
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/644398.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Sam_Evans/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Kurt_Hummel, Sam_Evans, Finn_Hudson, Blaine_Anderson
  Additional Tags:
      PWP, Community:_kink_bingo, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Masturbation,
      Locker_Room
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-01-06 Words: 6673
****** Boy, It's More Than I Dare To Think About ******
by Edwardina
Summary
     Sam has no problem with showing off his body, so Kurt looks.
Notes
     310 coda. Written for kink_bingo for the "exhibitionism" square. This
     is pure voyeurism/exhibitionism, but if you're sensitive about Kurt
     having a boyfriend, don't read it!
     Thanks to Kate for reading over it for me (twice!) and being
     reassuring, and to Ilse for letting me fret.
"You know, even though we're obviously not all trained swimmers, I really think
this is an amazing idea," Blaine was saying.
It was six fifty-five in the morning, still dark outside, and the glee club and
synchronized swimming team had been in the water for an hour and a half with
Coach Roz and Mr. Schue both yelling at them, and Kurt's skin was too sensitive
for this kind of beating. He needed a mirror, stat, but everything was fogged
up. Half of the guys were still showering, and steam was rolling from the
showers across the floor, fully visible despite the fact that the pool and
building were both ostensibly heated. It was still January. A chill clung at
Kurt's uncomfortably bare limbs. The floor was slick with pool water and shower
water, and everything smelled like chlorine and some kind of other gross smell
he didn't want to think about at all. He was trying not to rub his face until
he'd gotten some clean water splashed onto it and could break out his skincare
bag.
"I really think Ms. Pillsbury is gonna love it," Blaine said, as they stood
there and dripped, towels around their necks. He was gripping at his and
beaming for no reason Kurt could see, and Kurt was a hopeless romantic.
"You barely know Ms. Pillsbury," he pointed out.
Blaine just smiled at him, rolling his dark eyes patiently. "Who wouldn't love
such an epic proposal?"
"Someone with O.C.D. who might cry and run off if we accidentally splash her
with dirty pool water."
"You're just grumpy because you don't like people to see you without your hair
done," said Blaine.
"If I have a bad hair day because of this, so help me," Kurt said.
Blaine didn't get a chance to respond; Puckerman, Mike Chang, and Sam had all
barreled out of the shower in a group, horsing around, all merely with towels
around their waists. Blaine and Kurt both silently watched as Puck and Sam
scooped up Mike, making him yell, "Guys, no!"
"Graceful! Graceful! GRACEFUL!" Sam and Puck chanted in tandem, and Mike
obliged by striking quite a magnificent pose, arms looped over his head like a
ballerina. Mike was the only guy Coach Roz hadn't yelled at for lack of grace –
well, besides Kurt and Blaine, but they had both been yelled at for different
reasons, like being short and trying to wear non-regulation nose clips of their
own design – so now he was taking some good-natured razzing for it.
Puckerman said, "Oh, that's the stuff dreams are made of. Son, you could go all
the way to the Olympics."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm awesome and the teacher's pet and none of you can compare. Now
let me down," said Mike, dropping his arms and messing up both Puck's flopped-
over mohawk and Sam's wet mop. They didn't seem to mind.
"You're gonna have to teach me that," is what Sam said, lifting one hand. Kurt
noticed that instead of patting his hair back down to its tidy side-swipe, he
just ruffled it up even more into a wet but relentlessly blond nest. "I still
don't have it down and I actually need to learn it for competition."
"I can't believe you joined this team, dude," laughed Mike.
"Yeah, what the hell?" said Puck. "I've said it before but now that I've
experienced it first-hand, I'll say it again. This is way too much like that
period commercial."
Kurt and Blaine simply stood there blending in with the red lockers, gaze
flickering towards each other for a heartbeat then turning back to the guys who
were ignoring them, or letting them be, or whatever.
Kurt had seen Blaine jump in with them gamely before – I'm just one of the
guys!! – but usually Kurt sequestered himself in the locker room and covered up
as much as he could. It was basic locker room etiquette to not eye other guys
up, especially when they were half-naked, and he knew he didn't want his too-
pale, too-red translucent skin to be eyed up either. It was a rare day indeed
when he felt like his knees were okay-looking enough to take a fashion risk
with a pair of shorts.
Still, with Kurt there, Blaine was sticking to him, so right then Blaine was on
his side, instead... on the outside looking in rather than in the middle of it
all, palling around and being all straight-passing... and Kurt could feel he
was quietly riding the same undercurrent of interest that usually the both of
them capped off around the glee guys by default. It took only that mere split-
second of eye contact for Kurt to know Blaine was watching them the same way he
was.
"What period commercial?" asked Mike, sounding horrified.
"I dunno, some commercial for chicks about periods and stuff," Puck replied
with careless amusement.
Mike glanced at Sam to see if he knew what Puck was talking about, but Sam just
shook his head cluelessly.
Attempting to be subtle and look uninterested, Kurt eyed them all.
Mike was slender, all sinew, bendy; Kurt thought he had his own quiet appeal,
but he did blend in until you saw him doing some crazy dance move or being the
White Swan of the group.
Puck was unnervingly muscular. His body was like a grown man's. If that was
what Developmental First Grade did to a guy, then Puck had probably gone
through at least three times. Only the constant inane video game references
were a forceful reminder that Puck wasn't that much older than Kurt.
For Kurt, Sam was almost difficult to look at. Almost. Kurt still looked,
because Sam was painfully cute. He was cute enough in glee club, slouched in
one of the chairs with his knees slung wide and only paying half-attention to
Mr. Schuester, his eyes hooded and wandering. He was cute enough in his
dreadful new wardrobe of army surplus pants and plain sweatshirts, holding his
books upside-down under one arm in the hallway.
But dripping wet, oh God, he made Kurt ache.
It wasn't like Kurt had never seen him dripping with water before. The last
time he had, he'd pretty much memorized the sight of that perfect body. But
somehow Sam had only improved since then (maybe it was the haircut), and so had
Kurt's sexual imagination. Taking in the slope of Sam's bare shoulder blades
and the drip of water off his nose again, Kurt's heart leapt unbearably into
his throat.
It didn't help that Sam was staying at his house all of a sudden. It was karmic
punishment, that's what it was, for the times Kurt had been selfish. Kurt had
been in love with Finn, and Finn had become his step-brother, put in close
quarters to him but made even more off-limits than he'd been anyway by their
parents actually marrying. Kurt had tried to do a duet with Sam, and now he was
under the same roof as him, too, and regularly witnessed Sam with damp shower
hair, in pajama pants, practicing body-rolls he'd perfected from all the times
he'd stripped for money. It wasn't enough for the universe for Sam to come back
to McKinley just when Kurt had finally gotten somewhere real and physical with
Blaine. He had to have that physique people had actually paid money to see,
too.
Kurt tried to avoid Sam at home as much as possible, but they still ate dinner
at the same table at least every other day, and now he was having to do this
whole synchronized swimming number with him and his swim team. The universe was
just pushing Sam at him, dangling him. It was pure punishment. Punishment so
severe it walked the line to actually being a reward, but, actually, no, it was
just punishment. Right then, watching Sam run his hand through his own messy
wet hair... it was nothing, really, not anything anyone else would ever notice
or be affected by, but it felt like getting shoved up against the lockers, the
way it made Kurt's body and brain ring.
He desperately took in Sam's winter-pale skin, the goosebumps that had lifted
on his shoulders alongside droplets of water, the way the sides of his hair
were both razed so short compared to how he'd worn it last year. He took an
intentionally slow exhale as he focused on the light and unobtrusive patch of
hair under Sam's arm that was damp, too, just peeking out at him. With the swim
tank on, in the pool, fist pumping joyfully along with everyone else's, Sam's
arm pit was just one of the many on display, but here in the locker room with
Sam totally naked under his towel, that light thatch of hair and attractive
curve of musculature that Kurt could trace with his eyes seemed like a private
thing to be catching a glimpse of. Kurt's face flushed as much seeing it as it
did seeing Sam's bare chest.
But – Blaine. Blaine was right there. In a way, it comforted Kurt to know he
wasn't alone, yet it made guilt nag at him a bit, too. There was no way he was
ever going to fill Blaine in on his failed attempt to sing a duet with Sam,
especially after Sam and Blaine had almost come to blows, and especially since
Sam was always around Kurt's house now.
"Just be glad you don't have to wear the Speedos or swim caps," Sam was telling
the guys, turning to his locker and spinning the dial on his lock.
Kurt swallowed against the tight pull in his own throat, yanking his eyes from
Sam's ass, tiny under his red towel. Instead he glanced at Rory as he came
dawdling out of the shower on his skinny colt legs, trying to keep an
apparently uncooperative towel around his waist and frowning at it. Then he
took a second to simply squeeze his slightly dry eyes shut while pool water
dripped off his limp bangs.
"We shouldn't stare, should we," Blaine said under his breath.
He was smiling, though, and Kurt eyed him, taking a second to flush further at
how fun it was to stare at boys... with his own boyfriend. He didn't feel an
ounce of jealousy. Not with these guys, who were none the wiser. Sure, if
Sebastian Smythe came sliding into the room on his own slime, then they could
talk jealousy, but he just felt more understood than anything else. Blaine
didn't need to know that Kurt had carried a brief (really brief!) torch for Sam
and that it had silently, helplessly reignited the moment Sam had swept back in
to help save sectionals, grinning and grinding. Maybe it was just that Kurt's
brain had been plagued by everything Finn had described to him about where Sam
had been working in addition to the pelvic thrusts he'd witnessed, but. By the
time Kurt had bumped, half-asleep and in his robe, into Sam just outside the
bathroom door in his own house, it had spread like every thought Kurt had ever
had about him was dry kindling just waiting to burn.
Kurt smiled back at Blaine. No. No, he didn't go for straight boys anymore. He
was just looking, intrigued by them, wondering who his boyfriend thought was
the cutest.
"Evans!"
Coach Roz's voice boomed at the locker room doorway; Kurt couldn't help but
notice Rory jump and clutch at his towel.
"Let me see you out here!"
Sam left his locker open and jogged obediently, head bowed and towel clutched,
back towards the door to the swimming pool, and with Sam gone, Kurt felt
abruptly disinterested in standing around any further with wet, cold skin.
"I'm going to shower before my face just cracks and falls off," he told Blaine,
and didn't smooch him on the cheek before he swept by – out of locker room
respect, but also because Blaine was still kind of jumpy about being too
affectionate at school.
"I'll go when you're done," said Blaine, for the benefit of the room at large.
The idea of two gay guys in the shower at once was most likely a no-go, they
realized, even for the glee club. Even though the glee club and swim team put
together didn't even begin to rival the rampant homophobia on the football
team, Kurt and Blaine were still kind of an oddity.
He took his shampoo, conditioner, body wash, loofah, and clean dry towel with
him in an armful. The loofah alone, although spirited and red, was too gay for
the McKinley locker room.
Luckily, only one of the guys on the swim team was still in the showers. Finn
was coming out with a towel on. He looked beat but happy, as Finn tended to
after manning up to do things that seemed all-around objectionable, and he
clapped Kurt on the shoulder as they passed each other by.
"Don't forget to moisturize," Kurt called to him.
"I know, man!" said Finn, darting a semi-nervous look at the guy from the swim
team, who was watching him pass with brows lifted.
Kurt took a fussy few beats to pick the best shower – it seemed like the
farthest one was the most private, but he'd also read about the middle stalls
in any public bathroom being the cleanest because they were the least used, and
figured it had to go for shower stalls, too – and finally set his bottles in an
acceptable place.
Oh, God, either way, this place was still gross. He was glad he'd gotten all
this stuff just for the locker room, but if he ever took it home again, the
first thing he was going to do was disinfect it all. His towel... he really
didn't know what to do with, since he wasn't into the idea of strolling around
the shower area without one. He wound up folding it as small as possible and
draping it over his shower head, hopefully out of the way of the water.
Ignoring the swim team guy, who seemed to be taking his sweet time, he turned
the knob and stripped down to his swim trunks before stepping into the warm
water, which was heating slowly, but still warmer than the slight bite of
winter in the air. He let them flush wet again with warm water there under the
flow, then he pushed them down his thighs and stood, naked and chilled and
shakier than he would have preferred, rinsing them out so they wouldn't just
smell like chlorine in his locker all day.
Frankly, even though Kurt had made himself suit up for P.E. classes all during
middle school and even shower with – or, you know, shower slightly after – the
football team sophomore year, it just felt weird to be in various states of
undress around guys, and that never changed. It was that way when he and Finn
had disastrously shared living quarters and it was still awe-inducing to see
his own boyfriend with his zip undone, let alone in a wet swimsuit. Going naked
in front of guys wasn't normal for him like it was for the others. The locker
room was just charged with a dangerous energy. Maybe for him, the girls' locker
room would be more like the towel-snapping place where you horsed around with
those of your kind (the ladies' equivalent of that, Kurt thought, would be
gossiping, asking if your outfit made you look fat, and socially acceptable
amounts of primping). Maybe none of the other guys felt it the way he did, not
even Blaine. But for Kurt, being in the shower was like being in a brothel or
something. Everything was inappropriate. The air was electric with sex;
everything stank like boys and seemed to taunt him in some way, and it all made
his skin prickle with mixed fear and arousal even as he wrung out his swim
trunks.
At least the showers were empty. Even the swim team guy walked off towards his
locker after a minute, leaving Kurt free to wash his hair entirely by himself.
He lathered, rinsed, and was into a repeat when Sam popped up.
"Hey," Sam said, and Kurt blinked at him, lashes dripping, soap threatening to
slide down his forehead.
Sam was newly wet, hair plastered down again, cheeks highly red. He was panting
deeply. And he was taking his swim trunks off.
Kurt looked away so fast he might've actually given himself whiplash.
Naked. Naked guy, three o'clock.
He stood there, frozen, as Sam went right for the shower head next to Kurt and
twisted it on, sniffling and letting out a sigh. The flow of Kurt's water
diminished slightly as the pipes above them carried water to Sam's shower head
as well as his. Sam hooked his navy blue trunks over the knob, and there they
dripped.
Kurt stared off into the yellow tile in front of him like it was deep and
fascinating. Soap crawled from his hair down his forearms and slid off his
elbows as he stood there, unmoving.
What was wrong with Sam? Weren't there at least five other shower heads that
weren't right next to his? Wasn't taking one politely distant from Kurt's the
socially acceptable thing to do? People did that in movie theaters all the
time! And at baseball games! And in freaking glee club! They left empty chairs
and spread themselves out like they weren't even all friends sometimes.
Kurt's temples throbbed; in about five seconds, his blood pressure had
skyrocketed and his heart had taken up jack-hammering against his ribs.
Showering with a guy he was living with was actually on his bucket list, but
this was not what he'd had in mind at all.
He stared himself cross-eyed trying to keep his eyes trained forward, but he
could still see Sam's reflection in the shiny metal pipes and even the knob. He
could see all of Sam. Some of the exact details blurred in the bending of the
shiny metal. That split-second flash he'd gotten of Sam with his swim trunks
around his knees, down around his ankles, the length of him naked, just naked,
filled in the blurs cruelly.
"I could've sworn you already showered," Kurt finally said in a strange
falsetto.
"I did," said Sam, splashing water up his own arms briskly. "Then Coach called
me back in. She saw something on the bottom of the pool and asked me to dive
for it, so I had to get my suit back on. I guess it was a girl's bracelet or
something, it was gold, so... someone in glee must've worn it into the pool and
lost it. But now I gotta do all this all over again."
"Yes, I suppose you better," said Kurt tightly.
He scrubbed at the silken bubbles in his own hair in an attempt to act normal,
suddenly aware that the raspberry scent of his Clarifying Rusk was thick around
him, lending a distinctly feminine smell into the air. He could barely even
fathom the reality of how close they were standing and just how butt-naked they
both were. Yeah, he'd walked right in on Sam showering before, but now he,
Kurt, was naked and abruptly way more aware of how totally vulnerable it felt.
If Sam wanted, he could simply glance over and see everything Kurt had going on
– the cold and chlorine-chapped redness of his lips and cheeks, the purposeful
trim of his pubes, his... uh, everything.
But Sam was minding his own business, it seemed. He had been on the football
team, and was on the synchronized swimming team now; he was probably an expert
at putting on locker room blinders. Even though he was trying like hell to pick
a spot on the wall and not let his eyes move from it, somehow Kurt could still
see everything; even though his eyes didn't move towards Sam, he saw how Sam
had some no-name bottle of shampoo that was probably horrible for his hair and
was just merrily scrubbing it right in.
Then:
"Hey, you looked good out there," said Sam, looking right at him. Kurt looked
back reflexively, eyes connecting with Sam's for a moment. He had a distinct
memory of Sam saying that guys didn't talk in the showers, but maybe that had
just been because Kurt had been fully clothed, and now they were even.
"Really," Kurt managed, gaze lifting to the froth of shampoo in Sam's hair and
the way his fingers were tangled in it. Sam swept both his hands up, pressing
them together and giving himself a momentary mohawk glued up with soap.
"Yeah, you're just what the coach likes. Like, graceful."
His awkward faux-hawk slumped like a Kewpie doll curl, and Sam smiled at him,
mouth wet and gawpy and just too much for one person. When he looked away
again, it let Kurt do the same.
"I don't really swim," Kurt said.
"But you're good at it," said Sam, sounding surprised.
"I used to swim at the Y with my dad when I was little. I mean, I like to swim,
I just don't do it anymore."
"But you could do this, like – better than me. Just about anyone's better than
me, but I'm giving it my all anyway. And you're still looking for stuff to put
on your college applications, aren't you?" Sam asked, suddenly keen-sounding.
"You should join. You get a letter for it."
"As much as I enjoy the mix of artistry and unadulterated cheese of this sport,
I think it's too late for this kind of stuff to matter to colleges," said Kurt,
tipping forward to push the bubbles out of his hair self-consciously. With his
eyes closed and water rushing down his face, he wondered if Sam was looking at
him, and a spike of mixed feelings jabbed him in the belly. He didn't want to
be on display, exactly, unless... unless he looked good, and Sam liked what he
saw, and that was a stupid, stupid thought. "Plus," he spoke up, eyes scrunched
tightly shut, "just doing this number is wrecking my skin and hair. It takes
delicate balance and dedication to maintain all this."
He made a blind circular wax-on kind of motion at his own face, and heard Sam
huff in amusement.
"Go ahead and laugh," Kurt said, reaching for his conditioner and spurting some
into his palm. "We can't all be natural Adonises. Also, if you're going to
strip your hair with that crap, you should at least condition. Baby that hair,
Sam. If you're not nice to it, it'll turn green."
He waved the bottle at Sam, who took it after a moment.
"You care a lot about my hair," he said, sounding vaguely wry.
Said Kurt austerely, stroking conditioner through his own in a practiced
manner, "I care a lot about everyone's hair, not just yours. It hurts me to see
mistreated hair."
"Okay, well. I definitely don't want to hurt you," Sam said. Kurt shot him a
look and saw he was smiling and squeezing at the bottle of conditioner.
Kurt stilled without realizing it. He lost a chunk of time and self-awareness
as he watched Sam curiously sniff the pink puddle in his hand and grin at the
smell of it. He watched Sam put the bottle back with Kurt's stuff and swipe
over his hair with his loaded palm, leaving a shine where he rubbed. His
fingers scrunched in and his tendons bunched up and his muscles stood out
plainly under his flushed skin, where goosebumps still raked here and there.
His sideburns clearly wanted to curl. The hair on his arm was wetted down and
pulled in the shape of the flow of water that had slid over it. Up closer, the
hair in his arm pit was even more sparse and caramel-colored than Kurt had
realized, especially compared to how dark Kurt's own hair was. Just looking at
it made him unable to breathe. Somehow the hair on Sam's body was just perfect,
like everything else on Sam's body. There wasn't too much and he was smooth in
all the right places, but what there was made Kurt long to touch it.
He was caught when Sam looked at him suddenly, as if realizing all at once that
Kurt was staring.
Sam's eyes were intent and wary and both hands were messily layered into his
hair, but his mouth was hanging open around his breaths. Kurt had wound up with
both hands locked behind his neck, fingers slippery with conditioner but
intertwined in a desperate knot Kurt didn't remember urging them into. He
blinked back, feeling his face go red to the point of it actually kind of
hurting, his insides all suddenly in a wild panic but unable to do anything
except throb and flip and thump inside him. Water trickled down Kurt's
forehead, made his eyelids flutter, and bounced off his cheeks, but he couldn't
seem to move or look away again.
For what seemed like a long minute, Sam just looked back at him, meeting his
stare and then eyeing his expression and letting his gaze dip slightly,
eyelashes flickering.
Somewhere in the locker room, Blaine and Finn laughed loudly, and their laughs
rang back to the showers but didn't seem to penetrate the steam or the noisy
pump of water or disturb Sam.
Finally Sam murmured, "Uh, are you looking at me?"
It was a question, somehow. It sounded confused, with no real anchored tone of
accusation or knowing. How it could possibly be unclear, Kurt didn't know, but
Sam wasn't the brightest bulb sometimes.
"Sorry," Kurt said. He tried to keep it light, like whatever, he got his peep
on with hot boys all the time, but his voice shook slightly, weakened from the
adrenaline.
Sam's mouth twisted up funny.
"'S okay," he said, moving his hands to rinse them off in the water pelting
down at him and rubbing them together palm-to-palm. The movement was careful,
casual. "I, uh..." Sam shook his head, eyes closing heavily, then he continued
in a lippy mumble, clearly trying to keep quiet, "Is there something you like?"
Kurt just struggled to remain standing. He mimicked Sam without thought,
feeling the sheen of conditioner roll off his fingers in the water.
Sam's gaze tilted back towards him, and Kurt darted a glance just long enough
to see a weird smile tugging up one half of his mouth. He honestly had no idea
how to even read it; was Sam amused? Was this all hilarious? Corralling
himself, Kurt pinned him with a stare that felt heated and hard and defensive,
and Sam just blinked wondrously, that pillowy red mouth in its crooked, absent-
minded tug.
For another awkward moment, the both of them were silent, and Kurt's mind
flitted through several distinct shades of mortification: he'd been caught; it
felt vulnerable; it was angering for Sam to not just let it go; he felt guilty
for everything from being gay to using skin-nourishing milk protein body wash
in the presence of others. But his mind rubber-banded on him with a snap. It
was hardly his fault Sam had invited himself to shower right next to him, stand
inappropriately close and engage with him instead of ignore him as social
locker room protocol dictated. It wasn't Kurt's choice to be around him, do
this number with him, live with him. Kurt hadn't driven all the way out to
Kentucky to retrieve him. This was all on Sam.
Sam stood there, and Kurt became aware that he was simply hanging still with
his palms in that earnest press, not even rinsing his hair. Kurt darted him
another pointed glare.
"Sorry," Sam said immediately. He ducked his hands under his armpits and
clenched them there, shoulders in an uncomfortable hunch.
"I can't tell if you're just being a jerk about it or if you're seriously
asking me that when my boyfriend is in the next room," Kurt responded coolly,
grabbing at his loofah to busy himself with his body wash.
"I wasn't trying to be a jerk," Sam murmured. Then he stuck his head under the
running water and scrubbed at his hair vigorously, his eyes shut and his mouth
drawn tight.
"So you just think I'm perving on you 'cause I'm gay," said Kurt, cutting but
aloof.
"No, I – it's not like that. I promise, I'm not – I never would think like
that, I just thought – I shouldn't have asked you that, but I thought maybe I
looked good or something, it doesn't have anything to do with... you being gay
or... your boyfriend, or anything like that."
Sam's face was red to a degree that had nothing to do with the hot water, the
cold room, the exertion of swimming, or the way his cheeks tended to be
pleasantly flushed at the best of times anyway. It was a deep flush that
stained his throat, too, leaving the rest of him offset and pale.
"Would you ask Finn that if he was the one looking at you?" Kurt asked, meaning
to prove a point but just succeeding in getting a second wave of embarrassment.
He scrubbed under his own arm with his bubbly loofah. His underarm was not near
as attractive as Sam's somehow. It was so pale he could see a blue vein in it.
Damn Sam Evans, anyway.
"Maybe," said Sam, then he took a deep breath and admitted, "but I guess not in
the same way I meant it with you."
"...Really."
Clumsily, Sam grappled for the soap, a plain green bar that had been used by
everyone in the shower before him.
"Sorry," he repeated, staring down.
"It's okay," said Kurt, partially because Sam had said so to him just a minute
ago and partially because his interest was becoming piqued after an entire trip
around the circle of blame. Sam sounded eternally honest, and Kurt couldn't
even imagine Finn simply backing down and taking the blame and admitting
anything like that, and Finn had overcome a lot of knee-jerk homophobia. Kurt
had it in him to be honest, too. "I was looking. More than was strictly
necessary."
"Well... I don't mind, if you were," Sam said under his breath. "If you want
to."
Kurt's face flushed. "You don't."
"No. I used to get money to flash these babies at middle-aged divorcées and
bachelorette parties," said Sam, swiping at his abs with the soap. "I mean, I'm
retired and everything, but I still kinda like knowing I'm good at something.
Even if it's just being... looked at like I'm sexy or whatever."
"I see," said Kurt slowly, and gazed over at him with a heaviness born of
permission.
He knew he shouldn't look so purposefully just because Sam had just said it was
fine; checking guys out so blatantly was one thing when he and Blaine were
gazing casually at them as a species, so close yet so far. It was one thing
when he was really trying not to look at the guy showering next to him. But
Kurt looked anyway, intently, taking in everything from the furrow of Sam's
brow to the water that dripped off all his angular planes and rounded muscles
to the shine the bar of soap was leaving behind on his stomach.
He looked further, this time, pressing his way down over Sam's hipbones, gaze
lingering heavily for a long minute on his dick and feeling himself breathing
harder.
Sam glanced at him, expression distant, but he snapped back to obvious
attention when Kurt didn't back off. His posture rolled straight like he was
doing a miniature, slowed-mo version of his now-notorious sideways body roll,
his abs flexing as if for Kurt's benefit. Then he did the strangest, most
unexpected thing and took his hand to his dick, propping it up in a loose grip
of fingers for Kurt to see. Kurt inhaled, shocked, not knowing whether to feel
embarrassed or aroused and landing somewhere in the middle. This was more –
way, way more – than Sam not minding. This was Sam showing him everything.
Showing himself off. Putting himself on display on purpose. It was a blatant
invitation to look, to admire. To want, maybe.
As Kurt stared, where they were and what he was doing becoming distant and
unimportant in his conscience, Sam's fingers wrapped in a loose circle and
slid, soapy, in a quick but deliberate pull up the shaft, showing off how the
skin moved like silk, all flushed and glistening wet. His dick seemed to pop
out of his brief grip, half-hard by the time he let it go.
Blinking heavily and swallowing with some kind of barely choked back hunger,
Kurt took it all in, the gentle flop and swing of Sam's fattening dick and the
fawny curls all pressed wetly to his skin around it. It was every locker room
fantasy he'd never really followed through with even in his own head come to
life; it was hard to believe it was really happening in front of him, Sam
letting him see. He unknowingly memorized everything about Sam right then,
soaking it all in needily to keep forever like he had last year – he memorized
Sam's sharp elbows and knees and ankles, his big hands with their long fingers,
his upright posture and the way he was tilted slightly towards Kurt, opened up
to him, watching him cautiously.
After meeting his intent eyes for a second, Kurt let his stare do another
obvious, starving rake down Sam's body.
This time, he could hear Sam let out a wet-sounding breath that seemed to blow
water off his mouth and nose, and it was so beyond satisfying to glance back up
at his face and see how interested he was in Kurt looking at him that Kurt's
mouth actually twitched.
"Oh, my," Kurt intoned, keeping his voice soft under the spray of their
showers. "You can't be caught in here like that."
Sam pressed his lips together, exhaling harshly, hand swinging to knock gently
at his hard-on. For a second Kurt thought he was going to sprout some modesty
and cover himself, but no. Sam just nudged it, knowing Kurt was looking at it,
and Sam's cock swayed under the wet-knuckled smack. Kurt couldn't help
responding, chin lifting regally as he tried to put himself above what he could
now tell was a purposeful bid for attention.
"Better take care of that before someone else sees," Kurt advised lowly.
He didn't know what Sam would think or do, but was rewarded with the sight of
Sam's fingers wrapping around his shaft and giving it a deliberate but
experimental pull.
Kurt's brain fritzed out. For a minute everything was just a mish-mash of the
cheery yet still somehow institutional yellow of the tiles in the McKinley
showers, the distant noise of lockers slamming and Blaine talking to whoever
was still out there while he waited for his turn, and the intensely private
thing he was somehow suddenly watching – Sam fondling and tugging himself into
full red-tipped hardness right there beside him. He wasn't just witnessing it,
like on accident or something. He was in on it, part of it, instrumental to the
fact that Sam was playing with himself in the showers at all. In some way, he
knew it was... for him.
He gasped shallowly, trying not to sound like he'd just come from running laps
or something, and Sam's arm muscles clenched. Kurt stared at the way his thumb
bridged the belly of his shaft and pressed at it insistently and the way his
index and middle fingers were the tightest on him, gripping around the neck of
his knob in short, increasingly desperate little tugs. His pinky hooked out
almost delicately. Kurt had never exactly realized how intimate it was to see
someone touching themselves until he'd finally gotten to see Blaine do that for
a second on his way to allowing Kurt to do it for him. But this was how another
boy – Sam – touched himself, he realized, when he jerked off by himself, when
he was making himself come. Even that put a million new fantasies and
smatterings of mental pictures to draw from in his head.
"Sam," he managed in a heated whisper. "Do I get to see you come?"
The words were kind of clumsy in his mouth, since he hadn't said something like
that out loud... ever, really. His experiences with seeing another boy come
were limited.
Sam huffed, though, his eyes squeezing shut.
"You wanna see?" he asked in a hollow breath. Kurt could hear the tension in
his throat, in his voice, tight and unlike his usual casual way of speaking.
"Yes," Kurt breathed guiltily.
Sam's body swayed a little, his muscles all rigid. White pearled up in a sudden
rush at the head of his dick for a split-second, then it shot up into the air a
few inches, some of it raining down onto Sam's grip with the rest of the shower
water and sliding wetly off him and the rest – Kurt hazarded a glance and saw a
perversely obvious streak of it on the sunny tile, sliding down it, heavy and
disgusting, and he knew the rest of it was probably sliding down the drain
between Sam's feet.
Shaking, Kurt reached out and turned the knob of his shower all the way to C.
The douse of suddenly freezing cold water hit his skin like little shards of
ice, chasing the warm bubbles still clinging to him right down his legs, but he
barely felt it. Everything was secondary right then, including the fact that he
was embarrassingly hard, himself.
Next to him, Sam breathed in hard, measured exhales, eyelashes fluttering as he
glanced up randomly at the ceiling. His come was still milky in the webbing
between his thumb and index finger. And it was definitely still dribbling down
the wall. Kurt didn't know whether that was going to haunt him in a bad way
(what was that about public showers and cleanliness?) or a really, really good
way.
He shut his shower off when he couldn't take it anymore, the cold having nearly
numbed him.
"I really have to blow-dry my hair," Kurt muttered into the nothingness between
them.
He reached for his towel and pulled it around his waist tightly, trying to
cover the fact that he was still minorly stiff with the layers of bright
McKinley red. At least his towel had remained quite dry.
"Do we just pretend this never happened?" asked Sam abruptly. He seemed
embarrassed – but it was more about his own obvious response than Kurt actually
watching him, as far as Kurt could tell.
"If you want," Kurt said, struggling to sound light as he knotted his towel up.
God, he hoped the others had more effective locker room manners than he and Sam
apparently did. He bit down on the inside of his lip, then said, "But just so
you know, I'm not going to forget it anytime soon. You might want to think
about that before you go around my house shirtless or whatever."
A smile played on Sam's mouth.
"Because I will look," Kurt added playfully.
"What about... you know. Your boyfriend. In the other room."
Gathering his shower supplies up awkwardly, Kurt thought for a tummy-twisting
second about Sebastian Smythe and their secret coffee dates and the way he'd
shown up to applaud Blaine's first performance as Tony and the way he had no
compunctions with creeping on Blaine right in front of Kurt, eating him alive
with his squinty little eyes.
What was it darling, harmless Sebastian had said? Oh, yes.
"He doesn't need to know."
Feeling much more chipper than he had half an hour ago, Kurt headed back to his
locker, aware he was leaving Sam looking after him with a curious light in his
eyes.
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