"By the way, have you met my new girlfriend?" asked Santana, pointing to Mystery Girl. "This is Dani."

"Hi, how's it going?" said Dani.

"Fine," muttered Carson.

"And I'm Elliott," said the guy next to them, holding out his hand and giving Carson a warm smile. "You must be Kurt's brother. Well, I mean, obviously. I saw you at your party before, but I don't think we met."

"Pleasure," Carson mumbled, grudgingly shaking Elliott's hand and dropping it as quickly as possible. "Kurt, can I see you for a moment?" He yanked Kurt by the wrist into the bedroom hallway and gave him a stern look.

"Kurt, what the actual fuck are you, three other people, and a bunch of music equipment doing in my living room?" asked Carson, trying to keep his voice low and calm.

"That's my band," replied Kurt.

"Uh-huh. I kind of figured that part out for myself, because I'm a smart boy, but that still doesn't answer the question of what the fuck your band is doing in the living room," said Carson irritably.

"We're rehearsing."

"Not in my living room you're not."

"Well, we don't have anywhere else to do it at the moment," protested Kurt. "It won't be forever, just until Pamela Lansbury can afford some actual rehearsal space."

Carson blinked at him in confusion for a second. "Pamela who?"

"Pamela Lansbury. It's the name of our band."

"...Kurt, that's the stupidest fucking band name I've ever heard in my life."

"Well, I wanted to name it One Three Hill, but then Santana brought her girlfriend into it," explained Kurt.

Carson closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I'm going to assume that no matter how much or how hard I protest against this, you're just going to steamroll right over me and do what you want, aren't you?"

"Basically, yeah."

Carson sighed. "Whatever. Keep it to reasonable hours, and when I'm trying to sleep you better get your island of misfit Pamela Lansburys the fuck out of my flat."

"Ok," agreed Kurt cheerfully, giving him a kiss on the cheek that both pleased him and infuriated him at the same time.

Of course, having Pamela Lansbury rehearse in the flat wasn't all bad. For a Madonna cover band with such a stupid name, everyone seemed to wear a lot of leather, and Carson would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the sight of Kurt gyrating his hips in his skintight leather rehearsal outfits. He appreciated it a lot, in fact. No one had to know that he rubbed one out a couple of times while remembering the mental image of one particular outfit, a leather vest with tight black jeans and a studded collar. Kurt had looked damn good. He'd hated himself afterwards, but still.

What he didn't appreciate was rehearsals going on when he was trying to entertain company in his bedroom, and he had a feeling that Kurt knew this damn well. In fact, he was pretty sure it was meant as a counter-attack, of sorts. Carson brought clients home in the first place because he knew it pissed Kurt off, so clearly this was Kurt's way of trying to piss Carson off right back.

Well played, Kurt. Well played.

You and your fucking leather. I'm not gonna lie, I would do things to you in that outf-

Ugh, Carson, stop it. He's being a childish brat, you should be wanting to choke him, not fuck him.

A circus. My life is a fucking circus.

"I'm just saying, it's complete bullshit that he grounded me for that," Sebastian was grumbling one afternoon in late December as he and Carson headed through the building toward Carson's flat. "All I did was scrape the side of his stupid car. I know it's a classic car and all, but come on, it can be fixed. It's not like I killed anyone."

"I don't know, being grounded by your dad wouldn't be that bad, in my opinion," shrugged Carson as they got off the elevator and started down the hallway. Thankfully, he didn't hear any Madonna music coming from the direction of his flat, so he assumed that meant that Pamela Lansbury was on an off day. "Hell, he could spank me, if he wanted. Mmm. Yeah, he could."

"Oh my fucking god, Carson, can you just not?" groaned Sebastian as Carson let them into the flat. "It's gross as hell."

"I disagree," said Carson, stopping in his tracks when he entered the flat and realized that something was dramatically different. Namely, the dizzying amount of lights, wreaths, and various assortments of Christmas related crap that was sprinkled throughout the apartment, right down to little red candles on the kitchen table. Kurt was in the living room, stringing colored lights along the window border and humming "Sleigh Ride" under his breath.

"Kurt, I feel like I've gotten a lot of mileage out of this phrase since you started squatting here, but what the fuck is all this shit?" asked Carson, already exasperated even before Kurt opened his mouth.

"Well, I just thought it would be nice to decorate for Christmas," Kurt replied, giving Carson a nervous smile, as if he knew that Carson was about to rain on his parade. "I mean, since it's our, um… our first, kind of…"

"It's not our first anything, and please take all this shit down," Carson demanded. "I don't want to celebrate Christmas."

Kurt gave him a horrified look. "But…. I mean…. it's Christmas, Carson!"

"I'm aware. That's great. You go home and celebrate Christmas with Mom if you want, but I'd rather not," Carson insisted. "Christmas is for people who believe in miracles and magic and joy, and I don't subscribe to any of those anymore. Seriously, take it all down. Come on, Sebastian," he said, grabbing Sebastian by the hand and dragging him toward the bedroom.

"Wait!" said Kurt, rushing over and wedging himself between the two of them. "Can I at least show you where I was going to put the tree?"

"No."

"Ok, ok, can I show you all the stuff I put up, though?" Kurt tried again, grabbing Carson's hand.

"Kurt, Sebastian and I are going to fuck, whether we do it now or after you've shown me your millions of Christmas decorations, so why don't we both save ourselves some time?" grumbled Carson. "Come on, Sebastian."

The sound of the flat's buzzer ringing insistently interrupted them, and Carson rolled his eyes in exasperation as he crossed over to answer the door.

"Yeah, yeah, keep your hair on, I'm coming," he said, undoing the lock and yanking the door open. He was startled to see Sebastian's dad standing on the other side, and quickly tried to change his demeanor.

"Why, hello," he said flirtatiously. "What brings you here, Mr. Smythe?"

"Sorry to intrude, Carson, I'm just here to drag my son home," said Mr. Smythe, looking around Carson for Sebastian, who looked embarrassed beyond belief.

"You can intrude on me anytime," Carson said, raising one eyebrow at him and leaning seductively against the door frame.

"Oh my god," muttered Sebastian as Kurt looked like he couldn't decide whether to be amused or horrified.

"Sebastian Smythe, you get over here this instant," Mr. Smythe demanded sternly. "You know perfectly well you're grounded."

"Oooh, Sebastian's in trouble," Carson teased. "Are you gonna spank him? I really need a spanking too, you know. I've been a bad boy lately, and I don't have a tall, handsome daddy to spank me and teach me a lesson. Sebastian, you should feel lucky."

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking goooood," Sebastian groaned, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment as Kurt watched the scene in front of him unfold, mouth agape. Mr. Smythe himself was flushing ever so slightly, but he cleared his throat and glared at his son.

"Sebastian. Now. Say goodbye to Carson and Kurt."

"Oh my god, Dad, I'm not five," grumbled Sebastian as he made his way over to the door at last. Mr. Smythe sternly led him away and Carson waved exaggeratedly.

"By, Sebastian!" he called cheerfully as he closed the door. "I'll owe you a freebie next time!" He turned around to see Kurt still staring at him in disbelief, a string of lights still in his hand. "Oh, don't act like you never noticed what a fine piece of ass Daddy Smythe is. My god, the things I would let him do to me for free."

Kurt looked like he really wanted to give a sarcastic response to that, but made a heroic effort not to. "Do I really have to get rid of all the Christmas stuff?" he asked, doing the lip biting thing that Carson hated, because he always had a hard time sticking to his guns and saying no when he did it.

"Yes."

"Can't we at least do a tree?"

"No."

"Can I put one in my room, at least?" Kurt pleaded.

"Do whatever you want in your room, but the rest of the place is off limits," Carson conceded. "Now seriously, take all this shit down. It looks like Rudolph and Father Christmas threw up in here."

Kurt sighed, but obeyed, flashing Carson wounded puppy eyes while he did it. Carson did his best to ignore him, refusing to be suckered in by those eyes. It pissed him off that he still felt like those eyes had power over him, no matter how much he tried to pretend they didn't. Such as, for instance, the way they haunted him until he snuck out to a store on Christmas Eve, picking out a dainty china ornament in the shape of a musical note, which he quietly slipped onto Kurt's little bedroom tree when his twin wasn't there.

He grunted and pretended not to know what the fuck the cautious, quick hug Kurt gave him the next morning was for, but he let him do it anyway.

I hate myself. Don't slip up and give in like that again, Carson.

By a couple of weeks into the new year, Carson had pretty much all but given up legitimately trying to get Kurt out of the flat. If he was being completely honest with himself, he had gotten so used to having Kurt around that if his brother were to leave now, he wasn't entirely sure he would like it. Sure, Kurt was a pain in the ass and more often than not acted like an annoying little fucker, but, in a weird way, Carson found it comforting. Besides, he realized that he'd sort of missed his opportunity to ever seriously remove him. Like it or not, he was stuck with Kurt permanently. Or, at least, for the next few months, until he graduated and moved away to university where, hopefully, Kurt wouldn't follow him unless he was the most determined stalker ever.

Although he may have resigned himself to sharing living space with Kurt, that did not even remotely mean that he didn't find his twin to be an absolute thorn in his side for a significant portion of every day. Carson sometimes wondered if anyone would ever believe that he and Kurt were the same age if they weren't identical, considering the childish way his twin acted most of the time. The incessant cockblocking, in particular, annoyed the fuck out of Carson. He was wary of bringing new clients back to the flat much anymore unless he knew Kurt wouldn't be home, because it was almost a guaranteed certainty that his brother would find some way to either drive the guy off, or, barring that, make the entire experience miserable and uncomfortable for all parties involved, whether it be wedging himself between them on the sofa or going so far as to place duct tape, rope, and a knife on Carson's bed in plain sight of the horrified client. Carson had had a hell of a job explaining that one away. He thought it was incredibly hypocritical of Kurt to act like that when Carson knew damn well he was at least casually dating that guy from his band. Kurt hadn't been blatant about it like he'd been with Adam, but Carson wasn't stupid or blind. He wouldn't have been surprised if they'd had sex at least once.

Real rich of him, wanting me to stay as chaste and pure as the driven snow while he can toy with anyone he wants anytime he wants, all while claiming he wants me back. Wow, Kurt, I feel the love and devotion, I really do.

Basically, Kurt wasn't doing much to endear himself to Carson, and most of the time he really wanted to murder him, but he dealt with those bursts of frustration by getting revenge on him in a safer, non-deadly way whenever Kurt pushed his buttons particularly hard. He was pretty proud of some of his methods, if he did say so himself. Sure, he did the usual pedestrian shit like hiding his shoes, switching the labels on his beauty creams, and short-sheeting his bed, but he also could get really creative when the mood struck him. One time, for example, he had replaced Kurt's rehearsal microphone with a fake one that could be set to all sorts of weird sounding voices. He figured that if Kurt was going to hijack the living room to practice with Pamela Lansbury, then he at least had the right to make his twin's rendition of "This Used To Be My Playground" sound like it was being sung by Alvin and the Chipmunks and refuse to tell him the location of his real microphone. It had been worth every second of stink-eye he'd gotten from Kurt for the rest of that night.

Another time, after making sure his phone was safely hidden away and locked with a password of his own choosing, lest Kurt get it into his head to go through it and delete all his contacts or something, he had bought the most colorful, purple powdered drink mix he could find at the market and mixed the lot of it into Kurt's conditioner bottle. He'd narrowly escaped being kicked in the nuts for that, but watching Kurt have to go through an entire weekend with dingy, purple hair was worth the risk.

But so far, his favorite prank (and, incidentally, the one he ended up regretting the most) had been pulled off after a particularly hard Sunday, where he'd had to deal not only with the usual Kurt clinginess, but with the world's longest, loudest Pamela Lansbury rehearsal in all of recorded history while he was trying to nurse a horrible hangover. He'd knocked back more than a few cocktails at the party he and his most recent client had attended the night before.

After the third goddamn hour, Carson had been ready to straight up murder every last member of the band, plus Madonna, plus whoever had invented music in the first place. The discovery that there were no more headache pills in the flat did absolutely nothing to improve his mood. Kurt was definitely going to pay for it.

So, he came home early from school the next afternoon, armed with several bags worth of small paper mouth rinsing cups and a large jug of water. He settled himself on the floor in the hallway outside of Kurt's room, painstakingly filling cup after cup full of water until he had made it halfway out of the hallway, right where his own bedroom door was. If Kurt wanted to get into his bedroom that night, he'd have to work for it. It was only fair, after all. He hadn't let Carson get any well-deserved sleep the previous day, so he didn't get to have any sleep that night. Unless he wanted to sleep in the living room, of course.

He got himself a snack, settled into his own room, and did his homework, eagerly anticipating his twin's return from wherever the hell he was hanging out that afternoon. He waited until his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, and he curled up under his covers for a quick nap, figuring he could still wake up before Kurt got home.

The footsteps were what woke him up first, followed by a blast of cool air as his blankets were moved around, and then, finally, the weight of a warm body settling into the bed beside him. He considered screaming for a few seconds, until he realized that the body felt awfully familiar.

"Kurt?" he asked groggily, sitting up in bed and looking beside him. Kurt was curled up on the other side of the bed, fully dressed as he looked up at Carson with big, innocent blue eyes.

"Yes, Carson?"

"Get the fuck out of my bed."

"I'm sorry, Carson, I can't do that," replied Kurt calmly, shifting to make himself more comfortable. "See, a sadistic little elf has filled the hallway outside of my bedroom with millions of little paper cups full of water, and obviously, that means I can't get to my room to sleep in there."

"Well, maybe that elf is trying to prove a point, because they had a headache yesterday and had to suffer through it while Kurtsie and the Pussycats screeched their way through seventeen different renditions of "Borderline," muttered Carson. "You know, just a guess."

"Be that as it may, I'm tired and in no mood to move all those cups, so I guess I'm sleeping in here," Kurt declared.

"My ass you are."

"Deal with it, Carson."

"No, now get the fuck out of my bed and go sleep on the sofa!"

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Noooo," whined Kurt.

"Kurt, I swear to fucking god, you are so lucky I haven't murdered you," said Carson through gritted teeth. "Trust me, it's a fine line I walk every single fucking day."

"Come on, Carson, I'm really tired and it will take forever to remove all those cups," Kurt pleaded. "Can I just sleep here for one night?"

For one, brief second, Carson seriously considered giving in. He considered letting him stay exactly where he was, all curled up under the blankets and irresistably adorable, with his sad puppy face. He considered the possibility of Kurt moving closer to him in his sleep without realizing it, burrowing into his side like he used to, while Carson looked into his sleeping face and maybe put one careful arm around him without waking up. He could always pretend in the morning that it had been an accident.

And then the logical part of his brain kicked into gear, the part that told him that if he gave in this one time, he would be on a dangerously slippery slope toward giving in completely and letting himself be so stupid as to start falling for Kurt again, and that resisting him would just be that much harder. He told himself that would be the dumbest thing he could do, because he and his heart had been through enough, and already he had trouble sometimes not pushing his brother up against the wall and kissing him until he couldn't breathe, just to let off steam and built-up sexual tension, if nothing else.

No. He had to stay strong and not give in.

"Kurt, you have thirty seconds to get up out of this bed. You're welcome to take a blanket and pillow with you into the living room, but you can't stay here," he said calmly. "It's either that, or I physically put you out of the flat and into the hallway for the night. Your choice."

He quickly glanced away from the wounded look Kurt gave him, not wanting to make this any more difficult than it had to be. Thankfully, Kurt sat up, grabbed a pillow and a blanket, and marched out of the room without another word, leaving Carson alone in the dark with his thoughts.

How is it possible to hate and love someone so much at the same time?

No, stop. You don't love him, remember? At most you're in lust, if you're anything. It'll pass. It always does. Go the fuck to bed.

Kurt let himself into the flat late one weekday afternoon, keeping an ear out for any evidence that anyone else was around as he set his bag down on the kitchen table. Generally, he could never be sure anymore whether the flat would be empty or if Carson would be there when he got home, either alone or with a client. Lately, it seemed like his twin had been making more and more of a point to bring men back to the flat, as if to remind Kurt in no uncertain terms about the way he wanted things to be. It was like he'd noticed the same little bits of progress that Kurt had noticed, the little ways in which he sometimes achieved tiny victories with him. The looks he sometimes gave Kurt when he thought no one was watching. The music note ornament at Christmas. It was like shoving his profession in Kurt's face was his way of reminding him that no, he hadn't broken him and never would. It drove Kurt absolutely mad with jealousy and anger, knowing that some strange man was in the next room doing god only knew what to his brother, but he had his own ways of dealing with it.

"Kurt!" Carson's voice suddenly boomed out from the hallway as Kurt grabbed the milk out of the refrigerator. Oh, I guess he's home after all. Footsteps stomped through the flat, and Carson appeared in the kitchen, clearly irritated as he waved a piece of paper around.

"What the fuck is this?" he demanded.

"What's what?" asked Kurt innocently, even though he knew exactly what it was, because he had been the one responsible for its existence in the first place.

"You know goddamn well what," said Carson, shoving the paper in Kurt's face and forcefully jabbing a finger at it. "This."

"Oh, that," said Kurt dismissively as he took a cup out of the cupboard and started pouring milk into it. "Just a harmless little prank. Calm your tits."

"It's not just a harmless little prank, you asshole, it's another one of your stupid attempts to cockblock me, and I'm sick of it. "Carson," he started reading out loud from the paper, his voice so full of irritation that it shook a little. "I filled the bathtub with ice and left a cooler on the toilet like you asked me to. Give me a ring when you want me to help with pickup and disposal. Love, Kurt. Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Oh, come on. I thought it was funny," said Kurt as he sipped his milk. "I'm sure your…. your guest probably thought it was a riot, too. If he has a sense of humor at all."

"I don't actually have a client here, thank Christ," grumbled Carson as he squashed the paper into a ball and slammed it on the counter.

"Oh… no?" asked Kurt calmly, even though this particular bit of news was like a small victory for him, in a way.

"No. Good thing, otherwise he would have been scared off. Not to mention he might possibly have called the police, thinking I'm some insane, kidney harvesting murderer," said Carson angrily. "This bullshit has got to stop. You can't keep cockblocking me every chance you get."

"And why not?" asked Kurt.

"Because I don't fucking belong to you," replied Carson, raising his voice in exasperation. "It's my life, it's my body, and you don't get to dictate what I do with either one."

"Forgive me for trying to look out for my big brother," muttered Kurt.

"Oh, don't give me that shit," yelled Carson, stepping closer to him and crowding his space so that Kurt was almost pressed against the wall. "This isn't about you looking out for me because you care, this is about you trying to control my life because you're jealous and possessive, and you don't want anyone playing with your toys, even if you aren't using them. Nobody's feelings or opinions or right to live their life matters except yours, isn't that right?"

"That… that's not true," Kurt stammered, suddenly realizing just how close Carson was, and just how wild he looked. He flashed back to the last time they'd been in this position, when Kurt had first arrived at the flat and startled him. He'd kissed Carson last time, hadn't been able to help himself, but this time he didn't know what was going to happen.

"Oh?" said Carson in a low voice laced with danger, heat practically radiating off of him and landing on Kurt like an enveloping, hot fog. "So that dude you've been hanging around with? Elijah whoever?"

"Elliott," murmured Kurt.

"Right. Him. So what the fuck is that, exactly? You want me sooo bad, but you're still screwing around with other guys?"

"We aren't… we aren't dating, or anything," stammered Kurt as Carson moved in even closer, leaving so little space between them that just half an inch more would have their bodies pressed up against each other. His heart sped up and his blood pumped forcefully through his body as he swallowed nervously. "We've gone out a few times, but.."

"But you are seeing him."

"I… I mean… I… no… I don't know… " Kurt's ability to form words was fading fast as he made eye contact with Carson, whose formidable face was causing him to feel faint. He and Elliott had gone out a few times, yes, but Kurt hadn't been sure whether to call them dates or not. Especially not with circumstances being what they were.

"You know, you have a really fucked up way of proving to people that you want them," remarked Carson, closing the last of the distance between them as he spoke and causing Kurt to suck in a nervous breath, "Tell me, Kurt, what do you think this guy would think if he saw you right now and realized he was just another in a long line of your playthings?"

"I…" Kurt began, nervously reaching for Carson's arm.

"Shut up," Carson hissed suddenly, grabbing Kurt's wrist away from his arm forcefully and gripping it tightly, his blue eyes dark and almost dancing with sudden fire.

"But-"

"I said shut up," Carson repeated with a growl, gripping Kurt's wrist tighter. "Just shut the fuck up."

Before Kurt could react, his twin's other hand was reaching up and grabbing a fistful of hair as he pulled him into a messy, rough kiss. Kurt gasped into it, caught completely off guard as he tried to get his bearings. He opened his mouth slightly, and Carson's already insistent lips grew even more so. His tongue was slipping inside before Kurt could even finish processing the chorus of Oh my god, oh my fucking god, he's kissing me, what do I do that kept flashing through his mind. And Carson certainly was kissing him. He was kissing him hard and deep and with so much force and animalistic hunger that Kurt had no idea how he managed to keep himself in an upright position, much less kiss back.

When they finally pulled their lips apart, Kurt felt so lightheaded and faint that his knees actually buckled a little as he felt most of the blood in his body travelling in the direction of his crotch, his dick quickly springing to attention and straining painfully against the restrictive fabric of his tight jeans. He wasn't capable of doing much other than breathing very heavily and looking at Carson in shock. Carson looked just as shocked, his eyes wide, his lips swollen and his pale cheeks tinged with blotches of bright red. He looked positively sinful, and Kurt was honestly at a loss for words.

"Carson," he finally managed to squeak out, but he was silenced quickly by the return of Carson's lips on his, pulling him back into another hungry kiss.

"I said shut up," Carson murmured against his lips. Kurt felt hands on his thighs, and then Carson was hoisting him up, placing his hands under his ass to aid in lifting him. Kurt got the hint and wrapped his legs around Carson's waist, letting his twin carry him over to the kitchen table. Carson swept one hand over it, sending papers and several odds and ends careening to the ground as he plopped Kurt unceremoniously down on top of it and then draped his body over him. Kurt's heart thudded against his ribcage as a strong, dominant hand started fumbling with the button of his jeans, and his already hard dick throbbed painfully in anticipation. Carson broke away from the kiss long enough to pull Kurt's jeans down over his ass before he dove back in, biting at Kurt's bottom lip while Kurt himself finally found the brain function to start inching his hands up underneath his brother's T-shirt.

"This is what you wanted, right?" said Carson breathlessly, his eyes wild and unhinged as they looked down at Kurt. He lowered his hips and started circling them, creating torturous friction against Kurt's underwear-covered erection. "This is what you've been after ever since you wormed your way into this flat, isn't it?"

Kurt moaned in frustration, his hands roaming over the soft skin of Carson's back, and Carson forcefully yanked them away, pinning them to the table on either side of Kurt's head. He had Kurt completely at his mercy as he held him down and continued circling his hips as slowly as humanly possible, and Kurt didn't know whether to be incredibly turned on or slightly scared as to what was going to happen next. He was pretty sure he felt a mix of both.

"Yeah, this is exactly what you wanted," Carson answered his own question as he leaned back down to nip at Kurt's lip again. "I really shouldn't give it to you. It's not like you fucking deserve it."

"No… no, please," Kurt begged, not caring how he sounded. He felt like he would die if Carson didn't continue, and Carson obviously knew that, judging by the mischievous look he gave him as he slowed down the movement of his hips even more.

"Beg for it."

"Fuck me," Kurt pleaded immediately, all semblance of pride falling out the window as he strained against the tight grip his brother had on his wrists. This was the closest he had been to Carson in a very long time, and he couldn't have cared less about the circumstances. He would take what he could get. He watched, groaning a little as Carson released him and rooted around in his pocket, retrieving a condom and a small container of lube. He tried not to think about why his brother just carried those around. He just concentrated on the here and now. And the here and now involved laying on his back on that cold, hard kitchen table, and Carson looking down at him with fire in his eyes as he stripped off his clothing. He had a pretty good idea what was about to happen, and yet…. at the same time, he had absolutely no idea. He'd never seen Carson like this before during a sexual encounter. So uninhibited and unhinged. It was new and exciting, but it also made his heart pump nervously, so loudly he could hear it echoing in his ears.

"You have three seconds to get naked," he said, and Kurt scurried to obey, ripping off the rest of his clothes as fast as he possibly could. Carson wasted no time crawling between his thighs once he'd settled a dish towel underneath Kurt, his eyes dark as he looked down at him. Kurt felt his thighs being shoved roughly apart, and then the sound of the lube bottle opening echoed through the kitchen before insistent fingers started probing at him. He gasped when Carson's fingers breached him, his twin starting off with two and giving no concern at all for being gentle or slow. He pumped his fingers in and out while Kurt screwed his eyes shut, focusing on the all-encompassing feeling of Carson that was taking over every one of his senses.

"Fuck," he moaned, his back arching when Carson put pressure on his prostate, taking his time before dragging the fingers out. His brother's free hand squeezed his thigh, the pressure almost painful as a third finger was added to the ones invading his body. It burned, but it was so good. He lifted himself up in an attempt to get Carson's fingers deeper, but Carson pushed him back down, glaring at him disapprovingly.

"Don't get greedy," he admonished him, removing his fingers from Kurt and wiping them on the dish towel. He reached for the condom, and Kurt took the opportunity to steal a glance at his body. In particular, his dick, long and thick and rock hard, jutting out like some kind of marble work of art. It had been so long since he'd had that part of Carson inside of him, and he suddenly realized just how much he ached for it as he watched Carson roll the condom on and lube himself up.

"This in no way, shape, or form means that we're even remotely back together," Carson said as he positioned himself between Kurt's legs. "Understand?"

Kurt frowned, looking up at Carson's stony face. "I.."

"Understand?" Carson repeated, more insistently this time. Kurt bit his lip and nodded.

"I underst- oh," he cut himself off as something blunt pressed against him. Carson's hands held him roughly by the thighs as he started pushing inside. He was somehow even bigger than Kurt remembered, and he wasn't going slow at all, causing a sharp burning sensation that seemed to take forever to start fading. He didn't have any other choice but to lay there and take it until Carson was balls deep inside of him. Kurt didn't even care, because this was real, this was him and Carson, and Carson was inside of him and they were both sweaty already, and it was just…

Kurt's train of thought short-circuited altogether when Carson leaned down and nipped a rough bite at the side of his neck before beginning to suck on it. Kurt hadn't known it was humanly possible to get any harder than he was already, but apparently it was. He wished he had sheets to grip at, but the lack of anything to keep him grounded somehow made everything ten times more intense as Carson started pumping into him, snapping his hips forward roughly and causing Kurt to cry out. He settled for wrapping his arms around him and gripping at Carson's back instead.

"God, you really were eager for it," Carson murmured in a low, raspy voice as he rocked forward, his speed and rhythm relentless as he fucked Kurt mercilessly. Kurt felt his nails digging into the skin of Carson's back, and it gave him a weird sort of satisfaction to know that he was marking him in some way, leaving visible evidence that he'd been there that Carson may be able to hide, but would still be able to feel for quite a while.

Carson gave a particularly hard thrust then, and Kurt's eyes rolled back in his head as his twin's pace grew even faster, every thrust sending waves of heat and electricity through his entire body. It had never been like this, not ever. Not with Carson and sure as hell not with any other guy he'd been with. This was a completely new, primal, animalistic experience, and Kurt almost couldn't take it. He completely lacked the ability to do much more than moan and surrender himself as Carson pounded into him like there was no tomorrow, sliding both of them up the table with the force of his thrusts. He opened his mouth in a completely silent scream when Carson resumed sucking on his neck, his ability to make sound completely lost as unadulterated pleasure overtook him. He would have gladly given up everything he owned just to make it possible to never stop being fucked like this.

"Take it… fucking take it," Carson growled as he nipped at Kurt's sensitive neck with his teeth. His rhythm had slowed some, and Kurt wanted to groan in protest, but then his twin picked it back up again, pounding him in a relentless rhythm that almost made Kurt's body sizzle with electric jolts. Carson shifted his hips slightly then, and the new angle caused his dick to hit his prostate dead-on. If Kurt thought he could barely handle the pleasure before, it was absolutely nothing compared to what he was going through now. His dick was swollen and throbbing, trapped between their bodies as Carson fucked him, and he felt both like he never wanted this to end, but also like he was going to pass out or die any second. For the briefest of seconds, a calm settled over him as he was absolutely certain he was going to pass out.

And then Carson delivered one, final, powerful thrust, and the entire world exploded in one long blast of white-hot, unbearable pleasure. His ability to make noise returned to him as he dug his nails into Carson's back and screamed out his orgasm, the sound so loud it pierced the air and resounded throughout the flat as if they were in a cave. The pleasure seemed endless as he just kept on coming, painting Carson's stomach white and babbling nonsense words until his orgasm finally started to ebb away, electric jolts of bliss coming back to haunt him every few seconds. Carson kept pushing into his overly-sensitive body, not slowing down in the slightest for a few more minutes, and Kurt really didn't think he would be able to take much more. Just when he felt like he'd reached his threshold, though, Carson finally stilled and came with a broken moan that would have made Kurt's dick twitch if he hadn't just come his brains out.

His brother stayed inside him for the briefest of moments, continuing to pepper Kurt's neck with kisses that were noticeably softer than they were before. The fiery roughness seemed to be gone as Carson sagged against him, releasing his grip on Kurt's thighs to a more gentle one. It almost felt loving, in a way, and Kurt let himself hope that it was.

But then the moment was gone and Carson was pulling out, climbing off of him and disposing of the condom before pulling his clothes back on.

"Get dressed," he said as he buttoned up his jeans. "We have to clean that table."

Kurt frowned and sat up, wincing in pain when he did it too fast and a sharp jolt of discomfort shot up his well-used ass. He hobbled off the table, slowly gathering his clothes and pulling them back on as he watched Carson gather a bottle of cleaner and a roll of napkins from under the kitchen sink. His demeanor was so normal and businesslike, as though absolutely nothing had happened, and Kurt tried to shake off his disappointment that there hadn't been even so much as something resembling a brief cuddle.

"This doesn't mean we're back together," Carson had said, and he'd probably meant it, but Kurt couldn't really stop himself from wishing with all his might that he hadn't.