That night they return to the apartment surprisingly late, and Kurt leaves the brothers sprawled out on Blaine's bed, an old comedy playing and a tub of ice cream being passed between them.

He disappears into his own room, strips off his clothes and falls, exhausted, into bed. He falls asleep quickly, almost effortlessly, but with the memory of Blaine's bright, easy, proud smile from the end of the night filling his mind, the touch and spark of his fingers on Kurt's hand, too hot and too close in a crowded restaurant, coupled with fading memories of the boy's body against his own, small and warm and fitting so snugly, perfectly against him. He sleeps restlessly, lost in dreams of vivid eyes and hidden smiles, stolen, lingering coffee-kisses and a boy whose heart beats so beautifully full of life. When he wakes he's still tired, embarrassingly half hard in his boxer-briefs as imaginary hands on his body skim away, leaving him goosebumped, cold and alone and so very confused.

He ambles out of bed on heavy feet and disappears groggily into the bathroom, using all his willpower to not be drawn to the sound of Blaine's breathing only feet away. He resists the urge to crawl under the blankets and over his sweltering body, to wrap his limbs around the boy and breath him in and just rest, peacefully, with his lips to Blaine's throat until he wakes, and then to kiss him slowly, groggily to life and to run his hands over ever soft, supple line of his sleep-hot body. He resists, but it takes everything he's got.

Kurt showers quickly, systematically, not allowing his hands to linger anywhere longer than wholly necessary, focussing on the soothing pounding of water against skin and tiles and glass, allowing his muscles to relax in the steam.

He towels off quickly, wrapping it tight around his hips before flicking his hair out of his face, feeling fresh and clean, body pleasantly relaxed from the heat instead of highly strung with desire.

Pulling the door open as silently as possible Kurt creeps out, still achingly aware of Blaine being so close, not wanting to wake him. But as soon as he steps into the open living room the cool air washes over him and he feels eyes on him, turning slowly he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Blaine, stood stock still halfway between kitchen and sofa.

Blaine's staring at him, seemingly stopped mid step, body angled away but head turned and locked on Kurt. He's still in his pyjamas, hair stuck up on one side, matted and tangled and Kurt wants to drag his fingers through it, scratch along his scalp until Blaine melts beneath his touch.

"Hi," Blaine says, voice dry, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth and turning, eyes falling fast over Kurt's body, over miles of touchable, soft, sinuous skin. The stretched tight lines of his muscles, supple and twistingly lithe and the gradual, broad expanse of his bare, damp shoulders. Concave dips behind his collarbones, between muscle and bone, where Blaine's sure his chin would fit, snug, were he to wrap his arms around Kurt from behind.

"Hey," Kurt replies, hand automatically coming to rest over the bunched fabric of his towel. Not that Blaine hasn't already seen him naked, but stood in the growing brightness of morning, bare and goosebumped, he feels so very vulnerable, breakable in that moment as he feels rivulets of water drip down the back of his neck, skirting rivers over his spine.

Blaine doesn't reply, just continues to stare at Kurt, almost naked and wet and so obviously tense as Blaine aches to press his mouth to his chest, nipples, ribs, to slide his finger beneath the damp towel, to tug until the fabric falls away and he can press Kurt back, trace water tracks with his tongue and teeth, taste Kurt in his mouth for hours. And wow, where did that come from? Only last week he'd been frightened to touch Kurt, let along push his naked body up against the wall and ravish him.

"Blaine, my eyes are up here," Kurt manages through a staccato burst of laughter.

Blaine flicks his eyes up, flushes as he smiles and ducks his face to the floor. He shakes his head, tries to clear it, before looking up again. "Sorry," he says, swallows the lump in his throat, dampens his lips, takes a hesitant step forwards, and another when Kurt doesn't react. "You look…" he trails off as his eyes trail down again, whatever he was doing before forgotten as he admires skin and bones and muscles and beating, thumping, living heart and lungs and rushing blood, so close and hot that Blaine can almost hear it. "You look unreal," he finally breaths, steps forward again, so close now, licks his lips and wishes it was the ridge of Kurt's hips instead, protrudingly prominent against his towel.

"I- thanks," Kurt gulps through his smile, "I think," he adds in a whisper, Blaine now close enough to hear no matter how gently he speaks.

"Oh it's definitely a compliment," Blaine says simply, reaching his hands out to thumb over Kurt's hip bones. Kurt's breath stutters against his lips at the touch, making confidence swell within him, smirking as he tilts his head up, almost touching.

"Cooper?" Kurt asks silently between them, eyes flicking down to Blaine's lips, over and over again, tracing the bow and curve of them, his entire body flooding with an ache to just touch and trace and take, to want and allow himself to want and to give in.

"Sleeping," is all Blaine says before he's rocking forward on his toes, leaning teasingly, tantalisingly close, eyes hued like honey and blown black as he stares at Kurt. He skims his hands too gently up Kurt's sides, tickling the skin and feeling the shiver which rocks through Kurt's body, whose hands reach up, fingers curl over the almost bare muscles of Blaine's shoulders as he presses his face closer to Blaine's and all but whimpers into his mouth, eyelashes fluttering pleadingly, because this is everything he wants.

"I can't stop thinking about you," Blaine then admits, and he could kick himself for how clichéd it is. But it's true. "After last night," he says, words stumbling, "I just- you're always so close and I can't- and I-" he can't get his words out, can taste Kurt's breath and feel his warmth and see the indecipherable pools of his eyes and-

And Blaine thinks, in that split second of clarity before he presses his lips against Kurt's, about how strangely their roles seem to have switched, in that Blaine now has control as he presses Kurt back, feels him whine, the rabbit-quick thump of his heart beneath his bare, damp skin and the want, which leaks sweet like sugar into Blaine's mouth when they finally kiss.

And god, does Kurt want.

Blaine can feel it instantly; the tightening of his grip on Blaine's shoulders, the arch of his back as he leans down, the way he presses closer, closer, closer, as close as possible until Blaine is pressed up against the entire, hard length of Kurt's almost naked body. Blaine can feel dampness seeping through his clothes, Kurt's cock hardening against where he himself is already straining and no doubt leaking in his pyjama pants, having started growing hard as soon as Kurt left the bathroom.

But Kurt feels it too, feels the moment he begins to lose control and give in, feels a tugging ache in his chest and fights it down, because he's not giving in, not when Blaine is so obviously, equally desperate against him, not when his never-been-touched boy is so willing to be touched.

So instead he pulls away, opens his eyes, slow and sultry and watches Blaine blink a few times. Kurt then leans back, makes Blaine work for it, makes him tip toe, kissing over Kurt's neck, his hands running, roaming, exploring Kurt's rapidly over heating skin, the only thing that seems to be holding him together right now.

Kurt finally leans forward again, kisses him, once, twice, three times, hard and swift and darting, feels Blaine's finger nails dig into his waist, frustrated as he whines, bucks forward and finally Kurt kisses him the fourth time, roughly. He slides his tongue instantly alongside Blaine's, strokes inside his mouth, tips his head back, arcs down, deepens the kiss until Blaine is whimpering and begging with his body beneath and against and wrapped like vines around Kurt's.

And then he slides his hands, long fingered, broad palmed, into Blaine's hair, cradles his face and suckles his bottom lip between his teeth. Blaine moans with the sweet painfulness of it when in the distance, beneath the thump-thump-thump of their hearts and the wet, pulling drag of their lips there is a faint, gentle creak of old floorboards.

"Shit," they hear Cooper curse a room away, too close as they both pull back, silent gasps from kissed red lips, wet and swollen.

There's a bang from the other room and it gives them a few precious seconds to avert their gazes and step back more, to stop their hands shaking and to, of course, try desperately to rearrange their dicks from being so obviously hard.

And then Cooper's wandering out of his room, head bowed forward, hand stroking over the back of his skull tentatively as he approaches them. He must then see their feet because he looks up, slowly.

"Hi guys," he says, face tight with pain, "Kurt will you have a look at the back of my head? I whacked it on the corner of my bedside table when I woke up," he screws his eyes shut, fingers prodding over the back of his head before turning his back to Kurt, smiling faintly down at Blaine whose entire body is still thrumming with adrenaline, hands shaking with the feel of Kurt's bare skin beneath them.

Kurt, with equally shuddery hands, gently cards his fingers through the hairs at the back of Cooper's head, trying not to focus on how only seconds ago he'd been doing the same to Blaine. He reveals, nestled at very base of Cooper's skull, the curve where it joins neck beneath hair, a faint, tender gash, blood already beginning to dry in his hair.

"Just a- a small cut," Kurt reassures him, smoothes the hairs gently back down and, on instinct, rubs his hand soothingly down Cooper's back, over his shoulders to ease his tension.

"I'm such a clumsy prick sometimes," Cooper mumbles, touches his head again and winces, before walking through Kurt and Blaine, into the kitchen. "What're you two doing anyway? You're up early Blaine," Cooper yawns as he turns to the fridge, pulling out a carton of juice, shooting his brother a comically concerned look.

And Kurt, who likes to think of himself as quite a mature person, can't help but duck his head, hiding his smile and fighting back his snigger because yes, Blaine is definitely up early, he thinks, eyes darting to stare at the still faintly visible bulge of Blaine's cock, still noticeably hard, although lessening now Cooper's arrived.

Blaine shoots him a glare, dagger sharp and jaw clenched because he just knows what Kurt's laughing about, and it's certainly not funny.

"Come and get breakfast and let Kurt get dressed," Cooper calls, popping bread into the toaster and flicking the coffee machine on, filling it with fresh beans and listening as the grinder sets to work, hand still rubbing the base of his skull.

But Blaine doesn't move. Just stays frozen solid, hips angled slightly away from Cooper, out of his vision. He flicks his eyes up to Kurt, begs for help, but what can Kurt do?

Because Kurt knows his asking for help, for a way out, for just one more minute. But Kurt's feeling particularly cruel today, so instead he just smirks once, swift and pleased before slinking past Blaine, too-close and too-nearly-naked before he disappears into his bedroom.

Blaine growls under his breath, feels embarrassment surge blood hot through his face as he closes his eyes, wills his body to calm down quicker, quicker, quicker. And it's working, it's definitely working, but all too soon Cooper's speaking again.

"You okay Blaine?" he asks as he pulls the toast from the toaster, quickly spreading butter as Blaine turns a little more to face him.

"Yeah, why? Why wouldn't I be?" Blaine replies quickly.

"Your face is like, incredibly red," Cooper says through a mouth full of toast, crumbs falling onto the dark pyjama top he's wearing, and Blaine could swear he hears Kurt giggle from his bedroom.

/

By the time Kurt leaves his bedroom, dressed and hair-dried, it's to find the apartment empty but for Cooper, stood humming in the kitchen, favourite yellow apron loose around his neck as he rolls god knows what onto the counter.

"I'm having de ja vu," Kurt jokes, sliding onto a kitchen stool to watch the show.

Cooper shoots a glare over his shoulder, before knocking the humming up a few notches, obviously trying to drown Kurt out.

"Where's Blaine?" Kurt can't help but ask, keeping his voice flat and normal and not at all intrigued.

"Shop, he wanted bagels for breakfast, we'd ran out of some stuff…" Cooper trails off with a shrug, turning and leaning back against the counter to look at Kurt, slapping his hands together to rid them of excess flour. Kurt watches as it catches in the light and dances, lighter than air, for a few moments, before he's dragged from his mind by Cooper's voice. "… for last night, I-"

"Huh?" Kurt asks, having completely missed the start of the conversation.

"I said I want to apologise properly for last night…" Cooper smiles shyly, "I know it wasn't my most intelligent moment and well, just," he shrugs awkwardly, so much like his little brother that Kurt's stomach drops at the resemblance, "I'm just sorry, we should've just left. Like you said… I like to make a show and it didn't exactly-"

"It's fine Coop," Kurt cuts him off with a smile, a fond shake of his head, Cooper kissing him already forgotten, unimportant in the grand scheme of what is Kurt's life at the minute. "Honestly," he tacks on at the end, "it was worth it just to see Blaine's face," Kurt says, remembering the younger boy's startled, confused expression.

Cooper laughs back, grins wide and carefree like normal, and Kurt knows the issue's forgotten, among a million other silly moments in their friendship. When Cooper's eyes find Kurt's he's still smiling, but it's smaller, tighter around the edges. Cooper drops the gaze first, stares at his feet for a few seconds, before finally looking back up and speaking, through his smile, although with a hardness to his voice which Kurt doesn't hear very often.

"D'you think he's okay?" he says, seriously.

"Blaine?" Kurt asks, just to make sure.

"Yeah."

"He's only gone to get bagels, I'm sure-"

Cooper's bark of laughter cuts Kurt's words in half, and he's shaking his head, flour in his hair.

"No, you idiot, I meant like, in life…" he trails off, still smiling, but that serious edge is back, and Kurt feels his insides knot and churn and grip tight, feels dread creep like a creature through his veins before he replies.

"I- yes, of course he's okay… why wouldn't he be?" Kurt asks, wonders whether he's been too preoccupied with Blaine's body and bashful smile and beautiful eyes to notice something serious.

"I just meant like, in himself…" Cooper shrugs and waits.

"I- I don't understand," Kurt says, wondering where these questions have come from and hoping they're not a result of his and Blaine's unusual situation.

"I just mean… with all the bullying and harassment and that dance, moving schools, having to make all new friends, struggling to fit in somewhere, just- just being gay in Ohio and- well- you must know some of what he's going through… I just wondered whether he seemed, y'know, okay… to you? Happy?"

Kurt stares. And stares. And thinks.

Does Blaine seem okay to him? Does he seem happy?

All Kurt sees when he thinks over the questions is big smiles and bright eyes with crinkles around the edges, loud, stomach aching laughs and giggles, snorts and chuckles and tears streaming down Blaine's face, hands gripped around his stomach as if holding himself together. Bitten lips and downcast smiles, long, fluttering eyelashes and sighs so long and gentle that Kurt's bones shook with them. Heat of his hands, body, skin, tight and tingly and taut, stretched with a groan and held tense, soaring and breaking on the whispered, worshipped taste of Kurt's name on his lips and the achingly pleasant grasp of an orgasm. Sleep-slow, languid, savouring kisses, pink cheeks and messy hair and drumming, thumping heart and Kurt's hand, splayed, holding, caring, on his neck, in his hair, as Blaine sinks and falls blissfully closer and rests, snugly, perfectly, serenely against Kurt's body.

"Yeah he seems- seems okay to me," Kurt eventually says, swallows the lump in his throat and feels the words catch as he literally aches with the need to grasp Blaine close to his chest, tuck him into his body and keep him safe. Because Kurt's forgot, for these past two weeks, that Blaine has been through everything, and more, that Kurt has. And if that isn't enough to make him want to cry for the boy, who has struggled so much at so young, he doesn't know what is.

"Does he ever talk about the move and Dalton with you? Or anything at all? I know you guys spent a lot of time together last week," Cooper wonders aloud, and he's waiting, so trustingly, for Kurt's answers.

"I- yeah, I guess, a bit," Kurt says, and it's not a lie, Blaine has mentioned school and friends occasionally, in between their flirting and kissing and touching and okay, maybe Kurt should have asked some more about how he is, having experienced a similar situation at Blaine's age. "He sometimes talks about Dalton, glee club and his classes and stuff, he mentions The Warblers, I think they've been good for him. He doesn't- doesn't mention his old school, or the dance, or any of the bullying," Kurt admits, watches Cooper nod.

"But he seems happy?"

"Yeah, I guess," Kurt says, wonders whether Blaine is always as happy as Kurt has seen him while in New York. "Do you not talk to him about this stuff yourself?" he can't help but ask.

"I try," Cooper admits, almost sounding ashamed. "But I think he's embarrassed, he doesn't want to talk to his big brother about being pushed around at school, or tell me about the guys at the mall who scream 'fag' at him or whether he still has nightmares, he just…" Cooper sighs, long and loud and rubs a hand over his head. "I think he tries too hard sometimes to be happy and strong, for me, and mum and dad, and everyone at school but none of us know, really, deep down, what he's going through. But you must, to some degree; you can relate more than any of us, and well, I just hope if he doesn't want to come to me or our parents or- or whoever, that maybe he'll come to you, or you'll at least, just, see or realise and relate and maybe he won't feel so alone if he has someone else who's experienced similar things to what he has. I mean, our families have always been pretty close, he knows you."

Kurt stares, again, and it's all he can do because how could he possibly have been so blind?

"I talk to him about boys," Cooper continues, "who he thinks are cute and guys in his classes and things like that, I ask about school and The Warblers and I try to make it clear that I'm here for him, for whatever he wants to talk about. But all I can think about is at McKinley when Karofsky was pushing you around and you wouldn't tell your dad and I- I hated you doing that to yourself and I couldn't stand it if Blaine was doing the same. I just- I just want him to be happy and loved and-"

Cooper's words are cut short as the front door swings open and Blaine waddles in, weight uneven, laden down on one side with shopping bags.

He kicks the front door shut, moves half the bags to his other hand and finally looks up, his eyes meet Cooper's, and then Kurt's, and he grins, wide and easy and real. His eyes are huge and golden in the sunlight, his hair ruffled and messy, ungelled and tangled from the wind and his clothes are loose, twisted a little around his small frame from the weight in his arms and he speaks, voice breathy and relaxed, "hey guys," as he continues to beams and drops the bags in the kitchen.

And Kurt stares, because that's apparently all he's capable of doing this morning, at Blaine, who looks so indescribably, unfathomably beautiful, rumpled and adorable in the early morning sun, skin tanned and shining and body small, but strong and durable and Kurt feels his heart lurch, his breath catch and his body freeze because fuck, this 16 year old boy should not be making him feel like this. Should not be making his heart thump and ache and hurt all at once, should not make him want and need and care and should not make emotions bubble so dangerously close to the surface.

Because he's a boy.He's young and naïve and foolish, and Kurt remembers being 16. Remembers being infatuated with a person, with the idea of a person and with the idea of love and he remembers, only too clearly, falling for someone he could never, ever hope to have.

And he refuses to go through that again, at 21, for a boy who is far too young, like Kurt had been, to have any idea what he wants.

"What's going on?" Blaine asks, oblivious to what he's just walked in on.

"Nothing," Cooper says with a smile, turning back to his baking, "I'm just making cookies for Lex," he shoots Blaine a wide, overconfident smile.

"What's the occasion?" Blaine asks, sending Kurt a hidden, secret smile, setting off a storm of butterflies in Kurt's stomach which he tries, and fails, to control.

"There's no occasion," Cooper grins and hip bumps Blaine when he tries to slide his finger through the dough. "Just following mum's advice," he says, almost proud.

"What advice?"

"She always says when you love someone you should bake them cookies at least twice a year," Cooper recites happily, using the heart shaped cookie slicer and ignoring Blaine when he picks up the mixing bowl and swipes his finger around the edge.

Blaine rolls his eyes at Kurt before he offers him the mixing bowl with raised, questioning eyebrows. But Kurt just smiles weakly in response, declines, and when Blaine pretends to pout, Kurt wishes he didn't want to lean over the counter and kiss away his frown lines, wishes he didn't want to suck his plump lower lip into his mouth, wishes he didn't want to taste the sweet tang of cookie dough on his tongue.

Mostly, though, Kurt wishes he knew what his emotions were doing right now.