So what if I think he's beautiful? thought Carson as he and Santana stood in an alcove outside the school one cold, February morning. They were making use of the time before class started to unload a bit of the good quality weed Carson had gotten his hands on earlier in the week. Or, at least, they were supposed to be. Carson was having a hard time concentrating on the task at hand. All he could think about was Kurt. Which, in a nutshell, was sort of his whole problem lately.

Ever since he'd been confronted with a surprise erection in English class, courtesy of Kurt's ass, he'd been struggling with so many confusing feelings. He'd actually needed to jerk off in the bathroom that day, and he had felt weird as hell about it. On one hand, well... he'd had a boner, and he needed to do something about it. And on the other hand, Kurt was his fucking brother. The fact that he was even thinking about him in that way was making him feel like a sleazy pervert.

But, like it or not, it just kept on happening. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, Carson found himself spending more and more chunks of every day just thinking about Kurt (and Kurt's ass in tight jeans, mostly). Thankfully, he'd managed, somehow, not to incorporate Kurt into any more of his masturbatory fantasies. So far.

It wasn't even just that, though. That wasn't all that was bugging him. There was also the fact that he just thought about Kurt all the time in general. Just everything about him. Like how adorable he was when he dressed for a night out and did that thing where he checked out his own ass in the mirror. Or that cute little way he squinted his eyes and wrinkled up his nose when he couldn't quite believe what he had just seen or heard. Or the way he always smelled like watermelon lotion, and how that lotion made his hands unbelievably soft and silky. Or how, even though Carson would rather die than ever admit this to anyone, the way his stomach turned into a gaggle of butterflies every time Kurt touched his hand or placed his arm around him, pulling him close in a way that was meant to be protective and brotherly.

That last part was what was bothering Carson the most. Because he wasn't sure that it felt as brotherly to him as it did to Kurt.

As if I wasn't a fucked up enough person, now I'm developing a fucking crush on my brother, he thought, frowning as he collected the money from a customer and Santana handed her a small bag. Just fucking great.

"What's wrong with you today?" asked Santana, turning to frown at him as their customer shoved her purchase in her pocket and disappeared into the building.

"Nothing's wrong," Carson said quickly. "It's just early."

"Well, you need to snap the fuck out of it," replied Santana, annoyed. "That's the third time I've had to prompt you to take the money while you just stand there brooding like a freak. Jesus."

"Sorry," Carson snapped. "You don't have to be such a bitch about it." He saw a pair of teachers walking in their direction and leaned casually up against the wall, Santana following suit.

"Frankly, you've been like this a lot since Christmas, and it's both amusing and irritating," Santana continued. "What's the matter? Thinking about how much you want to bone your brother, or what?"

Carson went rigid, his heart thumping inside his chest as he felt the tell-tale heat in his cheeks that meant he was blushing. "Santana, what the fuck?" he hissed, desperately trying to appear normal and unruffled.

"So you are thinking about Kurt, then," she said matter of factly as she casually examined her nails. "I figured as much."

Carson blushed even more, feeling the heat spreading down his entire body as his brain panicked and worked overtime trying to figure out how in the hell she even knew that. He opened his mouth, ready to tell her she was wrong and to shove off, but somehow, he couldn't force words to come out. He just stood there, gaping like a complete idiot, while Santana smiled to herself.

"What the fuck?" he said again when he could finally force his mouth to form words. "I am not!"

Santana snorted, smiling her "Oh, you poor fool" smile and looking over at him with one raised eyebrow. "I think you are, and if I'm wrong I'll promise to give up smoking and go with my mother to church regularly for a month. But I'm pretty sure I'm right, so I am in no way worried about having to go through that torture."

Carson glared at her, knowing by the smug look on her face that he was caught, and that she knew he knew it. "Piss off."

"Hey, don't be a tit to me just because you want to screw your own twin," said Santana. "That's not my fault, V.C. Andrews."

Carson crossed his arms and dug into the dirt on the ground with the toe of his sneaker. "I hate you," he muttered.

"No, you don't. You're just an angry asshole," said Santana with a shrug.

"How the fuck did you even know?" he asked her irritably.

"I'm psychic," replied Santana.

"No, I mean really, how did you know?" snapped Carson.

Santana snorted again. "Please. You couldn't be more obvious about it if you went around with a neon sign above your head that said "Place Kurt Here" with an arrow pointing to your dick. Did you know that your eyes automatically fix themselves right on Kurt's ass the second you think no one is looking? Because they do."

Carson just glared straight ahead, trying his best to retain what little composure he could. "No, they don't," he said weakly.

"Oh, honey," said Santana, patting him on the shoulder. "Yes, they do. You want to fuck him so bad. But don't worry, I'm not going to say anything to anyone. Yet. I'm just going to really enjoy making fun of you for this until the very end of time. Ok?"

Carson gathered up his bag and opened up his wallet, noticing that there was way more money in there than there should have been. Kurt must have slipped me money again. I wish he wouldn't do that. It makes me feel like some kind of charity case. He shoved Santana's share of the pot money into her hand, giving her his best bitch glare (which, under the circumstances, probably wasn't very good). "Just shut up and mind your own damn business," he snapped, leaving her outside as he headed into the building. His heart was still racing, and he was still flushing with embarrassment. He needed to calm down.

Fuck what Santana thinks, anyway, he thought bitterly as he made his way down the corridors, which were still relatively empty, since classes didn't begin for another thirty minutes. I do NOT want to fuck Kurt.

Except, he realized as he thought back to all the times in the past two months in which he'd come dangerously close to putting Kurt in a starring role in all the fantasies that raced through his brain while he took care of business, it kind of seemed like he did.

Goddamn it.

He glanced down at his watch, realizing that Kurt had about fifteen minutes left of glee rehearsal before he could meet up with him. He debated going to their spot to wait for him, but something inside urged him to head in the direction of the auditorium instead. He could sit in on the rest of rehearsal, and then he and Kurt could head for their spot together.

Besides, he thought happily, I can prove to myself that I'm NOT always staring at Kurt's ass. I bet I don't even stare at it once while I'm in there.

He quietly pushed the door to the auditorium open, sneaking into a seat in the back row and staring up at the stage, where Kurt and most of the club were arranged in a circle around Rachel Berry, as though it were some kind of Satanic cult meeting and Rachel was the sacrifice. Not a bad idea, he thought, smiling to himself at the thought of Rachel being tossed into a giant wicker man and burned alive.

I'm kind of evil, and I'm ok with this.

"From the top," their instructor called out from his seat in the middle of the audience, and Rachel started singing while everyone else provided a bevy of ooohs and aaaahs. Carson frowned and crossed his arms.

This is such bullshit. Kurt should be singing lead on this song. He should be singing lead on every song. Have they ever heard him sing? He sings like an angel. He watched as everybody paired off into boy/girl combinations to perform a complicated looking dance routine, frowning at the way Kurt effortlessly picked up his partner around the waist to twirl her in time to the music. He wished, for a brief second, that he could be in the girl's place, but he quickly shook himself out of it.

You are NOT jealous, Carson. He's your brother. And besides, she's a girl, so you literally have nothing to be jealous of. Except for the fact that his hands are on her waist right now, and that could totally be YOUR waist. Wait... no. That's wrong, because you shouldn't want that, because he's your BROTHER. In no way are you jealous of that girl. Nope.

Kurt's ass looks amazing in those white pants, though. They must be his new ones. I can see the outline perfectly, and... oh, FUCK. Santana's right. She's completely fucking right. I really DO stare at his ass all the time, don't I? He thanked his lucky stars that there wasn't anyone around to witness the furious blush that he could feel spreading across his face as he quickly averted his eyes away from Kurt.

The song ended at last, and everyone was dismissed. Carson stood up and picked up his bag, frowning as he watched a guy pat Kurt on the shoulder.

"Good job today, Kurt," said the guy.

"Thank you, Scott," Kurt replied, giving him a flirty smile, and Carson frowned harder. Ok, maybe THIS is jealousy. Just a little bit. No, you know what? Fuck that. I'm NOT jealous. I'm not. Guys can flirt with Kurt, I don't care.

Still, he was briskly walking toward the stage, looping his arm through Kurt's when he reached him and giving Scott a sarcastic smile mixed with a glare. "Sorry to interrupt. Great rehearsal. Now Kurt and I have to go. Bye," he said, leading Kurt off the stage and out of the auditorium.

"The hell, Carson?" Kurt said indignantly, shrugging his arm free as they walked down the hallway. "That was rude."

"Sorry," said Carson. "It's sort of a reflex when I see guys hitting on you."

"Yes, well, the next time you get a reflex, kindly tell it to piss off and remind it that you don't own me, and that I can flirt with all the guys I damn well choose to," snapped Kurt. "Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Carson replied, recognizing the tone of voice that meant he should probably back off sooner rather than later.

"Good," said Kurt, looping his arm back through Carson's. "Just checking."

School sucked, as usual, but got slightly more interesting just before lunch, when Carson was sitting in his science class, bored out of his skull. There was a knock on the door, and his teacher paused in her lecture to open it, revealing Malerie holding a handful of pink and white carnations.

"Valentine carnation delivery, Mrs. Freeling," she announced with a smile, and the teacher nodded and waved her in. Carson had completely forgotten that it was Valentine's Day. Every year, the school held a fundraiser in which they sold carnations, which people bought to have delivered to their crushes, significant others, and/or stalking victims during school on Valentine's Day. Naturally, Carson thought the whole thing was stupid. It was always annoying as hell seeing people (usually girls) walking around with handfuls of flowers and giggling over them like they were gold nuggets. Not to mention that Valentine's Day itself was pretty stupid. In Carson's opinion, it was nothing but an excuse for stores to jack up the prices of chocolate and cards, and for people to obsess over having or not having a significant other when they could be putting their energies to good use.

So, other than to smile and wave at Malerie as she entered the room, he didn't pay a speck of attention to the flower delivery going on around him, preferring to concentrate on copying the notes from the whiteboard instead. When Malerie paused at his desk and set down two flowers, he at first thought she had made a mistake.

"Those aren't mine, Malerie," he whispered, not even glancing at them.

"Yes, they are," she insisted, picking up one flower and pointing out the attached label for Carson to read. "See?"

Carson squinted at the label, surprised to see that Malerie was right. "To Carson, from Rachel Berry," was printed neatly on it, and he rolled his eyes as Malerie set it back down on his desk and continued her deliveries. He curiously checked the label of the other flower, expecting to see another one from Rachel. Instead, he widened his eyes in shock when he read "To Carson, from a secret admirer."

Secret admirer? What the actual fucking fuck? he thought, his mind racing as he tried to hide the label from anyone else's view. It's not Rachel, so who the fuck is it? Santana playing the world's lamest practical joke? Malerie, maybe? She's always looking at me weird in Creative Writing, maybe it's her. Or maybe it's not even a girl. It could be a guy too, couldn't it? Well, shit, it could be anybody. What do I do? I don't want to be seen holding this thing around school. What if he or she is watching me? I'm so fucking creeped out right now.

The bell rang shortly after Malerie had left, and Carson decided to just stash the flowers in his locker as soon as possible before he met up with Kurt in the cafeteria for lunch. He practically flew down the halls, breathlessly reaching his locker in under two minutes even though it was all the way across the building. Unfortunately, Kurt was already standing there, waiting for him. He was proudly holding a bouquet of at least a dozen carnations and humming a tune under his breath.

Great. He's going to make fun of me relentlessly for this. Carson sighed and fruitlessly tried to hide the flowers behind his back.

"What are those?" Kurt asked, his eyes zeroing in on the flowers as he raised an eyebrow at Carson.

"Carnations," Carson mumbled, quickly turning the combination on his lock.

"For you?" Kurt asked. "Are you sure they weren't mislabeled ones for me that got delivered to you by mistake?"

"Fuck you," said Carson, rolling his eyes. "Yes, as a matter of fact, they are for me. Both of them."

Kurt grinned, reaching for the flowers and plucking them out of Carson's hand before Carson could stop him. "I see Rachel's continuing her crusade for your heart," he said, snickering down at the label of the first flower.

"Gag me," Carson muttered, waiting for the blow he was expecting to come when Kurt saw the second one.

"Secret admirer, hmm?" said Kurt in a casual tone. "That's adorable. Who do you think it is?"

"Adorable?" Carson exclaimed incredulously. "It's creepy. It means someone is going around watching me and shit, and probably jerking off to thoughts of me. Or whatever the girl version of jerking off is."

Kurt snorted. "Oh, honey."

"Don't "Oh, honey" me," Carson whined.

"It's cute," said Kurt.

"It's weird."

"Well, whoever they are, they're probably just too shy to say anything to you," said Kurt. "You know. For any number of possible reasons. This is probably just their own little way of letting you know somehow that they like you, even if you don't know who they are."

"Yeah, let's just stop talking," said Carson, grabbing the flowers back from Kurt and shoving them in his locker. "And let's go eat. I'm starving."

The gift from his secret admirer, which Carson had been afraid would trigger a barrage of love notes in his locker or something equally as horrifying, turned out to be a non-event. For the next few weeks, he heard absolutely nothing else from the alleged admirer. He figured maybe it really had been Rachel, perhaps sending out the "secret admirer" one before getting a sudden bout of courage and sending one out with her actual name on it, and both had been delivered to him. It made logical sense, he guessed.

So he went back to worrying about his ever-increasing and disturbingly inappropriate feelings for Kurt, which were really starting to eat him up inside. He gave up counting how many times a day he found himself either staring at Kurt's ass or, more often than not, staring intently at his face when Kurt wasn't looking, memorizing every curve and contour and marveling that someone could actually be that beautiful. He supposed that he should feel kind of stupid doing that. After all, he and Kurt did, technically, have the same face. Except, no, they really didn't. When Carson looked in the mirror, he saw nothing but emptiness. It was the hollow, hardened face of someone who had given up on enjoying life early and who had just about run out of fucks to give. It wasn't like that when he looked at Kurt's face. Kurt's face was glowing and beautiful and vibrant. His blue eyes sparkled in a way that Carson's didn't, and he had a certain aura about him that just made you feel at peace when you looked at him.

More importantly, Carson realized, looking at Kurt actually made him feel. He generally walked around feeling so devoid of joy, not caring about anything or anyone except in the most superficial of ways. But he actually felt things whenever he was with Kurt. Pleasant things. It kind of scared him, actually, and yet, at the same time, it was intoxicating. It made him feel like a normal human being for about five seconds, and then he would always remember that it was his brother he was feeling these romantic things for, and he would go back to trying to push them aside. Not that it worked very well.

He let himself into the house one cold afternoon in early March, already in a terrible mood. It had been a very long day at school, and to top it off, it had not been one of Grandma's better days. She had frowned almost immediately upon Carson's arrival in her room, snapping at him to get out immediately. It had broken his heart, but he had obeyed as quickly as possible and then took his time trudging home, kicking rocks the entire way as he worked his way through two cigarettes. Now he was thoroughly exhausted and ready to just sleep the rest of his afternoon away, homework be damned.

His plans for the afternoon were cut short, however, when he walked through the living room and found one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen in his entire life. It was Kurt, clad in his tight yoga pants and an off the shoulder sweater, very intently concentrating on what looked like part of a dance routine while an upbeat song blared out from the speakers of the boombox on the coffee table. Carson had no idea what was going on, but he knew that he liked it very, very, very much. Especially the way that Kurt's pants left little to nothing to the imagination. He could literally see every curve and every bounce of his twin's ass whenever Kurt thrust his hips out and swiveled them around like some kind of porn star.

"Enjoying the view?" asked Kurt breathlessly in mid-move, his routine not wavering in the slightest even as he glanced over at Carson with a smirk.

"No," Carson said quickly. "I mean, yes... I mean... your dancing is, you know... cool, and everything, but, I wasn't..."

"Checking out my ass? Mmm-hmm," said Kurt, punctuating his sentence with a particularly hard thrust of his hips. "Sure."

"I wasn't," Carson insisted, feeling himself blushing. Goddamn it.

"I was just practicing something for glee," Kurt said by way of explanation as he swiveled his hips again in time to the music.

"What the hell are you people doing in that club that requires dancing like that?" asked Carson, horrified by the thought of so many people watching his brother dance like that and getting any ideas.

"It's just a number for the assembly in two weeks," replied Kurt casually. "Nothing major."

"So, in other words, the entire school is going to be watching you dance around like... like..." Carson stammered, unsure how to finish that sentence.

"Like a hot stripper who owns the stage like a bitch, yes," said Kurt, as if they were discussing the weather. "You should come dance with me."

"In front of the entire school? No, thanks. I'd rather die," said Carson.

"Not then, idiot. I meant right now," said Kurt, rolling his eyes. "I could use a partner to practice on."

Carson felt his pants get just a little bit tighter at the prospect of being that close to Kurt's gyrating hips, but he vigorously shook his head. "I... I don't know how to dance or anything."

"So what?" asked Kurt, stopping his dancing and breathing hard as he looked over at Carson. "You don't have to know how. I'll lead, you follow. Come on, it'll be fun."

Carson bit his lip, shaking his head again. "No, I'll pass."

Kurt pouted, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and putting on the pleading face that he knew damn well Carson had very little willpower to resist. "Come oooon. Please? Just through the rest of this number? You know you want to."

Carson sighed. He knew that he was going to end up regretting this, but he set his school bag down and crossed the living room over to Kurt. "Fine. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll smother you in your sleep."

"You're cute. No, you won't," said Kurt happily, grabbing Carson's hand and placing him where he wanted him. Which, as it turned out, was right in front of him, with Kurt's chest pressed up against his back. Oh, sweet Jesus, Carson thought, forgetting how exhausted he had been a moment earlier and panicking just a little as his jeans grew a bit tighter.

"Ok, now I'm gonna dance, and you just try to do what I do," said Kurt.

"Easy for you to say," mumbled Carson as Kurt pressed the repeat button on the boombox and placed his hands firmly around his waist. Oh god, please keep your hands there. Preferably forever. Please. "You actually know what you're doing."

"It's really not that hard," said Kurt, and he started his dance routine all over again, nearly making Carson moan out loud when he thrust his hips directly into his ass.

"Do what I do," Kurt whispered in his ear, and he turned Carson around so that they were facing each other. "Like this," he said, demonstrating a perfect gyration with his hips. Carson gulped, praying that Kurt wouldn't make fun of him too badly as he did his best to copy the move. He felt like the world's most awkward fool doing it, but to his relief, Kurt actually smiled.

"Not that bad for your first try, big brother. Not bad at all," he said approvingly. "I wouldn't go so far to say you're as awesome as me or anything, but..."

"Oh, shut up," said Carson, swatting him on the shoulder. "Tell the truth. It was horrible."

Kurt shook his head. "No! Really, it wasn't. Here, do it again," he said, demonstrating the move again. Carson sighed and copied him again, relieved that at least his semi erection had gone down, if he accomplished nothing else.

"Definitely not bad," said Kurt. Carson smiled in spite of himself as he started to get into it, dutifully copying everything Kurt did and relaxing as he realized that he actually wasn't that terrible at it. He actually might have gone as far as to say that he was having fun, which wasn't usually a word that entered into his vocabulary unless he happened to be high as a kite.

They worked their way through the song twice, Carson actually gaining more confidence every time he tried a new move, and Kurt looking ever more approving.

"You know, I do believe you have natural talent," he said, accentuating his words with a hip thrust. "You're working those hips like Elvis in his prime."

Carson snorted. "Don't try to flatter me," he said, even though he couldn't stop smiling. "I'm not that good."

"Yes, you are!" Kurt insisted.

"No, he's not," said a voice from across the room, and Carson and Kurt both froze as they looked over to see their father standing there, a smirk on his face as he leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed. "What the hell was that?"

"Carson was helping me practice for glee, Dad," spoke up Kurt as Carson looked down at the floor in embarrassment. "And he actually is very good."

"If you say so," said Neal. "What was all that spastic stuff that he was doing, though?" he asked, giving an exaggerated, mocking rendition of one of the dance moves Carson had just done. "That stuff. Was that meant to be sexy or something? 'Cause he's got a lot of work ahead of him if that was the goal."

"That's not fair, Dad, he was doing really well for a beginner," Kurt protested, trying to slip an arm around Carson, but Carson shrugged it away. He was embarrassed enough right now without having to endure Kurt's pity on top of it. He could already feel himself shutting down, the last remaining shreds of joy he had been feeling mere minutes before slowly fading away into nothing.

"What do they call those moves he was doing? The Shock Therapy?" asked Neal, chuckling at his own joke. "Jesus, kid, you looked like you were being electrocuted or some shit."

Carson felt his cheeks flushing with humiliation, every second of his father's laughter at his expense ringing cruelly in his ears, and Kurt's comforting pat on his arm feeling like the touch of a burning hot flame. He had to get out of that room as soon as possible, or else he would break down. And he was in absolutely no mood to tell his father where to shove it. He just didn't have the energy. He hurried out of the living room as fast as he could, not even bothering to pick up his school bag as he ran up the stairs to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him before locking it for good measure. He threw himself down on his bed and buried his face in his pillow, half hoping that he would smother himself to death so that he could forget the utter humiliation he felt right then.

"That was mean, Dad," he could hear Kurt saying downstairs, the music abruptly stopping. "He was doing really well. You didn't have to say those things to him."

"That wasn't mean, that was honest," Neal replied, and Carson could practically see him shrugging nonchalantly as he spoke. "Now he's probably up there crying like a little pussy. Whatever." He heard his father's footsteps walk out of the living room, and then there was silence for a moment before he heard Kurt's light footsteps ascending the stairs. He heard him pause outside his bedroom door before he knocked softly on it.

"Carson?" he said quietly through the door. Carson ignored him. He didn't want Kurt to see him like this. He said nothing, hoping that Kurt would take the hint and go away. "Carson, can I come in?" He tried opening the door, but of course could not. "Carson, come on. Please?"

Please, Kurt, just go. Leave me alone so I can be miserable in peace, ok? Please.

Kurt finally left after a few minutes, his footsteps disappearing down the hall toward his own bedroom. Carson heard his door open and close, and he finally breathed a sigh of relief. He just wanted to sleep and forget the entire afternoon.

Actually, sometimes I think I'd be better off sleeping forever.