He tries not to think about it. He tries not to think about how he's probably making him smile his smile, Blaine's smile, that toothy grin shining with happiness and mischief. He tries not to think about how he's probably making him laugh like Blaine does, the sound so sweet and clear as a bell. He tries not to think about how he's probably making his body shiver and skin tingle, like the way Blaine does with just the touch of his fingertips.

He tries not to think about it but he thinks about Kurt, like he always seems to nowadays. Blaine did the only thing he knew how to. He worked. Dragging his largest canvas and easel out into the living room, ripping out dozens of sketches and pining them up on the apartment's dividing wall and scattering materials across the floor; he worked.

He moved fluidly through his work space, sketching first. The sharp angle of his jaw and the soft curve of his hip all falling into place on canvas like he belonged there, like Kurt was already a work of art. He was consumed. By the time he moved on to the pastel detailing, his mind was flooded with images and a simple want. What it would be like to feel the heat that radiated from that heady blush, what it would be like to mark and to feel that flawless pale skin, what it would be like to kiss those lips parted by breathy sighs.

On into the night he worked, eyes pupil blown and a rich caramel as the lines between fantasy and reality began to blur and merge on the canvas in front of him. His hair, forearms and abdomen were streaked with subdued, powdery colour as he took a step back when dawn hit.

The final piece was hard to look at, so overtly intimate and sensual that it felt almost like an invasion to Blaine. It was as if Blaine had broken his trust by creating something that captured Kurt's raw charm and sexuality. He was thrumming with its intensity, skin set alight as that tell tale spark raced up his spine. Blaine forced himself to really look at him for a few moments before he simply couldn't any longer.

He lay himself out on the floor, his eyes slipping closed as he let that want and that spark wash over him, carrying him away to a place filled with nothing but pale skin, full lips and his own pleasure. A part of him was telling him that it was wrong. Wrong to want so much from someone who had never been taken before but he couldn't deny the thrill that accompanied the thought of being the first. The first to kiss every smooth expanse of his skin, the first to witness him falling apart so completely, breathless whimpers of ‘so good', ‘more', ‘please', and ‘don't stop', ‘harder', ‘faster', the first to devour and worship every inch of him.

Nails raked down his chest and across his abs, fingers stroking deliberately across the waistband of his boxers as his other hand thumbed at his jaw line. He lost himself in it. Kurt spread out across his sheets, writhing in ecstasy beneath him. He brought a hand to the back of his head, burying it in his hair and gripping the curls tightly as he bit his lip. He gasped for his next breath as he palmed himself roughly through his boxers, midnight blue eyes pleading with him from behind his eyelids as breathy moans and whimpers filled the air. He could feel the heat edging its way through his body from his abdomen, making his skin slick with sweat as he thrust upwards searching for more, God please more.

Mewls of pleasure echoing in his mind grew louder and he couldn't hold back any longer, slipping a hand down and around himself. He'd been hard for so long, his hand dry and rough and perfect as he stroked his cock, teasing himself to images of kissing, licking, and sucking, biting, supple milky skin everywhere imaginable across the planes of the body beneath him. His breathing quickened as his thumb caught the head of his dick, spreading pre-cum down his shaft, his blood simmering, his skin tightening as shuddering waves of pleasure flooded through him.

With every image came a fresh wave of desperation, his hips thrusting up hard into the circle of his fist with every hitching breath. Hard and fast it was almost painful but so fucking good. Heat coiled quickly in his lower abdomen. Set on fire by a hand's possessive grip on his hip, the rock of their bodies as they chased that white light, closer and closer. Blaine let out a loud wrecked moan as the image of Kurt's stretched neck as he threw his head back in pure bliss clouded his senses, beautiful wanton sounds spilling from his perfectly parted lips; closer and closer.

Piercing blue eyes opened and fixed on him as his body shuddered. The ghost of his name escaping from kiss swollen lips and that was all it took. Blaine came hard with a cry that resounded endlessly through the desolate apartment, thrusting eagerly upwards to hold on to the earth shattering feeling, white spots appearing across his field of vision as his eyes snapped open, chasing his ecstasy for a while longer. His cum covered his chest and stomach in white streaks, a stark contrast to his dark and shadowed skin.

Once his body had stilled he simply laid there for a while. His eyesight was blurry and he couldn't get a hold of his limbs. A weight started to settle on him: guilt, longing and anger. This had to be the last time. It hurt too much to know that when his illusion shattered he was left with nothing, just like always.

He wasn't worth a quarter of what Kurt was. Kurt didn't need him. Kurt didn't even want him. He had Zach. So he vowed to never think of Kurt Hummel again, easier said than done when not thinking about Kurt practically meant not thinking at all. However, Blaine had an all too familiar method that just about did the trick.