Kurt wanted to cry. He was in the bathroom at his house, scrubbing Blaine’s vomit off his precious boots. The disaster of Valentine’s Day was one thing. He recalled that day when he walked in on Blaine, those sounds and images fresh in his mind from being thought over and over, and realized that it had nothing to do with him. Blaine was nervous and desperately in love with someone else. He was so turned on he couldn’t even pretend to shower and jerked off right in the bed – because he was attracted to some other guy. But tonight’s behavior at Rachel’s party was a completely different thing. Turns out Blaine would rather suck face with Ms. Rachel Berry of all people, than at least try to reciprocate his feelings.  Kurt started to think that he and Blaine may really be better off as friends.

He scrubbed violently, holding back sobs, struggling to think of anything but Blaine. His hands were getting tired and his boots might as well have holes in them from all that cleansing. Kurt sighed and threw the cloth away. There was no reason to complete the skin care routine now, it was past one o’clock and all the muscles in Kurt’s body screamed for sleep. He quickly changed into pajamas and walked out of the bathroom and down the corridor.

Passing by the door of Burt and Carole’s bedroom, he stepped on a creaking part of the floorboard. Though Burt was a heavy sleeper, he might’ve already woken up from all that noise they made while returning home. But Kurt didn’t care about stepping lightly, the vulnerable little boy in him secretly wanted his father to come out of the room right now and just hold him, reassure him and alleviate all the pain that the party has inflicted, convince him that Blaine is just a misguided soul. But his father didn’t understand. He would never understand the hurt of hiding your feelings in high school, of pining over Blaine who falls in love with everyone but you. Burt would likely just yell at both of them because Kurt carelessly parked the car in the middle of the sidewalk. With a heavy sigh, Kurt reached the door of his room.

 Blaine was sprawled on the bed, taking up the space where three people might fit. His mouth was opened slightly and his gentle breath was barely audible. Despite Kurt’s bitterness about the recent events, he still smiled, noticing how Blaine’s gel-less hair resembled a curly monster and the way he was drooling a little on the pillow. He settled on the bed, not before putting Blaine’s arm back where it should have been, and allowed himself to look. Blaine’s face was relaxed and peaceful, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, eyelashes long and graceful, lips shiny and kissable. Kurt could forgive him anything in that moment. The gap guy fiasco with the toys in the drawer, salivating in Rachel’s mouth, vomiting on expensive shoes all seemed distant and insignificant compared to the slow rise and fall of Blaine’s body, his calm expression and warmth radiating from his outstretched arm. Which was still really close to Kurt. Dangerously close. What if he just lies in his designated spot and puts Blaine’s arm where it previously was? Sure, it would land on him but it wouldn’t be his fault. He cautiously tugged on the sleeve, carefully took Blaine’s arm, it felt like an unusually warm doll’s arm, and quietly put it on his waist. No harm done.

Suddenly Blaine shifted on the bed, murmuring something in his sleep, and buried his head in Kurt’s shoulder, embracing him closely and laying half on top of him. Kurt grinned a little with victory and breathed in the scent of Blaine, though mixed with alcohol, still very appealing. ‘Thank god Blaine agreed to rinse his vomit stinking breath away with the mouthwash, otherwise he would have slept in the dog kennel’ a small thought flashed in Kurt’s mind.

Blaine was clearly a cuddly person, though restrained a little by his role of confident preppy boy, he unleashed his inner self only in moments of weakness. But the fact that Blaine wasn’t scared to touch Kurt was incredible. Kurt was quickly becoming addicted to the touches. Though sometimes he hugged girls, it felt nothing like hugging boys. And hugging boys was nothing compared to cuddling with boys. Though, technically he hadn’t cuddled with anyone else, it always felt magical, but maybe the reason was Blaine himself. He shivered, feeling the way Blaine’s body was pressing into his, clinging like he ached for the closeness, for the intimacy. It felt warm and safe, like getting cozy in a nest, and Kurt loved it. From the tips of his toes, passing through the lean legs and bony hips, firm belly and chest, his arms holding gently, and face so close he could count the number of eyelashes, Kurt felt Blaine all around him, and his stomach turned into a factory of butterflies.

Kurt didn’t know how on earth could he ever give up on Blaine. He squeezed Blaine’s side and caressed his back in hesitant little pats. His last thought before falling asleep was of a giant fluffy dog.

His first thought before waking was of fire. The ever-consuming fire that burns entire forests, untamable and powerful, magnificent in its destructible force. The fire that now resided in his body. And was concentrated right in his crotch. And the reason was simple. Blaine was between his legs, licking, sucking, slurping, making noises so obscene it was impossible to breathe. His cock was rock hard and bobbing in and out of Blaine’s tight wet mouth, saliva and precome mixing and dripping out of it down to the chin. A mop of unruly curls was brushing his thighs, tickling him playfully, while a strong arm was holding his wildly thrusting hips in place. Simultaneously a gentle hand was firmly gripping the base of his cock, not letting him come yet. Blaine’s tongue was teasing mercilessly: lapping at the slit, circling the head and swirling up and down the length, sending sparks of pleasure through his nerves. His toes were curling, muscles clenching, and blood boiling. He clutched at Blaine’s hair, so tight it definitely hurt, and couldn’t help but look down. Blaine’s eyes were dark, blown with lust, and he smiled devilishly around Kurt’s poor throbbing cock, before taking one deep final suck and suddenly working his slick hand in quick strokes until Kurt was moaning and whimpering so loud his lungs hurt. Despite the delicious feeling of an upcoming orgasm, Kurt wasn’t able to look away. The image of Blaine pumping his cock was forever imprinted in his mind. Suddenly he caught the sight of Blaine’s own cock rubbing desperately into the sheets, craving relief. Seeing Blaine so turned on because of him was the last drop. As he felt the powerful waves of orgasm splash over him, his mind began to understand. Fire. Kurt’s body was on fire and he was coming hard, all over his hand, leaving streaks of white on his stomach, clothes, sheets.

Kurt was trying to catch his breath, his eyes trying to focus on the familiar ceiling of his room,   while the realization that it was just an insane dream was becoming more and more lucid, and of course Blaine wasn’t giving him the most amazing blow job, such crazy thing was impossible, partly because Blaine wasn’t even in the room. Or was he? Panic struck his mind as he remembered chaotic bits of the previous night: the red solo cups in that hideous basement, Rachel’s lipstick smeared all over Blaine’s face, the ridiculous drunken questions he had to put up with (“Kurt! Do you think I would grow as tall as Finn if I drank milk every day?”), Blaine burying himself face-down into the duvet as soon as they entered Kurt’s room.

Kurt’s eyes snapped wide open. Blaine was in the room. And had been all along. He slowly turned his head, as if moving slowly might change the fact that Blaine had just witnessed him jerking off to a wet dream. But there he was, and very awake too.

Kurt’s face was on fire. His mind was on fire. His heart was on fire.

Blaine’s face, on the other hand, expressed a mix of deep surprise, curiosity and confusion, though his eyes were still foggy from the alcohol. Kurt covered his burning face with the clean hand, a stream of “oh my god” escaping his lips. Grabbing hastily the tissues from the nightstand, he pushed the sheets away and tried to clean the mess with trembling hands, nearly crying in frustration that Blaine is seeing him like this. The most vulnerable and embarrassed he has ever been. The only chance to redeem his pride now was to run away to Australia. He made a quick motion to get up, but Blaine’s hand caught him.

- Come on, Kurtie pie. You don’t need to freak out, - Blaine mumbled in a raspy and tired voice.

Never tell someone who is freaking out not to freak out. Kurt tried to escape the tight grip, but obviously Blaine was strong even in a drunk state. Kurt had little experience in dealing with drunk people, much less the ones who called him by the nicknames his parents gave him when he was little. Kurt wiggled, which only made Blaine clutch stronger.

- You don’t need to freak out, - repeated Blaine, the tone of his voice exactly the same when dealing with small children, - because you’re hot stuff.

Kurt managed to poke Blaine hard in the ribs with an elbow, and finally set himself free. Ignoring Blaine’s hiss of pain, he promptly ran out of the room and down the corridor, taking refuge in the bathroom and finally locking the door.

Throwing splash after splash of freezing water in his own face, Kurt unsuccessfully tried to calm down. The remaining feeling of intensity and wonder still lingered in his mind, The Devilish Seducer Blaine from the dream and Blaine The Drunk 5-year-old intertwined into one person and Kurt wasn’t able to tell one from another.

A hidden part of himself was now stolen by mistake. He never intended for Blaine to see him doing that, something he still was embarrassed to confess he enjoyed. It wasn’t really Kurt’s fault, and nothing could be done at this point, but he still felt as if he deserved the punishment by maniacally obsessing over Blaine’s body. He sat on the cold tiled floor and hid his face in his hands.

He felt truly miserable. Even if Blaine miraculously failed to remember the events of the previous night, Kurt wasn’t ready to face him tomorrow morning, not after the dirtiest images of Blaine that his sexually repressed mind created in the light of his desires would still pop out at the slightest thought of Blaine. His conscience would never leave him in peace now.

Nor would his brain, that apparently was eager to revive every detail again and again. Blaine sucking his cock like there was no tomorrow, the strong smell of sweat and semen, Blaine staring at him in bewilderment, the soft used tissues he dropped on the floor in the rush, Blaine gripping his arm and his nonsense mumblings. Which reminded him of “hot stuff”. What did he even mean by that? Clearly, even drunk, Blaine’s subconscious was capable of joking.

The fault was all Rachel’s. Rachel and her stupid party and the alcohol and spin the bottle. He should plot an elaborate revenge that will cause Rachel eternal humiliation, but right now he was too damn tired to even keep his eyes open.

Without realizing it, Kurt dozed off.

He woke up a little after seven, hurting all over because of the hardness of the cold bathroom floor and the weird position he slept in. Thoughts of the night’s accident haven’t left him during the few hours of slumber. He dreamt of running through a big dark corridor, away from a chaser that grabbed at his clothes, gradually tearing them all off piece by piece, until he was naked, alone and scared in the darkness.

After brushing his teeth, Kurt decided to be brave and return into his room, in order to complete the precious moisturizing routine he had neglected yesterday. Taking good care of his hands and face was a huge part of Kurt’s life.  First of all, it reminded him of his mother, and sometimes he would speak soft words to her, little snippets of his daily routine or just simple “I miss you”s, as he catched glimpses of her features in his own reflection in the mirror.  Secondly, it was a necessary ritual that relaxed him and gained him extra-confidence to go through the day as his usual superior self. And at last, he really liked looking pretty and tidy. When he returned home on the weekends, Kurt spent a ridiculous amount of time behind his vanity, to make up for all those missed or skipped chances at Dalton. Going without a routine on the weekend would make him nervous and irritable, that’s why he gathered the last crumbles of courage to return into his own room with dignity. Kurt couldn’t avoid his best friend and roommate forever, in part because he had no other choice.

Reluctantly crossing the hallway and pushing the door of his room open, he found Blaine still asleep. Thank god, maybe he could sleep until it was time for breakfast, so they wouldn’t have to face each other alone.

 Kurt silently sat down at his vanity, his back to Blaine on the bed and the memory of last night, and began to fuzz with the different lotions. Trying to be quick, he mixed up the order in which the face cream had to be applied and needed to smear it all over again. He was so engrossed in remedying his mistake, he didn’t even hear his dad come into the room.

And then it was too late, Blaine has woken up, Burt had a giant question written all over his face, and Kurt wasn’t ready in any way.

When the door closed behind Burt, Kurt’s only wish was to be swallowed alive by a giant crocodile, because Blaine was making some horrendous groans of pain, and ignoring him would be terribly cruel. Kurt poured him a glass of water and handed him the aspirin, avoiding his eyes and trying to rub the cream into his cheek as fast as he could.

- Thanks, - Blaine muttered.

- Mhhm, - Kurt replied, in hope that his clear disinterest would end the dialogue.

- Gosh, my head hurts so badly, and I can’t even remember what happened last night, - Blaine complained, falling back on the bed with a loud ‘thump’.

‘You shouldn’t’ Kurt thought, choosing the hairspray in a quick familiar motion out of many bottles and flasks he owned.

- Oh, I remember now, we were at Rachel’s party, and you were wearing a red shirt, skintight black pants and those boots you went on and on about in the car, - Blaine was trying hard to remember – oh and I sang “Don’t You Want Me”, didn’t I? With Rachel. Oh my god, did we kiss?

- We did not, thank you very much, you vomited on my boots with that mouth, - Kurt was beginning to get annoyed, his hair chose to be capricious this morning, and styling it hurriedly only made things worse.

- Yeah, I remember now, - Blaine seemed not to hear him, babbling tons of words in need of escape all at once. - I kissed Rachel! We totally made out! And we were dancing and Mike made me drink something right out of the bottle. Then I remember singing in your car, how did I get there? And then you were yelling something about your boots and your bed was so soft, but then I woke up in the middle of the night because…

Blaine seemed to be engrossed in a search in the corner of his mind for a tiny memory, when a sudden realization hit him. His expression changed in a nanosecond, eyes going wide and incredulous.

He stopped abruptly and Kurt’s cheeks immediately flushed. Blaine didn’t forget.

- Oh, - he said, his brows furrowed in concentration, and Kurt couldn’t take it anymore.

- Shut up, Blaine, just shut up!

Kurt smashed the spray back in it place and accidentally knocked over all the hand creams. His eyes were starting to sting, but he didn’t want to cry, he wanted to be furious. He wanted to punch Blaine in his gorgeous face and then throw him out of the house and tell him it wasn’t fair. Instead, he just pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes.

After what seemed like an eternity, Blaine broke the silence with a half-reassuring, half-awkward tone.

- Relax, Kurt, it happens to everyone. You walked in on me that one time, remember?

Of course he freaking remembered, it nurtured his fantasies and now he couldn’t even sleep next to Blaine without having realistic full-blown dreams, no pun intended. He wouldn’t be able to wash that memory away, not even with a bleacher. Blaine was now hugging a pillow tight to his chest, his voice faint and sad.

- I don’t want us to be weird because of stuff like that. Honestly, sometimes I just feel like you’ve built a wall around yourself, and I don’t even know you at all.

- What?! – Kurt turned around to see Blaine suddenly very interested in the state of his nails, his facial expression an uncanny resemblance to a kicked puppy. Kurt was truly shocked. That was the last thing he expected Blaine to say. They talk every day and sleep in the same room, they go on coffee
“dates” and sing duets, they share recipes and listen to the same music. What goddamned wall is he talking about?

- It’s just, - Blaine laid his head back on the pillow. - We never talk about, you know, gay stuff.

- Oh, - Kurt deadpanned, crossing his arms.

- Before, I thought you turned your switch off regarding this stuff because of Karofsky, but clearly you’re very on with that, because of what you did, ehm, last night, - he vaguely waved in Kurt’s direction, - You like, never tell me some guy is hot, or just stuff in general, like, would you like to be more dominant or submissive in a relationship. I’m supposedly your best friend. I don’t even know what type of guy you’re attracted to…

Blaine sighed, exasperated. He started fumbling with the hem of his shirt. Kurt took a moment to notice how even crazily hungover Blaine would use words like “dominant” and “submissive” correctly. Dalton clearly taught excelling speech skills.

- Okay, Blaine, - started Kurt firmly, praying his voice wouldn’t tremble. He stood up and reached the wardrobe in quick steps, - I’m not closing up on you, it’s just that I’m not comfortable about this stuff. What you saw was a mortifying accident, and I would appreciate if you forgot everything about it.

He didn’t spare Blaine another glance, his posture was stiff when he finally took out the clothes he wanted from the closet, slamming it shut a little bit too hard. Blaine tried to say something, but Burt yelled again, asking for Kurt to get his butt downstairs and make breakfast.

Kurt couldn’t have been out of there fast enough.