June 7, 2022

Blaine walks down the busy street, oversized hiking backpack bursting to the brim with his belongings on his back, and glances back and forth from the paper to the apartment building. He swipes at the sweat trickling down his brow with the back of his hand and sighs. This is not what he expected. He double checks once more, hoping he has it wrong. But no, this sagging building on this dirty street in a not-exactly up-and-coming neighborhood of the Bronx is number 1118.

He fishes in the side pocket of the backpack for a few futile moments before shrugging the whole thing off his shoulders to retrieve the keys. Getting his sweaty arms through the straps again is a struggle and his back bends a bit with the effort. It takes a few tries with each of the three keys before the lock clicks open and he steps inside the damp, dim, musky entryway. He glances at the mailboxes and sees number 4F. A few torn fragments remain from the label that had been above the box, but he can't read a name – just something that might be the letter 'y' in the space that would correspond with a last name.

At first, Blaine is puzzled. His aunt's name was Rebecca Anderson, no 'y' in her name. Then he remembers that while the apartment is still in Aunt Becca's name, she hadn't lived here for years. It was a sub-letter who was in the apartment last – the third or fourth one since Aunt Becca moved to the nursing home a few years ago. Blaine thinks it was a man, but he doesn't remember the name. His father took care of Aunt Becca's affairs. He had done so for years before she died and he took care of all the sub-letters.

It was a stroke of good fortune that the latest sub-letter moved out just when Blaine finished his internship and got the musical therapy job at Children's Hospital in the Bronx. Even in this neighborhood, Blaine would not have been able to afford an apartment on his small starting salary. But with the rent control inherited from Aunt Becca, Blaine can finally, at age 26, achieve his dreams of living in New York, making art and helping people.

The apartment itself feels musty and cramped, even without any furniture. The floor plan is slightly odd with a door from the kitchen opening directly into the bedroom and the living room without any true right angles. Although it is a fourth floor walk-up, there is no view. The bedroom and one wall of the living room have windows that face the solid brick walls of the building next door. By far the best feature of the apartment is a long and narrow walk-in closet off the bedroom. Blaine understands why a walk-in closet can be a selling feature for many people, but it doesn't really interest him. He would much rather have a decent view.

Oh, well. Beggers can't be choosers, he thinks with a wry grin as he drops his backpack to the floor. Blaine digs through his backpack and pulls out a mat and a pillowcase. He shoves some clothing on the pillowcase and drops the makeshift pillow onto the makeshift bed in the middle of the living room. His parents agreed to have some of his furniture delivered after he had a chance to see the apartment and decide what he wanted them to send from his home in Westerville, Ohio. He finds his toiletries and a towel, and takes a quick shower. At least I can add good water pressure to the list of pros, he thinks as he dries himself off. He strews most of his belongings across the floor in his effort to find his errant hair gel. Twenty minutes later, he is dressed and his hair in place. With notepad and pen in hand, he grabs his wallet and keys and heads out to find a bite to eat.

Blaine slides the key out of the second lock on the apartment door, turns and almost slams into someone trying to walk past him in the narrow hallway. The other man fumbles with a bag of takeout for a moment, but catches it, then straightens and stiffens a bit, looking at Blaine with his head raised and a slightly haughty expression. Blaine's mouth drops open and for a moment he just stammers stupidly, unable to form a proper sentence.

The man is gorgeous. He has long limbs, impeccable clothes, chestnut hair swept artfully off his forehead, a chiseled face, impossibly pale skin and eyes that are a mesmerizing swirl of green and blue. Are you a model? Are you a dream? "Are you my neighbor?" Blaine finally spits out. When the gorgeous, must-be-a-model man just raises a brow, Blaine offers his hand and continues, "I'm so sorry about that. I'm Blaine. Anderson. I'm moving in to 4F." He gestures vaguely at the door behind him.

This time when he extends his hand, the man shifts his carryout bag into his other hand and grasps his hand firmly and gives it one solid pump before releasing it again. "Pleasure," he says in a musical, lilting voice. "Kurt Hummel. I'm in 4G." He extends a long thin finger toward the door on the other side of Blaine. When he says "Excuse me," Blaine presses back against his door to let Kurt pass.

"Have dinner with me?" blurts Blaine.

Kurt looks at Blaine, then down at his takeout bag. He raises that eyebrow again and waits.

"Oh," says Blaine, face falling from hopeful to dejected in an instant. "I guess you already have dinner. Maybe another time?"

"Maybe," says Kurt noncommittally. He starts to unlock his door, then tosses over his shoulder, "The Thai place on Webster and Fourth is great. Just turn right out the front door, go two blocks and turn left."

"Thanks," calls Blaine to a sliver of Kurt's back as he disappears through the door.

June 9, 2022

Blaine's furniture is due to arrive tomorrow and he can't wait. Living like a nomad with camping gear in an empty apartment gets old very fast. He also is anxious to get the apartment set up before his first day at Children's Hospital on Monday. Today is Saturday and he has spent the day exploring the neighborhood, stocking his pantry, and trolling for a few small pieces of furniture on Craig's list. He's spent the evenings checking out local bars and coffee shops with open mic nights. His guitar will arrive with the rest of his furniture and he is looking forward to singing for an audience again – rather than just for the shower walls.

He gave the floor, walls and kitchen surfaces a half-hearted scrub. Everything seemed pretty clean when he moved in. He doesn't think he'll need to paint, either. The only thing he wants to change, other than adding the much-needed furniture, is the wallpaper along the wall of the walk-in closet. The wall on the left side of the long and narrow closet is painted a buttery cream and has rods for hanging clothes stretching all the way across its length. The back of the closet and the far section of the wall on the right are also painted in the buttery cream, but the four feet of wall closest to the door are covered floor to ceiling with an obnoxious wall paper – black with large, ornate flowers in clashing neon hues. It looks like it was put up in a hurry, with corners askew and pieces overlapping and already starting to peel. Blaine wonders if the wall is painted beneath or if there is something even uglier underneath that the paper is hiding. He is annoyed that he may need to repaint the entire closet just to cover up the one section of wall.

He told Kurt about it in one of his typical moments of over-sharing. He actually has seen Kurt on two more occasions since his first evening in the apartment. Once was the next day. He spotted his elegant neighbor in the back booth of the coffee shop on the corner of their street yesterday morning. After placing his order, he slid into the seat opposite Kurt and said, "Hi, neighbor."

Kurt looked up from his magazine with an annoyed expression. But his eyes softened a bit with recognition. "It's Blaine, right?"

"Yes, that right. And you're Kurt." Blaine answers. "What are you reading?" he asks, glancing down at the open pages of the thick magazine. Kurt is looking at pictures of a very modern, sleek living room in a loft with wide, open spaces.

"Interior Design," Kurt says, spinning the magazine so it the picture is right side up for Blaine, quickly flipping it to show him the cover, which indeed reads, Interior Design. "It's for work."

"Oh – you do interior design?" Blaine asks. He loves the sound of Kurt's voice and is thrilled that his gorgeous – and slightly haughty – neighbor is willing to talk with him.

"Among other things," says Kurt mysteriously.

"Let me guess. You must be a model," says Blaine, glancing up and down at Kurt's avante-garde outfit.

Kurt stiffens a bit and a shadow crosses his face. "Um, no. Just a little acting on the side."

"Oh," says Blaine and falters for a moment, before he asks what acting Kurt has done. Kurt brightens a bit and rattles off the names of a few community theaters in the Bronx where he has had a small part or two.

It turns out that Blaine knows quite a bit about musicals, and their conversation flows from there. Blaine grabs his coffee and they sit and chat through that cup and another round, which Blaine buys for both of them.

Blaine tells Kurt about the hideous wallpaper and asks for his professional opinion on how to replace it. "Strip it all off first and see what you have underneath. I know you're worried it will look worse, but it doesn't sound likely there could be much worse from your description of that wallpaper. It is just as likely to be some antique wood paneling or something just as beautiful. People are idiots and don't know how to use the assets of a building, most of the time. But seriously, I can't really advise you about what to do next until you see what you have now."

Blaine has his elbows on the table and his chin resting in his interlaced fingers. He is staring, fascinated at Kurt's lips and is having a hard time concentrating on what he's saying. He looks back into Kurt's eyes, which are bright with excitement as he extolls upon all the possible treasures that might be hidden behind hideous wallpaper.

"Go out with me tonight," says Blaine interrupts, smiling.

Kurt stiffens and his haughty expression falls back over his face like a shroud. "No."

"Aw, come on Kurt. You'll have a good time, I promise," says Blaine, nudging Kurt's leg with his foot.

Kurt slides out of the booth and is on his feet in an instant. "I thought I was done with pushy neighbors who won't take no for an answer. God, you all just want the same thing," he huffs, speaking not at Blaine but somewhere into the middle distance between them. He spins on his heel and marches out to the street, slamming the coffee shop door and leaving a bewildered Blaine blinking after him.

The next time he saw Kurt was early this morning, and it was the first time Blaine wishes he didn't run into Kurt. Blaine was standing in the hallway in his t-shirt and boxer shorts, whispering a hurried goodbye a hastily-dressed, tall man with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Last night was great, can I get your number?" Blaine was asking his companion as Kurt rounded the corner from the stairwell.

"Naah – I don't like to fuck the same guy more than once," said Blaine's companion. "I'll see you around." But Blaine wasn't looking at the man with the ponytail anymore. He was looking into Kurt's judging eyes.

"I knew it," Kurt muttered as he pushed past Blaine to get to his apartment door. "Thank God I trusted my instincts yesterday." And with that, he slipped through the door and shut it behind him, and Blaine was alone in the hallway in his boxer shorts.

Now, Blaine stands in front of the offending wallpaper once more, as his shame hardens into anger toward his neighbor. What the hell is his problem? I'm a young, healthy gay man in New York. I have every right to bring a man back to my apartment.

Blaine grabs the fraying piece of wallpaper and yanks it. It tears away from the wall with a satisfying tug. For a few moments, everything is loud ripping sounds and flying paper and Blaine chases the release he only gets while boxing. He shakes his head and the sweat flies from his brow and drips down his back as he pants, staring at the wall.

Blaine was expecting another layer of even more hideous wallpaper. Or perhaps a water stain yellowing across the otherwise flawless paint. Or even wood paneling as Kurt suggested. He could never have anticipated what he did see.

From floor to ceiling, four feet across, is a giant window. And that window looks directly into his neighbor's – into Kurt's living room.

Heart racing, Blaine rummages through his pile of belongings on the floor of the living room and finds a roll of duct tape and a sheet. He runs back to the closet and covers up the window with the sheet, then closes the closet door and backs away. Does Kurt know about that? Can he see into my closet, too? How long has that been there? God, no wonder he's so touchy about his neighbors.

June 10, 2022

Blaine is busy most of the day directing the movers and helping them carry boxes from the truck up the four flights of stairs to his apartment. He keeps the closet door tightly shut all day, resolutely not thinking about the sheet and the view it shields.

He is surprised when he hears Kurt's voice calling to Blaine and the two movers through his open apartment door. They have finished lugging the last of the larger pieces up the stairs and Blaine is counting out cash for a tip when Kurt asks if anyone would like some iced tea or lemonade. All three of them heartily agree and call out their thanks.

"Come over to my apartment to drink it. I have my air conditioner on," says Kurt. "Just take your shoes off in the hall, okay?"

The movers gulp down their lemonades quickly and start to shuffle out the door with another thank you to Kurt. Blaine drains the rest of this iced tea and starts after them, but stops and turns when he hears Kurt say, "I'm sorry about yesterday. What I said to you in the hallway was pretty rude and judgmental. And a bit inappropriate."

"It's okay, Kurt," says Blaine. "We don't know each other very well." He looks down and feels a bit of a blush on his cheeks as he says, "I'd like to. Get to know you, I mean." He looks up hopefully.

Kurt is folded in on himself, with one arm wrapped around his waist and the other held tight to his side. "I'm not interested in dating anyone right now," he says tightly.

"What about being friends?" asks Blaine, eyes wide and pleading.

"Yeah," says Kurt quietly. "That would be nice."

Blaine is smiling at Kurt and finally start to take in the rest of the room – the rich chocolate sofa, the matching cloth-topped end table, the carefully placed art objects. The apartment is very much the abode of an interior designer.

It looks different from this side, Blaine thinks, then freezes. He had forgotten about his discovery that morning. He wonders exactly how to ask Kurt whether he knows about the interior window between their apartments. Blaine's eyes flick over to the living room wall, expecting to see a four-foot window to match the one in his own apartment. But instead, he sees a floor-to-ceiling, four-foot wide mirror.

"That's a nice mirror," says Blaine slowly, as he walks closer to it. He leans in close, but all he sees is his own reflection. There is not a glimpse of the closet on the other side. It suddenly dawns on him. It's a one-way mirror. Oh God, does he know? Does he think I'm creeping on him? Watching him? "Uh, I b-better make sure the m-m-movers have what they need. Thanks again," Blaine stammers as he backs out of Kurt's apartment, tripping over his shoes in the doorway.

"Oh, wait, Blaine," Kurt calls after him. Blaine freezes in the doorway, just out of Kurt's sight and waits, heart beating rapidly. "Did you get a chance to pull up that wallpaper? I've just been dying to know what's underneath."

"Oh – uh, no. I haven't done it yet. I'll let you know. Gotta go," Blaine barks out, closing the door and scooping up his shoes in one hand. It's a one-way mirror that lets me see into his apartment. And he has no idea.

March 28, 2023

Blaine is only passing through the bedroom to grab a sweater against the unseasonable chill when movement catches his eye. He is in the middle of working on taxes, and thinks Kurt isn't even home – didn't he say he would be out of town for the weekend? Determined to ignore the movement, Blaine turns his back to the open closet door. But when a familiar soft moan drifts through the wall, he heads straight for the closet without another thought. He pushes the door open wide and stares through the floor-to-ceiling, four-foot wide glass panel into his neighbor's apartment.

It takes a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Usually, when Blaine watches him, Kurt is bathed in bright light. But today, Kurt's living room is lit only by a small, dim lamp on the table to the far side of the sofa. It is when Blaine's eyes shift to the lamp that he notices movement again – a flash of white. He looks again at the sofa and gasps. Kurt is already fully naked, draped back on the sofa with long legs stretched wide, toned chest shining in the soft light, cock already half hard as he traces a nipple with his finger, tilting his head back into the sofa cushions. This is different, too. Usually Blaine gets to watch Kurt unwrap his layers in an artful dance performed for himself as he watches himself in the mirror.

The sofa is almost at a right angle to Blaine's view. Kurt has said that while he loves the large mirrored wall – it makes the room look so much bigger, after all – he doesn't want to stare at himself while on the sofa watching a movie or eating a snack. Kurt shifts back and now Blaine's view is partly obscured by the arm of the sofa. He can still see Kurt's chest, his legs as he lifts one and runs his fingers up and down the calf and then back up the thigh until it disappears from view, arm pumping up and down for a moment before the hand goes back to tracing a nipple again. He also can see Kurt's glorious face – eyes closed and mouth slightly open.

God, I've always said he could be a model, thinks Blaine as he backs up and reaches blindly behind him until he feels the bench and slowly sinks down, settling in to watch. Kurt stands and Blaine's mouth is watering as he focuses on Kurt's fully erect cock that is bobbing slightly as he takes a few steps forward. Then he turns and Blaine can see the soft round globes of Kurt's ass as he walks toward his bedroom and out of Blaine's vision. Disappointment crashes over him in waves. It is rare that Kurt moves his self-love sessions into the bedroom, but once he does, he rarely comes back into Blaine's view. Blaine's breathing is finally starting to slow, his erection starting to fade and he is standing up, ready to go back to working on taxes when Kurt reappears. He has a towel draped over one arm, a bottle of lube in one hand and – strangely enough – his phone in the other.

Blaine almost laughs, thinking, what doesn't belong in this picture? His smile widens as he watches Kurt carefully place the towel on the sofa before arranging himself artfully over the sofa. This is a perfect tableau of the conundrum that is his next-door neighbor. The fastidiousness of placing a towel on top of the couch blended with the wanton abandon of jacking off buck naked in his living room. Blaine thinks he'll never get tired of the puzzle that is Kurt Hummel. And he'll never get tired of watching him. Even if it sets off pangs of guilt every time he and Kurt are chatting casually over coffee or sharing a homemade dinner in one of their apartments.

Blaine had avoided letting Kurt into his apartment for as many weeks as he could after he moved in last June. Kurt kept asking about what was beneath that damn wallpaper. At that point, Blaine was already watching him every night that they weren't out grabbing dinner or a drink together, or watching a movie in Kurt's apartment. Blaine told him it was just covering up a water stain on the wall and he had already repainted it. Kurt was disappointed, but soon seemed to forget. Blaine switched out the closet doorknob for one that opens with a key and made sure to carefully lock the door and hide the key in his desk drawer whenever Kurt was hanging out at his apartment. Kurt never asked about the locked door. Blaine is pretty sure Kurt wouldn't go trying to open doors uninvited anyway, but he would rather lock the door so he can relax when spending time with Kurt.

Blaine pushes away the guilt knocking at the edges of his thoughts and focuses again on Kurt through the glass. Kurt glances around the room quickly, frowning. Kurt lifts himself off the sofa, a picture of grace, and pushes the end of it until it is angled toward Blaine. He pops open the lube and dribbles some on his cock and his abdomen. Blaine sits back down, settling in once more. He knows what comes next and he is not about to miss the gloriousness of Kurt's face twisted in pleasure, the moans and whines that are audible through the wall.

Kurt begins to run his fingers through the slickness on his abdomen and up his shaft. He grabs the phone with the other hand, thumb skimming across the screen. Blaine wonders if he is looking at pictures of some other naked man and feels a sharp pang of jealousy before pushing the feeling away. He has never seen Kurt watch porn or look at anything on a computer, phone or in a magazine before. Usually he just watches his own body in the mirror. The full-length, one-way mirror that Blaine is now looking through into Kurt's apartment.

Blaine is startled by the buzzing in his pocket. He looks down at his lap for a moment, blinking stupidly, before his brain shifts back into gear and he realizes it is his phone vibrating. He pulls it out and flips it open one handed, presses it to his ear and murmurs "Hello", eyes still fixed on Kurt. Kurt, who is now staring straight at him. Kurt, whose breathy voice comes through the phone while he is staring right at him and stroking his straining erection, "Blaine?"

Blaine freezes and almost drops the phone. Kurt is staring straight at him. Can he see me? Does he know? Has he known this whole time? Shit, what do I do?

"Blaine, are you there?" asks Kurt and his hand stills, covering his dick.

"Sorry, yes, I'm here. Just dropped the phone for a second," Blaine lies deftly. "What's up?" Blaine cringes as he says that unintentional pun.

"Not much," says Kurt. He is still looking intently at Blaine. It almost looks like he's staring into his eyes. But that paired with his nonchalant tone doesn't add up. He sounds like he always does when they call each other for a quick chat. He certainly doesn't sound angry at being watched or even turned on, though he is clearly still very aroused. Blaine can't just ask if Kurt can see him. What if it's just an illusion and he would give himself away?

"Can you hold on a second? I was right in the middle of something. I'll be right back, okay?" says Blaine before switching the phone to speaker, muting it and placing it on the bench beside him.

"Okay," says Kurt. He continues to stare intently at Blaine.

Blaine tries a few different things to get a reaction. He makes all his best ridiculous faces into the window. No change in Kurt's expression. He holds up his middle finger. No reaction from Kurt. He dashes into the living room where his papers are spread across the room and jogs back with a scrawled note that he presses up to the glass – Do you see me? Nothing. He strips off his own clothes, and feeling ridiculous, strikes a pose. Kurt just shifts a bit on the sofa. His gaze moves a bit off of Blaine and he starts poking at and smoothing down his hair.

Blaine lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Oh. He's just looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn't see me.

Still naked, Blaine grabs his own lube and a hand towel, and returns to his seat on the bench. He unmutes the phone and says, "Kurt, you still there?" He watches Kurt startle a bit and hears him mutter a yes. "I'm so sorry about that. I'm working on my taxes and I knocked over a whole pile of papers when I reached for the phone. I just wanted to straighten them out before the air from the heating vent blew them across the room."

"It's okay, really. How is it going?"

"Fine – as fine as taxes can go." Blaine feels like he has entered some alternate universe. He and Kurt are calmly discussing taxes while both naked and hard on either side of a one-way mirror. "Um – how is your trip going? I thought I heard a noise from your apartment earlier. Are you back already?"

"Yeah – I actually never went. My stepbrother called to cancel at the last minute. But it's no big deal – I'll see him over Memorial Day weekend. Anyway, I don't really want to talk about my stepbrother right now." Blaine isn't sure if he really hears a hitch in Kurt's breath or if he's just imagining it, now that Kurt is back to tweaking his nipples with his free hand.

"What do you want to talk about?" Blaine almost asks if he wants to come over, but stops himself. Clearly, Kurt is busy. And Blaine doesn't want this to stop. Hearing Kurt's voice so clearly through the phone while watching him trace patterns on his skin is intoxicating, mesmerizing. Usually he only can hear a soft tone through the wall...Oh crap – what if he can hear my speakerphone through the wall and realizes I'm right behind his mirror! Blaine leaps up and stumbles back out to the living room to grab his earpiece off the desk.

This is even better, he thinks, when Kurt's lilting voice sounds directly in his ear, "Oh, I don't know. A story from work? Something fun from your childhood? A crazy college tale? I just wanted to hear your voice."

Blaine is back on the bench. His hands are free, but he hesitates to stroke his own erection. He has no idea how Kurt's voice can be so steady while he's pumping his cock lazily. Blaine doesn't think he can do the same. It's clear now that Kurt wants to get off to the sound of Blaine's voice and that he has no idea that Blaine knows. Blaine feels a flush creep out from his cheeks and down his neck. He never thought he would ever feature in one of Kurt's fantasies. Kurt always seems so closed-off when they are together, so uninterested in anything beyond being friends. Blaine's stomach does a nervous flip. He wants to make this good for Kurt. Maybe if he continues to have a role in Kurt's fantasies, Kurt will want to make those fantasies real.

Blaine runs through the beginnings of five different stories in his mind before he settles on one and begins. "Okay. I think I have a good one for you. Mike – you know, my friend Mike from work – just told me about something that happened to him when he was in high school."

"Uh-huh," says Kurt coolly. He is watching himself in the mirror as he props his head with a pillow against the arm of the sofa and drapes one leg over its back. He starts slowly rolling his balls in one hand, the other still holding the phone to his ear.

"So, Mike was in one of the secretary's offices making copies of some student magazine or something and he hears a loud noise," Blaine lowers his voice and tries to sound seductive as he continues. "The noise was coming from the supply closet – sounding like something was dropping, and Mike moved in closer to investigate."

Kurt's hand on his balls pauses and he asks dryly, "This doesn't end with a murder or something, does it?"

Blaine huffs out a laugh, "You did say I should talk about anything. But no, this is definitely not a horror story." He switches back to what he hopes is a more seductive tone, "No, I'd say it's much more....titillating."

"Well in that case, do go on." Kurt rubs his balls again, then slides a finger further down toward his hole.

Blaine closes his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts, then continues. "There was a window from the office into the supply closet. When Mike looked through it, he saw one of the students pressed up against the shelves of office supplies by a teacher – kissing passionately and moaning."

"Oh God," groans Kurt, tilting his pelvis off the sofa and giving Blaine a better view of his finger slowly circling his rim. "What did Mike do?"

"He was really quiet and he kept watching," says Blaine quietly. He mutes the phone for a second to mask the sound of the lube squeezing out of the bottle and his sharp intake of breath as he smoothes the cool liquid over his hot dick. Unmuted again, he continues, slowly and sensually, "Do you want to know what happens next?"

"Oh dear God please yes," says Kurt all in one breath. He punches the speaker button of his phone and lays it on the table, then turns on his side facing the mirror and fists his cock in earnest, long strokes punctuated by a swipe of his thumb over the head.

Blaine is teasing his own cock with slow, light touches. He decides to change some of the details of Mike's story to make it better for Kurt – starting with the genders of the people involved. "The student flipped them around and pushed the teacher back against the shelves and Mike recognized them – it was the math teacher and the football captain. I don't remember their names, but Mike said the math teacher was a body builder in his spare time, so he had these rippling biceps and the football captain was really tall, toned and sinewy. The student was pumping his tongue in and out of the teacher's mouth and they're both groaning and whining, and when they stepped away from each other for a moment, panting, Mike could see that both their pants were tented, their erections straining against the cloth."

Kurt is writhing on the sofa now, hips jerking up and fucking into his fist, bicep and forearm bulging with the strain. "What – what happened next?" Kurt pants out in measured breaths, struggling not to sound winded.

"Then the student dropped down to his knees and pulled down the teacher's zipper. The teacher grabbed his hair and tilted his head back, and fished out his long, thick cock. He held the student's head in place and fed his cock right in to the student's open, willing mouth."

"Oh God – really?" came Kurt's strangled voice as he continued to fuck his fist furiously, his other hand flicking open the lube and drizzling more over his dick and fist.

"Yeah," Blaine's voice is rough as his own fingers close tighter around his cock and pump a little quicker. "The student was moaning like a whore and the teacher started fucking furiously into his mouth and kept saying, 'Keep going, it feels so good, oh yeah.'"

Kurt drops the lube on the floor and swipes his free hand through the excess on his stomach, coating his fingers.

"The teacher pulled out and came all over the other guy's face. He opened up his mouth and tried to catch it on his tongue, and then he was licking the rest of it off."

Kurt reaches behind himself and stills his hips, working a finger around and then into his hole, his other hand squeezing and flying up and down his glistening, straining cock. His mouth is open now, his head tilted back.

"The teacher pulled his own pants and underwear all the way off and bent over with his hands on a chair and just begged the other guy, 'please fuck me, please. I need you so bad, oh God.'" Blaine is really getting into the part, moaning as if he were begging Kurt directly instead of retelling (and embellishing) a friend's story.

Kurt is thrashing and whining a bit now, and just as Blaine starts to describe the student's cock sliding into the teacher's already prepped hole, Kurt lunges for his phone and stabs the mute button. Kurt plunges his finger back into his hole and jerks his cock once, twice, three times before he stills, head thrown back, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut. And then he's coming in long spurts over his own chest. Blaine can't hear anything off through his earpiece, but he can hear the faint "Uhhhhnnnggg," through the wall.

"My mom's on the other line, I gotta go," yelps Blaine just before he ends the call and comes into the hand towel he is holding in front of himself, shoving his fist into his mouth and whimpering around it as his body spasms. He slumps back against the wall for a moment, watching Kurt as he lays still on the sofa, sated. When Kurt stands up and starts to clean himself off with the towel, Blaine retreats into his own bathroom. He is about to turn on the shower, but remembers that he's supposed to be on the phone with his mom. Worried Kurt might hear the water running and somehow connect the dots, he lingers in the bathroom for at least ten minutes staring into his reflection and telling himself that he is a horrible person before he at last turns the water on and tries to wash some of the dirtiness he feels away.