Finn pretty much avoided Carson after the incident in the basement, which was lucky for him, because Carson was dying for an opportunity to punch the other side of his face. The swollen, black and blue eye he was currently sporting could use a matching one on the other side, in Carson’s opinion.

“Damn, Hudson, what the hell happened to your eye?” Santana Lopez had asked him at the next glee club meeting. “Do you owe money to the mafia or something? Jesus.”

“Yes, Finn, what did happen to your eye? It looks really bad,” Carson had said innocently from his seat next to Kurt, his eyes fixed down at his phone screen. “It must be so very, very painful. I’m sure you’ve learned to never again do whatever it was you did that may have caused such a painful affliction.” Kurt had shot him an “Oh god Carson, please don’t start on this right now” look, and Finn had looked extremely uncomfortable as he gazed down at his shoes.

“Got hit with a ball yesterday,” he had mumbled in response to Santana, refusing to look at Carson. Good. Carson didn’t want him to feel like he had the right to even look at either him or Kurt right now. Kurt may have forgiven him, because he was Kurt and he was unfailingly sweet and always forgave and forgot way too easily for his own good, but if there was one thing Carson was awesome at, it was holding a grudge. Which he fully intended to do for as long as possible. Nobody fucked with his brother and got away with it. Nobody. Finn had officially earned a permanent spot at the top of Carson’s shit list.

At least he wasn’t living with them anymore, so there was that. Not right now, anyway. He and his mom had gone back to their own house for a while, which everyone involved had decided would be for the best. Carson hoped it stayed that way. Preferably forever. Or at least until he and Kurt had graduated.

Another plus, the best one, in Carson’s opinion, was that Kurt seemed to have finally gotten over his infatuation with Finn. He no longer made heart eyes at him in the choir room or went out of his way to get close to him, and Carson could not have been more grateful that Kurt had finally seen the light. He wished it hadn’t taken being verbally attacked to make Kurt realize that Finn sucked, but still. At least something good had come from this whole debacle.

So, the club pressed on with preparations for regionals, which was going about as well as their preparations for sectionals had. Which was to say, Mr. Schue was continuing to give them bullshit assignments every week instead of actually helping prepare them for the upcoming competition. Carson officially gave up trying to point out how stupid this was, or that they were going to lose regionals if they didn’t start actually rehearsing something soon. Nobody seemed to listen to him, and he was just wasting his breath. Seriously, “funk week?” What the fuck was that shit? The only good thing to happen that week was that Kurt had worn extremely tight red pants for their funk number, and to say that they showed off all his assets in the most wonderful of ways would have been an understatement. Not that Carson was looking or anything (ok, he totally was).

Well…that and the fact that that Rachel Berry got eggs thrown at her in the school parking lot by her ex-boyfriend, Jesse, and his friends from Vocal Adrenaline, which he had rejoined after leaving McKinley. Carson wasn’t sure of the whole story there…something to do with Rachel’s biological mother or whatever…but he didn’t really care. He only wished he had been there to see her get covered in shattered eggs, because that shit would have been epic.

“And now I just keep having nightmares of all the mothers of the little baby chicks coming after me for revenge,” she had whined in glee club the day after it happened.

“I would pay money to see that, actually,” Carson said. “I’m not even kidding.”

“Ugh, this is bull!” Puck exclaimed, clenching his hands into fists. “Finn, Mike, Matt…come with me,” he ordered, getting up from his seat as the rest of the glee boys followed him.

“Right on. It’s time for less talking and more punching,” Finn said. Interesting choice of words, Finn, considering what I did to your face, thought Carson. He noticed Kurt getting up from his seat to join the rest of the boys, pushing Artie’s wheelchair along with him.

Kurt, what the hell? Why do you even care about this? You HATE Rachel. How many times would we have thrown eggs at her ourselves if we had them at our disposal? Then again, he thought, that just went to show what a good person Kurt was if he was willing to help stand up for someone he didn’t even like. Carson wished he could be more like Kurt.

But he wasn’t, and he didn’t care about Rachel, so he stayed put.

“Hey, what’s going on?” asked Mr. Schue as he entered the choir room.

“We’re on our way to go all Braveheart on Vocal Adrenaline!” said Finn angrily. Carson rolled his eyes. Oh, please, Finn. You’re twice my size and I punched you so hard I’m pretty sure your descendants will be feeling that pain. And I’m pretty sure that Jesse guy is tougher than he looks.

“Guys, violence is never the answer!” Mr. Schue protested.

“It is when the question is what’s the best way to mess up that Jesse kid’s face,” retorted Puck. Oh my God, who the hell CARES? It was just eggs. They didn’t throw shit at her. Fuck.

“Mr. Schue, Rachel is one of us. We’re the only ones who get to humiliate her,” Kurt said in a determined tone. Oh, Kurtsie. That’s kind of sweet. Sickening and odd, considering you’re talking about Rachel, but sweet.

“Soooo, am I the only person here who kind of wants to give Jesse a high five and then buy him a drink?” asked Carson. Everybody glared at him and ignored him, except for Santana, who raised her hand halfway in the air.

"Actually, no. I kind of want to throw him a parade," she said.

Mr. Schue yelled at everyone to sit down, and Carson was amused to see that Kurt was the first person scrambling back to his seat, practically tripping over himself to get there.

“You were gonna defend Trollberry’s honor, hmm?” he whispered teasingly in Kurt’s ear.

“Shut up,” Kurt whispered back. “It was the gentlemanly thing to do, and I would have looked like a jerk if I hadn’t joined them. I’m not you, you know. I care what people think.”

“That’s your problem in a nutshell,” Carson said, squeezing his hand lovingly.

                                                     ***********

The week of regionals arrived, and Carson wished he could say he was surprised that the club still hadn’t picked a setlist, but he wasn’t, because it was clear by now that Will Schuester was the worst glee club director ever. He didn’t know why everyone was always getting so pissy whenever Coach Sylvester pointed this out. She was right.

They ended up performing a medley of Journey songs that they had literally only had about twenty-four hours to rehearse. And then everyone wondered why they came in third place.

“Gee, do you think it could possibly be because we spent week after week doing worthless assignments where we were all supposed to learn lessons about finding ourselves or whatever, instead of picking a setlist early on and rehearsing it relentlessly until it was perfect?” Carson had asked sarcastically back in the green room. “Because that’s what the other teams did. Fuck, you guys are hopeless if you can’t comprehend that.”

“Those assignments weren’t worthless, Carson,” Rachel protested. “They helped us.”

“Really? Tell me, does anyone in this room feel like Madonna Week was in any way helpful to them or their performance when they were out on that stage today?” Carson asked. “What about Hello Week? Or Bad Reputation Week? Hmm? Did any of you stop after your performance and think “Wow, I sure am glad that Mr. Schuester made us sing “Ice Ice Baby” in glee club last month, because I really feel prepared for this competition now?” Somehow I doubt it. We’re never going to win another competition if we continue to put such minimal thought into the planning of our numbers, while the other teams are rehearsing the same number for months on end. Not that I really care, but shit! Use your heads, people!” he finished, his chest heaving from his longwinded speech.

As was so often the case, nobody even acknowledged that he had spoken except for Kurt, who gave him a tight smile. Carson knew that Kurt was probably the most disappointed out of any of them that they hadn’t even placed. Carson rubbed at his eyes and glanced at his watch. It had been a long day. Quinn’s water had broken right after their performance was over, and the entire club except for Rachel had accompanied her to the hospital, where they had sat in the maternity ward waiting room for the entire duration of her labor.

“Why do we all have to be here?” Carson had complained to Kurt, who had found a months-old copy of Vogue among the tattered magazines and was flipping through it leisurely. “I don’t even like Quinn, and I couldn’t care less about her being in labor.”

“You’re here because it was either come with us or stay at the theater with Rachel,” said Kurt calmly, turning a page of his magazine. “And to drastically paraphrase your response, you said that you would rather pleasure yourself repeatedly with a cheese grater than be stuck in the same building as Rachel with no means of escape.”

“I did. I did say that,” Carson mumbled, nodding. “And you know what? I still stand by those words a thousand percent.”

He and Kurt had eventually taken a little walk to go stare at the babies through the nursery window. Carson wasn’t much of a baby person, but he thought it was just adorable the way Kurt smiled and waved at them through the glass.

“Aaaaw, Carsey, look at that one!” Kurt exclaimed, pointing at one of the babies on the other side. “Isn’t he cute?”

“You’re cute,” Carson said to him, throwing one arm around his shoulder. “And I can’t tell which baby you’re pointing at. They all look the same to me. Like bald, loud little aliens.”

“You’re terrible,” said Kurt playfully. “This is the happiest ward in the hospital, you know.”

“Really? Because I hear unearthly screaming coming from every room we pass by on this floor. It sounds like people are being murdered,” replied Carson. “I think I even heard glass breaking behind a few doors, and I strongly suspect that more than one guy is getting his balls kicked right now.”

Kurt slapped him teasingly on the chest. “You know what I mean. This is the only ward in the entire building where life is beginning instead of ending. It’s not like…well…you know. It’s not like where Mom always was.”

Carson’s arm around him grew instinctively tighter as he held him close. “You know what? You’re absolutely right,” he said as Kurt’s head rested on his shoulder. “Leave it to you to find the positive side of everything.”

“I have to. You’re always finding the negative side of everything. I have to balance you out,” said Kurt.

“One of the many things I love about you,” replied Carson, giving him a squeeze. “Come on, let’s get back to the waiting room. It’s been like fifteen minutes since I’ve made a sarcastic comment to Finn, and I’m starting to get stomach pains. I have to let my bitchiness out, or it will poison me.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “You are such a weirdo. But you’re my weirdo.”

***********

Summer vacation came at long last, and Kurt’s feelings were mixed. On one hand, he was grateful to have three months ahead of him in which he wouldn’t have to worry about being shoved hard against lockers every day by Dave Karofsky (something which was becoming a more and more frequent occurrence, and which Kurt hoped Carson never found out about, because the last thing he wanted was Carson getting hurt trying to defend him against the larger boy). On the other hand, summertime meant that he had nothing to distract him from his ever-intensifying feelings for his twin.

And they really were becoming quite intense. Something had broken in Kurt the day that Carson had charged down into the basement and punched Finn for what he said about the bedroom. In that moment, like he had done hundreds of times before without fail, Carson had perfectly demonstrated how much he cared for Kurt and that Kurt came first for him, always, no matter the consequences. Kurt had always known this, of course, but he felt like he was really grasping it for the first time that day.

Whether he meant to or not, he had stopped trying so hard to suppress how he felt about Carson. He knew it was wrong, not to mention deplorable and disgusting and a host of other unpleasant adjectives, but he was pretty powerless to stop himself from feeling…whatever this was that he was feeling. Kurt still wasn’t entirely sure. Calling it love felt wrong. Of course he loved Carson, he was his twin. He loved him more than anything, but surely he didn’t love him like that, did he? If it wasn’t love, then what was it? Infatuation? Attraction? Kurt had no idea, but he didn’t like the implications of any of those options. It confused and frustrated him so much that sometimes he just wanted to curl into a ball by himself and cry from how overwhelming it was. He knew one thing for sure, though. He knew that he could never allow Carson to know about this. The poor guy would be so creeped out and it would just kill Kurt inside to know that he had made his twin feel that way about him. Things between them would never be the same again, and that just wouldn’t do. Kurt didn’t know how he would be able to even live if that happened. No, he would just have to try his best to suppress his feelings like he had been doing before. If he did it well enough, maybe they would go away. He hoped.

It certainly wasn’t helping that it was now June, and the weather had taken a decided turn for the blazing hot, which meant that the twins’ bedroom was almost a furnace at night, even if they opened every window and ran a fan. As a result, both of them went to bed in nothing but their pajama pants more often than not, and sometimes even less than that. Some nights it was strictly boxers. And Kurt was having an extremely difficult time with this, because it meant that he was faced with Carson’s practically naked, usually sweaty body night after night. He couldn’t help but look at it appreciatively, no matter how disgusted he was with himself for doing it. He prayed to a god he didn’t even believe in that Carson wasn’t noticing how Kurt was looking at him, because that would be the most embarrassing, awkward thing that could possibly ever happen. Kurt would seriously rather die.

“You ok?” Carson asked him one night as they prepared to go to bed. It was hot enough to be a boxers-only night, and there was already a shiny sheen of sweat covering his torso. Kurt could practically feel himself drooling as he tried not to stare too openly. “You look sick. Are you feeling alright?”

Oh, Carson. If only you knew. You would look sick too if you were busy thinking about how good you look when your abs are all sweaty. I know you don’t think you have great abs, but you do. You SO DO. Oh my god, Kurt, just STOP.

“I’m fine,” he replied, averting his gaze and pretending to be very interested in the state of his fingernails. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

“Are you sure?” Carson asked, climbing onto the bed beside him and bringing his hand up to Kurt’s forehead. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

“I’m fine, I promise,” Kurt said with a smile. “You worry too much.”

“I have to worry too much, because you don’t worry about yourself enough,” replied Carson, turning out the light and settling down on top of the sheets, wrapping his arm around Kurt and pressing their bodies together.

Oh god, thought Kurt, swallowing hard as a surge of heat flooded his body that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. He could feel Carson’s bare chest against his back, and it felt so good. Kurt bit his lip to distract himself from just how good it felt. “I worry about myself plenty, Carson. Go to sleep,” he said, hating himself for liking the way Carson’s fingers stroked lazily at his arm.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep for, but it must have been at least several hours before he slowly woke up, his eyes blinking as they adjusted to the darkness of the room. He glanced over to the digital clock by his bed, which read 12:30a.m. Carson’s deep breathing behind him let him know that his twin was still fast asleep, one arm still clutched tightly around Kurt while one leg was slung haphazardly over Kurt’s leg, and….oh dear god.

Kurt was suddenly wide awake and could feel something poking into the back of his thigh where Carson’s leg had overlapped his own. And whatever it was, it was hard, hot, and throbbing. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that it was Carson’s dick. Carson’s hard dick. Which was currently only a thin layer of fabric away from touching Kurt’s bare skin.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, Kurt panicked as he felt movement and started to realize that Carson must have been having a pretty exciting dream, since he was pretty much humping Kurt’s leg in his sleep. Kurt fought the urge to be jealous over whoever Carson may have been dreaming about and started worrying about what the hell he was supposed to do now. Oh god, what do I do? WHAT DO I DO? Should I wake him up? If I wake him up, he’ll be so embarrassed. But he’ll be even more embarrassed if he comes, and….oh god, I just thought about him coming and it was so hot, oh my….STOP IT, KURT. Just stop! You should definitely not be enjoying this, you sick pervert. He found it a little odd that he was even feeling like this at all, much less with his own brother, considering that he was a hopeless romantic and was pretty squeamish about sex and sex-related things in general most of the time. He hadn't even known until recently that he was even capable of feeling things like this.

Maybe I should just…just let him finish and then…

Carson let out an absolutely sinful sounding moan just then that went straight to Kurt’s dick, and to Kurt’s horror he felt himself getting hard as Carson thrust lazily against his leg. He pressed his fist up against his mouth to keep himself from gasping out loud, or worse, moaning. He definitely did NOT want Carson to wake up now. It would be super embarrassing for the both of them, not to mention that the feeling of Carson hard against him was the sexiest thing he had ever experienced in his entire life and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted it to stop. But it also felt so wrong.

Kurt tried to ignore his own hard-on. He tried so hard to resist doing what he really wanted to do, but the small, breathy “Oh!” Carson let out finally broke his willpower. He snaked his hand down inside his boxers, where he was so hard by now that it was almost painful, and started slowly stroking himself, using the pre-come that had already started collecting at his tip as lubricant. He bit his lip and suppressed the urge to moan as he felt Carson’s lazy thrusts get just a little bit faster, and then he felt Carson’s erection twitch and a warm rush of heat against his thigh as Carson came with a gasp. That, apparently, was all it took for Kurt, and he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood as he reached his own release, spilling over his hand and gasping quietly.

He lay there for a minute, trying to catch his breath and wondering what the hell he should do about Carson, whose breathing was now deep and even as he slept on. Kurt reached over to his night table and grabbed a fistful of tissues from the box he kept there. He cleaned himself up as best he could and tossed the used tissues on the floor next to his side of the bed. He would worry about them in the morning.

Ok, ok, what do I do about him? Kurt wondered. He carefully extracted himself from Carson and gently rolled him onto his back. He decided he should probably just let him sleep like that. That way, when Carson woke up he would only remember his dream and assume Kurt hadn’t heard (or felt) any of it. Oh god, please.

Kurt had a hard time falling back asleep. He felt so damn guilty for what he had just done, not to mention still jealous of whoever the hell it was that had starred in Carson’s dream. They didn’t deserve to be in his dreams.

***********

In July, the boys took to spending a lot of time out in their backyard, since they had recently acquired a small above ground swimming pool, which saved them the trouble of having to travel to the community pool on hot days.

Well, to be more specific, Carson spent a lot of time using the pool, while Kurt spent a lot of time watching him while laid out on a lounge chair with a shirt, sunglasses, and a hat on. The summer sun always gave him freckles, and he hated them with a burning passion.

“Why?” Carson often asked him. “I think your freckles are adorable. Especially the ones you get on your face. Do you have any idea how cute they are?”

“They most certainly are NOT cute,” was Kurt’s standard response. “They make me look like a giant game of Connect The Dots.”

So whenever he and Carson spent time outside, he made sure to always keep a bottle of sunscreen handy to reapply every hour, no exceptions, and he tried to keep his shirt on as often as possible. If the sun couldn’t get to his skin, it couldn’t give him those stupid freckles. Plus, sitting in his chair pretending to read Vogue was the perfect excuse to watch Carson swimming, which was a thing of beauty if Kurt had ever seen it. He knew he should feel guilty for admiring the muscles in Carson’s arms as his twin swam, but he couldn’t help it. He also couldn’t help biting his lip and staring shamelessly at Carson’s wet chest whenever he got out of the pool and wandered over to sit in the chair beside Kurt’s. Thank god for the sunglasses. They saved Kurt from many an awkward situation.

“You should go in the pool with me,” said Carson one day as he laid his towel out on a chair and sat down. “The water isn’t going to bite, you know. If it did bite you, I’d kill it.”

Kurt lowered his sunglasses with one hand and peered at Carson over the rim of them. “And expose my skin to the blazing sun so I can get a constellation of ugly freckles? Yeah, how about no?”

Carson rolled his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, Kurtsie, your freckles are the most adorable things ever.”

“No, they aren’t.”

“Yes, they are.”

Kurt sighed and put his magazine down. He glanced over at the water, which was glistening under the hot sun. It did look inviting.

“I need to reapply my sunscreen first,” he said. “And it has to set for ten minutes before I can even think about going in that water.” He removed his shirt and reached for his sunscreen bottle, squirting a dollop onto his fingers and beginning to apply it to his chest and stomach. He noticed Carson staring at him and handed him the bottle.

“Well, don’t just sit there staring,” he said, ignoring the irony of what he was saying. “Why don’t…um….can you do my back for me?” He swallowed hard and avoided Carson’s eyes as he asked, not wanting him to see the blush he could feel spreading over his face. He wasn’t even sure what had even possessed him to ask in the first place, except that he kind of really wanted Carson’s hands on him right now, and wow, Kurt, what? You are such a weird person. Stop it right now. Carson was quiet for a second before taking the bottle from Kurt and nodding.

“Yeah…yeah, ok,” he said, clearing his throat. “Here, let me just….” He got up from his own chair and moved over to Kurt’s. Kurt scooted forward so that there was room for Carson to sit behind him. He could feel the blush spreading over his whole body as Carson squirted the lotion onto his hands and then gingerly touched the skin on Kurt’s back, making him gasp a little at the contact. He was beginning to think that this probably wasn’t his best idea ever, but then Carson’s fingers started massaging circles into his back and yep, ok, this was definitely a good idea. How is he so good with his fingers, I can’t even…

“You ok?” Carson asked quietly as Kurt shivered. His fingers were gliding gently over his back with just the right amount of pressure, and it felt really, really good.

“Fine,” Kurt breathed, nodding his head. “Keep going.” Carson’s slick hands continued roaming down his back until they were right above the waistband of Kurt’s swimming trunks, and oh my god, Kurt, now is NOT the time to get hard, oh please don’t…

He bit his lip to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape as Carson continued rubbing sunscreen there, and he could feel his traitorous dick beginning to stand at attention. Shit, oh please, don’t let him notice. PLEASE don’t let him notice. Think about gross things. Really gross things, like..um..ok…Finn and Rachel making out….Coach Sylvester naked….washing your face with regular soap….

Unfortunately, it was kind of difficult to ignore the wonderful feeling of Carson’s hands all over him, and Little Kurt was clearly enjoying the attention, refusing to stop showing its excitement over the situation. Kurt hunched over slightly, hoping that Carson was too focused on what he was doing to notice Kurt’s not-so-little problem. He seemed to touch Kurt for hours, his hands rubbing up and down on his skin firmly but gently, and Kurt wasn’t sure what kind of magic he possessed in those fingers, but he wished this could go on forever. You know, if not for the unfortunate erection thing. That could go.

“I think…I think you’re all set here,” Carson said at last, dragging his fingers down Kurt’s back one last time before capping the sunscreen bottle and handing it back to him.

Thank god, thought Kurt as he took it. Maybe now his stupid dick would calm the hell down and stop being such a jerk. “Thanks, Carsey.”

“Any time,” Carson said, the smile evident in his voice even though Kurt couldn’t see his face.

“I…uh…I have to let it set for a few,” Kurt said, wishing his damn erection would just go away already before Carson noticed. “Why don’t you go in the pool and I’ll join you in a few minutes?”

“Sure,” agreed Carson. “And when you get in there, I am going to splash you so hard.”

Ugh, please don’t put it that way, it’s not helping, Kurt thought as Carson slid off the chair and climbed back into the pool. Kurt grabbed his magazine and positioned it strategically over his crotch as he tried to avoid looking at Carson, because watching him all wet and moving around in the water wasn’t going to make this problem go away any faster. To his relief, after several minutes of focusing on Vogue and not on his sexy twin (oh god, why did he just think that), his dick finally started to flag. He thought about Rachel trying on lingerie for good measure, and yep, that did it. Thank you, flying spaghetti monster.

He was definitely going to have to get a handle on this, or the rest of the summer with Carson was probably going to end up killing him.

********

In late August, they were invited to an end-of-summer barbecue at Mercedes’ house, along with the rest of the members of the glee club. Carson didn’t really want to go, but Kurt had known exactly how to convince him.

“Pleeease, Carsey?” he asked, putting on that sweet, wheedling voice he always used when he wanted something.

“Kurt, noooo. I have a few weeks yet before I have to deal with them again, why do you want to make me do it tonight?”

“Because I don’t want to go by myself, and I want you to go with me,” Kurt replied, rubbing small circles into Carson’s arm with his finger. “Please?”

“Do I have to?”

Kurt had given him the pout then, along with the “neglected dog from the ASPCA commercial” eyes for good measure, so Carson had been pretty powerless to resist. Oh, well. He supposed he could always amuse himself by making fun of Rachel the whole time, especially if she went on one of her tirades about how eating hot dogs was murder and that the cows who died to make their burgers  would haunt them in their dreams for the rest of their lives for the crime of feasting on their delicious cow meat.

Rachel actually didn’t end up attending, so Carson was left with nothing to do but focus on how very bored he was. Seriously, he didn’t even like being around these people during the school year. The last thing he felt like doing was hanging out with them during his summer vacation, especially since school was going to be starting up soon and he would have to deal with their bullshit on a daily basis once again during glee club meetings. He was in the middle of trying to figure out how much time he should let go by before he tried asking Kurt if they could leave, when his attention was suddenly diverted away by a very distracting image.

Kurt was straddling a fold-up plastic chair while talking animatedly with Mercedes, and the straddling would have been a distracting sight all on its own, but that wasn’t what was grabbing Carson’s attention. What he was really focused on was the popsicle in Kurt’s hand, which he was bringing up to his mouth every so often and sucking on in a way that could only be described as filthy. Carson literally could not keep his eyes off of him. He had no idea what the fuck was going on around him anymore. All he knew was that Kurt had his lips wrapped around that fucking popsicle (the cherry red popsicle, at that) and was sucking it in the most pornographic way that Carson had ever seen. It was fascinating. He would talk to Mercedes for a minute, and then he would bring the popsicle to his mouth and suck lightly on the tip, swirling his tongue around to catch any stray melted ice that dripped down. Occasionally, he would just stick his tongue out and lick the length of the damn thing.

In short, he was practically fellating a fucking popsicle in front of everybody. Thank god nobody else had seemed to notice. Most of the guys were caught up in a boring discussion about football, and the girls were talking about whatever the fuck it was that girls talked about. Clothes, maybe. Or makeup. Or the Jonas Brothers or some shit. Carson didn’t know and he didn’t care. He was entirely too focused on the vision in front of him.

Oh my god, Kurt, why? Why do you do these things to me? I can’t even…and he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. I can’t decide if that’s the best or the worst part about this. He’s so innocent…he’s my innocent little Kurtsie, but fuck, look at what he’s doing with that mouth. God, I wish I was that popsicle. I’m not even fucking kidding. That thing has got to be the luckiest frozen slab of high fructose corn syrup on the entire planet right now.

Kurt made an absolutely obscene slurping noise just then as he sucked at the popsicle and caught some of the dripping juice off the sides. Carson almost moaned right out loud, but thankfully he managed to stop himself. Unfortunately, as had been happening more and more often this summer, his dick was deciding that it was liking what it saw.

Oh my fuck, NO. NO, NO, FUCKING NO. NOT HERE, OF ALL PLACES. This is not the time or the place for this, dick.

It was at that moment that Carson realized just how red and debauched the damn popsicle was making Kurt’s lips, and he stiffened even more inside his jeans. Fuuuuuuck. Kurt, you’re killing me. I’m going to die. Probably of embarrassment if anyone notices my problem…

He glanced away from Kurt and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, hoping that his dick would go down without anyone being the wiser, especially not Kurt. He looked around to make sure nobody was looking and was met with Santana giving him a smirk from where she was sitting. Fuuuuuuuck. Just kill me now.

“That’s quite a tent you’ve got going on in those jeans, Hummel,” she said casually. “What, do barbecues get you hot or something?”

Oh, thank fuck, I don’t think she noticed me looking at Kurt.

“Shut up, Santana.”

She raised one eyebrow and crossed her arms. “You know, you’re not exactly ugly. If you want a little help with that impressive boner, we could probably work something out.”

He honestly didn’t know what to say to that, so he just gave her his best icy bitch glare. Thankfully, this was at least proving to be enough of a distraction to kill his boner.

“No thanks, I’d rather die.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She turned back to her conversation with Brittany and Carson breathed a sigh of relief. Santana may have been a bitch, but at least she had inadvertently helped him out with his problem, although not in the way she had intended. Carson thought it would be best if he just didn’t look over in Kurt’s direction anymore. At least, not while he was still blowing that popsicle. He sighed and leaned back in the chair, rubbing his eyes in frustration.

I have got to do something about this shit. It just keeps getting worse. He’s my brother, I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t. Now I can’t even watch him innocently eat a popsicle without making it dirty in my mind. How much longer do I have to deal with this before everything is normal again? Were things ever really normal to begin with?