Dave Karofsky finished with Facebook and email and then, with the usual mix of excitement and loathing, logged onto the first of his usual porn sites. He instinctively looked over his shoulder though he knew he was alone in his hotel room. Things hadn't changed after high school; his life would still be over if his teammates found out that he was gay. The only difference was that he played for the Columbus Blue Jackets in the NHL and that he got paid a lot of money for it. Which just meant that he had that much more to lose if anybody found out. Like the money to pay for the expensive, exclusive porn sites.

"Beautiful blind boy." Dave didn't need to read any more of the video title or description. It was even more pathetic that he'd tracked news of Hummel and once he learned he'd gone blind, he had a thing about it. He clicked on the preview button. It started with a lingering closeup of the guy's ass, then shots of somebody pounding that ass, then a shot of his face as he was coming. "Shit," he gasped. "Hummel."

He stared into space for a moment. Hummel. Porn star. It didn't make any fucking sense. Hummel fucking guys for money. He felt sick as he clicked to buy access to the video. Was this what Hummel did for a living now that he was blind? Did Hudson or his dad know?

He thought he'd gone crazy as he watched. It was Hummel, but with that prep guy Blaine. And two other men watching. Hummel didn't seem to know they were there, even though Blaine was obviously undressing him to show him off to them with a goddamn "You can look but not touch" smirk on his face.

He was jealous as hell. Hummel was so fucking loving. There was no other word for it. He wasn't getting fucked or even having sex, he was making love to somebody he adored. Dave felt aroused and sick and jealous and angry and confused. When the video finished and he finished jerking himself off, he looked at the descriptions of the two other "beautiful blind boy" videos. One of them said that the blind boy didn't know he had an audience. So either Hummel was the best actor in the world or prep boy was practically whoring him out. Sure, he wasn't letting the other men touch him, but it was still letting others use him for sex.

So what was he supposed to do? He wanted to go find prep boy and beat a confession out of him but what if Hummel did know and it was their kink? It sure didn't seem like the Hummel he'd known. But what if it was? What if Hummel was happy doing this and that smile on his face was part of that?

At least Facebook made it easy. He was friends with Azimio who was in touch with Taylor who was in touch with Puckerman who was part of Hudson's band. He'd tell Hudson and make sure it was okay. Or maybe Puckerman would be the better one to find out what was going on. Dave chewed his lip. One thing had changed since high school. He wanted Hummel to be happy now. Yeah, he'd get a message to Puckerman, let him deal with it. Puckerman would be okay with it if Hummel and prep boy liked making sex tapes but would be definitely trouble if prep boy was taking advantage.

The lie to cover his presence on the porn site was easy enough. It was part of a whole conglomerate of porn sites and sometimes cross-advertised. Easy enough to say that he'd glimpsed enough of an advertisement from the corner of an eye to recognize Hummel.

Dave tried to tell himself he was only watching the other videos of Kurt to see if he could figure something else out, even while he was fantasizing that he was the one Hummel was reaching for, kissing, smiling at, making love to. After they were done, he spent more time fantasizing that he broke down the door, pounded Blaine into the little pile of shit that he was, and took a grateful, adoring, loving Hummel away with him. Except the moment the fantasy ended, he knew it just wouldn't happen. Hummel would never agree to be anybody's secret, never agree to Dave going out with the occasional hot fan as a beard.

He was no closer to getting Hummel than before and as far back in the closet as before.

Blaine's phone rang and he saw that it was from the front desk. "Hi, Angela."

"I have a Finn Hudson here to see you."

"I'll be right out there."

He told himself it wasn't anything, Finn might have been unexpectedly in the city and dropped by. If anything had happened to Kurt, he'd have found out some other way, unless-no, it was nothing.

Blaine pushed the door open to the reception area. "Finn? Is everything-"

"I'm taking Kurt home with me." He said it grimly and flatly.

"What? Is he okay, what happened?" None of this made sense. "What's wrong with Kurt?" he demanded, since Finn was glaring at him but not saying another word.

"He trusted you. We trusted you with him."

Blaine took a deep breath. Had Kurt hurt himself when he was alone in the apartment? If that were the case and he were in Finn's place, he'd be mad, too, even if he knew that it was irrational. "Did he get hurt-"

Finn's temper finally showed. "Yeah, he's hurt, you just broke his heart, you asshole! What, you weren't making enough money here that you were selling porn of him?" He gestured angrily at the elegant office. Blaine felt like Finn had actually punched him in the gut and then thrown him down the stairs. "You were even letting people watch him while he didn't know they were there! What were you planning to do next, let somebody else pretend to be you and sleep with him?"

Blaine let his survival instinct take over as he realized that Angela wasn't even pretending not to listen and other people were clustering near the entrance. "Finn, the situation isn't what you think it is. Let's go somewhere else and talk this over."

"So what have you got to explain? That you made sex tapes of my brother and he didn't know? That you took advantage of his being blind? He loved you, you know." Blaine couldn't tell if Finn was near tears just because of his anger or if Kurt was really that miserable about it.

"Finn, I love Kurt. But our relationship is-"

"Are you calling him a liar? Because he told me that he didn't know you were making the tapes."

Blaine was tempted to seize the opening, but that would only win him the battle, not the war. He wanted to, no, he needed to keep Kurt. "No, no, I'm not. I used bad judgment, that's all. I'll talk to him, apologize, I'll make it up to him, I promise."

Finn suddenly looked tired instead of angry. "No. Bad judgment would be making a sex tape and letting it get online. You knew what you were doing. You just didn't care that he trusted you not to take advantage of him." His expression changed to anger, again, and he advanced on Blaine. "How would you make up for something like that, anyway? A nice dinner and some flowers? 'Oh, Kurt, I'm so sorry that I made sex tapes of people watching us have sex and lying when you even asked if there were other people in the apartment, I'm sorry I took advantage of the fact that you're blind and you trusted me, here, have some flowers, oh, no, nobody's watching now,'" he pretended to mimic somebody handing Kurt flowers. "I'm taking my brother home with me now. Puck's packing his things."

"Wait, you can't, I...I love him."

Finn looked at him coldly. "Maybe you do. I don't care. And I don't think Kurt cares anymore, either." He turned around and left.

Blaine grabbed the back of the nearby chair for support. He had to find a way to talk to Kurt, get him back. He'd think of something. He had even forgotten that this scene had taken place in public until he turned around and saw the people watching him. Some, the ones who had resented his fast rise or his popularity, watched with barely concealed smirks. Others, including Katherine, watched him in disgust and contempt. A few were watching with expressions of shock and disappointment. As he tried to straighten up to walk back, to his desk, he felt as though each watcher was searing him with their looks.

He almost yelled, "Stop looking at me! Stop looking!" But it wouldn't have stopped them from watching.