"Blaine...mmm...Blaine, stop, come on," protested Kurt with a giggle, pushing on his boyfriend's shoulders and trying to pry him off of him. They had just been on a Breadstix date and were now parked a little ways down the street from Kurt's house, where Blaine had promptly started attacking Kurt's lips and had now worked his way down to his favorite spot right where Kurt's neck met his shoulder. Currently, he was sucking what felt like a pretty impressive bruise into that spot. And, while it felt nice and everything, now really wasn't the time.

"Mmmph, no," said Blaine, continuing his assault on Kurt's neck.

"Tomorrow is the first day of school, Blaine, and I don't really want to show up with a million hickeys," insisted Kurt, pushing at Blaine again until Blaine heaved a huge sigh and stopped. "Jacob Ben Israel is probably going to be doing that weird thing where he stalks all the glee club members for camera interviews about our summer, and I don't want to have to answer any awkward questions." He flipped open the visor mirror and examined his neck closely.

"Ugh, damn it," he groaned, pressing his finger into the large, angry bruise Blaine's lips had left. "I don't even know if I have enough makeup to cover this."

"Sorry," said Blaine with a shrug, not really sounding like he meant it. "You're just kind of delicious."

"I'm not food, Blaine," said Kurt, sighing in frustration. "Oh, well, I guess I can wear a scarf. You should probably take me home now. It will take me a while to plan for tomorrow."

Blaine started the car's engine without a word and drove the rest of the way to Kurt's house, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips when he pulled into the driveway.

"I guess I'll see you sometime this week, then," he said cautiously. Kurt gave him a quizzical look.

"So did you...?"

"I haven't decided yet, Kurt," said Blaine with a sigh. "I just haven't. I'm sorry. I promise I'll decide soon."

"I just want to see you more," said Kurt, not bothering with a pout. That only worked on Carson, and Blaine seemed, thus far, to be immune to its charms. But he wished Blaine would make a decision. He had asked him over a month ago to consider transferring to McKinley, and Blaine had promised he would consider it, but so far there had been no decision made. And he really wanted Blaine at McKinley, even if Carson would absolutely hate it. Maybe he was being selfish, but he really didn't want to spend his senior year barely seeing his boyfriend. If Blaine transferred, they could spend so much more time together. And who knew? Maybe Carson and Blaine could at least learn to tolerate one another. Kurt hated for two of the most important people in his life to be at such odds with each other.

Carson won't ever tolerate him, nagged the little voice in the back of Kurt's mind. He won't, Kurt. He doesn't like him, because he has feelings for you. Deep down, you know this. You do. And they're feelings that you return, in case you forgot. Kurt silently pleaded with the little voice to shut up and accepted the second kiss Blaine placed on his lips.

"I'll call you," Blaine said as Kurt reached for the door handle. "Love you."

"Love you too," said Kurt, still not entirely used to saying those words to someone who wasn't Carson. "See you." He got out and waved as Blaine backed out of the driveway and disappeared down the street.

Now I guess I need to plan an outfit for tomorrow that involves a scarf, thought Kurt as he walked up the driveway toward the front door, smiling as he passed the 1973 Corvair convertible Carson had recently acquired from a neighbor who was ready to junk it. It was easy to see why it was a candidate for the junk yard. It barely started half the time and was in desperate need of replacements for just about every part, but Carson had fixed it up as best he could (even if he didn't let Kurt drive or ride in it, insisting that the SUV they'd shared for two years was much safer). At least now they both had their own cars and didn't have to rely on each other for rides. Carson had clearly been busy washing the convertible today, because while it was still an almost useless piece of crap, it was clean and shiny.

"I'm home!" exclaimed Kurt brightly as he entered the house. "Still alive and in one piece!" Except for the hickeys. "Where is everyone?"

"I'm in here," came Carson's voice from the kitchen. Kurt entered the room to find Carson bent over the table amid a sea of posterboards, markers, and colored pencils. A small stack of completed, colorful posters that said "JOIN THE WRITERS' CLUB" was set neatly on the opposite side of the table, and Carson was in the middle of putting the finishing touches on another, peering carefully at it over the rim of his glasses.

"Finn is out with Trollberry, and Dad and Carole are still at work," Carson said, completing his answer to Kurt's question. "I would ask how your date went, but on second thought I probably really don't want to know."

Kurt came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Carson's chest, pressing a kiss to his temple and hugging him tight. "It was...fine," he said. "You've been hard at work, I see," he added, indicating the posters.

"Yep," said Carson proudly. "These are some of my best work, if I do say so myself. I desperately need new members for the club. It can't just go on with me and Malerie. And more than that, I really need more members for the paper staff. If I can get people for one, I may be able to convince them to join the other."

"I'm sure you can find members," said Kurt. "I can help. I can ask people in my classes if they're interested. Hey, maybe I could even write some things for the paper. I'm not sure how good it will be, but I can try."

Carson craned his neck to look at him, giving him a smile. "Thanks, Kurt, but you don't have to. You'll be busy enough this year."

"Well, I'm always available if you need the help," Kurt insisted.

"I know," said Carson. He sighed and looked back over to his stack of posters. "This is it, Kurt. Senior year. This is my last chance to leave my mark before I leave this place."

Kurt smiled, kissing the top of Carson's hair. "You will."

This year was going to be perfect, Carson decided. Well, maybe not perfect, but he was definitely going to put more of an effort into getting shit done. He may have slacked a little bit last year, yes. He was so preoccupied with personal drama, what with his father's heart attack, Kurt's bullying, and that fucking asshole hobbit, that he may not have given the paper or the Writers' Club quite the full attention they deserved. That was going to change this year. He was going to pour his heart into them like he never had before, and what's more, he was going to start regularly attending student council meetings. He'd technically been on that council for years by default as the editor of the Muckraker, but had never regularly been to the meetings because he found every last member of the council to be overwhelmingly insufferable. They were even worse than the glee kids, and that was saying a lot.

He had to make this year count, though. This was his last year to really shine and make a difference, and hopefully impress the fuck out of the admissions office at Northwestern. That was the most important part. He had to get into that school. He just had to.

Step one was to recruit new members for the paper and the Writers' Club. That was what the posters were for. He had made enough to hang strategically around the school where every conceivable type of student would see them and hopefully be compelled to join. Or at least be compelled to write for the paper. He had left early enough so that he had time to hang them before the drooling masses all started arriving and clogging up the halls, even remembering to account for extra time for his piece of shit car to start. He felt pretty good as the stack of posters in his hand slowly dwindled as he made his way around the almost empty school.

There, he thought with satisfaction as he finished hanging the last poster in the hall outside Figgins' office. These should convince SOMEONE to join, right?

"Writing sucks," said a random student in a letterman jacket, intentionally bumping Carson's arm hard with his shoulder as he passed him.

"Screw you!" shouted Carson, rubbing his arm and scowling after the guy. Ok, so that didn't count as part of his fresh new start to the year.

"What was that about?" Carson turned around to see Kurt walking up to him, frowning in the direction the random jock had taken and reaching out to rub gently at Carson's arm.

"Oh, it was nothing," said Carson, tingling a little at the feel of Kurt's fingers on him through his sleeve. "Just another neanderthal asshole like all the others we've dealt with in all our time in this prison. No biggie."

"He hurt you, though," said Kurt, his hand still on Carson's arm.

Carson shrugged. "Didn't hurt. Are you ready for homeroom?" he asked. Kurt nodded and slung one arm around Carson's shoulder. Carson's stomach did a little somersault.

"Yeah, let's go see what terrifying things await us on our schedules this year."

As it turned out, the first day of school ended up not being exactly what Carson was hoping for. For one thing, his first class after homeroom was Algebra 2, which he was expecting, of course, just not quite so early in the morning. On top of that, both Finn and Brittany were in that class with him, and he honestly didn't think he could survive the entire semester with the both of them constantly asking him for answers, like he either knew or gave a shit.

"I don't fucking know," he whispered fiercely to Finn after the fourth time the other boy had leaned over to his desk to ask how to work a problem. "Look in the book and figure it out for yourself."

The one bright spot in his schedule was that he and Kurt were in the same English class, which was dampened somewhat by the fact that Santana was in that class too and kept giving them little smirks the whole time. Carson decided he could deal with that as long as he got to sit beside Kurt and ignore her. Especially since Kurt seemed to get really clingy when he noticed her doing it, and scooted his desk and chair as close to Carson's as possible without actually sitting in his lap. Thankfully, the teacher didn't notice because they were in the back of the class, so Carson decided he could definitely get used to clingy Kurt.

And then there was journalism class, of which he was still, sadly, the only member besides Malerie. There wasn't even a teacher. He still hung on to a small shred of hope that someone, anyone, would see his posters and at least decide to join the Writers' Club.

No such luck. He stayed in the journalism classroom for forty-five minutes after school listening to Malerie recount the plot of Pride and Prejudice as if she had written it, but nobody else showed up. By the time he shuffled through the halls on his way out the door to go visit Grandma, he was very discouraged indeed.

He wasn't expecting to see Kurt still at school, since there wasn't a glee meeting scheduled and he figured that his twin would be hanging out with Blaine after school let out, but there he was in the hallway, staring at one of Carson's posters with an odd look on his face. Carson watched as Kurt reached up and carefully took the poster down, folding it neatly in half and walking toward a nearby trash can.

"Um...Kurt?" asked Carson, walking up to him. Kurt turned around and looked guiltily at him, looking like he wanted to hide the poster behind his back, but thought better of it.

"I didn't want you to see," he said quietly. Carson gently took the poster from him and unfolded it to discover that someone had written "YOU SUCH COCK" on it in huge, bold letters with a permanent marker. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

"I was hoping I could get rid of it before you saw," said Kurt, looking uncomfortable. Carson tossed the poster in the trash and gave him a forced smile.

"It's alright, Kurt. I probably should have expected something like this," he said with a shrug. "I'm heading to Grandma's now. Are you heading home, or...?"

"Shopping with Rachel," answered Kurt. "Are you sure you're ok?"

"Oh, yeah, I've survived worse," Carson lied, trying to sound light. "I'll see you at home later, ok?"

Kurt smiled cautiously at him. "Well...ok. I love you."

"Love you, too."

The second day of school didn't start out any better than the first. Algebra still sucked, more of Carson's posters were vandalized, and there was a glee meeting at lunch, during which Mr. Schue informed them that they were supposed to start playing music on a bunch of purple pianos he was planning to scatter around the school in order to recruit new members.

"Not that there's ever much learning going on at this school anyway, but won't that create a disturbance in the educational environment?" Carson had asked, not even sure why he was bothering to ask. He knew Mr. Schue wouldn't really address his question.

"Just do it," had been Mr. Schue's enlightening answer. "We need new members for the club, and we need them desperately."

Well. That was that, Carson supposed. He wasn't going to play a damn thing on those pianos, of course. He didn't know how anyway, even if he didn't think the idea was completely stupid. Luckily, the sight of Kurt scrambling up on top of one of the pianos and spreading out on his stomach distracted him from the urge to rush up and punch Mr. Schue right in his face.

He spent his study period trying a different tactic to get more students for journalism class. Namely, he went begging at each classroom door to door with a small speech he had prepared just in case the teachers allowed him to make it.

"I know some of you have got to be aspiring writers," he had said in front of each class he had been given permission to speak to. "So I'm just here to let you know that if you're interested, the Muckraker still needs staff members, and the Writers' Club is always looking for new members and we will take anyone. Literally anyone."

This got him nowhere. At worst, it got pencils and spitballs thrown at him, and at best it got him pointed and laughed at.

Well, that was a fucking waste of time, he thought bitterly, shuffling down the hallway after an entire period spent dodging flying projectiles. Does nobody write anymore? Jesus, I'm not asking for a lot here. Just a few people.

He was just passing Ms. Pillsbury's office on his way to his locker when he heard his name being called from inside.

"Carson!" said Ms. Pillsbury, gesturing for him to come inside. "I'd like to talk with you, if you've got a minute."

Carson stood awkwardly in the doorway until Ms. Pillsbury gestured for him to take a seat across from her at her desk. He obeyed, wondering what she wanted with him. He didn't need to have a college meeting with her. She already knew he was applying to Northwestern. He'd told her this repeatedly for the past year.

As it turned out, that wasn't what she wanted to talk about at all.

"So," said Ms. Pillsbury, absentmindedly straightening the cup full of pencils that sat on her desk as she spoke. "I, uh, couldn't help but notice that you're a little understaffed with the Muckraker."

Carson nodded, suddenly interested. "Yeah. Nobody seems to want to join the paper, or the Writers' Club. I tried going to different classes to recruit people, but..."

"Right," said Ms. Pillsbury with a nod. "Well, I think I can help you with that."

Carson sat up straighter in his chair. "You can?"

Ms. Pillsbury nodded. "Mm-hmm. See, there's a few seniors I know of who won't have enough credits to graduate unless they pick up an extra class. So, I've, um...taken the liberty of sticking them in journalism."

Carson couldn't believe his luck. Actual students handed to them just like that? Sure, they would probably be unenthusiastic and wildly unhelpful, but he could work with that.

"Wow, Ms. Pillsbury, I don't know what to say," he said. "Um...thank you."

She smiled. "You're welcome!" She turned her attention to straightening her stacks of oddly specifically-titled pamphlets as Carson got up and left her office, feeling just a little bit optimistic despite himself. Sure, the responsibility for the paper would probably still fall mostly on his shoulders, glee club was going to suck this year, and the love of his life was dating the douchebag founder of Munchkinland, but those things really weren't any different from the norm. At least he would have some help with the paper. There was always Rachel bashing to make glee tolerable. Hobbit Feet went to school over an hour away. Maybe there was still hope to make this year a good one. At the very least, it wasn't like it could get any worse, right?

He should have known better.

"You're quiet," said Blaine, taking a sip of his coffee and looking carefully at Kurt from across the table at the Lima Bean. It had been an eventful second day of school for Kurt, what with glee club's new plan to recruit new members, plus his and Rachel's newly discovered plan to apply to the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts for next year (Julliard, as it turned out, did not have a musical theater program). Not to mention that he had had to discreetly take down two more of Carson's posters that had been defaced by jerks that morning (thankfully, Carson had not caught him at it this time. He hated for his twin to see his hard work demolished).

"No, I'm being passive aggressive," said Kurt. "You promised that by the first day of school, you'd make a decision. And yet, there you sit, cute as ever, but still in your Warblers blazer."

"I just can't bail on the Warblers," protested Blaine. "Those guys are my friends."

"Ok, alright, fine, one final sales pitch and then we can talk about making over Nancy Grace," said Kurt.

"Ok," said Blaine with an adorable grin.

"If you stay at Dalton," said Kurt, delivering the carefully planned argument he had decided to try out in a last-ditch effort to get Blaine to transfer, "You and I are competitors."

"That's true," agreed Blaine.

"And I'm just not sure that our budding love can survive that," continued Kurt cheekily.

"Let me get this straight," said Blaine. "I have to transfer because you're just afraid that I'm gonna beat you at sectionals."

"No, I'm afraid that I'm gonna beat you. And I know what that does to you, when I win," said Kurt suggestively. Blaine chuckled.

"Look, I mean, honestly, I just...I just wanna see you more," said Kurt seriously. "I want my senior year to be magic, and the only way that's gonna happen is if I get to spend every minute of every day with you."

Blaine studied him quizzically. "And what will Carson say?" he asked. "In case you haven't noticed, he doesn't like me. How is he going to deal with being around us? I don't want to have to constantly deal with his attitude."

Kurt swallowed. "I'm sure it will be fine," he lied. "Just...just think about it, ok?"

Blaine said nothing, just reached his hand across the table to grab Kurt's.

Toward the end of the first week of school, Carson was beginning to wonder why the fuck he had ever thought this school year would be any better than previous years. There was just as much bullshit to deal with, if not more. First, as much as he appreciated having any students in journalism class at all, the three students that Ms. Pillsbury had stuck in there were as good as useless. They consisted of a hopeless pothead named Dwayne, whom Carson was pretty sure he had never seen not high as a fucking kite, a goth girl with an attitude named Vicki, and a foreign exchange student from El Salvador named Emilio, who only seemed able to say "I love America" in English. In other words, they weren't helpful in the least. He'd put Dwayne and Vicki on movie reviews and weather, respectively, and had no idea what to do with Emilio, but he didn't think it would much matter anyway. None of them seemed all that enthusiastic to be there. There was also Malerie, of course. She was about as useful to the paper as she had ever been, but at least she was doing something that somewhat resembled trying.

There were still no takers for the Writers' Club, though. It remained the sad, lonely little two-person pity parade it had been last year. And the less said about the student council, the better.

On top of that, glee club was just plain pissing him off with the whole purple piano thing, especially after it caused a food fight in the cafeteria. Not just because it had permanently stained one of his best hoodies with pasta sauce, but because he didn't appreciate food being thrown at Kurt.

"They could have taken your eye out with all that flying pasta," he'd grumbled when he and Kurt had gone into the bathroom to attempt to clean up.

"Oh, Carson," Kurt had replied with an amused smile. "It's fine. No harm done. I'm definitely going to have to send this outfit out for dry cleaning, though."

And then, just when Carson thought his week couldn't possibly get any worse, it did. It got so much worse.

He was going around the school during lunch on Thursday, putting up new posters to replace the ones that had mysteriously disappeared (he suspected that they had been defaced just like the one on Monday, and that Kurt, bless his sweet little heart, had been responsible for their disappearance so that Carson wouldn't see). He was just hanging his last poster when he heard the unmistakable sound of music coming from the courtyard.

Probably another glee club thing, he thought as he made his way out there to check it out. Nobody better throw a fucking thing at Kurt this time, I swear to god.

What he saw when he entered the courtyard made him wish he had walked in on another food fight, because what he saw was ten times worse.

It wasn't the glee club performing at all. It was Blaine Fucking Anderson, dancing like a fucking idiot on the courtyard steps and singing a terrifying rendition of "It's Not Unusual." In the middle of the goddamn day. And he wasn't wearing that stupid Dalton uniform, although Carson almost wished he was, because what he was wearing was ugly as sin and included both highwater pants and a fucking bow tie. And there was Kurt watching him, looking like it was the best thing he'd ever seen in the entire history of ever.

The tornado of jealousy that suddenly stirred within Carson very nearly knocked him down, although he was momentarily distracted from it when Quinn Fabray tossed a cigarette onto the purple piano that was providing most of Blaine's background music, causing it to burst into flames.

Appropriate, thought Carson smugly. Poor piano is probably glad to be put out of its misery.

"Weird things like that happen sometimes," he heard Kurt saying to Blaine, both of them watching the flames being put out as Carson walked over to them. "You'll get used to it...Carson!" he exclaimed, suddenly noticing Carson's arrival. He smiled nervously, looking between him and Blaine, who looked less than thrilled to see Carson.

"Kurt," answered Carson, slinging one arm possessively over his brother's shoulder. "Mayor of Munchkin City," he said, acknowledging Blaine and pasting a fake smile on his face as he looked him up and down. "Tell me, what are you doing here? Are you here to warn us of an impending flood? I only assume, of course, since your pants are so very, very high."

Blaine gave him a hard look. "Actually, I just transferred here," he said smugly. "Because Kurt asked me to. And, well, I just couldn't say no," he continued, grabbing Kurt's hand and flashing Carson a mouthful of teeth. "Isn't that right, Kurtsie?"

Kurt looked extremely uncomfortable, caught in the middle with Carson on one side and Blaine on the other, and was looking down at his shoes. Carson's smile faded. He felt as though someone had just poured a bucket of icy water over him at this piece of news. He wanted to scream. He wanted to inform Blaine in no uncertain terms (and preferably with his fist) that nobody fucking called Kurt "Kurtsie" except him. Most of all, he wanted to protest and insist that there surely had been some kind of mix-up, because of course Kurt wouldn't do this to him, right?

Except yeah, he had. Carson could tell from Kurt's face that everything coming out of the hobbit's mouth was, unfortunately, the truth.

"Right," he said slowly, hoping he wouldn't throw up. "Well, I, um...I have...posters to hang," he said quietly, removing his arm from Kurt's shoulder and stepping back, preparing to leave the courtyard. "I'll see you at home tonight, Kurt."

"Carson," Kurt protested, grabbing his hand to try to stop him from leaving. "Don't-"

"I'll see you later," Carson repeated in a Please don't right now voice, giving Kurt's hand a gentle squeeze as he moved away from them and hurried out of the courtyard, wondering if this school year could possibly get any worse after this.

He went through the rest of the day like a zombie, trying his best to pay attention in his classes, but only able to concentrate on the fact that he was now going to have to deal with Blaine every fucking day now for the rest of the year. Every goddamn day. Hobbit would probably join glee, too, and Carson would have to deal with his obnoxious showboating and seeing him being all fucking cozy with Kurt. The very thought made him want to vomit.

Journalism class only made his rotten mood worse. He got uninterested silence from everyone except Malerie, who cheerfully said that she had another short story for the paper.

"Let's hear it," Carson said with a sigh.

Malerie smiled and stood up, holding her notebook and clearing her throat. "Squire Hawkins sat upon the pyramid of large blocks, called the "stile," in front of his house, contemplating the morning. The locality was Obedstown, East Tennessee-"

"Malerie, I'm gonna stop you right there, because I know for a fact you didn't write that," Carson said, trying to keep his voice even. He usually tried to reign in the snarkiness with her, since she was the only one who actually seemed interested in writing at this school besides him, even if she suffered from a tragic lack of original ideas.

"Um, yeah, I wrote it," protested Malerie, holding the notebook up for Carson to see. "See?"

"Mark Twain would beg to differ, Malerie," said Carson patiently. Vicki snorted. Carson shot her a warning look as Malerie sat back down and slowly closed her notebook.

"Good try, though," Carson said as the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. "Hey," he said, addressing his class of four, "Don't forget that the Writers' Club meets today, so if you...if you want to..." he trailed off as everyone eagerly stampeded out of the classroom except for Malerie, who remained in her seat and gave him an eager smile.

As usual, nobody showed up for the club. And the cherry on top of the sundae that was Carson's horrible day was that Grandma was having one of her off days where she insisted that Carson leave almost as soon as he got there.

By the time he finished all his homework, made a new stack of posters just in case of random acts of vandalism, and said a half-hearted goodnight to his father and Carole, he was ready to just fall asleep forever and forget about life altogether. He got into bed and tried to wait up for Kurt, who had gone to a NYADA prospective student mixer with Rachel and had yet to arrive home, but he was unable to keep his eyes open and quickly fell asleep. The next time he opened his eyes, Kurt was in bed beside him, settling himself into Carson's arms.

"How was the mixer?" Carson asked sleepily.

"It was...fine," answered Kurt, his voice indicating the exact opposite. "I might need to beef up my application with a few more extracurriculars, but, you know...that shouldn't be a problem...Carson?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you mad at me?" asked Kurt, the uncertainty in his voice apparent even through Carson's sleepy fog. "I mean, about...about Blaine transferring? Because I feel bad, and I knew you wouldn't exactly like it, but I really wanted to spend more time with Blaine this year before college and everything, and I really want for you two to get along because that's important to me, and-"

"Kurt," Carson interrupted him, heaving a huge sigh. "Kurt, you know I can't ever be mad at you."

"Really?"

"Really. Irritated, yes, and extremely unimpressed with the idea of seeing Balthazar in my face every day, but I just can't bring myself to be mad at you. It's my one weakness," said Carson, holding Kurt tightly to him. He felt Kurt's body relax into the touch, and Kurt took one of Carson's hands in his own and brought it up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the knuckles.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's ok," Carson said, trying to convince himself just as much as Kurt. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Kurt's shoulder and kissed him there. "Go to sleep, Kurtsie...hey...Kurt?" he asked, a thought suddenly occurring to him.

"Mmm?" asked Kurt.

"Could...could you at least ask Brighton not to call you Kurtsie?" asked Carson quietly. "At least in front of me? Please?"

Kurt was silent for a minute. "I will," he said at last. "I promise."

Carson sighed and kissed Kurt's shoulder again. "Thank you."

"Goodnight, Carsey."

"Goodnight. I love you."

"I love you, too."

The next day was pure hell. Thankfully, Carson shared no classes with Blaine, since Blaine was a junior, but the other boy was a constant presence between classes, hanging on Kurt like a fucking barnacle as Kurt collected his books from his locker. And the worst part was that he always made sure to give Carson the douchiest of smug looks whenever Kurt wasn't looking, as though he knew exactly how much his presence pissed Carson off and was rubbing it in his face. Which he probably did, considering how gleefully he had shown Carson his fading hickey over the summer.

Asshole, thought Carson every time Blaine flashed him that irritating, triumphant smile. Go fucking die in a pool of hair gel, please.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. Schue that afternoon as he entered the choir room with Blaine in tow. Ugh, here we go, thought Carson. "Let's hear it for glee club's newest member, Blaine Anderson!"

"I'm so thrilled," muttered Carson under his breath. Kurt elbowed him.

"Thanks so much, everyone," said Blaine in that irritating "I'm just an innocent baby schoolboy" tone he seemed to have perfected from a young age. "I'm so thrilled to be here. It's gonna be a great year, I can feel it. We're all gonna go to Nationals!"

"Is he for real?" asked Carson as everyone else gave Blaine a round of applause. Kurt gave him a warning look.

"Carson, please?" he whispered. Carson sighed and crossed his arms.

"I just want Blaine to know that we're not the Warblers," spoke up Finn. "You know, we're not into the bells and whistles, or the ball hogging, you know?"

"Finn, I never thought I would say this, but I kind of want to shake your hand right now," said Carson happily. Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed beside him.

"I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?" asked Blaine as he took a seat beside Carson, since there wasn't an extra seat beside Kurt. At least something had gone Carson's way.

"Well, yeah," answered Finn. "You set a bonfire in our courtyard."

"Actually, doorknob, that was an act of political protest," said Santana.

"Which leads me to the next order of business," said Mr. Schue. "Santana, you need to leave. It was you and the Cheerios who set fire to our piano. How could you do that?"

"Mr. Schue, Sue made me-" began Santana.

"Brittany didn't do it," said Mr. Schue.

"Yeah, I was gonna help, but I don't know. I'm a water sign, so..." said Brittany.

"Excuse me, but aren't we kind of desperate for members here? We're supposed to be bringing members in, not kicking them out. The pianos were stupid anyway," said Carson, not sure why he was defending Santana. "And besides, it was Quinn who set the fire. Go bitch at her."

"You're banned from glee," said Mr. Schue to Santana, ignoring Carson as usual. "Don't come back unless you can be as loyal to this club as the rest of the people in this room."

Have we MET? thought Carson. This damn club isn't exactly at the top of MY priority list, either.

"You know what? I could use a break," said Santana, getting up and leaving the room with her head held high.

"Well, that was unnecessary," said Carson, arms crossed. Mr. Schue went on to make a stupid speech about the club being united to win Nationals, which Carson didn't pay much attention to because Kurt had started clinging to his arm since Carson had protested Santana's eviction from the club, and Carson was enjoying it. A lot. He didn't come back to earth until he heard Mr. Schue ask if Kurt had an announcement and Kurt answered in the affirmative, letting go of Carson's arm, regretfully, and standing up to address the club.

"Right. Kurt Hummel is wading into McKinley High's shark infested political waters and running for student body president. I thank you in advance for your votes."

"Wait, you are?" asked Carson.

"He is," said Blaine. Carson glared at him.

"I am," said Kurt excitedly. Carson looked at him carefully, wanting to know why Blaine had clearly known about this before he had, but not wanting to spoil Kurt's excitement.

"You know I'll vote for you," he said with a smile, squeezing Kurt's hand as Kurt sat back down.

And anyone who doesn't vote for him will have to deal with me.

What the fuck am I doing here? thought Carson as he half heartedly followed the dance steps Mr. Schue and Mike were leading them in. This whole thing is stupid. Nobody's going to be any better of a dancer after this than they were before, and Kurt doesn't even need to be here either. I don't care what anyone says, his sashay is sexy and could sin us Nationals all on its own. And calling this "Booty Camp" is just creepy. And someone should really ban the hobbit from wearing tight sweats, because I swear to god I'm going to be sick. Kurt did a little sway then, causing Carson's thoughts to come to a complete halt as he focused on how awesome Kurt's ass looked in his dance clothes. That was the only reason Carson had even complied with the "mandatory" Booty Camp bullshit Mr. Schue had implemented as part of the club's new "Let's win Nationals" plan. That, and the stretches he had watched Kurt do earlier before the dancing started. Those were fucking hot, too.

"I'm going to put my light under a bushel, if only to shine brighter for the auditions tomorrow," Kurt was saying to Blaine as they followed the dance steps. Carson smiled. The auditions Kurt was referring to were the auditions for West Side Story, which they were doing as the school musical this year. Kurt was auditioning for Tony, the lead, and if he got it (and Carson had no doubt that he would get it), it would make his NYADA application stand out that much more. Carson just wished Kurt would fire Brittany as his campaign manager for student body president, though. He really wanted Kurt to win that, too, and the ditzy cheerleader wasn't being at all helpful. Carson knew he could do a much better job managing Kurt's campaign himself, if Kurt would let him, but Kurt insisted that Carson had too much on his own plate to worry about Kurt's.

That's my Kurtsie, always thinking of others, thought Carson fondly.

"I'm still trying to decide between "Maria" and "Something's Coming," replied Blaine.

"Those are Tony songs," said Kurt, giving Blaine an odd look. "Are you auditioning for Tony too?"

WHAT? Oh he'd better fucking not, thought Carson, glaring at Blaine.

"Would that be weird?" asked Blaine.

"No, not at all. I mean, you'd be a great Tony," said Kurt. "You'd be the perfect Tony, in some respects."

"Yes, it would be weird," said Carson. "Kurt needs that part to get into college, and you're going to audition against him? What the hell?" Kurt gave him a please stop look and Carson sighed.

"Well, except, I'm a junior," said Blaine, replying to Kurt and ignoring Carson's comment. "Tony's the lead, which means that a senior should probably play the part."

"You don't say," muttered Carson.

"Yeah, that is kind of how it works, huh?" said Kurt. Carson recognized that tone of voice. It was Kurt's "I'm kind of irritated right now but I'm going to be passive aggressive instead" voice. It made Carson smile to hear him using it with Blaine, who apparently didn't get the hint.

"I'd be fine with Bernardo or Officer Krupke, as long as it was opposite your Tony," said Blaine.

Yeah, I'm so sure. Attention whore.

The next day, Carson made sure to get to the auditorium as soon as lunch period started to get a good seat for Kurt's audition. Kurt had been a nervous wreck the night before, and all that morning, and Carson had had to reassure him at least a hundred times that he would knock it out of the park.

"I've heard you practicing," Carson had told him. "You're perfect. Stop worrying, relax, and you will nail the auditions. Ok? Artie isn't Jesse. He'll recognize talent when he sees it, and I'm sure Beiste and Ms. Pillsbury will, too."

"Ok," Kurt had agreed.

Now Kurt stood before his small audience, smiling nervously. He caught Carson's eye and Carson gave him a reassuring smile and a wave.

"Hello, I'm Kurt Hummel, and I'll be auditioning for the role of Tony," he said confidently. "The male lead," he added.

"That's great, Kurt," said Ms. Pillsbury.

"I'll be performing the seminal, and, in my case, semi-autobiographical Broadway classic "I'm The Greatest Star," from Funny Girl," Kurt continued. Rachel had obviously influenced that song choice, but Carson had heard Kurt practicing it for days, and he had killed it every time. He couldn't wait to see what the three co-directors thought.

"Isn't that a Streisand song?" asked Coach Beiste.

Yes, so what? He's perfect at it, just let him sing, thought Carson.

"I know what you're thinking," said Kurt. "But, I got written permission from the woman herself- Ms. Rachel Berry. And I'd also like to thank Cassius from my dad's tire shop for kindly constructing my audition scaffolding," he continued, indicating the scaffolding in question behind him. "And my sweet big brother Carson, who helped Cassius. And served as my practice audience for this song." Carson smiled and glowed.

"You're welcome, Kurtsie!" he called.

"Ok, whenever you're ready," said Artie. Carson narrowed his eyes. Let. Him. Talk.

Kurt smiled and launched into his song, turning in one of the sexiest fucking performances Carson had ever seen him do, to be honest, particularly when he started climbing the scaffolding (which Carson had personally checked, double checked, and tested to make absolutely sure it was safe for Kurt to climb and perform on, and even so he was still just a little bit worried that Kurt would hurt himself). He was torn between feeling nervous and extremely turned on when Kurt broke out the swords he had practiced spinning for the end of the number, but Kurt seemed to have an excellent handle on them, so Carson calmed down and settled for "turned on."

Not only was the performance flawless, but all three directors seemed to agree with Carson, judging by the praise and applause pouring out of them when Kurt finished. Carson positively glowed with pride as he stood up and clapped enthusiastically. There was no way Kurt wouldn't get that part.

"Yay, Kurtsie!" he exclaimed. He waited for Kurt to jump off the stage before running up to hug him tight.

"You were great!" he said as they exited the auditorium together. "And everyone loved it. I know you've practically got that part in the bag."

"Aaaaw, thank you. I hope so," said Kurt modestly. "Hey, I'm gonna go change my clothes before lunch is over. I'll see you later, ok?"

"Ok," agreed Carson. He went through the rest of the afternoon in a happy mood, for once. Finally, it looked like someone was going to recognize all of Kurt's talent and hard work and reward him with the role he deserved. Nothing could bring Carson's mood down after that. Not even the fact that his journalism students had once again contributed absolutely nothing to that week's paper and he was going to have to write all the sections himself again, just like always.

So when Kurt came through the door of the journalism classroom that afternoon in tears, Carson was just a little bit shocked, but also extremely pissed that something had upset Kurt so badly on what should have been a good day for him.

"Kurt? Kurt, what's wrong?" he asked, getting up from his desk and crossing over to his twin, wrapping him in a tight hug. Kurt didn't answer him. "What's wrong, baby? Talk to me."

"C-can I ask you something?" asked Kurt. "And can you be really honest with me?"

"Of course, Kurtsie. Of course you can," Carson soothed, leading Kurt over to a desk and gently sitting him down before taking a seat across from him and holding his hands. "What's wrong?"

Kurt took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. "Am I too much of a lady?"

Carson stared for a second, not sure if he heard what he thought he had just heard. "What?"

"Am I less manly than other guys?" Kurt asked, sniffling.

"What kind of question is that? Of course you're not," said Carson. "Is someone giving you shit? Because I will kick their ass if-"

"Beiste said I'm not manly enough to play Tony," said Kurt flatly. "She said I'm too much of a lady. Her exact words."

Carson couldn't believe his ears. "She said WHAT? She said this to you?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, I was eavesdropping on her and Artie and Ms. Pillsbury outside the window of Ms. Pillsbury's office. And that's exactly what Beiste said, and nobody exactly argued with her."

Carson felt a flash of red hot anger course through him at Kurt's words. "What the fuck does she know? And who is she to talk? She gets pissed whenever anyone says she's too manly. What right does she have to do the opposite to you?"

Kurt sniffed. "And then I asked Rachel to help me do a second audition. It was really quick and it wasn't much, just a scene from Romeo and Juliet with some costumes we found in the closet backstage in the auditorium, but I thought it would at least show that I could be manly."

"And?" Carson asked, holding his breath.

"And they laughed at me. All three of them. And Rachel," said Kurt glumly. "I mean, they just laughed. It was so humiliating...Carson?"

Carson had heard more than enough. He had gotten up from his seat, still holding on to Kurt's hands. He gave them a gentle squeeze and looked Kurt in the eyes.

"Kurt, I want you to stay here for a minute. Just a minute. Can you do that for me?" he asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

"Yeah, but where are you going?" asked Kurt, his bottom lip quivering.

"To give every last one of those assholes a piece of my fucking mind," replied Carson, patting Kurt gently on the shoulder and stalking out of the journalism classroom and into the direction of the auditorium, where he suspected he would find the subjects of his rage (most of them, anyway...he would deal with Rachel later). There they were, all three of them sitting in the audience and discussing something among themselves. Carson stalked right up to them and faced them, arms crossed and steam practically pouring out of his ears.

"Can we help you?" asked Artie. "I didn't think you were interested in the play."

"I'm not here to audition, I'm here to ask you just what the hell you were thinking, laughing at Kurt when he tried to show you what he was capable of," snapped Carson. "Do you have any idea how hurtful that was? I really hope all three of you are happy, because he's in tears right now because of you. And it's especially disgusting coming from you," he said, indicating Beiste and Ms. Pillsbury. "You're teachers. You're supposed to be encouraging students, not laughing at them when all they're trying to do is accomplish a goal. So, congratulations. You made a student cry. Way to go. Really, bravo. God, I wish I knew who to bitch at to get you fired. I hate every last one of you."

Not wishing to waste any more of his time talking to them, Carson turned and stalked back out of the auditorium toward the journalism classroom where he'd left Kurt. He passed Rachel in the hall on his way. She looked guilty when she saw him.

"Carson," she said. "Have, um...have you seen Kurt?"

"Why yes, Trollberry, I have fucking seen him. In tears, because you fucking laughed at him during his audition. The audition you were supposed to be helping him with, by the way, and when you're supposedly his friend now. If I wasn't more concerned with comforting him right now, I'd be fucking punching you in the face," Carson snapped, walking past her. He entered the journalism classroom to find Kurt sitting exactly where he had left him, his face streaked with dry tears.

"Hey," he said gently, sitting back down across from Kurt and cupping his face with his hand. "Hey, look at me. Please?" Kurt lifted his eyes and looked at Carson. Carson gave him a small smile and kissed his forehead.

"I want you to know that you're just as manly, if not more so, than any other guy," Carson said softly. "You are. You have no idea how masculine and sexy you are, and that saddens me."

"Really?" asked Kurt.

"Really."

"But they said-"

"Fuck what they said. They were wrong," Carson insisted. "I love you, and I wouldn't lie to you. Ok?"

Kurt nodded. "Ok."

"And if they get their heads out of their asses for five minutes, they will see that. And you will get that part. Because you deserve it," said Carson. Kurt sniffed once more and threw his arms around his neck, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

"I don't know what I would do without you," he whispered.

"Me either," replied Carson, hugging him back. They stood there like that, in an almost exact mirror image of how they would be standing the next afternoon after they watched from above the stage as Blaine auditioned for the play with a Tony song, despite what he had said to Kurt about being happy with any other part.

Unbelievable, thought Carson angrily as he let Kurt sag against him, depressed after hearing Artie ask Blaine if he would read for Tony. If he really gave half a shit about Kurt's feelings, he would have auditioned with another song. ANY other song but a Tony song.

"Can we go home?" asked Kurt in a small voice, muffled by Carson's hoodie.

"Yeah. Let's go," said Carson, leading him toward the back exit.

Kurt stayed depressed about Blaine's audition for several days. He didn't understand why it bothered him quite so much. After all, Blaine was free to audition for whatever role he wanted. He had just as much right to Tony as Kurt had, right? Who cared if Artie had asked him to read for Tony and Blaine had accepted? Maybe Carson was right and they would be able to see past Kurt's "ladyness" and weigh the auditions on their own merits. And most importantly, what kind of boyfriend was Kurt being if he didn't support Blaine just as much as Blaine had supported him?

"And how, exactly, has Frodo supported you?" had been Carson's question when Kurt had voiced these thoughts out loud one night as they got ready for bed. "He transfers to our school and then just auditions for a part he knows you want, and most importantly, a part he knows you need for your NYADA application. Wow, what a guy. And tell me, where exactly was he when you needed a shoulder to cry on after Beiste and Ms. Pillsbury, with their evil minion Artie, crushed your spirit to smithereens? Because I have a feeling the answer to that question is that he was busy practicing the song he was going to audition against you with. And you're considering his feelings why, exactly?"

"Because I would feel like a horrible boyfriend if I didn't," replied Kurt. "And I guess I don't exactly need that part. I mean, there's still a really good chance that I can win the class election, even if Brittany is working the whole girl power thing to her advantage."

"Brittany's a moron," Carson had answered, closing his laptop and removing his glasses. "I don't understand her claims that there have been only exclusively male school presidents for the past six years. I may hate Claire Mathews and strongly suspect that she was only put on this planet to make my life miserable during student council meetings, but I can't deny that she's definitely a girl, unless she's got a few secrets she isn't sharing."

"Yeah, how come she isn't running, anyway?" mused Kurt. "I'd think she would. She craves power."

"Probably because she's busy kissing up to Coach Sylvester so that she'll make her head cheerleader next year after Santana graduates," answered Carson.

"That probably explains why Santana didn't correct Brittany's claim," said Kurt. "You've been, um...talking with Santana a lot?" he asked carefully. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so damn much when Carson was friendly with Santana. He knew by now that neither of them actually had crushes on each other, but still. You never knew with Santana. And truthfully, Kurt was just a tad on the possessive side when it came to Carson. Not that he would admit it, or anything.

"Yeah, she pops by the journalism classroom sometimes," said Carson. "Why? I told you, I'm not interested in dating her. She won't be able to lure me to some secluded cabin and have her way with me, if that's what you're worried about."

Kurt snorted. "Shut up. I don't care. She's not officially a glee traitor anymore. Talk to her all you want."

But he held Carson's arms just a little bit tighter that night when they went to bed.

And now here he was, walking up the outdoor steps at school where Blaine would be coming down any second, with a bouquet of multicolored roses he had picked up before school that morning. He was glad Carson was in class and couldn't see this. He'd have a fit over what Kurt was about to do.

"The cast list goes up on Friday," he said cheerily to Blaine when his boyfriend finally appeared on the steps. "Are you nervous?"

"A little," replied Blaine. "But I'm trying not to think about it."

"I wouldn't be," said Kurt, trying to sound reassuring. "My mole in the casting office says that there's only one actor they're seriously considering for the role of Tony, and his initials are B.A." That wasn't actually entirely true. Kurt had avoided Artie since the great Romeo and Juliet laughing incident, and he had no idea what was being discussed by the directors. He had a pretty good idea that they were probably going to choose Blaine, though. He smiled and held out the flowers.

"Kurt, they're beautiful," said Blaine. "But what are they for?"

"You killed your audition, Blaine," answered Kurt. "If anyone else got Tony, including me, the wrath of Sondheim would fall upon William McKinley like a plague of Schubert Alley locusts. These are to celebrate. You."

Blaine smiled. "You always zig when you're about to zag, and I...I just...I love that about you." He looked like he was considering kissing Kurt, but thought better of it, giving him a pat on the shoulder instead.

"Thank you," he said.

"Right," said Kurt, disappointed, even though he could understand why Blaine didn't kiss him. Crowded school and all.

If I win student body president, that can change, he thought optimistically. I can still win. It shouldn't be too hard to beat Brittany.

Carson was in a pretty good mood that Friday as he went about his school day. To start with, he had unexpectedly acquired two new recruits for the Muckraker staff. He hadn't meant to. He hadn't even been looking for them. He'd just happened to accidentally discover Nicholas Forbes and Scott Thomas (treasurer and performing arts commissioner, respectively, on the student council) having secret, illicit sexytimes in the boy's bathroom after hours. At first he had just been afraid that it was Kurt and Blaine in there, which was the only reason he had loudly cleared his throat to announce his presence. To his relief, it wasn't them at all. He was all set to just get out of their way and forget what he'd heard, but then the boys had started just asking him what he'd want in exchange for his silence. And, well...Carson was an opportunist at heart, wasn't he? And that was how he'd had an easy enough time convincing them to write sections for the paper from now on, plus got them to pledge their votes for Kurt for president. He felt kind of like a terrible, hypocritical person blackmailing them like that, but it wasn't like he would actually tell anyone. He wasn't a monster, and Kurt would murder him. But they didn't have to know that, did they? And they were the ones who had started offering favors, so, whatever.

On top of that, the cast list for West Side Story was set to go up that afternoon, and Carson was positive Kurt would get the part he needed. So what if the hobbit had auditioned against him for the same role? That didn't mean a damn thing. Those auditions were supposed to be based on talent, damn it. And maybe after Carson had set them straight, the directors had seen the light.

As he was beginning to learn, things never went right when he thought they might. He would have to remember this from now on.

Because first, Kurt had come into the journalism classroom that afternoon looking extremely depressed.

"Oh god, what's wrong now?" asked Carson. "Just tell me whose ass I need to kick."

"Trollberry's, if you feel up to it," answered Kurt glumly. "She's running against me for president now."

Carson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You know, I would say I'm surprised, but I'm not. Rachel is a selfish bitch and only looks out for number one. WHY the fuck is she running?"

"Because she was afraid Mercedes would get Maria over her, and she wanted something for her NYADA application," answered Kurt, sitting at an empty desk and playing absentmindedly with his thumb.

"Yeah, and she has that. She practically got the fucking part when they double cast her and Mercedes, what does she need president for?"

Kurt shrugged. Carson gathered up his bag and held his hands out to Kurt, helping him up from the desk. "Well, come on. I'll make sure to kick Trollberry's ass for you later, but right now, don't you want to go see the cast list? I bet it's up by now, Tony."

Kurt gave him a sad smile and let himself be pulled up. "That's sweet, Carsey, but I doubt I got it."

Carson slung one arm around his shoulder and hugged him close as they left the classroom and walked down the hall, running into Blaine on the way, much to Carson's disappointment.

"I'm so nervous," Blaine said as they made their way toward the bulletin board where Artie had hung the cast list.

"Yeah, I would be nervous too if I had tried to steal a role my boyfriend desperately wanted and needed," muttered Carson. Blaine fixed him with a piercing glare, which Carson returned in kind.

Kurt sighed."Guys, please?" he asked. Carson tightened his grip on his twin's shoulder.

They reached the cast list and approached it as one. Santana, Brittany, and Rachel were already looking at it. Carson made sure to push past Rachel on his way up to the list."Move, Troll," he ordered. "And don't think I'm not going to make your life hell for screwing Kurt over again."

"Hey, I got it! I got Tony!" exclaimed Blaine, practically pushing Carson aside and hugging Kurt, burying his face in Kurt's neck. The look on Kurt's face was a heartbreaking mixture of happiness for Blaine (ugh, Kurt, WHY) and disappointment.

Nope. Nothing ever goes right at all.

Kurt had a feeling that accepting Santana's party invitation for the cast members of West Side Story probably wasn't a good idea. Carson was coming too, of course, even though he wasn't in the play. Santana hadn't seemed bothered when she had informed Kurt and Blaine of the party at lunch several days earlier and Carson had insisted that he was coming too. In fact, she had seemed almost eager to let him attend, even specifically mentioning, with a wink in Kurt's direction, that there would be alcohol.

"I know how much fun you and Carson have when there's booze involved," she'd said before leaving their table to go see Brittany. Kurt had felt himself blush, and next to him Carson had almost choked on his sandwich. Blaine had looked over at them curiously.

"What's she talking about?" he'd asked.

"Who knows?" Kurt said quickly, busying himself with drinking his water and avoiding Blaine's gaze. He didn't want to have to explain to his boyfriend that he had made out with his twin at parties before, even if Blaine technically had been there the last time. Kurt doubted he remembered his and Carson's makeout since he had been wrapped up in Rachel at the time, and as far as Kurt was concerned, it could stay that way.

They had all gone together to Santana's house in the SUV the twins had shared before Carson had gotten his car. Kurt had driven, with Carson riding shotgun (he had practically pushed Blaine down in his hurry to claim the passenger seat) and Blaine in the backseat, not looking terribly happy to be sitting there.

"Sorry, hobbit, it's the rules," Carson had said as he slipped into the front seat. "Children and hobbits have to ride in the back."

"You know-" Blaine began to say, before Kurt had cheerfully insisted on turning on the radio to head off any arguments between his brother and his boyfriend. Needless to say, it had been a tense ride.

Now Kurt sat on the couch in Santana's living room next to Carson, watching Blaine and Rachel drunkenly perform a rendition of "Tonight" and privately reflecting, for what seemed like the millionth time, how disappointed he was that he never even had a chance at playing Tony. Not with Blaine around. Of course he was going to be cast. Kurt felt stupid now for even letting himself think he could ever get the part. Not to even mention how hurt and pissed off he was at Rachel still. Nothing was going the way it was supposed to this year. The fact that he was well on his way to being drunk wasn't doing anything to squelch those thoughts, either. He never usually drank (much) but tonight he really felt like it.

Next to him, Carson was just as drunk, if not more. He had one arm slung around Kurt's shoulder and was waving his party cup around carelessly as he made snarky observations about Blaine and Rachel.

"I don't...don't know how Rachel and Bill...Bob...Bixby...dunno how they got the leads," he slurred. "Mer...Mercy...Mermaids was a better singer. And...and you should've got Tony o'er that fuckin' hobbit."

Kurt smiled languidly and patted Carson on the knee. "Yer sweet," he said. He noticed Santana staring over in their direction with a smirk, and he pressed his body closer to Carson's, resting his head on his shoulder. "And you're reaaaally soft," he added with a sigh, nuzzling his face into Carson's neck. "And you smell kind of like grapes, and it's...it's real nice."

"...I like grapes," replied Carson after a minute, ruffling Kurt's hair with his free hand. "And you. Grapes and you, that's what I like."

Kurt giggled and pressed a sloppy kiss to Carson's ear. Blaine and Rachel finished singing then, and Blaine came up to them, clearing his throat.

"Kuuuurt!" he exclaimed, grabbing Kurt's hands and pulling him up off the couch just a little too fast, causing Kurt to stumble a little. Carson's hands on his waist kept him from falling, but suddenly Blaine was dragging Kurt off to a nearby dark room, which Kurt was pretty sure was the dining room from what he could see.

"Wasn't that...wasn't that good?" asked Blaine, wrapping his arms around Kurt and leaning into him until he had Kurt almost up against the wall, practically crushing Kurt's body against his. "I'll be the best Tony ever, right?"

"Right," agreed Kurt, trying to squirm free from Blaine's grip. Blaine just pressed him closer and leaned his face in close to Kurt's, until whatever he had been drinking from Santana's assortment of booze invaded Kurt's nostrils.

"Mmm, kiss meee," Blaine purred, pressing his lips hard against Kurt's in a sloppy kiss.

"Mmmph," Kurt muttered against the assaulting lips. "Bl-" He gasped when he felt Blaine's hands traveling down his back, resting right on his ass. This was new, and Kurt wasn't sure he was comfortable with it.

"Blaine," he protested, wriggling around and trying to dislodge Blaine's hands. "Come on, quit it."

"Come oooon, Kurt," cooed Blaine, pressing Kurt further up against the wall and not removing his hands. "You look hot tonight, baby."

"Blaine...mmmph," said Kurt as his protests were cut off by another rough kiss.

"Hey, hobbit, he said to stop," came Carson's voice. Blaine's lips left Kurt and when he moved his head Kurt could see his twin standing silhouetted in the doorway, his face a storm cloud.

"Carson," Kurt said with a mixture of embarrassment and relief. Carson crossed over to them and took Kurt by the hand, leading him toward the doorway and flashing Blaine a glare. "Come on, Kurtsie. San...Santa...Starlanda said that iss time for...for games."

"Games?" asked Kurt apprehensively. He had a bad feeling in his stomach. Nothing good (well...ok...actually REALLY good things...just things he didn't want his boyfriend witnessing) ever came from Santana's games.

"That's riiiiight," said Santana cheerfully as they re-entered the Lopez living room. "We're playing Truth or Dare, Hummel, and trust me, it's gonna be fuuuuun."

Kurt gulped.

Carson decided, as he sat between Kurt and Blaine on the couch in Santana's living room and tried to balance his drink cup between his knees, that he would have to learn to be very wary whenever Santana organized a party, and specifically, whenever she organized a party game. He had no idea how, but he had the feeling deep in his (extremely drunk) stomach that he and Kurt were probably going to end up kissing during this game. Kissing seemed to be a fucking theme tonight, as half the dares anyone gave each other involved lip locking. Santana had kissed Brittany. Brittany had kissed both Puck and Artie. Tina had kissed Blaine, which both amused and disgusted Carson, since he could have lived a very long and happy life without ever seeing Blaine kissing anyone that close-up, although he was glad it was Tina and not Kurt for once. Both Blaine and Tina had gotten a little too into it, which hadn't amused either Mike or Kurt.

He'll just kiss anybody when he's drunk, won't he? thought Carson.

Anyway, it was practically a tradition now for Carson and Kurt to kiss at these things, and Santana was just the type of person to see to it that the tradition continued. She seemed to get some kind of weird kick out of seeing them kiss (and, ok, he also got a kick out of kissing Kurt, obviously, so why was he even complaining?). He had no doubt she would dare them to kiss each other at some point, especially with Blaine sitting right there. Truth be told, Carson was kind of looking forward to him watching. It would serve him right.

So when it got to be Kurt's turn and he picked a dare when Santana asked him truth or dare, Carson was extremely surprised (not to mention disappointed) when she narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms, and said "Give the hobbit a lap dance."

"What?" asked Kurt, Carson, and Blaine at the same time, all of them in decidedly different tones. Kurt sounded shocked, Blaine excited. Carson was pretty sure his own voice sounded pissed off beyond belief. The rest of the teens in the room looked on in interest.

"You heard me," said Santana, looking sternly at Kurt. "Go over there and give Mini Me the time of his young life."

"But...I don't know..." Kurt protested, looking uncomfortable.

"Well, if you're too chicken..." Santana said. She glanced ever so briefly over at Carson as she spoke and raised her eyebrows, as though daring him to challenge her. All he had the energy for was glaring at her.

"You don't hafta do it, Kuursey," he said as well as he could. He was a lot drunker now than he had been earlier. "Santa's jus' being a bitch."

"No," said Kurt determinedly, getting up on wobbly legs. "Know what? I'mma do it." Carson watched as Kurt stumbled over to Blaine. Santana clapped her hands.

"Excellent," she said. "Someone turn on some music so Hummel can shake his ass for us." Brittany eagerly got up and went over to the stereo system, fumbling with an iPod as she connected it to the dock.

"Kurt, no...San...Sandy...what the fuck are you..." said Carson, but he was interrupted as the opening notes of Lady Gaga's "Poker Face" loudly filled the room. Kurt looked uncertain what to do now that he was standing awkwardly in front of Blaine.

"Dance, Hummel," Santana ordered. "We don't have all night."

Kurt set his jaw and started dancing, using some of the moves Carson recognized from some of his previous performances, like "Push It" and "Born This Way." Only, unlike on the stage where Kurt was confident and owned those moves, here he just looked uncomfortable and awkward, and Carson couldn't even find it sexy to watch him dance because of it. He just wanted to scoop Kurt up and run away with him to keep him away from the leering Blaine, who was apparently enjoying the show and not even noticing how uneasy Kurt was. The younger boy shifted in his seat and Carson noticed the front of his pants starting to tent.

I would fucking murder you right here and now if I had the motor skills, hobbit, thought Carson, shooting a furious look over at Santana, who was smirking. She had also noticed Blaine's problem.

A hoot from Puck seemed to snap Kurt out of whatever had possessed him to start dancing in the first place, and he abruptly stopped, hurrying back over to his seat beside Carson and looking around at everyone as the song ended.

"He's done, Satan," Carson snapped. "You've had your fun, so let's move on, please."

"Looks like I'm not the only one who had fun," Santana said, casting a pointed glance over at Blaine, who flushed and stood up with his hands clasped awkwardly over the front of his pants.

"Yeah...um...I...I'm gonna go use the restroom," he said, hurrying out of the room. Carson glowered after him. I fucking bet he has to go "use" the restroom. He's going in there to fucking jack off over Kurt, and I swear to god I should follow him in there and punch him right in the fucking face.

"Ok, Britt, your turn to challenge someone," Santana said, snapping Carson out of his murderous thoughts about Blaine.

"Ok! Uuuum...Carson," said Brittany. "Truth or dare."

Carson rolled his eyes. "Dare," he said, figuring that, since it was Brittany, he would probably be dared to do something stupid, like act like a unicorn.

"Ok, I want you to give Kurt sweet twin kisses like you did at the other parties," said Brittany. "It was super hot, and I wanna see it again."

Carson gulped, his heart jumping into his throat. He hadn't expected that from Brittany. Santana, yes, but not Brittany, although now that he thought about it, Santana had probably put her up to it. Santana herself was grinning evilly beside Brittany.

"Go on, Hummel number two. You heard the woman. Go rock Kurt's world," she said. The other kids looked on with interest. Carson heard Tina whisper "It really was super hot last time" to Mike, and Rachel looked really confused and drunkenly said something, although fuck if Carson could figure out what it was. All he was concentrating on was trying not to faint as he fixed Santana with a withering stare.

"Challenge accepted," he said. He took a deep breath and turned to Kurt, searching his face for any signs of uneasiness. He didn't want Kurt to do anything else tonight that made him uncomfortable, but Kurt looked like he was anticipating the kiss, and his lips looked really plump and red and inviting, so Carson went for it. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Kurt's, savoring the pillowy softness of them, and the way they tasted like a mixture of strawberry lip balm and whatever Kurt had been drinking. It was an odd combination, but not entirely unpleasant.

"Mmm," Kurt sighed against his lips, and Carson's heartbeat quickened to an even faster pace as he felt Kurt's hands coming up to rest on either side of his face. The next thing he knew, Kurt was deepening the kiss, sucking eagerly on Carson's bottom lip, and oh, fuck, Carson could really get used to that, and then he gasped because Kurt was climbing into his lap. Kurt was drunk, though, and didn't have the finest handle on his movements, so Carson just let instinct take over and grabbed Kurt around the waist, settling him until Kurt was kneeling between Carson's knees. Carson briefly realized that this probably wasn't going to turn out well when he realized that their crotches were practically touching, and that..oh god...they were both getting hard, but then Kurt moaned into his mouth and he decided he didn't care that he was making out with his brother, with a half hard dick, in front of a room full of his classmates. Thank god for alcohol.

"This is even hotter than last time," he heard Brittany mutter, her voice sounding far away as Kurt continued kissing him hungrily. He definitely wasn't expecting the press of Kurt's tongue against his lips, demanding entrance into his mouth, but there it was, and Carson eagerly granted it permission, parting his lips and letting Kurt's tongue slide against his own. And then he felt Kurt grind his crotch into him ever so slightly, and his brain short circuited.

Oh fuck, this is what dying feels like, he thought blissfully, his hands clutching at Kurt's back and unconsciously working their way down. Kurt's lips left his, and Carson only had a few seconds of regret before he felt them on his jawline, peppering small kisses there before heading down to his neck, where Kurt began to suck eagerly.

Oh god oh god oh god, thought Carson, letting out a moan as his hands finally reached Kurt's ass and settled there, causing Kurt to let out a moan of his own.

"What the hell?" he heard someone ask.

"Shut up, Preppy, Britt dared them to kiss and rules is rules. Let them continue for a few minutes," said Santana. Carson's eyes flew open and saw Blaine standing there looking extremely confused and also...angry? Jealous? Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant.

"Ooookay, Kurt, this is weird. You can stop now," said Blaine, settling himself back on the couch and pulling at Kurt's arm until Kurt fell out of Carson's lap, toppling backwards onto Blaine. Carson glared at Blaine and Blaine glared right back at him.

Fuck you, thought Carson, kind of hoping that Blaine noticed that Kurt was still half hard, and not for his hobbit ass. You ruin everything.