For Blaine, it started on Kurt's birthday. He'd been up early, planning all the ways he could wake Kurt up and surprise him. He was trying to decide between throwing a pillow at his head and loudly singing him "Happy Birthday" a la Marilyn Monroe when Kurt has first moaned.
It was a low sound, breathless and quiet. Concerned, Blaine looked up and began to watch for signs of distress, ready to wake him the second he seemed to be too upset. He watching for tears or fitful tossing. Instead, what he saw was Kurt rhythmically thrusting his hips up and whimpering softly.
He tore his eyes away, blushing fiercely. They had lived together for almost four years by now; four very important years if you were thinking about the physical development of boys; but somehow they had always managed to avoid this situation.
Blaine was a teenage boy - looking at linoleum turned him on - but he always just assumed that Kurt wasn't the same or was maybe just better at hiding it. He never really thought about it. He had no reason to.
But now Kurt was here, only feet away from him, moaning and thrusting, obviously in the throe of a very pleasant dream, and it was impossible to not think about it. Impossible not of think of Kurt's hand wrapped around his cock as Blaine was doing the same in the shower. Or maybe, maybe, when Kurt took his shower before Blaine, he jerked off there, so that when Blaine got in, even though he never knew, he was stepping into a shower that was warm and wet and fragrant and dirty.
Okay, there was no way that thought should have made him shiver with a hot thrill of desire. That was just bizarre. And wrong.
Wrong.
Hot.
But wrong.
Suddenly, across the room, Kurt's hips were snapping up rapidly while broken moans tore themselves from his throat. Blaine couldn't look away, even though his face was flaming red and he was very uncomfortable. There was something mesmerising in the movement in his hips, the way he was straining up and up and always up.
Then, it all stopped, with a muffled whimper as Kurt bit his lips, eyes screwed shut, but head somehow pointing to where Blaine sat in the bed, panting lightly.
Blaine licked his lips, counted to five and then walked over to Kurt, waking him up.
He couldn't really tell you if he actually had a conversation with Kurt. There was only one thing on his mind and as unashamedly as he could, he hurried to their bathroom, threw the shower on and had one hand on his aching cock before the water was even warmed. Seconds later he was coming with a cry, Kurt's face floating in front of him.

In the weeks since then, Blaine had been plagued with the dreams. It wasn't unusual for him to wake in the morning with an erection that just would not quit, and never before had he been ashamed of what he thought was just the normal actions of a sixteen year old boy. But in all his previous dreams, there had never been a face. It had never mattered what he was thrusting into, or whose mouth or whose hand it was. None of that was important, because those dreams had never made into his real life like this. But now, he woke up and saw Kurt. He saw Kurt in his classes, in his meal times, when he studied and before he finally went to sleep. And then, behind his closed eyes and in the safety of his subconscious, he saw Kurt again. He saw Kurt panting and crying and sweating and touching Blaine. He was always touching Blaine. He would wake after these dreams and inevitably see Kurt again. The cycle repeated.
It was too much for him.

"Blaine, are you okay?"
Kurt's voice was timid and confused as he finally cornered Blaine in the library one day.
In his mind, Blaine hadn't been avoiding Kurt so much as just no longer searching him out whenever they were apart. It'd been a week probably, since they had seen each other out of class and their dorm. So it wasn't like he was actually avoiding Kurt. Well, at least, he thought so.
Kurt evidently didn't agree, if the frown and sad eyes were anything to go by. If there was one thing Blaine couldn't stand, it was Kurt's beautiful eyes all sad and glistening with tears. He turned to his books on the desk, speaking to them as he cheerfully replied, "Yeah, i'm great. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Oh. I just thought that something might be wrong because we haven't seen much of each other lately." Kurt sat in front of him on the desk, arms folded, but with worry still in his eyes.
Blaine winced a little at the bare hurt in Kurt's voice. He was right. It was completely unusual that they weren't attached at the hip. But how was he supposed to tell him the real reason why they hadn't been spending every waking moment together? How do you tell your best friend that you wanted to be around him less because every night you dreamed about having sex with him and it was driving you crazy and you were horny and frustrated and most of all terrified of what it all meant? It wasn't something that rolled off the tongue with ease.
But Kurt was still across from him, wanting an answer. If Blaine didn't tell him something, he would never hear the end of it, and quite frankly, he missed just spending time with Kurt. Even when they were doing nothing, just having his presence there would give Blaine this feeling of peace and happiness that he had never felt before he had come to Dalton.

The outside of Dalton, while impressive and huge, still wasn't nearly as grand as the Anderson's house. His father was fond of telling Blaine this. It was almost the only thing they spoke about in the entire twelve years of Blaine's life. It was always "You'll do so well at Dalton" and "Dalton is the perfect school for Andersons" and even occasionally "Dalton has made me a better man, son. That's why you are going to go there as soon as you are old enough".
Blaine should have been looking forward to it. He should have wanted to get out of his huge and always empty house with no one but the housekeeper keeping him company. He should have been excited to make friends here at this new school. But deep down, so deeply that he didn't even know it existed, Blaine was cynical. Elementary school had been full of light and colour and music and he still hadn't found any friends. How was he supposed to make friends in this huge building that reminded him all too much of his cold and loveless home?
All too soon his father was pushing him into the wide halls, their shoes thumping on the marble, as Blaine's mother's heels clacked loudly. It was an oppressive sound, Blaine thought, the shoes on hard floors. Everything is his house was hard and cold and made too much noise. Blaine didn't want Dalton to be like his home. He didn't want his life to just be endless cold buildings and people taking up space, placeholders in his life. Closeted in his melancholy, he didn't hear his parents talk to the staff, assigning him to a room. They shuffled up the marble hall, up staircases, across thankfully carpeted hallways and stopped outside a door.
"This is your room Blaine," a kindly secretary he couldn't recall meeting said. "You'll be rooming with Mr Kurt Hummel."
At this, his parents murmured quick goodbyes and shoved him towards the door, towards his new home.
The door opened and suddenly he was face to face with a boy, about his age, with a beautiful face and stunning eyes.
“Hi.”
The new boy had smiled at him and for the first time in a long time, Blaine smiled too.

Kurt was the first person in his life to give him any love, to ever make him laugh til his sides felt like they were splitting and his cheeks were sore. He was his brother, his best friend. His everything, really.
So Blaine decided that he needed to have Kurt with him somehow or he was going to go to mad and while he couldn't tell the whole truth, maybe he could tell just enough to make everything better.
"To be honest, i've kinda just been needing time to myself. I've been thinking. I think i want a girlfriend."