Kurt drove home confused and a little depressed, but mostly confused.  No, mostly depressed.  Hell, he didnt know.  He revisited the night in his mind.  Blaine had invited him to the bar, and his smile made it seem like he was so happy to have Kurt there.  Kurt also remembered the press of Blaines hand on his thigh and the simple word, "Stay," murmured low in his ear.  However, Blaine was a showman.  It was his job to put on a performance, and maybe having Kurt there was a way of keeping it fresh.  He knew Kurt could sing, and Kurt sang.  It wasnt like it was a date. 

Kurt took yet another shower to wash the cigarette smoke from his hair and skin, beginning to revel in the idea of washing himself under the stars.  And, in fact, there appeared to be millions of stars.  The night sky was amazing.  When he finished, he returned to the apartment and donned his pajama bottoms and a soft t-shirt.  Then he went into the bathless bathroom to finish his nightly moisturizing routine. 

Skin properly hydrated, Kurt had just finished brushing his teeth and had switched off the bathroom light when he heard a noise just outside the window.  Turning to look out, he caught a glimpse of a small convertible driving up to the neighbors house.  In the moonlight and the glow of a small light attached to the neighbors shed, he couldnt make out the color of the car--either blue or black--but he instantly recognized the driver. 

Blaine Anderson was next door!

Why was he next door?  Did his parents live there? 

There was no way that Kurt could be that lucky.  The door to the little sports car swung open, and Blaine stepped out.  Kurt watched from the window, hidden under the cover of darkness. 

God, he was so beautiful in the moonlight. 

To Kurts surprise, Blaine didnt walk into the house, which was separated from the driveway by a row of tall shrubs.  Instead, he stretched.  Then he reached up and loosened his tie and dropped it in the back seat.  Then he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. 

Oh my God.  Was he stripping in the middle of the driveway?

It turned out, he was.  He toed off one shoe and then the other.  Then he unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his trousers.  In the light from the shed, Kurt could see that he was wearing only a pair of red (maybe) bikini briefs that on the one hand made Kurt want to say, "Seriously, Blaine?  Bikinis?" and on the other hand made Kurt a little weak in the knees. 

What was he doing?

Then Kurt saw it.  Right next to the neighbors shed was their own outdoor shower.  Kurt had a perfect view of it from his upstairs vantage point high above the rose hedge that separated the two properties.  Of course, when Blaine closed the shower door, Kurt would only be able to see him from the shoulders up, but still. 

Except Blaine didnt close the shower door.  Standing under the sheds light, Blaine reached down and stripped off his remaining article of clothing, and Kurts mouth fell open.  Blaine was...well, the phrase packing heat came to mind.  It explained so much.  Blaine was such a small guy because all of his growth hormones had been focused on a singular part of his body. 

Great googley moogley. 

Kurt had seen a lot of dick in his life--after all, he had been on the high school football team--and he knew above average when he saw it.  Kurts personal experience touching dick had been mostly limited to Adam and, well, himself, but he had seen some penises in his time.  Once in high school, a bully named Karofsky had accused Kurt of trying to get a look at his junk.  Kurt had denied it, but the reality was that, when he was in the locker room with naked guys, he was definitely (although surreptitiously) looking.  He was a GAY MAN, for Petes sake.  What separated gay men from straight men was that gay men loved to look at naked dick.  I mean, anybody could own a Judy Garland album, but only gay men (and straight women) loved naked dick.  So, if it was around, Kurt was going to look at it.  I mean, honestly, if Santana had walked topless through the boys locker room, all the straight guys were going to look, now, werent they? 

Blaine turned to start the water...and, oh my God, that ass...and a tiny angel on Kurts shoulder told him that he should step away from the window and leave Blaine free to shower unmolested from the eyes of a creepy peeping Tom.  A much larger devil on the other shoulder told Kurt that he would have to be crazy to walk away now. 

Kurt never had much use for angels. 

He watched with his mouth open as Blaine worked shampoo into his hair, dissolving the gel and letting the soap drift down his chest and stomach.  He bent over to put his head under the spray, giving Kurt another unobstructed view of his ass, and Kurt groped blindly with one hand until it landed on his toothbrush.  He stuck the handle in his mouth and bit down hard, groaning a little.  His hands flexed as he imagined wrapping them around Blaines hips and pulling that ass against his own cock, leaving little finger tip bruises all along Blaines hip bones. 

Once the shampoo was out of his hair, Blaine reached for a bar of soap and began lathering his chest and arm pits.  Then his hand traveled lower, soaping his belly, then traveling around to soap his ass (thoroughly).  His cleanliness boded well for Kurts future fantasies.  His hands moved around front to his balls, and as he worked them, his dick began to twitch.  Kurts eyes widened as Blaine wrapped his hand around his dick and began to pull, twisting his wrist a little at the end of each stroke and swiping a thumb over his head.  Kurt groaned when he noticed that Blaine was not only a show-er, he was also a grower. 

Some guys have all the luck. 

Blaines head tipped back under the shower stream and he continued languidly tugging his erection, which was now full length.  Kurt summoned Herculean powers to drag his eyes away from Blaines dick long enough to look at his face, and he noticed that Blaine was moaning something that looked like, "Oh, Kurt." 

Of course, that was ridiculous.  Blaine would no more call Kurts name while jacking off in the shower than he would...well, Kurt didnt know how to finish that thought, but he knew that Blaine wasnt thinking about him.  Still, it looked like he was moaning ohKurtohKurtohKurt, and it was okay if Kurt decided he was doing that, right?  It wasnt like he was ever going to tell anyone about this. 

Except maybe in court-mandated therapy.  

Then Blaine was coming.  Kurt couldnt see the come; there was too much water, but Blaine was shaking and crying out softly (it appeared from his face), and collapsing against the shower wall.  Kurt wanted to run down there and hold him in the afterglow and, perhaps, lick him dry, and then maybe see if Blaine was up for round two, and then...Kurt shook his head to clear it. 

He realized that Blaine had turned off the water and was reaching for a towel that was hanging on a hook on the shed.  How had he not noticed that before?  Oh, yeah, naked dick.  Naked Blaine!  Then Blaine wrapped himself in the towel and tiptoed across the lawn, mindful of the rocks under his bare feet, pausing by his car to grab his clothes as he went by. 

When Blaine disappeared into the neighbors house--the Andersons house, apparently--Kurt reached down and palmed his own very engorged dick through his pajama pants and squeezed slightly to relieve a little of his own discomfort.  He could have stroked himself while Blaine was going at it, but Kurt was holding out for an event.  He was going to strip and lie down on the sheets and use lube, and he was going to take it very slowly, reliving every delicious moment he had just witnessed, and adding some embellishments, including his own pretend role.  He was also going to make some visual revisions to strategic parts of his recurring six-year fantasy lover. 

It was going to be a good night after all.