Kurt Hummel didn't hit the snooze button five times when his alarm blared the Wicked soundtrack to wake him up. He didn't get his customary Monday morning extra shot of espresso in his grandé non-fat mocha. He didn't take the subway either, he opted to walk the thirty blocks between his apartment and the Planet since it was such a nice day out. If anyone close to Kurt had observed this behavior, they would have had him psychologically evaluated immediately. But Kurt Hummel wasn't crazy. Kurt Hummel had a boyfriend. And not just any old boyfriend…Blaine Anderson…who just happened to be Superman. And yes, Cosmo magazine, Superman did incorporate his powers into his sex life. And it. Was. Awesome.

Therefore it required all of Kurt's community theatre training to twist his broad grin into a mask of indifference as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the entrance to the newsroom. He sashayed to his desk like usual, and felt his stomach do a gold-medal level gymnastics routine when Blaine came into view. He was perched at his desk, absorbed in whatever he was typing on his laptop, periodically taking small sips of his coffee. This was going to be just like that acting class he took at the local playhouse back in high school, when Mr. Ryerson gave them all personas and held a competition to see who could stay in character the longest without breaking. Kurt had won that competition. Hell, I think I still have that dinky ribbon back at Dad's house somewhere. Kurt didn't break character then, and he was not going to break character now.

"Good morning, Blaine," Kurt acknowledged him tersely.

"Oh, hey Kurt!" Blaine chirped in reply, as over-enthusiastic as ever. "Sleep well?"

"Y-yeah," Kurt stammered in answering him, fighting the blush rising to his cheeks on account of Kurt's dreams the previous night had been filled with Blaine. A very, very naked Blaine…

"Good to hear!" he intoned as he adjusted his glasses and returned to his work.

Damn, when did his glasses become so sexy? They make me want to violate him…great, now I'm developing a librarian kink…Blaine would make such a sexy librarian…who are you kidding, Kurt? Blaine would make a sexy everything. Look, he's being a sexy coffee drinker right now, Gaga, the way his Adam's Apple bobs as he swallows is positively sinful…and the way his fingers are wrapped around the cup…fuck, that's one lucky Starbucks cup…although I was luckier Saturday night…great, way to give yourself a woody in the middle of your workplace…it's only ten after nine and you're already half-hard from just looking at Blaine. Today is going to be miserable…I wonder if Blaine and I are going to get together after work…he probably has to attend to Superman duties…I wonder how long those take...I hope he won't be too tired…maybe we could relax together in bathtub…stop it, Kurt! Great, now how are you going to get rid of this thing—

"Hummel!" The distinct voice of one Sue Sylvester shook Kurt from his thoughts. Oh, would you look at that, my erection has disappeared altogether. "Hummel. I wanted to congratulate you on the Superman interview. We sold out and something tells me that the Pulitzer Board over at Columbia got their hands on a copy. Now, how's that explosion story going?"

"It's coming along, Sue," Kurt told her.

"It better be. Just because you scored the most important interview of the past decade doesn't mean you can just sit back and bask in your own flamboyant glory. Look at Hitler, Napoleon, Charlie Sheen. And you," Sue turned to face Blaine. "The Thirty-Year-Old Virgin. Becky should have sent you a lead on a story about an elementary school gambling ring in Queens. The liberal fatalists say that it's a sign of the downfall of our society, but I can't help but admire those little tykes' initiative."

Both men burst into laughter once Sue left, their eyes catching each other's in a dangerously flirtatious way. They both averted their eyes immediately, resuming their respective tasks. The rest of the morning passed without incident, and when lunchtime rolled around, Kurt allowed Tina and Mercedes to drag him (he may or may not have cast one too many longing glances at Blaine as he was leaving) to go grab Dim Sun with Mike, who was rehearsing for a music video that was shooting not too far from them. Kurt remembered the time when he used to envy Tina for being married to such an ab-tastic professional dancer, but now he had his own six pack to go home to. Damn it, he missed Blaine. So much for not acting clingy.

Kurt's yearning for Blaine only worsened as the day dragged on at a miserably slow pace. The most infuriating aspect was the fact that Blaine was right sitting right across from him, so freaking close, but Kurt had to pretend he was still repulsed by his every move when he was just the opposite. This time Kurt practically leapt out of his chair when Mercedes and Tina told him they were going up for a smoke. He almost accepted Mercedes' offer when she held out the cigarette, but he knew Blaine had various ways of knowing if Kurt had lit up, so he refused.

"So how was your date with Lame Anderson?" Mercedes asked as she lit her cigarette.

"Oh, um, uneventful. I ate, he talked. That's about it." Kurt fibbed.

"Where'd he take you?" Tina inquired.

"Some tacky restaurant in Midtown," Kurt told them. "I don't remember the name."

"Jeez, I can't help but feel bad for the kid sometimes," said Mercedes. "Did he ask you out again?"

"No, I think he got the hint that I wasn't interested."

"Well, that's what you wanted, wasn't it?" Tina supposed, always the optimist. "I'm more interested in what went down with you and this mystery guy you won't tell us anything about."

Kurt flushed. This was going to be tricky. "It went well."

"Kurt Hummel, you totally got laid, didn't you?" Mercedes grinned.

"Well, sort of. I mean we didn't go all the way, but I did have an orgasm that wasn't by my own hand, so I'd call that progress."

"So are you two…official?" Tina queried.

"Yes…but we're not public, if that makes any sense," Kurt informed them.

"That boy's dating you but still in the closet?" Mercedes questioned with disbelief.

"It's complicated," Kurt told her.

"Do I need to smack some sense into him?" she offered.

"No, no, Mercedes, that won't be necessary," he promised her.

"Are you sure, Kurt? Because it sounds to me like he's playing you," the gossip columnist challenged.

"He's not," Kurt insisted, begging to become agitated. "You don't know anything about him!"

"Listen, Kurt. I know it's been a while since you've been in a relationship and…"

"What? You think I'm so desperate that I'd throw myself at the first guy that shows me some attention? Just because you two are all settled down now doesn't make you fucking relationship experts, especially gay relationships!" Kurt yelled.

"No, Kurt, that's not what Mercedes meant," Tina interjected. "Well, maybe it was, but we're just looking out for you, just like you would for us if the situation was reversed."

A long staredown between the two women and Kurt ensued. As usual he surrendered, "I'm sorry. It's just, I really care about this guy, and what we have is real, and don't get me wrong, I'm plenty frustrated that I can't shout his name from the rooftops, but I've got to respect his wishes."

"Well, we're looking forward to meeting him, when he feels comfortable," Tina told him, and then elbowed Mercedes when she didn't agree.

"Yeah," replied a still-glowering Mercedes.

"We should probably get back to work," Tina said, ushering her friends towards to door that led back downstairs.

0-0-0

For someone who attended an Ivy League school and graduated with a degree in Journalism, Kurt was painfully unobservant. Really, how had he gone almost two months without noticing that the sexiest man alive sat across from him every day at work? Sure, he had a pretty convincing disguise, but Kurt was a celebrated investigative journalist for McQueen's sake.

Blaine had noticed Kurt's infatuated gaze and sent him an imploring look across their desks. Kurt blinked and mouthed "Sorry". Blaine smiled sympathetically and winked at him quickly before going back to his article. He couldn't blame Kurt, Blaine also had struggled with maintaining their professional façade, especially since Kurt had decided to paint on his pants today. He had almost succeeded in clearing the subsequent dirty thoughts from his mind when his computer screen flashed, signaling that he had just received a new Skype message. Odd, he thought to himself, no one really messaged him during the workday, his friends from Dalton and State were working as well, and he was sure his mother wasn't even aware that Skype had an instant messaging function. Blaine saw that the sender had been Kurt. What? Blaine clicked on his name to open the message.

KurtHummel: What color underwear am I wearing?

Blaine frowned and shot Kurt a reproachful glare and curtly typed out his reply.

BAnderson: Kurt. Not here.

KurtHummel: Why not?

Blaine could see Kurt smirking at him over his laptop.

BAnderson: It's inappropriate. We could get caught.

KurtHummel: These are our personal accounts, Blaine. It's not like we're doing this over the office's internal memo system. Live a little.

BAnderson: We're still not doing this.

KurtHummel: Please, Blaine? I'm dying over here and it's not like you haven't been staring at my ass whenever I get up to get something.

BAnderson: Kurt, I'm serious.

KurtHummel: So am I. It's my ass, Blaine, I think I deserve to know what you've been imagining doing to it.

Blaine bit his lip as his cock twitched in his pants. Kurt was going to be the death of him. He hesitantly glanced at Kurt, who simply raised his perfectly shaped eyebrow in reply, clearly egging him on. That was when his resolve snapped. Kurt wanted to sexy IM? He'd show him sexy IM-ing.

BAnderson: Well for starters, I haven't been able to get the image of you fingering yourself out of my head.

Blaine stole a glimpse at Kurt. He could hear his breath hitch as he read the message, and Blaine quickly looked away when Kurt's eyes darted to him before typing his response.

KurtHummel: Go on.

BAnderson: Then I imagine one of my fingers joining yours.

The visual hit Kurt like a freight train and it required a Herculean effort on his part not to moan in the middle of the newsroom because just the thought of Blaine inside of him, in any capacity, was just…unf. Blaine must have detected his struggle to keep cool, since he messaged him:

BAnderson: You sure you want to do this? This isn't worth getting publicly humiliated over.

Kurt scowled at a now-leering Blaine.

KurtHummel: Never been more sure. Now keep talking.

BAnderson: Don't you mean typing?

Kurt had to fight the urge to stick his tongue out at Blaine.

KurtHummel: Whatever. More sexy talk please.

BAnderson: Well,since you said please…

BAnderson: We'd start working you open together, but I'd eventually ease your finger out and replace it with another of mine because you're going to need your strength.

KurtHummel: I like the sound of that. You better stretch me good, because I'm going to need all the prep I can get for that huge cock of yours.

It was Blaine's turn to repress a groan, his hips inching forward to seek the nonexistent friction he was beginning to crave. Kurt couldn't resist the sight of Blaine starting to come undone.

KurtHummel: It's so BIG, Blaine. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water. Fuck I can't wait to feel it filling me up it's going to feel so fucking good.

Blaine was getting—he was hard. Sometimes his 'super' hormones were more trouble than they were worth. Well, no turning back now.

BAnderson: You like my cock, baby? I'll give it you all night. No super-speed. I want to go slow, make it last. Would you like that?

Kurt was clutching the arms of his desk chair with a white-knuckle grip. He was painfully aroused and had a feeling that Blaine was in a similar predicament. He needed relief, release, something before he came in his pants in the middle of The Daily Planet.

KurtHummel: You never answered my question, you know.

Blaine quirked an eyebrow and peeked at Kurt, who didn't hold his gaze but rather looked down at his crotch, urging Blaine to do the same.

BAnderson: You're not wearing any underwear.

KurtHummel: Trick question and he got it right. I'm impressed.

If Blaine didn't do something about his little big problem soon, he couldn't be held responsible if he bent Kurt over the desk and gave his co-workers something to write about that they wouldn't be able to publish to the general public.

BAnderson: 46th Floor bathroom. Meet me there inten minutes.

Kurt wasn't able to type as much as a single letter before Blaine had closed his laptop, sprung up, and was booking it out of the newsroom.

Ten minutes! How am I supposed to wait TEN FUCKING MINUTES before I can take care of this thing? Do you think anyone could see me if I—No! No Kurt, you can't jerk yourself off under your desk. How are old you? Thirteen? Psh, like you had the courage to actually jack off without being overcome with guilt and disgust when you were thirteen. How long has it been? Thirty seconds…screw it.

Kurt hopped up and sped from his desk. He prayed that if he adjusted his blazer just so, maybe everyone wouldn't notice his raging erection.

"Hey, Kurt!" Artie Abrams suddenly appeared in his path. "I just got the photos from the explosion site in and I think—"

"Artie." Kurt told him in a clipped tone. "Not. Now."

"Um, okay. I'll just leave them on your desk?" Artie stuttered, bemused.

"Fabulous. Now if you'll excuse me."

Kurt felt bad about being so abrupt with Artie, it wasn't exactly good form to mistreat the guy in the wheelchair, but the head on his shoulders wasn't doing the majority of the thinking at the moment. Figuring that the elevator would take too long and he could risk running into other co-worker in his current condition, Kurt flew down the eight flights of stairs and sprinted into the men's bathroom.

Blaine was waiting for him when Kurt flung open the door, shirt and pants open, Superman costume peeled down, his erection straining proudly against the synthetic fabric of his shorts.

"You're early."

Kurt hurled himself at Blaine, their lips colliding fiercely. Blaine procured Kurt's dick from his pants at super-speed as Kurt inched down his shorts to free him simultaneously. They wasted no time in circling their hands around each other's cocks and pumping furiously as their tongues battled for dominance. Blaine grappled to keep his pace at a somewhat 'normal' level, he wanted to come with Kurt this time. Both men, cognizant of what the other liked, brought each other to the brink of their climaxes rather quickly as their moans echoed off the tiled bathroom walls, spilling into each other's hand in record time.

Blaine was the first to speak. "That was—"

"Intense?" Kurt guessed.

"Hmm, intense," Blaine concurred as he wobbled over to the sink to get cleaned up.

"You don't think I'm a slut, do you?" Kurt asked him anxiously. "It's just I was going out of my mind and I know I should have done a better job at—"

"Kurt," Blaine interrupted him. "We've been over this. You really think that I wasn't suffering all day too? I've had a lot of practice perfecting my poker face, but that doesn't mean I'm still not feeling anything underneath."

Kurt searched Blaine's face for any trace of dishonesty, but found nothing but earnestness. He sighed. "I'm sorry. This is uncharted territory for me. I don't want to screw this up either, you know."

"I know," Blaine smiled and passed him a damp paper towel as he tucked himself back into his pants and pulled the Superman costume back up his body.

Kurt froze. His cock made a valiant attempt at hardening again from the vision before him.

Blaine noticed Kurt's stare. "Please don't tell me I have cum on my pants."

Kurt chuckled and relaxed considerably. "No, it's just, nice to look at. The suit under your work clothes, I mean."

Blaine rolled his eyes good-naturedly and pressed a kiss into Kurt's cheek. "You and the suit."

"That reminds me," Kurt began as he finished making himself look presentable for the workplace. "We have to discuss what we're going to do about you being same person as this Mystery Guy I keep telling Mercedes and Tina about."

Blaine looked confused, but Kurt wasn't the slightest bit convinced. "Don't pretend like you weren't listening."

He dropped the face and blushed slightly. "You're right. I don't do that all the time, mind you, I only did it today because I wanted to get our stories straight."

"Uh huh. I'm sure it has nothing to do with you checking up on me to see if I'm still smoking," Kurt retorted.

"I'm really happy that you're not," Blaine offered in a small but sincere voice.

"Well, it's not worth losing you over," Kurt remarked, trying to keep his tone nonchalant.

Blaine pulled him in again for another kiss, this one gentler and more expressive than their previous tongue-fucking. "Do you want to come over tonight? I'll probably be done with you-know-what by nine. We can talk about what we're going to do about Mystery Guy and whatnot."

"Sur-sure," Kurt faltered, not totally recovered from the passion of Blaine's kiss as he allowed the hero to lead him toward the door.

When they had reached the door, Blaine checked the time on Kurt's watch. "3:43. Would you look at that. We almost made it the full day. I thought for sure that one of us would have jumped the other's bones by lunch at the latest."