Anonymous asked: Kurt is Blaine’s neighbor who sometimes forgets to close his curtains and he prefers to do house chores and yoga in the nude. Kurt realizes that his cute, bashful neighbor’s eyes (the very one he has a crush on) are straying towards his windows and likes what he sees, he puts on a show. ouo
This is…sort of that.
He was really disappointed in the view, at first. All the sights and landmarks and the whole world famous skyline deal yet his very own New York apartment overlooks a dingy alleyway and the solid brick exterior of the building across from them. Not exactly ideal, but they try to make the best of it, so it’s fine. Until the day that it isn’t.
They’re trying to figure out what that ever-present puddle in the back corner of the alley is; Sam insists that it’s radioactive ooze and they should find a turtle and see what happens. Blaine’s pretty sure it’s just oil of some sort. Then he spots him. Hot Neighbor Guy. Shirtless. Cooking something that Blaine is positive must be absolutely delicious. He can just tell. He pushes Sam to the side to get a better look.
“Dude,” Sam protests. “Not cool.” But he leaves Blaine to it and goes it his room. Which is really for the best because Blaine makes a truly embarrassing noise when Hot Neighbor Guy tilts his head, makes eye contact with Blaine and actually smirks.
From that point it’s game on.
Blaine moves his punching bag in front of the window. Starts boxing in his underwear. He just- likes the way the sunlight comes in from that angle, is all. And if Hot Neighbor Guy happens to see him, well. People see things. It happens.
Blaine underestimates him. He really should know better.
Hot Neighbor Guy becomes Naked Hot Neighbor Guy. All casually strolling by the window just naked as a jaybird. Naked as the day he was born. Naked like a bare winter sapling. Naked like- The point is: Naked. At first just quick glimpses of his toned, fair, long-limbed body. A tease. Sightings here and there like an elusive rare butterfly. Then one morning he just stands there with his back to the window, perfect pert ass just right there.
It’s funny, really. His mother was convinced he’d be mugged or robbed or get caught up the mafia or something when he moved to New York. And so far he’s had zero problems with violence or petty crime or run-ins with mob bosses and now. Now he’ll be killed from an implosion of sexual frustration. Explosion. No, that’s kind of gross. Implosion.
Naked Hot Neighbor Guy starts doing yoga. In front of the window. Naked yoga. Blaine starts taking a lot of showers. Sam makes him pay the entire water bill. Fair’s fair, really.
But today. Today just takes the cake. The sexual frustration cake, as it were.
Naked Hot Neighbor Guy is leaning with one arm against the window frame, stretched out gloriously long and naked, so naked. The light behind him casts him in some otherworldly glow, skin haloed and luminous and he’s hard, oh dear god, looking right at Blaine who could not tear his eyes away for all the gold and riches in the entire world and he is. Jerking. Off.
Blaine is pretty sure he’s never really had an occasion where he thought of himself as being agog before, but. There he is. Agog.
“Hey man, karaoke tonight. You in?”
“Sam!” Blaine squeaks, simultaneously turning away from the window and winding the curtain around his body. Mainly the, uh. Lower half. “You’re home!”
Sam narrows his eyes at Blaine, then the sliver of window above his head, then back at Blaine and looks- not even the slightest bit surprised, actually.
“Enough already. Just go over there.” Sam tosses his bag down, flops onto the sofa and starts manically flipping through the channels.
“Just a little longer, okay? I’ve totally got this. Help a bro out?” Blaine pleads, not sure if his make-shift curtain coverall is helping or making him look extra ridiculous. No he’s pretty sure he looks ridiculous, actually.
“No way, dude. I am not getting dragged into your weird sex games. Go.” He flips the channels even faster, and it’s kind of making Blaine dizzy, or maybe that was from the sudden rush of blood to areas south of the border earlier.
At any rate, he’s pretty well deflated now. Literally and figuratively. Just as well, he’s positive he couldn’t have taken much more. Still, sting of defeat and all that.
You win. I’m out.
Oh how I love to hear those words.
He sighs and puts on his shoes. Sighs again and puts on his coat. Sighs extra loud as he opens the door to leave. Sam throws a half full bottle of Mountain Dew at his head. Uncalled for.
He drags himself down the stairs and around the building and up the stairs and down the hallway; a man on the long, slow march to the bitter, pathetic end.
“You are so dramatic,” Kurt tuts when he opens the door.
Blaine pouts. “You don’t play fair.”
“No,” Kurt says, grabbing Blaine around the waist and pulling him inside. He leans in close and stops just at Blaine’s parted lips. “But I do play dirty.”
And okay, maybe Kurt was right and Blaine can’t last as long as Kurt when he’s stuck just watching his boyfriend be all sexy and teasing right across the street and not rush right over and ravish him. He’s only human. And Kurt does play dirty.
But as Kurt drags him inside and offers to finish his little window demonstration live and in person, Blaine figures it worked out in his favor anyway.
And the view? Pretty sweet after all.
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