The long, dim corridor is unusually crowded with hushed and whispering voices. Female ones, on this level of hearing.

Although, if you strain your ears, farther in the distance, there's someone else's down below, deeper, rougher, richer... but indistinct.

The owners of the former, for that matter, are all assembled, crouching in front of a door that is only lightly ajar, but still presents enough of a view onto what lies behind.

A view that keeps spellbound all pairs of curiously aligned eyes, beaded along the gap between the wooden frame and the door, in a row like shiny pearls on a string.

Warm orange light falls out of the room, although it is barely lit as well. Someone must have put a red light on...

A voice surfaces, then.

It is a terse whisper-shout, standing out among the sounds of strained attentive breathing, breaking the strange collective hum:

"What is he doing? ... I can't really see. Looks like..."

Rachel skids across the floor on her knees to get a closer look by some inches, not really making a difference, probably, but jutting her chin forward. Tina beside her uses the opportunity to pull the writing pad off her lap, that threatens to fall to the floor with a traitorous and telling thud in the eager rush of Rachel's movement.

"Rachel, is that a drawing?"

"Yes..." Rachel's hiss comes out breathy, as her wide eyes gleam with the gentle glow from within the room, pupils dilated despite the illumination.

Tina huffs delicately: "That's not an accurate likeness..." She takes Rachel's pen out of her distractedly uncurled fingers, scratches it generously across the page, then scribbles tentatively.

She tilts her head, measuring her work, then pushes the pad back at Rachel. "There." She nudges the other girl's shoulder, scooting over, to resume her former position along the crack of the door. Rachel's voice has acquired a whining quality, that seems to come too naturally to her:

"Just what exactly is Blaine doing? I can't... Kurt seems to like it, though..."

Tina presses her forehead against the wood of the door frame and her tone colours with an equally impatient undercurrent, Rachel's mood catching: "I can't see where his other hand has vanished to, I think they're kind of lying on it..." The sides of their heads bump, both trying to get a better look.

Rachel's next words are high pitched, pressed through a sceptically pursed pout: "I don't know, is he doing this right? This angle looks kind of awkward... The face he's making... is he enjoying that? Because his face is kind of distorted, maybe... he's suffocating?" Alarm rings in her rant at hat last part, yet she cannot bring her eyes to move away from the scene in the room and at the other girls.

"You try to grin blissfully with your mouth full, it just looks like this..." Santana's dry chuckle cuts through the room, immediately interrupted by a panicked 'shhh' from the other two girls.

Rachel quickly finds her form again, though, frowning through the gap. "And this face is supposed to be hot?"

Santana's low mumble is equal parts annoyance and amusement: "Oh well, Kurt seems to think so... although he looks quite distracted, but men mostly are visual beings like that..."

Rachel leans back a bit to sit on her heels, blinking rapidly at the motion in the room, after staring too long unmoving. "Huh. So let's see..." Her eyes flicker to the pad on her knees.

"Kurt seems to make that little gasp when Blaine's mouth is in that general region..." She circles something on her drawing with a bright pink highlighter. "And an occasional twist also seems to prove effective..." The pen scribbles frantically. "Is that correct, Tina?... Tina?"

Tina doesn't react , too caught up in watching, mouth gaping, until Rachel boxes her shoulder. "What? Oh, yes, as far as I can, um, ascertain..."

"Yeees, right there, go for it now, I can see toes curling..." Santana coos through a growing grin, standing, hovering over them, not paying attention to the other girls at her feet.

The pen is dropped and they all scramble together, trying to get a better view, holding their breaths.

It's just then. A tiny huff.

A male voice strangely out of nowhere, broken at its edges and a little coarse.

A self-conscious clearing of throat:

"Guys, I feel..." Heads turn into his direction, and he stammers: "T-this isn't right, I'm kind of uncomfortable, maybe we should give Kurt some privacy...?"

Several sets of wide eyes stare into his with disbelief. Disbelief that grows into a slight but sure irritation on Rachel's face:

"Blaine, what are you doing out here, shouldn't you be inside...?" Her voice echoes from the walls now. Blaine's stands, dumbfounded.

Oh. Indeed. What is he doing outside? He should be inside... he should...

He should be... inside...in bed... in.. his bed?

The scene around him wavers then dissolves, Rachel's incredulous and somewhat affronted expression the last detail to be replaced by the view of a dark room around him.

.

For a moment he just breathes against damp covers hugging him, the sensation feeling vaguely familiar.

A hand tardily reaches for his forehead, and he becomes aware it's his own. Then Blaine sits up with the force of realization and waking up.

What... just what...? Oh. Oh, god.

His heart keeps hammering up to his throat through a light panic sustaining itself on a constant level, an incessant thrumming buzz in his ears.

Blaine rubs his face, blowing breath out, waiting shakily for the reliable counterforce to cut in, this feeble voice inside trying to make him listen:

Calm down, Blaine, it was just a dream. It's all natural. All hormones. Don't freak out. Composure. Comp... but ohgodohgodohgod!

A violent shudder runs through Blaine's body, vibrating with tense and taut muscles, that won't quite obey yet.

What was that supposed to mean right now? His thoughts are reeling.

Does this dream mean he has an exhibitionist streak? A voyeuristic one? Both? Blaine swallows thickly.

Like so often his mind tries to plunge for refuge in detached observation. Rationality. His fingers intertwine nervously.

Concentrate, Blaine... Stop freaking out and just analyse the facts at hand...

Let's see. His fingers twitch.

The racing heartbeat and cold sweat clinging to his chest clearly indicate that his body thinks this must have been a nightmare... Yes. Good. Okay.

Blaine blinks. Sort of, at least... in a way... He buries his face in his hands, groaning.

Because what other regions of his body also indicate, is that parts of that dream seem to have been... quite a bit of a turn on as well.

Blaine makes a sound that is too close to a whimper, as his mind flashes back to those exact parts. Those parts of him on Kurt, that he took glimpses of through the door... Well, it was more of an awareness, really, than an actual vision, than actually seeing... Sort of a feeling...

Blaine presses his fist against his forehead impulsively:

Still, what kind of a mess is that?

Oh god, teenage mind, what are you doing to me…!

Blaine starts massaging his temples.

And the girls...what was Tina doing there, anyway? The others he'd somehow get, but... A strangled noise escapes him.

No. He doesn't want to think about how all of their voices and statements actually must stem from his own subconscious. His what... insecurities? Oh, nonono...

He presses his eyes shut, gaining resolution. No, because, really, there was a reason for this dream, it was induced by some exterior factor, by...by... of course. Oh, a factor alright.

It's all Rachel's fault!

Blaine sits up straighter, kind of relaxing into the idea, the sudden recollection, at the same time getting agitated with it.

Yes, that must have been it!

Her stupid text, making that drive home earlier so much of a strain already.

He didn't text an answer to her question, but instead let the phone fall into the seat next to him.

Still her mere suggestion had a flood of very distracting images rushing in on Blaine, visuals he clearly did not need for a drive home in the night in an empty car and on deserted streets... Not of Rachel, no. Of Kurt. And yes, he really had to take care not to run over any red traffic lights. Or risk speeding tickets trying to get home into the secluded privacy of his bed... fast.

Blaine hisses at the memory.

Of course, all that must have haunted him into his dream.

Blaine studies the ceiling for a moment for as much as the dark will give away, hands rubbing circles on his burning cheeks.

Yes. It's rather clear, isn't it? It is Rachel's fault. That seems to be the most logical explanation.

Let's settle for that.

Blaine falls back into the pillows with a groan.

Yes, let's, please.