Somehow, either by some kind of miracle or black magic, Carson managed to make it to the week of sectionals without murdering every last member of the glee club except for Kurt. He wasn’t sure exactly how that happened, because there had been more than a few close calls. Like when Rachel had approached him one morning before school started and cautiously asked him to be her glee club co-captain for the club’s yearbook picture (he had chuckled and then given her a big, fat NO, of course). Or the time she had signed up the entire club to star in a mattress commercial (the only good part of THAT had been watching Kurt bouncing around on all those mattresses dressed in those blue pajamas that perfectly brought out the color of his eyes, and…um…anyway). Or when she and Mercedes had practically had a throw down in the choir room over who was better able to perform a ballad (Carson had to give all his votes to Mercedes, if only because she wasn’t Rachel). Come to think of it, most of his problems with glee had to do with Rachel.

Now that everybody had found out about Puck being Quinn’s baby’s father except for Rachel (and Finn), Carson wasn’t sure whether he still wanted to murder everybody or if he wanted to study them. Because for as much effort as they were making to make sure that neither Rachel or Finn found out until at least after sectionals, they were doing a terrible job of it. Not to mention that Carson thought Finn really should have caught on by now, even as stupid as he was. Maybe Carson could make it into something for the paper. He could call it “Small Town Stupidity,” and do studies and shit. Yes, that would be epic.

He was so caught up in his thoughts (and in the game of Scrabble he was playing on his phone) that he almost didn’t even notice Finn entering the choir room until he was lunging at Puck, swinging his fists and screaming like some kind of demented caveman.

Guess he must have found out about who the real father is, thought Carson, amused at the sight of Finn beating the absolute shit out of Puck while the whole club just stood around and watched. Maybe if nobody does anything, they’ll kill each other. Oh god, I hope so. That would be entertaining as hell.

Unfortunately for Carson, Mr. Schue eventually showed up and broke the two boys apart, yelling at them to knock it off.

“Tell the truth!” Finn screamed as Mr. Schue held him back away from Puck.

“Dude just walked in and sucker punched me!” Puck complained.

Carson rolled his eyes and went back to his phone, completely disinterested as Quinn made her tearful confession and everybody looked at each other awkwardly.

“So, all that stuff about the hot tub…you just made that up?” Finn asked Quinn.

“You were stupid enough to buy it!” Puck answered. Carson snorted loudly, causing everyone in the room to turn in his direction and glare at him.

“What?” he asked. “Mohawk has a point! Seriously, I’ve been wondering when you would ever figure it out, Finn. Although, I have to say, I’m kind of impressed that it only took you a few months. I was expecting you to buy Quinn’s story until the kid was at least a teenager. So, bravo!”

Everybody just looked at him for a second, mystified, before he was forgotten about as Finn and Quinn continued their tear-filled fight. Eh, whatever. He had to find out sometime, Carson shrugged to himself as he returned to his game.

**************************

Sectionals finally came and went, much to Carson’s relief. Coach Sylvester ended up leaking their setlist to the competing schools, causing the club to have to scramble to assemble three numbers in under an hour. Carson couldn’t understand why everyone thought this was such a terrible thing.

“Um, guys? Don’t we kind of always do this? I mean, Schuester is handing us new sheet music at every damn meeting and you all are suddenly up and dancing with perfect choreography. An hour should be plenty of time for you to come up with a new setlist,” he had said sensibly. Not surprisingly, he was answered with a chorus of eye rolls. He just counted himself as lucky that he didn’t have to actually be out on the stage when Rachel screeched her way through “Don’t Rain On My Parade.” He couldn’t believe that New Directions actually won after the judges heard that, but whatever.

The best part of sectionals being over was that it meant he and Kurt didn’t have to go to school for three weeks. Winter break was such a wonderful invention.

“Three weeks of no glee club, no Finn, and best of all, no Trollberry!” Carson exclaimed gleefully as he and Kurt woke up on the first morning of vacation. Kurt mumbled and snuggled closer into Carson’s arms, pulling the blanket back up that had slid down during the night. His back was pleasantly warm against Carson’s chest.

“Oh my god, Carson, it’s like 7am,” he said sleepily. “We have no school to go to. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t, I’m too excited,” replied Carson, even as he settled back against his pillow and held Kurt closer, running one of his hands lightly up and down Kurt’s arm. He had developed something of a habit of doing this. He couldn’t help it. Kurt’s arms felt really good under his fingers, especially as they grew more and more defined every day. It was a shame, really, that they were always hidden under so many layers of clothing. Tight shirts would be such a good look for him.

“You can’t get up, because then I won’t be able to sleep anymore,” Kurt whined, his voice thick with fatigue. “Just…like…give me two more hours. And then we can go play in the snow.”

Carson smiled, even though Kurt couldn’t see his face. “Ok, ok, you win. Go back to sleep, Kurtsie. I’ll stay here.”

Kurt sighed happily. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Carson said. Not that he minded, really. Lazy mornings in bed with Kurt were actually his favorite part of weekends and school vacations.

He must have fallen back asleep, because the next thing he knew, Kurt was gently shaking him awake.

“Carson…still wanna go play in the snow?” he asked.

Carson’s eyes opened slowly, peering at Kurt, who was already dressed from head to toe in impeccably stylish outerwear, complete with a white scarf and hat to match his sky blue coat. Carson smiled sleepily.

“Yep…give me five minutes,” he replied, getting out of bed and quickly grabbing the first clothes he could find. He and Kurt may have been twins, but their morning routines were anything but identical.

“You’re wearing a hoodie?” Kurt asked disbelievingly as he watched Carson get dressed. “It’s twenty degrees outside right now, and you’re just wearing a hoodie?”

Carson shrugged as he put on his boots with gloved hands. “Yeah? You know that I don’t get cold. My blood is pretty much constantly boiling hot, I’m sure of it. I think my anger issues make it that way. Besides, this isn’t just a normal hoodie. It has a fleece lining. See?” He opened the jacket to reveal the inside the Kurt, who rolled his eyes.

 “You’re going to catch a cold dressed like that,” he protested. “Will you at least put on a scarf?”

“Do I have to? They’re so bulky.”

“Yes. Pleeeaaase?” Kurt pleaded, sucking in his bottom lip.

“Oh fuck, not the pout,” Carson said. “You know I can’t…ok, fine, I’ll wear a scarf.”

“And a hat.”

Carson sighed. “And a hat.”

Kurt watched as Carson put on the items, giving him a satisfied smile. “Ok, let’s go pretend we’re six years old again and go play in the snow!” he said, grabbing Carson’s hand and leading them outside. The backyard was covered in a shiny, white blanket of freshly fallen snow. It was so beautiful that Carson almost felt sorry for wanting to destroy it, but what was even more beautiful was the sight of Kurt against it, the contrast between the snow and the color of his coat making him look like a gorgeous decoration. Carson just stared at him for a minute, completely transfixed, until Kurt gathered up a handful of snow and packed it into a ball, which he threw at Carson with a cheeky grin.

“Oh, you did NOT just throw a snowball at me,” Carson said, placing his hands on his hips in an exaggerated manner and trying to glare at Kurt despite the smile already forming on his face.

“Actually, yes, I did. And it hit you right in the chest. I am awesome,” Kurt gloated, picking up more snow. “You might want to start growing some balls to hit me with,” he said mischievously, “before I pummel you with more of mine.”

Carson started gathering snow in his hand, dodging the snowballs being pelted at him by Kurt as he formed his own frozen artillery (taking care not to pack the snow too tightly, because he didn’t want to hurt Kurt, although Kurt was certainly not showing him the same consideration).

“Alright, Kurtsie, you asked for it,” he said once he had a respectable number of snowballs at his disposal. “You wanted a war, and now you’ve got one. Prepare to taste my frozen fury!” He took one of the snowballs in his hand and aimed it carefully at Kurt, throwing it with all his might. It landed on Kurt’s arm and kind of bounced there before landing in a splatter back on the ground.

“You’re going to have to have better aim than that if you want to beat me in this war,” taunted Kurt. Carson frowned and picked up another ball, trying to aim it at Kurt’s chest as he threw it. It ended up sailing right over Kurt’s head and into the yard beyond.

“Your aim is terrible!” shouted Kurt. Carson picked up a third ball and heaved it right at his face, figuring that he would miss and it would land on his shoulder or something. To his horror, his aim was accurate this time, and the snowball landed square in the middle of Kurt’s face.

“Oh, god, Kurt, I’m so sorry!” Carson shouted as he rushed over to his twin, who was standing with his gloved hands covering his face. Carson could hear him whimpering even before he reached him. Shit. How hard had the fucking snowball hit him? He hoped he hadn’t hit him in the eye or something.

“Ow,” Kurt whined from beneath his hands.

 “Oh fuck, Kurtsie….are you ok? Oh god, I thought I would MISS, or else I wouldn’t have thrown it at….OW!” Carson shouted as a snowball hit him hard in the neck.

“Payback’s a bitch,” Kurt said, removing his hands from his face and snickering. “By the way, that snowball sucked. It wasn’t nearly hard enough to do any damage.”

“You better run,” said Carson, “because I am going to catch you and shove snowballs all inside your coat.”

“Nooooo!” shouted Kurt, running away as fast as he could in his boots, which wasn’t very fast at all. Carson caught up with him in seconds, tackling him to the snowy ground and holding him there, pinning him under his weight.

“Let me up!” Kurt said, squirming beneath Carson, who refused to budge.

“Not until you apologize.”

“Why should I? You’re the one who threw a snowball at my face. That’s harassment, you know. I had sooo many slushie flashbacks,” said Kurt.

“Letting me think you were hurt was just cruel, though,” replied Carson as Kurt continued trying to wiggle free. “Do you have any idea how horrible I would feel if I accidentally hurt you?” He looked down into Kurt’s face. His cheeks were red from cold and exertion, small particles of snow clinging to his long eyelashes where the snowball had hit earlier. The rest of his face looked even paler than usual, making the flushed color of his lips stand out. God, he was gorgeous.  Kurt stopped struggling and looked back at him.

“You’d feel awful. I know,” said Kurt quietly.  He bit his lip and brought his hands up as far as he could to grip at Carson’s arms. Despite the cold, Carson felt a rush of heat flood his body, making him uncomfortably hot inside his jacket. “I’m sorry,” Kurt said, blinking up at him.

They stared at each other for several more seconds, both of them breathing hard, although Carson couldn’t tell if his own breathing was from the exertion or the situation he was suddenly realizing he was in. He couldn’t stop looking at Kurt’s lips. They were so flushed and swollen and..there. Why couldn’t he stop looking at them? He leaned his head down, and oh god, what the fuck am I doing, no, I can’t…

In the nick of time, his kiss landed on Kurt’s cheek instead of on his lips. Carson would have laughed with relief, except that he was shaking like a leaf. Kurt looked at him with his eyes open wide, his cheeks flushing an even darker red. Carson quickly got up off of Kurt as though he were on fire, holding his hand out to help him up.

“Just…don’t let it happen again,” he said, not sure whether he was talking to himself or answering Kurt. He brushed the snow off of his jacket and looked anywhere but at Kurt, hoping that he could calm down before Kurt noticed just how shaken up he was.

"Know what? It's actually freezing," said Kurt, carefully brushing the snow off his own ass while Carson tried not to stare. "Let's go inside."

                                   **********************

Fortunately, Carson didn’t have very much time to think about what had almost happened out in the snow (and if Kurt was thinking about it, he wasn’t saying anything), because the next day he woke up feeling like absolute shit, his head pounding and his entire body feeling like it was on fire.

“Carson? Are you ok?” he heard Kurt’s voice say. He felt Kurt’s cool hand on his forehead as he drifted slowly into consciousness. “Oh, god, Carson, you’re burning up!” Kurt exclaimed, getting out of the bed and pulling the blankets off him. “You’re sick! I told you to wear something other than that stupid hoodie yesterday!”

“M’fine,” Carson mumbled, burying his face in his pillow and trying to ignore the pounding in his head. And the way his throat felt full of knives whenever he tried to swallow. He wanted to tell Kurt that colds don’t work like that, and that he must have picked it up from their germ factory of a high school at some point before the break started, but he couldn’t find the energy.

“No, you’re not fine,” Kurt fretted, pressing the pads of his fingers against Carson’s neck, searching for something.

“Ow,” Carson groaned.

“Sorry. You have a swollen gland,” Kurt said.

“So it would appear….ow,” Carson groaned again. Talking hurt.

“Ok, well, you are NOT getting out of bed today, or tomorrow, or the next few days, really. You’re going to stay there and I’m going to take care of you,” said Kurt, his soft hand caressing Carson’s cheek. “And I know you want to protest so badly, but you can just stop right there, because I won’t listen to you.”

Carson didn’t have the energy to do much besides nod his head before he fell back asleep, Kurt’s voice slowly fading away as he drifted off.

He slept fitfully, drifting in and out of consciousness as he tossed and turned, unable to get even the tiniest bit comfortable. The next time he opened his eyes, fully awake, he found himself alone in the room. Kurt was nowhere to be seen.

“Kurt?” he tried to call out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kurt appeared just then, coming down the stairs and smiling at him. “Oh, good, you woke up just in time,” he said. He was holding a tray containing a bowl, a glass of water, and a small bottle of pills.

“How long was I asleep?” Carson croaked, trying to sit up and wincing at the ache that spread throughout his body.

“About four hours,” replied Kurt, setting the tray on Carson’s nightstand and pulling his desk chair over beside the bed to sit on. “I had to go out for a bit to pick up some things for you. We didn’t have any Tylenol in the house, if you can believe it, and while I was at the store I got some stuff to make you chicken soup,” he said, nodding toward the bowl on the tray.

“My head hurts,” Carson whined. “And my throat. And my everything.”

“I know, Carsey,” Kurt said soothingly, patting his hand gently. “I took your temperature while you were sleeping. You have got SUCH a fever. Now, first I want you to take these,” he ordered, opening the bottle of Tylenol and shaking out two pills, handing them to Carson along with the glass of water. Carson swallowed them down quickly, gulping at the water like he had never had it before, despite the sharp pain in his throat every time he swallowed. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until right that moment.

“Good,” said Kurt approvingly, reaching for the bowl of soup and stirring it before lifting the spoon to Carson’s mouth. “Now I want you to eat this.”

Carson’s mouth opened to accept the spoon, grateful for the relief as the warmth of the soup soothed his aching throat. “I can feed myself, you know,” he said as Kurt dipped the spoon back in the bowl. “I’m sick, I’m not an infant.”

“I know,” said Kurt, “but I enjoy taking care of you, so shut up and let me feed you.”

Carson obeyed, settling back against the pillows and letting Kurt feed him the soup spoonful by spoonful, until the bowl was empty.

“There,” said Kurt, satisfied with Carson’s progress. “How’s your headache now? Are the meds kicking in yet?”

“Kind of,” Carson said. “Still hurts, though.” He shivered, despite his fever. Kurt noticed this and pulled at the blankets, tugging them up and covering Carson with them, one hand reaching up to feel his forehead again.

“My poor Carsey,” he said, giving Carson’s hair a light stroke. “You should try to sleep some more. I’ll be right here, ok?”

Carson opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t tired, but realized that, yeah, he was. “Ok,” he agreed, settling into the blankets and sighing against his pillow. “Will you sing to me?” he asked.

Kurt smiled warmly. “Of course! Any requests?”

Carson shook his head. “Whatever you want will be perfect.”

Kurt thought for a minute before clearing his throat and beginning to sing.

“525,600 minutes….525,000 moments so dear…”

Carson smiled to himself. Rent. Of course. One of Kurt’s musicals of choice. He let Kurt’s voice settle over him as his eyes fluttered shut and he slowly fell asleep.

He woke up briefly several hours later, long enough for Kurt to make him take more pills and feed him more soup, then fell back asleep. The next time he opened his eyes, it was nighttime and Carson found himself with his head in Kurt’s lap as Kurt sat up in bed reading a book.

“Hi, Sleepy,” Kurt said quietly, ruffling Carson’s hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Cranky,” Carson replied truthfully. Everything hurt again, even worse than before, and his head was pounding. “I think I’m dying,” he whined.

“Oh, hush. You are not,” said Kurt, putting a bookmark in his book and setting it on his bedside table.

“Yes I am, Kurt. I feel like there’s a million knives sticking out of me right now. How do you know I don’t have some kind of deadly disease? You’re not a doctor.”

Kurt snorted. “No, but I know you’re not dying.”

Carson pouted. “But it huuuuurts.”

“It’s going to hurt for a while, honey. You’re sick.”

Carson sighed. “Get me my notebook out of my nightstand, please. I need to write out my will while I’m still coherent enough. Oh, and I don’t want Rachel at my funeral. Or Finn. Or anybody in the glee club, actually. But especially not Trollberry or Frankenteen. If either one of them shows up at my funeral, I swear, I will haunt you until the day you die.”

Kurt laughed quietly. “Ok, I promise. But you’re not dying. You’re just a drama queen.”

Carson sighed. “You shouldn’t be in bed with me right now. You’re going to catch whatever this is.”

“I know. I don’t care,” replied Kurt, tracing soft circles on Carson’s shoulder with the pad of his thumb. “I’ve already been exposed to it anyway. Damage already done. And you wouldn’t be able to sleep if I wasn’t here.”

“That’s true,” Carson mumbled. “I still don’t like knowing that I’m getting you sick, though.”

“Well, think of it this way,” said Kurt. “I take care of you now, and then when I get sick, you can return the favor. Deal?”

Carson smiled. “Deal.”

With much coddling from Kurt, Carson was feeling much better several days later. Kurt, however, was not. As predicted, he had come down with Carson’s illness, and it nearly broke Carson’s heart to see him so miserable. Especially because he wasn’t nearly as good at taking care of Kurt as Kurt was at taking care of him, but he did his best.

“Now I understand why you thought you were dying,” Kurt said on his second day of being sick. “This suuuuucks.”

“Is there anyone I should bar from attending your funeral?” asked Carson as he handed Kurt two Tylenols.

“No, but please make sure that the funeral home makes me look good,” answered Kurt. “I should probably plan what I want to wear.”

“You’ll do no such thing, because you’re not dying,” said Carson. “And if you were, there must be some demon somewhere who will make me a deal. Your life for my soul, or something.”

“You’d actually sell your soul to save my life?”

"You fucking bet."

"I feel so protected and loved," Kurt said as Carson climbed into bed beside him. He leaned his head on Carson's chest and sighed deeply. "Best big brother ever."

"I know," said Carson. "Now close your eyes and get some sleep. I want you better yesterday."

*********************

By the time the new semester started up at McKinley, Carson had mostly forgotten all about the almost-kiss in the snow. The more he had thought about it, the more he had decided that it must have just been a completely random occurrence. He was a teenage boy, after all, and he had wild hormones just like every other teenage boy. He didn't socialize much, other than with Kurt, so of course that had almost happened. It made perfect sense, really. He would just have to learn to control himself better. That last thing he needed was a repeat.

So he forgot about it and dove headfirst into the new semester, concentrating hard on his classes and his work on the Muckraker. Several seniors had joined the newspaper staff after the break, apparently in a panic that they didn't have much in the way of extracurriculars to their name for colleges to be excited about. No matter their reason for being there, they were at least helpful. Carson's workload decreased dramatically (although, make no mistake, he definitely still called all the shots), and people actually started reading the paper. He assumed they did, anyway. He had spotted people around the school holding copies, so he just preferred to think they were planning on reading it instead of lining their cats' litter boxes with it or something.

Sure, he still had to deal with the idiots in glee club, but hey, baby steps. He had faith that any day now, a large alligator would scoop up Rachel on her way to school and swallow her whole, regurgitating her crushed bones onto the ground when it was through. He could dream. Life was going pretty well for him.

And then, one fine morning in early February, Kurt came upstairs from their room dressed in the male version of the McKinley High Cheerios uniform.

Carson was already at the table, calmly eating his cereal, which he very nearly choked on when Kurt made his entrance.

"Kurt," he croaked, coughing around the stuck bits of cereal in his throat. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

"My new uniform," replied Kurt cheerfully, grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. "Coach Sylvester invited Mercedes and me to be on the Cheerios as her newly added vocal component. You like it?"

"Yeah, I...she just asked you? That's weird. I thought she hated the glee kids," Carson mused, trying desperately not to notice how fucking sexy Kurt looked in that damn uniform (and failing).

Kurt shrugged. "Yeah, I guess she didn't think much of the Madonna makeover we tried to give her, but....hey. Cheerios. We weren't going to turn down that offer, especially since we talked it over and we agreed that this would give us the spotlight we're being constantly denied in the glee club. Now that Rachel's boy toy Jesse has joined, you know damn well I've been pretty much screwed out of ever getting a solo."

Carson nodded. He actually didn't mind Jesse, because he was a sarcastic jerk to pretty much everyone, just like Carson, and wasn't afraid to tell people when they sucked. If it wasn't for Jesse's demonstration of extremely poor judgment by dating Rachel, Carson thought he almost could have been friends with the boy. However, Kurt did have a point. Jesse came to them fresh from being the male lead in Vocal Adrenaline, so Mr. Schue was probably clamoring to start handing him solos on a silver platter, and Kurt would definitely never get one now. Carson could see how joining the Cheerios would be a tempting offer for him.

Not to mention that uniform, because Jesus Christ, that thing was doing Kurt so many favors. Especially around his ass, and...fuck, I have GOT to stop staring at his ass. This is becoming a problem. Snap the fuck out of it, Carson.

"So...um...when's your first performance?" Carson asked, trying to sound casual.

"Pep assembly in a few days. Coach is just going to insert us into the routine," replied Kurt.

"Great! I'll be there," said Carson.

"What, I don't have to pout and beg you to come watch me?" Kurt asked. "I'm kind of disappointed. I like the pout."

"You can pout if you want to," said Carson. "Not going to stop you."

"Nope, the moment is ruined," said Kurt. "No pout for you."

“Aw, come on,” Carson prodded. “I don’t feel like you really want me there enough if you aren’t willing to pout for it. Besides, I need to feel like I’m being forced to go just for you, otherwise it looks like I’m going soft and becoming less cynical and surly in my old age.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows and gave him a hard look. Then he sucked his bottom lip inside his mouth and frowned, making the face he knew was a weakness for Carson. “Pleeeease, Carsey. Please come watch me perform my very first Cheerios number at the pep assembly.”

“Ah, there we go. Much better. Yes, Kurt, I will go to the pep assembly just for the privilege of watching you perform,” Carson answered, getting up and patting Kurt gingerly on the back before rinsing out his bowl and sticking it in the dishwasher.

“Great, now let’s go before we’re late,” said Kurt, shaking his head.

**********************

Carson had no idea how the hell he managed to concentrate on school over the next few days with Kurt wearing that damn uniform. Actually, it was safe to say that he didn't concentrate. He honestly couldn't say what he had learned, if anything, because all he was doing when Kurt was around was taking in the way his body looked in that tight uniform. It was...fuck, it was just amazing. The way the top was stretched taught over Kurt's chest, and the way the pants hugged his ass just right. 

I think I have some sort of perverted mental illness, Carson thought on more than one occasion. Like, seriously, I am not normal. This is NOT normal. It can’t be normal to be obsessing over how your own twin brother’s ass looks in a cheerleading uniform, even if he IS hot and even if his ass IS the best ass you’ve ever seen on anybody in the entire history of the fucking world.

It only got worse when the day of the pep assembly arrived and Carson sat in the bleachers nervously, tapping his foot so much that Quinn Fabray turned around and glared in his direction. He glared right back at her. She could just shut the fuck up, because he had problems to worry about. Like, for example, if he could manage to watch Kurt perform in that uniform without breaking out into hives.

The performance soon started and Kurt and Mercedes took their places among the crowd of cheerleaders, dancing to the perfectly choreographed routine as the music for Madonna's "4 Minutes" filled the gym. Carson zeroed in on his brother, ignoring every other person. He literally could not take his eyes off Kurt. The building could have crumbled all around him, for all he would have noticed, because all that existed was Kurt out on that gymnasium floor. Carson had never seen anything so fucking hot in his entire life. Then Kurt let out a deep grunt after singing his first verse, and Carson developed an even bigger problem. Literally. 

Because there was suddenly an awful lot of blood travelling south.

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my fuck, no, not here. Not...not while I'm watching this, please. FUCK. Just...fuck, GO DOWN. Please. Please? Oh god, PLEASE? This is really not the time to get a fucking boner, oh my fuck. PLEASE GO DOWN. DOWN. DOWN DOWN DOWN. Shit.

His silent pleading with his dick was fruitless. It didn't listen to him, just strained harder against the fabric of his jeans. He quickly grabbed for his messenger bag and placed it over his lap, pretending that he had to root through it right that very minute for something extremely important as he snuck glances over to where Kurt was still dancing in that fucking sinful uniform, which wasn't helping his situation one bit.

Why me? he thought miserably as he tried to think about unsexy things. Um..ok...uh...dead puppies....bird shit on the car windows...um...that dirty diaper I almost stepped in once in the parking lot of the grocery store before Kurt pointed it out….oh god, no, Carson, don’t think of Kurt, that isn’t helping…anything but him…anything…um..ok…Finn naked…OH GOD MY POOR BRAIN...Rachel....Rachel's boobs...eeeeew, oh god, why the fuck did I just think about...oh...well...those things seem to have solved my problem, he thought with relief. He somehow managed to make it through the rest of the performance and stood up quickly, making sure Kurt saw him wave before he hauled ass out of that gym. He held his bag tightly in front of him, just in case. He was quite sure he was screwed if Kurt was going to wear that uniform every day from now on. There was no way he could deal with this torture on a daily basis. No fucking way.

He was back in the bleachers, but he was the only one this time. Nobody else was there. The only other person in the gym was Kurt, out on the floor performing the "4 Minutes" routine all by himself, everything seeming to happen in slow motion. Carson's eyes travelled down to Kurt's ass, which looked so fucking round in those Cheerio pants, even better than it looked in his usual clothes, which was saying something, because Kurt's ass always looked fantastic. Kurt swiveled his hips sensually as he continued to dance, and Carson was struck with a barrage of so many inappropriate thoughts just from those hips that he barely noticed that Kurt was bending over now, slowly straightening back up as he trailed his hands up his legs, and oh god THAT ASS. Carson could feel it happening again before he could stop it. He could feel his pants becoming tighter as his stupid traitor of a dick filled with blood, and oh FUCK, where was his bag? WHERE WAS IT? Kurt was definitely going to notice this, shit...

Carson's eyes snapped open and he blinked furiously, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the bedroom. It had just been a dream. Thank god, it was just a dream. He was in his bed and pressed up against Kurt, and...oh, fuck. At least one part of that had not been a dream. And that part was currently dangerously close to poking into Kurt's back.

Carson scrambled out of bed as quietly as he could, praying he didn't disturb Kurt in the process. He hurled himself into their attached bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind him and glaring down at the hardness tenting his pajama bottoms.

"I hate you," he whispered to it. "You're the fucking WORST." He bit his lip to keep from moaning as he palmed himself just a little to relieve some of the pressure. He wondered how much of a sick pervert it would make him if he were to quickly take care of his problem and then get back to bed before Kurt woke up and noticed he was gone. He decided he didn't care. His will was only so strong. Nobody had to know, right?

He slowly pushed his pajama bottoms down and wet his hand with water from the sink, taking hold of his erection and slowly stroking. He tried to think about anything but Kurt, anything at all, but unfortunately his brain had other ideas. The image of Kurt moving in that uniform filled his head as he stroked himself faster, arriving at the edge quickly, much to his relief. Thank fuck, this would be over soon and he could forget about it and try to go back to normalcy. He could work on not staring at Kurt's ass at every opportunity, even if it was the most gorgeous thing ever to grace those Cheerio pants, and...

Thinking about Kurt's ass apparently did it for him, and he bit down on his lip to keep quiet as he came hard over his hand, stroking himself through it and practically whimpering as he shivered through the aftershocks.

You're a sick fuck, he admonished himself as he cleaned himself up. He's your brother, you asshole. You can't keep letting this happen. Next time you jerk off, try to think of normal shit, ok? Fuck.

He pulled his pants back up and quietly snuck back into bed. Thankfully, Kurt was still sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling as he took deep breaths. Carson sighed with relief and wrapped an arm around him, holding him close. He could feel Kurt’s heartbeat through his clothes, the heartbeat of the person he loved more than anything in this stupid world, the person he would do anything for. And suddenly he felt even more disgusted with himself for what he had just done. God, what was wrong with him? Why did this shit keep happening to him? And fuck, what would Kurt think if he knew? He’d probably be so freaked out and uncomfortable, and Carson wouldn’t blame him one bit.

He tightened his hold around Kurt and pressed a kiss to the top of his hair. Kurt stirred a little, but didn’t wake up. Carson could feel the muscles in Kurt’s arms underneath his fingers and felt a wave of guilt hit him like a freight train.

I'm sorry, Kurtsie. I won't let that happen again, I promise. Forgive me?