It was March 24th 2011, a Wednesday, when Carson Hummel met Blaine Anderson for the first time. He was getting home from writer's club, the sky above grey with swelling rainclouds, his twin brother's car in the driveway. Nothing new there, but for the steamed-up windows and the way the vehicle was pitching and roiling like a ship on crashing waves. Obviously, Kurt's sex life wasn't as non-existent as their father though it was.
Rolling his eyes to the heavens, Carson slammed his door demonstratively loudly, and, when there was no sign of movement from within the other car, he knocked loudly on the window and yanked the door open to find his brother flushed and every inch the boy caught in the act, on top of another boy with dark hair and a flushed face half-hidden in Kurt's shoulder. "Get out of there, Dad's going to be home soon and if finds you like this he'll have another heart attack," he snapped, and Kurt glared at him as he helped the boy sit up, grabbing coats from the bottom of the car and holding them obviously in front of them as they walked stiffly up to the house, Carson smirking as he followed them.
Kurt served dinner an hour later, yelling up the stairs to him and pulling him away from a world where boys wanted to fly and had to figure out how to manoeuvre with new, clumsy wings. Annoyed with Kurt for interrupting when he was absorbed in the scratch of his pen on the page, the weight of inspiration guiding the ink from his pen, the steady soothing drum of his fingers on the keyboard, he stormed down the stairs with deliberately heavy steps and sulked into the dining room, where Kurt's makeout buddy already sat, earnest and innocent and smiling at him as bright as the evening sun creeping in through the window, fading to watery grey as night approached.
"Blaine, this is my irritable twin brother, Carson," Kurt said with obvious superiority in his tone, shooting Carson a look that could kill as he laid out the lasagne and salad and poured out glasses of fruit juice. "I'm the nice twin, he's the raincloud. Carson, this is Blaine." Carson watched as Kurt slid into the seat next to Blaine and shifted closer, sliding a hand down and slowly back up his thigh and taking his hand, gazing sickeningly tenderly at him. "My boyfriend."
"It's so nice to finally meet you," Blaine said, so genuine and effortlessly charming that it set Carson's teeth on edge. "Kurt's told me so much about you. He says you run the school newspaper at McKinley."
"I don't run the paper, I'm the editor and chief writer of a sinking ship, since all that bunch of Neanderthals wants to read is Jacob Ben Israel's rag of a newsletter," Carson said bitterly, stabbing moodily at his lasagne.
"Carson, be nice!" Kurt snapped in reprimand, rubbing Blaine's shoulder, draped all over him like a cat in heat. "Blaine's the lead of the Warblers at Dalton, and he's the captain of the swim team. His whole dorm is covered in trophies but he's still so humble."
"I get it, you're madly in love and you would rather I wasn't here so you could slide under the table and suck cock, now shut up and let me eat, you're making me feel sick with all this PDA," Carson grumbled, and shoved his chair away from the table, picking up his plate and glass and storming up the stairs, slamming his door demonstratively loudly behind him.
He was sitting back at the computer, glasses on and tapping out the words of a boy who wanted to break away so badly, but was trapped because he didn't know how to use his wings, when a knock came at the door and he didn't even turn around to yell, "Fuck off, Kurt!"
"Actually, it's me," came a soft voice, and Carson spun his chair to see Blaine standing in the doorway, a flush curling high in his cheeks. "I came to apologise for the way I was behaving at dinner. I've come to understand that you and Kurt like winding each other up, my brother and I are the same, but I shouldn't have been encouraging him to be so affectionate around you. I guess I'm still caught up in how amazing it all is."
"Honeymoon stage, I get it, now fuck off, I'm writing," Carson said dully. There was a moment of silence, a breath like Blaine was going to say something, and then footsteps moving away.
A soft smile twitched Carson's lips as he turned back to the computer and wrote Once upon a time there was a boy who wanted to fly, who'd been looking for someone to teach him to use his wings for many years. Until, finally, on an ordinary day, he met someone whose eyes shone gold, and thought he might be able to learn from him.
"Come on, Carson, please, I don't want to be the designated driver again, it's no fun," Kurt pleaded, lowering the screen of Carson's laptop and pouting pleadingly at him. "I'll never ask anything from you again this year, just please come to this party and be the driver."
"To shunt you and your drunken friends who I don't even like back and forth and be subjected to Berry hogging the karaoke machine all night, no thank you," Carson spat, raising his screen again and continuing to edit the last issue of the paper, determined that this should sell better than Jacob Ben Israel's rag.
"Puck and Lauren are coming, you like Puck and Lauren!" Kurt wheedled, batting his eyelashes at him. "You don't have to join in with the drinking games or anything, you can just sit it the corner all night, and you can bring earplugs so you don't have to listen to the singing, please come. For me?"
"Okay, fine, but I'm going to hide in a dark corner until I have to drive you home and I am not giving Berry a ride," Carson said firmly, and Kurt grinned and hugged him tight, pressing a kiss to his cheek. For all him and Kurt usually sniped at each other, they were still brothers, and Carson still hugged him briefly back before Kurt was springing out of his arms and running upstairs to change.
All hopes of being able to sit in a corner nursing a glass of water all night were chased away when Carson walked into Santana's house, ahead of the makeout buddies stumbling giddily along behind him, arms wrapped around each other, and had a bottle immediately shoved into his hand and Santana sitting him down in the middle of a game of beer pong. "Actually, I'm the designated driver, so unless you want me to wrap my car and the half this club I'll be taking home around a lamppost, let me up," he demanded, and Santana relented, going to sit ostentatiously in Sam's lap instead, shooting dark looks at Artie sitting in his chair while Brittany danced around him, shirt flying like a cape from her wrists and eyes artificially bright with drink.
When everyone except him was sufficiently drunk, Rachel stood up and held her empty bottle in the air, screeching, "Let's play Spin the Bottle!" so loudly Carson's ears were ringing. Everyone started whooping and dropped into a circle in the middle of the room, and a drunkenly flushed Kurt grabbed his hand in a way he would only do when it was more alcohol than blood rushing through his veins and tugged him down between him and Rachel, who immediately put her head on his shoulder as Tina reached into the circle and spun.
Her flick landed on Quinn, to raucous whoops from Carson's drunken fellows, and the two girls exchanged a short and disappointingly chaste kiss. What scandal could be remembered for blackmail purposes if they all kissed like nuns? Fortunately, Quinn's spin landed on Puck of the octopus hands, and they kissed for around thirty seconds before Puck tried to introduce tongue and Lauren and Quinn were almost synchronised in slapping him away. Puck spun to kiss Rachel, and Finn and Lauren's faces grew identically thunderous as both of them got far too into it.
Rachel spun with an ecstatic shriek, and Carson immediately snapped, "No," when the neck pointed to him. She pouted, but backed off anyway, and he let out a heavy sigh as Kurt nudged him in the side, encouraging him to spin. Which he did, and watching the bottle slowly spin to come to a stop pointing at Blaine.
"Wanky!" Santana exclaimed gleefully as Kurt giggled and clapped his hands like a child shown a present next to him. "Come on, hoodie Hummel, give your brother's lovely boyfriend some sugar!" Carson sighed heavily, and Kurt shuffled back with a cheerful little squeal, amazingly cool with the two of them kissing, to let Blaine, eyes glittering with drunkenness, lean over the gap between them and press his lips to Carson's.
Everyone around them was whooping, and Kurt was applauding right next to his ear, but Carson kind of lost himself a little in the feeling of Blaine's lips moving with his. If he kissed like this when he was drunk, he could sort of see why he kept arriving home to Kurt and Blaine making out on the couch, or in the backseat of Kurt's car, once with Blaine sitting on a counter in the kitchen and Kurt standing between his legs to kiss him. Blaine's hand rose up to cup his cheek, pulling him a little closer, and Carson's breath left him in a shuddering, sharp exhale, and he shuffled closer to Blaine, hand rising to his shoulder to keep himself steady. When Blaine's tongue swiped across his lips, Carson moaned breathlessly, and only then did Kurt pull them apart with a huff. "I think we've all had enough of that," he said, giving Carson a very sour look.
"No we haven't!" Rachel protested, pressing a hand against the back of Carson's head and trying to push him back to Blaine. "Kiss again, it was hot!"
"Well, the idea of you finding it appealing puts me off doing it again," Carson grumbled at her, sitting back in his place and chancing a glance over at Blaine to find him pink-cheeked and starry-eyed, clinging to Kurt's arm and giving him a sweet smile. He spun the bottle deftly, and gently gave Brittany a closed-mouthed peck before she completely ignored the fact that her spin landed on Finn and crawled across the circle to kiss Artie, her flailing ankle as she scrambled up into his lap knocking the bottle away and effectively ending the game, much to Carson's relief.
Until a mere hour later, when Santana stood up, lips swollen and hair wild from making out with Sam for the better part of forty minutes, to a symphony of exaggerated moans and groans and the protesting squeaks of the ancient-looking armchair swirling around the room, and yelled, "Seven Minutes in Heaven!"
"What are we, thirteen year olds trying to get to second base?" Carson remarked as they gathered in their circle again, and Puck snorted loudly into his beer bottle, knocking back the last few gulps and placing it in the centre of the circle.
"Okay, whoever you land on you go into the linen closet with, regardless of sexual orientations, familial connections or current significant others," Santana said. "No blindfolds, and you can make out or grope or whatever as long as you're touching in some way when your time is up and we open the door. Carson, you're the least drunk one, you spin first." With a heavy sigh, ignoring Kurt and Blaine canoodling and whispering sweet nothings next to him, Carson spun only for the bottle to slow to a halt pointing at Blaine. How could he be so unfortunate as to be expected to make out with his twin's boyfriend twice in one party?
"Get in that closet!" Mercedes shouted enthusiastically, her and Tina dragging Carson and Blaine to their feet and shoving them into the small, dark, warm closet, the two of them pressed close by the shelves stacked with sheets and towels. "Let's get it on!" she whooped as the two girls closed the door behind them with wicked grins on their faces.
"We don't have to do anything," Carson said into the darkness, barely able to make out the vague lines and curves of Blaine's face, the only light that filtering in from the cracks around the door. "I know you're Kurt's boyfriend. Just do whatever."
He heard Blaine exhale shakily, then a hand curving over his cheeks, fingers fitting exactly to his skin. Soft lips, warm and plump against his own, pressed nervously to his, the other hand finding his other cheek, framing his face gently. Allowing his eyes to slip closed, Carson sank into the warmth of Blaine's mouth, pressing a hand to the small of his back, pushing him closer, fingers curling slightly into the skintight material of his shirt. Blaine pulled back and, to his embarrassment, blush luckily hidden by the murky darkness of the closet, Carson chased his lips until Blaine giggled softly and held him back with fingers spread wide across his chest.
"You don't kiss like Kurt," Blaine observed softly. "I thought maybe, because you're twins, you'd kiss the same. But you're different." His tone changed, to something hot and wanting and thick with potential, stirring something hot low in Carson's belly. "Maybe even better."
Smirking triumphantly, even though logic told him it was probably just the sheer volume of alcohol running through Blaine's body talking, Carson leaned back in to kiss Blaine again, chasing the delicious sheer familiarity of their lips moving together. Blaine's arms slid around his neck, and a noise almost like a groan slipped from his mouth when Carson nervously traced the sweet curve of his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. As Blaine's mouth fell open, his tongue slid out to meet Carson's, and this time Blaine really did groan, breaking the kiss momentarily to breathe, "You're an amazing kisser. Better than Kurt, definitely."
Triumph at being a step above Kurt singing through his veins, Carson found himself sliding Blaine back against the shelves mounted on the wall. Blaine didn't protest, but lifted a leg to wrap it around Carson's hips, pulling them closer together. When Blaine pressed closer, the heat of his skin burning against Carson's chest, it was to nudge Carson's thigh against his groin. An unbidden moan fell from Carson's lips when he felt the shape of Blaine against him.
Blaine's hips began to roll against Carson's thigh, his moans echoing and wanton in the dark, tiny space, throwing his head back as Carson kissed down his neck. Seeing Blaine so debauched, so undone from the boy in the blazer who had impeccable table manners and spoke like he was from the fifties, humping his thigh with the clear intent to get off, Carson moaned and yanked furiously at the buttons of Blaine's shirt, desperation guiding his trembling fingers.
"Time's up!" came a yelp, and the door was yanked open to bright, blinding light. Blaine staggered and almost fell, kept upright only by Carson's hands at his waist. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Santana drawled, her eyes roving over them, taking everything in, missing nothing. "Looks like Blainers might be up for a little threesome with the twinsies. I must say, boys, you have more than exceeded our expectations."
Carson felt Kurt's eyes on him, jealous, furious, betrayed, and refused to look up at his brother as he helped Blaine stumble back to his place in the circle, draping himself over Kurt and kissing his cheek sloppily. He ignored the surge of jealousy roaring painfully up in his chest, seeing Blaine go back to Kurt so soon after he'd whispered that Carson was a better kisser and tried to get off against his thigh, and simply grabbed up his water.
The corner of the room, dark and secluded and away from drunken revelry, was his haven for the rest of the night, where he sat, confused and morose, until Kurt zig-zagged over to him and begged for a ride home, letting his lower lip jut out and widening his eyes. Sighing heavily, Carson grabbed up his keys and dragged the two boys from the party, staring resolutely at the road as snippets of a conversation - "Look so good...no idea what I'm gonna do to you." "Kurt, your brother-" "Let him watch." - and the wet sounds of kissing filtered in from the backseat.
Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, mind buzzing with thoughts so loud and persistent it was impossible to sleep, Carson became aware, in that drifting state of desperation to sleep, of bedsprings squeaking beyond the maddeningly thin wall between his and Kurt's rooms, and a rough voice echoing through the paint and plaster and brick, sharp and low and possessive. "Tell me who you belong to."
A groan, the dull slap of skin against skin, a quite literal growl, and a voice, high and thready and sounding torn from vulnerable lips, shuddering through the syllables of, "You, just you, always you."
"No one else but me makes you feel this good," came the growl, and Carson knew it was Kurt, wanted to roll over and press his pillow close to his ears and refuse to acknowledge that his twin brother was fucking his boyfriend a wall away, but so morbidly fascinated that he couldn't stop listening. "Tell me no one fucks you like this. Say my name."
"Kurt, oh Kurt, I love you, love you so much." Blaine sounded so fucking broken, and it was so easy to picture him, so responsive, eyes dark and wide and lips swollen and slick with kissing.
But Carson refused to jerk off to the sounds of his brother's boyfriend and the perfect picture of him being fucked - legs spread wide and hair falling over his face and skin layered in a flush and his ass, oh God his ass - and he rolled over and pressed his face into his pillow hard, hoping to drown them out, until a cry pierced the air like a gunshot, followed by a deep groan of satisfaction, and they seemed spent, indistinct murmuring filtering through before silence reigned.
Leaving Carson uncomfortable and so guiltily turned on, aching, fighting to keep from rutting into the bed until he reached completion, just thinking of Blaine's innocent doe eyes and sweet smile.
The realisation wasn't announced to him with a grand flourish of trumpets. It simply crept on him, like a stealthy breeze that seemed non-existent one moment and the next blew leaves and dust into one's face. A bright day in July, the soft sussuration of Kurt turning the pages of his dog-eared copy of Noughts And Crosses echoing through the room, Carson searching the rainbows cast over the walls by the sunlight reflecting through the window panes for inspiration, when it flooded over him, highlighted with white in his mind, glowing out of the murky darkness of writer's block: I'm in love with Blaine Anderson.
Of course, he never stooped so low as to stare obviously at Blaine across the room with eyes so loving he might as well have had hearts instead of pupils. He didn't blush and giggle girlishly every time Blaine walked into a room, or stumble clumsily over his own feet when he shuffle awkwardly past him during Friday night dinners. He didn't spend his days doodling cartoon hearts and little stereotypical wedding cake groom-and-groom toppers into notebooks, outlining a wistfully swirled Mr. Carson Hummel-Anderson. And he only knew that Hummel-Anderson rolled more deliciously from the tongue than Anderson-Hummel due to a very uncomfortable conversation with Kurt that had begun with a sudden inquiry of, "Would you rather get married in spring or autumn?"
No, he loved from afar. Wistful glances in crowded rooms, only for a second before his gaze flickered away again; trying so many times to put down in words how being in love made him feel, the beauty of Blaine that he had fallen so hard for, and failing every time to choose just the right phrases to flow lyrically into the very spirit of Blaine's being; wanting desperately every night and day, that creature of jealousy fiery and hurting in the confines of his chest every time he had to see Kurt envelope Blaine's hand in his or kiss him goodnight on the dimly-lit doorstep or, sometimes, hear them having sex in a parent-less house, without a care for him or Finn in their rooms and trying desperately to blot out the moaning and pleading for their own individual reasons.
Hearing them together like that, sometimes seeing Blaine reeling out of the door with his hair a mess and eyes dazed and knees weak beneath him, it was like a constant feed into Carson's moonlit fantasies, when he pressed his guilty face deep into pillow and allowed himself the raw satisfaction of picturing Blaine all around him, his scent and warmth and strong body. Hearing Blaine sobbing with reckless need, begging, "Please, please fuck me," and, "Oh, let me blow you, please, I need to feel you," and, "Please, beautiful, want to feel you around me," and once a high, scandalised, "You can't put your tongue there! Oh...oh why does that feel so good, fuck," fuelled his fantasies, let him hear Blaine's broken, wanton voice in his ears as he rutted between his hand and the mattress, skin prickling with pinpoints of heat where he imagined Blaine kissing and sucking and biting, sometimes so vividly it was a disappointment to not have Blaine there when he finally looked up, for his skin to be as empty as ever rather than a spectacular canvas of speckled bruises and deep red marks ringed with the shapes of teeth.
Summer exploded into Lima, in a tizzy of sales in every shop and young children screaming for ice cream, ramming their heads into Carson's legs as he wove between the harried, sunburnt parents, carrying one of Santana's bags in a rare display of something akin to affection for the girl and trying to balance the tray of extra fries out of reach of greedy, grubby fingers, making his way over to the collection of tables where most of New Directions sat, excitedly raking through bags of new purchases. He could hear Rachel and Kurt debating fiercely about the garish sunglasses everyone seemed to be wearing, and smiled, almost proud, when he heard Kurt shout, "It's unfashionable and ridiculous and all it does is make people's brains hurt with all the glaring neon colours!"
Santana glanced up and waggled her eyebrows at Carson as she grabbed her bag from where it swung around his wrist, inclining her head towards the only free seat around their three tables - right next to Blaine. "Well fuck you too," Carson murmured sourly as he slid into place, and she just shrugged and smirked at him, extending her arm along the back of Brittany's chair.
"A successful little trip for all, I must say," Rachel said loudly. "I myself have managed to secure plenty of wonderful pieces for myself, and some extras for particular people among you, who I'm sure will all appreciate my generous gift."
"Thank God that won't be me," Carson said drolly, to Rachel glaring at him and everyone else around him laughing, Puck reaching over to give him a fistbump before returning his hand to Lauren's thigh. "Can someone come and get coffee refills with me?"
"I would, but Kurt's cooking for us tonight and we're going to head back now," Blaine said warmly, standing up and making sure he had all his bags before he and Kurt left, cuddling up to each other as Carson watched them leave with desperately envious eyes.
Santana grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him up, away from the chatter of the group and into a quieter corner behind the fountain. "I see what this is about," she hissed. "Since you and Anderson made out at that party, you're totally after him. You want to get your dick in that ass. Sorry to say, Hummel, it won't be happening. Kurt keeps him on a very short leash."
"Not everything is about sex, Satan!" Carson spat angrily, seeing her eyes widen and her body tilt away from his a little, in shock that he would dare to yell at someone with her ruthless reputation. "I love Blaine, okay? I'm fucking falling in love with him and I have no idea what to do because there is no guide for what to do when the boy you love is fucking your twin brother! I know there isn't, I checked."
"I thought you were the kind who doesn't fall in love," Santana observed, her voice not as sharp as Carson was used to. "Then again, I thought I wasn't the type either. Boy, do I regret ever thinking that. Loving someone you can't have sucks."
"Join the club," Carson said dolefully. "You're head over heels for Brittany, right?" She nodded miserably. "I can see the appeal. She's pretty gorgeous. So what's the deal, afraid to come out?"
"Not like you can't say the same thing," Santana snarled, drawing in on herself defensively. Carson just stared at her, bold and unafraid, until she relaxed slowly and quietly said, "Let's make a pact: when we come out, we come out together. You know, if you decide you're ready, you tell me and wait for me, or vice versa. We're tough bitches, no one will dare touch us if we team up. And then we can both give asking our boy and girl to be ours a try."
"I'll take the coming out deal, but Blaine will never go for me," Carson said sadly, glancing over to the door where the two boys had disappeared. "He's so in love with Kurt, you don't hear them when they're alone. It's so sweet I've actually put a trash can by my bed a few times in case I threw up."
"Give it time, high school sweethearts never last, particularly gay ones," Santana said, linking her arm through his. "Kurt will move to New York after graduation and find some bottle blonde with a God-given ass and drop Anderson like a hot potato, and then bubble-butt will be looking for your lovely dick to cry all over. Okay, come on, you're gonna help me buy lingerie. You're gay as the day is long so I don't need to worry about ogling, but you'll be way more honest than your brother, and you won't obsess over how pretty the damn fabric is. I need something to make Britt's eyes fall out her head next time Artie upsets her and she comes running to me."
Carson finally got home hours later, after growing weary of Santana's voice grating on him as she asked his opinion on endless pieces, strutting around the dressing room, and swore loudly as someone slammed the door open when he reached for it, running over his toes. When he looked up again, eyes watering with the pain, he found Blaine staring at him, eyes wide and hand over his mouth. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, sounding so genuine it made Carson's heart swell with adoration. "Quick, let me check I didn't do any permanent damage."
"It'll be fine, I've had worse," Carson said gruffly, gingerly putting his weight back on his foot and gritting his teeth against an obvious wince. Letting his eyes rest on Blaine, he noticed the tear tracks on his cheeks, his swollen eyes rimmed with red, and softly asked, "You okay there?"
"Oh, it's nothing," Blaine said airily, dabbing at his silver-lined cheeks. "One of the other boys performing at Six Flags asked me out for coffee, and I said yes. Kurt called me stupid for never noticing flirting, and said I was obviously looking to replace him when he moves to New York, and we had a silly fight about it. He thinks I don't love him, and he won't listen to me. He's just shut himself in his room, and I don't know what to do."
Hesitating for only a second, seeing a fresh wave of tears glistening in Blaine's eyes, Carson gathered the smaller boy into a hug, pressing his cheek against Blaine's slicked-back hair and smiling slightly when Blaine hooked his chin over his shoulder and leaned into him. "It'll be okay," he promised, rubbing Blaine's back gently, feeling the tension flood out of him. "I'll sort it, I promise." Moving back, he squeezed Blaine's shoulder and looked straight into his eyes. "I don't break promises. Go home, wait for him to call you and apologise."
"I want to apologise for something," Blaine said, cheeks flushing with guilt and eyes cast down with embarrassment. "I vaguely remember that party a few months ago, and I realised I never said sorry for how carried away I got during Seven Minutes in Heaven. I never meant to make you uncomfortable, and I'm really sorry if I did. I tend to get a little handsy when I'm drunk."
"It was fine, really, you didn't make me uncomfortable," Carson reassured him, hoping his face wouldn't flush and give away the hidden truths of how many times he had jerked off remembering Blaine's soft, high noises, the hot press of his dick into Carson's thigh as his hips rolled and thrust desperately.
As Blaine's car drove away, Carson walked reluctantly up the stairs, dragging his feet over the carpet like a child, making his way to the master bedroom and finding Kurt lying on the floor in front of the bed, all the drawers open and the room infused with the scent of lilac and jasmine and gingerbread and anonymous sweetness, all calling back memories of soft dark hair on bare shoulders and backs, warm arms gathering them in for family cuddles, a sweet voice singing or reading them to sleep as the moon rose in the sky. "Hey," Carson murmured, waiting for Kurt's eyes to blink slowly open. "I heard you and Blaine had a fight for a dumb reason. Why are you so jealous?"
"Blaine's just incredible, Carson," Kurt murmured, closing his eyes again, his lower lip quivering slightly and betraying how close to tears he was. "I love him so much, and I don't know what I'd do if he left me. I'd just be lost without him."
"So don't make him cry for childish reasons," Carson chided. "Go, call and apologise for being a possessive, jealous idiot. Don't break his heart and end up losing him, dumbass." Kurt nodded, and hugged him briefly before standing up.
Lying back on the carpet, Carson inhaled deeply, let the mingled scents wash over him like a warm body, and wished that his mother could be there, holding him in her arms and promising everything would work out, making him believe that things could be saved, showing him the way to stop loving Blaine and not be heartbroken every time he fixed a mess to avoid hurting any of the important men in his life.
Glancing up from his laptop, the cursor winking mockingly at him as the words refused to coalesce from the sluggish mist of his mind onto the page, the letters trapped like shards of glass in his skin, not flowing smoothly from his fingertips as they should, Carson tuned in to the sound of Kurt's voice through the wall, pleading and tremulous with emotion. "...so sorry, baby, I really am. I shouldn't get so jealous, but you're just so wonderful and so out of my league, I'm terrified you'll leave me one day. I don't want to fight either, I'm sorry I blew it out of proportion. I love you so much. Can you come over? I want to apologise in person."
When the doorbell chimed through the house, Carson stupidly ran to the top of the stairs, peering down between the posts of the banister to search out dark gelled hair and a sweet smile, a boy with eyes as golden as the sun that backlit him like he was some kind of angel. But another back blocked his view, Kurt scooping Blaine up into his arms, Blaine's chin hooked over Kurt's shoulder and his face utterly blissful, like the crook of that neck was home to him. Jealousy roared up in Carson's chest as he watched Kurt kiss Blaine, and a hunger arose as Blaine flipped their positions and pushed Kurt back against the door, slamming it shut. What he wouldn't give to be in that position, pinned in place by the strength of Blaine's arms and body, with Blaine's tongue halfway down his throat.
Snippets of apologies and sweet nothings drifted up to him, and the two were kissing again, and he could see Kurt's pale fingers toying with Blaine's shirt, rucking up to expose the dimples at the small of his back, where Carson could just picture pressing his thumbs as he made love to Blaine, or kissing and nibbling as he worked his way down the breadth of Blaine's tanned back. But a brazen moan broke the fantasy in two, and Carson drifted away before they could realise he was there, scrabbling to get his door shut and slide the lock across before the tears burned at his eyes and he could no longer hold them back.
He cried in a way he hadn't for years, raw and wounded, face down on the bed to muffle the sobs clawing viciously up his throat in his pillows, shoulders shaking with the force of it. He cried for every little thing that was wrong with his stupid life - for how fruitless his ambitions seemed; for how distant he had gotten from his family since his mother had died; for the mother who he hadn't refreshed the grave flowers for in weeks because something always came up; for the newspaper he ran that was nothing more than a sinking ship, infested with rats and mutiny; for how afraid he was to let the world see who he was behind the abrasiveness and defensive sarcasm, to come out of the closet and let himself love who he wanted; and for the beautiful boy who invaded his dreams and held his heart in his gentle hands, who wouldn't look twice at him because he was in love with someone else, and nothing Carson did could change that.
When he finally sat up, wiping his eyes, he reached for his phone and called the one person he knew would understand his pain and wretched fear and how much he hated himself for being scared. "You go for Lopez, how can I please you today?"
"Do you greet everyone with that, Lopez, because gross," Carson said in his usual bored monotone, smirking as Santana hissed, cat-like, at him through the phone. "The wonder twins made up, and may possibly be fucking against the front door. I didn't hear them walk upstairs."
"Jesus, there must be something in the water, Britt and Specs just made up from their last fight too," Santana said dully. "Just when I think he's finally screwed up enough for her to leave, he makes some romantic gesture and she goes roaring back. Shimmy down the drainpipe and come over, we can commiserate together."
By the time Carson returned home, Kurt and Blaine were curled up on the sofa beneath a blanket, the striped hem draping over their overlapping ankles and exposing bare feet. As Blaine sighed contentedly and moved closer, he saw that they were at least wearing shirts and pants. He considered nudging in between them for a moment, claiming ownership of the blanket and knocking Kurt aside, but after spending time with Santana pouring out all his woes, he didn't feel so inclined to be vindictive. Instead, he sat on the arm of the couch, still next to Blaine, and asked, "So, what are we watching?"
"We were just talking," Kurt said softly, leaning over to place a soft kiss against Blaine's shoulder. "Blaine and I have been discussing him transferring to McKinley for senior year, and we've come to the conclusion that he's going to."
"Maybe, I need to talk to my parents about it, I don't think they'll approve," Blaine said, biting at the tempting curve of his lower lip. Carson could just imagine kissing slowly over that lip, biting into it like it was the wanton scarlet flesh of an apple, dragging his tongue slowly over its sweet taste, sucking it into his mouth to hear Blaine groan out with need.
"You can tell your parents you want them to keep the tuition money for college and they'll admire how much you're thinking about your future, they'll almost certainly let you transfer if it seems like you're trying not to weigh even more on their money while you go through college," Carson suggested, the daydream dissolving as Kurt and Blaine looked up at him with eyes identically and comically wide. "What? It's a perfectly logical solution."
"Oh gosh, thank you, that's a great idea, I didn't know how to tell them!" Blaine gushed, reaching over to rub Carson's arm gratefully, sending a bolt of lightning jarring through him. "Can I have your phone number? I'll tell you how it goes."
Ignoring the small part of him that thrilled at the request - he asked for your phone number he must like you - Carson settled into the real world, where Blaine was tangled up in blankets and the cocoon of Kurt's body, reaching for the phone Blaine offered out to him and keying in his number under Carson.
While he was lying in bed that night, revelling in the silence from next door after so many nights of rolling a pillow over his head to block out the sounds of slick skin sliding together and wet kissing, Carson hated the jump of his heart in his chest when his phone vibrated and lit up the darkness where it lay on his desk, and how fast his arm shot out to grab it and check the new message.
From: Blaine: Hey, just wanted to let you know my parents took it really well, and they admired how much I'd thought about my future in doing it. I don't know how to thank you enough, but I owe you hugely for this, Carson. I was dreading not getting to spend hours of every day with Kurt before we're separated when he graduates. Thank you so much.
Reality caught Carson with a painful thud, and he forced himself back into the world. Blaine was transferring for Kurt, whatever he might say to the contrary, because he was so insanely in love with him that he couldn't bear to be in a different school when they only had one more year together before Kurt flitted off to college and Blaine had to finish up school. The sooner he accepted that Blaine would never lay in his arms and count the cracks in the paint of his ceiling, the happier he would be.
So why did his heart feel like a black hole, sucking the life out of him, as he looked at the pixellated letters winking mockingly at him from the glowing screen of his phone? Blaine's name was bright and bold under the little time of sending, reaching down to squeeze his heart in a cold fist. And the fact that Carson slept with the phone clasped to his chest, revelling in a polished world where it was him Blaine changed his life for, only spoke volumes more of the hideous crack in his heart where Blaine Anderson's eyes and voice and laugh flooded in and crushed all his walls.
The sun beat down onto the deserted back road as Carson lay back beside Santana, watching her long nails plucking an unfortunate daisy free of its petals as she intoned, "She loves me, she loves me not," over and over, throwing the bare stalk to the dust as the final innocent petal declared the love she hoped for to be untrue. Reaching behind her into the car, Santana pulled out a bottle of beer and took a drink, passing it over to Carson and turning onto her side to face him, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun. "Tell me something about Blaine. Something you couldn't say to anyone else."
"I've never told anyone else I'm in love with him," Carson said sourly, but relented when she dug her nails into his forearm. "Ouch, you bitch, shouldn't you cut those? You're a lesbian, surely overly long and sharp nails are detrimental to your sex life. Okay, okay, I'll tell you something, don't claw my eyes out!" Throwing an arm across his eyes so he didn't have to see her reaction, he whispered, "I have this fantasy of him being my first. Of taking him to bed and making love to him, or him making love to me, over and over and over, and telling him I love him would only make him more passionate. I…jerk off thinking about him with his hair loose and his face all flushed, eyes shining and body still trembling, telling he loves me. It's absolutely pathetic."
When he finally removed his arm and looked at her, blinking against the harsh sunlight, Santana was looking over at him with narrowed eyes, and she sat up slowly, propping herself against the windshield. "Britt was my first," she admitted softly, hands forming into fists in her lap. "I'll kill you if you tell anyone. I pretended it was that shit-for-brains football player who was so proud to seduce the vice-president of the chastity club, but it was her. Only me, her, Q and now you know. She was so beautiful, with her long legs and her hair tumbling over her shoulders, you can't even imagine."
She laid her hand on his arm, her eyes melting with a rare tenderness, something he'd only ever seen when she spoke about Brittany, that instantly hardened and became a shield during any other topic of conversation. "Don't give yourself to someone who doesn't matter just because you get sick of waiting, Carson. Whoever he is, he needs to mean something to you. Why shouldn't you wait for Blaine? You love him, and one day he'll love you just as much, I know he will. Kurt's selfish and gets too jealous, and, whatever those two like to pretend, Blaine transferring for Kurt will wreck them. I can feel it in the air."
"Like you can smell sex on anyone within ten seconds of being in their presence," Carson said drolly, casting a doubtful look her way, and laughing as she glared daggers at him. "Don't pretend you can always be right."
"I fucking am," Santana insisted, snatching the beer bottle and taking a long drink. "And if I catch you punching in your V-card before Blaine is released from your brother's clutches, you won't like what comes after." Wiping her mouth, she gave the neck of the half-empty bottle a wry look and said, "Guess you're playing designated driver again. Don't you ever drink?"
"Not when every party involves Blaine," Carson said, helping her down from the bonnet of the car and opening her door for her. "I don't need much alcohol to completely lose my brain-to-mouth filter, and I don't want to spill out all my feelings for him. Not like that, not when he won't know if I even mean it."
"I have an idea," Santana said, leaning back against the leather of the seats as Carson manoeuvred her car out onto the road. "You know Mr. Schue's shitty assignment for this week? The one where he wants us to sing a truth? I know Blaine and Kurt are singing some mushy duet about their undying love for each other that'll only last for this year, so we should sing love songs too."
"I don't see where you're going with this," Carson said, squinting out of the smeared windshield and casting a piercing look at her as she took another swig from the beer bottle. "I'm concentrating on driving, San, spell it out."
"I'm going to sing something for Britt, without spelling it out that that's what I'm doing, because she is with Artie and I should respect that, and you should do the same thing with Blaine." She let out a heavy sigh. "I want to come out, Carson. I'm so tired of fighting with myself every day, and I want to love her the way she deserves. We said we'd do it together. Please do this with me. I'm too scared to do it alone."
Carson drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, gazing at the road in front of them, listening to the sound of Santana's breathing and the slick sound of lips against glass as she took another long drink. He knew what she felt. She'd been struggling with her sexual identity much longer than he had, with the sleeping around and the ostentatious relationship with Sam, yet he already felt as desperate as she was to stop hiding, to just let it explode and let the world see who he was.
But he was so scared. The world didn't understand who he was, he couldn't let them see it, not him or the love for Blaine raging within him, growing more passionate by the day. Yet he tried to remember, allow himself the exquisite pain of recalling the crude collage Kurt kept closely guarded on his nightstand. The photos of Blaine, arranged in a neat triangle, with the COURAGE made out of newspaper letters taking pride of place in the centre. That was all they needed. A little courage.
Seizing the bottle from Santana, Carson saw her eyes widening as he took a long drink and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Glancing over at her, he smirked and said, "Let's do it," before he pressed his foot against the accelerator and they shot into the sunset, screeching out with the thrill of freedom.
The moment he got home, after making sure Santana was home safely and wouldn't seem too drunk to her parents, Carson went out to the garage, where his father was still working on a car. Looking up with his face covered in grease and a smile stretching his cheeks, Burt beamed at him and said, "Hey buddy, have a good time with the Lopez girl? You seem to be getting really close with her."
"I had a great time with her, and we are really close," Carson said hesitantly. His relationship with his father had been stilted for years, beginning at the moment when the doctor had told them his mother was gone and he had arched out of the warm comfort of Burt's arms and hidden himself away in a corner, silent and reproachful, not crying until long after everyone else slept. "Dad, I…we need to talk about something."
Burt dropped his wrench, and it clattered onto the floor, barely missing his foot. "Oh God," he groaned, burying his face in his dirty hands. "Please tell me 'really close' ain't a euphemism for 'sleeping together'. Carson Thomas Hummel, do not tell me you've got Santana pregnant."
"Dad, no!" Carson yelped, struggling to hold back laughter at the very thought. "Santana and I are just supporting each other through hard times. Trust me when I say you will never have to worry about that. About me getting some girl pregnant." He injected a little extra meaning into his voice and repeated, "Never."
"Spell it out, buddy," Burt said, pulling a pair of chairs over and gesturing vaguely for Carson to sit down. "I think I know what you're trying to tell me, but God knows I don't want to assume. You can tell me anything, Carson, you should know you can."
"I'm gay." Saying it, finally letting it out, Carson felt his face split into a wide smile and a great weight lifted from his shoulders, exhaling in a long stream. "I'm gay, Dad, and I'm not afraid anymore! I'm going to let people know, see everything about me because they need to understand, and I'll love him the way he should be loved."
"Already got your eye on someone, huh?" Burt teased, and Carson flushed up to his hairline, making his father laugh. "Okay, I won't pry. Not my place. Just make sure he's a good one, okay? You're more than worth that."
"I'd love to, but he's sort of…involved with someone else, a mutual friend," Carson said carefully. No need to let his father know that he was desperately and futilely in love with his brother's adoring and devoted boyfriend. "It would disintegrate our social circle if I started pursuing him. I can't do that to everyone. It's better for me to just love him from afar."
"Things got complicated when I met your mom too, buddy," Burt said softly, his eyes bright with nostalgia. Carson knew he was devoted to Carole, loved her too much sometimes, but she would never be his mother, and Burt would never be Finn's father. They all knew that, and Carson still loved to hear stories about his parents, the same with Kurt and Finn. "I'd just had a fight with my girlfriend, who was my friend's little sister, because she wanted to get married and I just didn't feel right with her. Your mom was the waitress in the bar where another friend took me to commiserate, and I would've asked her out there and then if I wasn't honouring my commitment to Georgia. So my friend took a chance, and asked her out. She said yes, but we became close friends and ended up in bed one night. It's a great regret of mine, what we did to Georgia and to Alex. Our social circle exploded in a spectacularly messy fashion when we both confessed. But everything worked out. I'm still friends with Alex and Georgia. Liz and I went to both their weddings, and they both helped me out with funeral arrangements and all that messy stuff. Georgia is your godmother, and Alex is Kurt's godfather."
"You dated Georgia?" Carson asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Burt chuckled and reached over to ruffle his hair affectionately. "I won't do that, Dad. It would hurt him, and I could never break his heart. He loves his boyfriend a lot. Too much, some people say."
"Good, you're a sharp one," Burt said approvingly. "Much smarter than I was with your mom. Hopefully you can stay that way and not go after him and end up wrecking a lot of friendships. Hold out for a while, especially after they break up, if they do. Respect their feelings, and I'm sure the one he's dating will respect yours."
Carson doubted that Kurt would respect his feelings if he and Blaine were ever to break up and Carson started dating Blaine, but he smiled anyway. "Thanks, Dad. Thank you for being so great about this."
"Not like I haven't already done this once before," Burt said with a smile, and Carson grinned widely and collapsed into his father's waiting arms for the first time in years. As he drew away, Burt cleared his throat and said, "That thing you said, about you and Santana helping each other through hard times," and Carson groaned internally. He'd never meant to drag Santana into this. Burt coughed awkwardly and continued, "Is she-"
"I don't think it's my place to tell you," Carson snapped immediately, drawing himself up to his full height and giving his father the benefit of his iciest glare. "That's Santana's business and hers alone."
"Well, should I ask Carlos and Olivia over for dinner one night so the four of us can talk a little?" Burt asked gently, gripping Carson by the shoulders and looking into his eyes.
"I think Santana would appreciate that," Carson finally said, and Burt smiled at him. "Night, Dad." He let himself relax into a hug once more, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the tears. He would not cry. Not even out of a sheer relief that it was done, and he had really told someone.
"I love you, buddy," Burt said softly, his smile warm as Carson turned to leave. He hesitated, hovering in the doorway. "Do you want to talk some more, Carson?"
"No, I…I love you too, Dad." Guilt gnawed at Carson when he caught the shocked look in his father's eyes, but he hoped a smile would be enough before he escaped up to his bedroom, where tears of relief could be hidden in the cushion of a pillow and he could read through long conversations exchanged with Blaine, text after text flashing past his reddened eyes, making him believe that perhaps his dreams could one day be reality
Carson scuttled into the choir room, after being waylaid by Jew-Fro pleading with him to join the staff of the Muckraker, to find Santana in the centre of the room, surrounded by people hugging her, Rachel dabbing at her eyes and Artie looking like he'd just swallowed a lemon. Without hesitating, he strode across the room and knocked Kurt out of the way to wrap his arms around Santana and murmur, "Sorry I missed it."
"Doesn't matter," Santana replied with a sniff, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she pulled away. "Come on, Hummel, you're next. Don't let me down." Carson nodded and released her, watching everyone drift back to their seats, allowing himself the luxury of discreetly gazing at Blaine, squashed between Kurt and Puck, eyes round and polished by a sheen of tears, hand clasped tightly in Kurt's.
The piano began to play behind him, and Carson caught Kurt's wide eyes, knowing he'd never sung despite being persuaded to join the club a year ago, but ignored them. He couldn't help how his eyes rested on Blaine, and he forced them away, onto Puck on Blaine's left side, as he sang.
"And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am."
As the music finally faded away, Carson was gratified to see the tears slipping down Kurt's cheeks, and how Blaine had moved further from him during the song, dabbing at his own eyes. Clearing his throat, Carson said, "There's a line in that song that applies to this moment, because I want you all to know who I am. And that is gay. I'm gay."
A deadly silence filled the room, and Carson clenched his hands into fists to stop them shaking. Those hypocrites, to accept Santana but not him. Obviously they felt his coming out was just one too many gays in the club and one would have to be shoved out to make room for another aggressively straight jock. The awful grinding of a chair over the floor sounded, and Carson glanced up, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking back tears, to find Kurt smiling sadly at him, hands deep in his pocket as he stepped down from the platform to stand in front of him. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked gently.
"I didn't know how," Carson answered truthfully, twisting his fingers into the hem of his shirt. "I only told Dad last night. Are you mad?"
"Mad?" Kurt repeated incredulously. "Don't be stupid. Carson, I'm so proud of you." He stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Carson, and for the first time in years Carson clung on just as desperately, finding his anchor in his brother, the sharp scent of his cologne and the memories that flooded back, when they were just children, before rivalries and hormones kicked in and made them frequently fight.
Kurt's hug seemed to set off a tidal wave of support, and the next thing Carson knew Brittany and Sugar were on either side of him, mopping up their tears and throwing their arms around his neck, and everyone seemed to line up to hug and reassure him. If he held on to Blaine a little longer than anyone else, and closed his eyes to breathe him in and memorise the way he felt in his arms, no one would be any the wiser. Only Puck seemed to hang on the edges of the group, and Carson could clearly see the glare Santana shot him as she left.
"I'm sorry, does my sexuality make you uncomfortable?" Carson spat towards the boy hunched against the wall in the shadows. "I would've thought spending these years in a room with my brother every week, and now his obscenely in love boyfriend, would've made you more tolerant, but clearly you're just another asshole on the football team."
"I hung back because you were kinda staring at me through that entire song, and I just wanna set things straight," Puck said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Dude, you're gorgeous and stuff and if I swung that way I would totally go for you, but I'm straight and sad songs won't get you a kiss. Maybe a pity handjob, if you think you might get over me. Which you wouldn't, cause I'm a sex god."
Lifting an eyebrow and wrinkling his nose in distaste, Carson said, "I wouldn't worry, it's definitely not you I'm after. You're not my type."
"Are you saying that I am not a gay man's perfect fantasy?" Puck asked, his tone entirely genuine and offended, flexing his arms so his biceps bulged.
"Perhaps you're someone's, and I would definitely recommend a trip to Scandals to try and seduce some poor sap who thinks mohawks and nipple rings are attractive, but I like my men more subtle," Carson said haughtily, and hitched the strap of his bag up his shoulder and left, smirking as Puck's calls of, "I can be subtle!" followed him down the corridor.
He felt light and happy, a great weight pulled from his shoulders, a helpless smile tugging insistently at the corners of his mouth as he resisted the urge to dance across the parking lot. Coming out had given him freedom, and now he would simply wait for the inevitable crashing and burning of Kurt and Blaine's relationship, and offer a shoulder to cry on to the beautiful boy who wove through his sleeping and waking fantasies.