AN: Spoilers for Season 2 ahead! Warnings: teenage boy brain, Santana being...Santana. I own nothing...except George, I suppose.

Jesus, Spanish was horrible.

I undid my tie and loosened my shirt, trying to relax a little before I got back to the room. I didn't want to bite Kurt's head off. I'd been damn lucky to get such a cool kid as a mid-semester transfer. Kurt was just a little...skittish. And shy. And really, really gay, which wasn't an issue but still glaringly obvious. I could see why the poor guy had transferred to Dalton. Kid probably hadn't had a single friend at McKinley.

I hip-checked the sticky door and dropped my bag. Swearing, I grabbed it and pushed my way through into our room, shouting as I did "Hey man, do you take Spanish? Cause I have a bitch of a conjug- um. Hello."

On Hummel's bed, I do not lie, the most smoking girl I've ever seen was languishing , legs like a dream over his headboard. Her skirt (fucking cheerleader skirt) was basically lying in a heap around her waist. Kurt was at his desk, not appreciating the goddess lying five feet from him because of her damn lady parts.

"Aaah," I croaked. Smooth, George. Really. All-boys school is making you lose your touch.

Kurt looked evilly delighted all of a sudden. I'd never seen him look anything but startled, politely interested, or asleep (or lovestruck, if Blaine had dropped by, but right then I didn't care about his unrequited man-love).

"George," he practically purred. Meet Santana. An old friend. Santana, this is my roommate George."

My dumb-ass self ripped my eyes from the single inch of coffee skin between skirt and top to stupidly mumble, "Nice to meet you."

Santana raised her eyebrows (hot). "Having Spanish problems?" she smirked. "Skim milk here can't help you with those. You need a little salsa." She definitely knew I wouldn't be able to form an answer to that.

I didn't need to though, because (and Paul will never believe me, but I swear it's true) another girl walked out of my room. Carrying a pile of clothes. So another super-fine blond cheerleader had just been changing in my room...and I wasn't in it. She looked at me blankly and frowned at my blazer.

"Are you the police?"

"Um...no?" OK just go with it. "Sorry but I can change that if you-"

"OK well Britt, Santana, you really should head out," Kurt interjected hastily. "You really shouldn't be here at all." I vowed to give him first shower for a month for saving my awkward ass.

"OK Kurtie," the blond (Brittany. As in Spears. As in HOT) said cheerfully. Thanks for the new clothes. Miss you."

"Yeah Porcelain," Santana said grudgingly. "We're gonna need your vocals at Nationals. And you know, for glee. Coach tries to pretend she doesn't miss you but when I slipped yesterday she didn't make a single Tits McGee comment."

There was a hot girl in my room.
Talking about her breasts.

The girls linked pinkies and swooped down on Kurt. They each kissed him on a cheek and giggled a goodbye.

"Oh, Kurt's friend is lonely," Brittany sighed. "Here, officer." And walking past, she kissed me lightly on the cheek, and they were gone.

Which is good, because I had just collapsed on the floor in a hormonal, horny, heap.

"Dude," I moaned. "DUDE."

Kurt started to laugh, so hard he slumped off his chair. "Your face," he gasped. "Oh my Gaga. When she kissed you. Your face..." and then he just laughed while I stared at him in horror.

"Was I really that obvious?"

Kurt reined himself in a but. "Yes, but Santana would only have been disappointed if you hadn't. And I doubt Brit noticed."

I was still a little dazed. Jesus, I though Kurt was this little shy girl-boy who was scared of the world. Now I kinda wanted to be him.
Except straight, so I could date those girls.

"Kurt!" I shouted suddenly, and he jumped. "I am your roommate."

"Astute of you to notice."

"I'm like, like your brother!"

"Not brother, please. I already have one surrogate brother lusting after Santana."

Note to George, find and kill this person. "But we are like family," I pleaded.
"So...?"

"Her number. Santana's. or Brittany's, or both. Really it doesn't matter. Please man, it's like a priest-living-house-thingie here. I need a woman."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. Not in a sexy-Santana way. In a I'm-gay-sassy-and-fabulous sort of way. "Although they would deny it, Brittany and Santana are already...involved. In each other."

And I was gone. I was getting the boner of a century. Time to go.

"Well, OK, ummm but if they ever need to, er, swing my way, I'll be here," I mumbled, edging awkwardly to my bedroom door. I needed to get alone before this reached crisis.

Right before I reached the safety of my room, damn Blaine Anderson came waltzing in through the still open door. Kurt immediately turned red and leaped off the floor. And I was too obvious?

"Hi Blaine!" I shouted as politely as possible, finally falling into my room and sinking down against the door. I distantly heard Blaine whisper, "What's wrong with...oh. I saw San and Brit leaving. I see."

Kurt was clearly still very amused. "Yes, all-boys school seems to not do wonders for everyone. Although Santana definitely contributed."

"Ugh, did you know she tried to hit on me at Sectionals? Before the performance. Afterwards, she just-" Blaine sounded embarrassed. "Well, in her typical way, she said it wasn't just my mind being blown."

Awkward silence. Then Kurt cleared his throat hastily.

"Well George will recover."

"No I won't," I moaned through the door. They laughed, damn them and their repressed love. I heard them leave and peacefully slipped into a daydream of a Spanish tutoring session turned hookup. Before I got too carried away, I though of one thing.

I had seriously underestimated Kurt Hummel.

Thank you for reading :)