It's been three days. Three days of pacing and weird shaky sketches and Kurt is going out of his mind and Blaine isn't far behind. He enters the room to see Kurt stare blankly at the canvas in front of him, chewing on his bottom lip, his brow furrowed in anxious frustration.

He knows it was a bad idea to go into the assignment blind. With no reference sketches or models he was like a fish out of water, floundering with what little inspiration he had and perpetually unable to come up with even a vague outline. The canvas painfully blank, he begins to pace again, almost going as far as pulling on his hair. As soon as the hair is compromised Blaine knows it's serious.

"You're gonna hurt yourself." Blaine says softly sinking to the floor as Kurt finally stops pacing and spares him a glance.

Inspiration hits him like lighting. Blaine is lying on the floor, head pillowed on his forearms as he gazes worriedly up at him. It's the middle of summer, the windows are all thrown open and the apartment is stiflingly hot and fortunately for Kurt, Blaine has decided to forgo clothing. He's sprawled on the floor in tight black boxers and a crisp white dress shirt hanging open and off his shoulders. To Kurt Blaine never looks more gorgeous than when he is completely at home, basking in the warm summer sun.

"Model for me" Kurt blurts out, hands flexing by his sides eager to reach for a pencil, a stick of charcoal, anything he can use to capture Blaine in all his lazy summer afternoon glory. Blaine just smiles, nods and stretches out. His eyes close and he breathes a sigh, chest rising and falling with every serene breath. He listens unfazed as Kurt uncharacteristically clatters around the apartment. Hears the soft sound of his bare feet pad back towards him and come to a halt. He hears the click and whir of a camera and opens one eye to peer amusedly at his floundering boyfriend.

"What are you doing?" He mumbles against his arm, eying the way Kurt is brandishing Blaine's old Polaroid camera. "I'm taking reference shots." Click. He replies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "But I'm your reference? I'm right here." Click.

"Yeah but I want to get up close and personal." Click.

"You're my boyfriend we've been much further than ‘up close and personal'" Click. A step back, head tilted. Click. Whir.

"Well forgive me for trying to be professional." Kurt huffs glowering down at where Blaine is still spread out on the hardwood floor. "And why," Blaine begins with a smirk, stretching his arms out and arching his back, "would you need to be professional?"

"Because if I give in to what my mind is telling me to do to you right now I'm going to fail and all of my future prospects will disintegrate." Click click click. "Fine," Blaine pouts and god that isn't fair he's supposed to be working "I guess I'll just have to lie here and tempt you into failure." He tucks his arms under his head again and resumes his position, stretched out sweet and obscene in the fervent New York City sun.

Kurt takes too many pictures, half of them just flutter to the floor and aren't spared another glance, the other half he gathers reverently in the hopes that he can get at least the outline of Blaine's form from the photos alone so he doesn't have to keep staring hungrily at the real thing for the next few hours.

He gets to work, sketching roughly as his eyes flit from the canvas to the pictures to Blaine restlessly. The outline is poor to say the least; it lacks definition and movement, just still shapes on canvas that hold no depth. He lets himself look closer as he builds on his outline. The arch of Blaine's back, sheathed in a crumpled shirt and pushed half way up his spine. The dimples just above the boxer clad curve of his ass. Sculpted thighs dappled with hair and the delicate ball of his ankles. He doesn't know why he hadn't though of this sooner, Blaine's a work of art in his own right.

Blaine sighs then, perfect pink lips parting on an exhale, long lashes fluttering in tandem with Kurt's heart. He looks so comfortable, so at ease in his own body and lounging lazily in the afternoon sun he's breathtaking. He's sexy and smouldering and so serene he doesn't even notice. He doesn't even notice the sudden vanishing of the scratch of charcoal. Or the sudden sound of it dropping and rolling across the floor.

Kurt is gliding to his knees on the hardwood, his shirt unbuttoned and off in a heartbeat. A questioning noise escapes Blaine and he tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing as Kurt's lips crash into his. It's an awkward angle, lips off centre, teeth that bite and tongues that glide, slick and ravenous. Kurt leans back, eyes a dark emerald and Blaine twists onto his back. His eyes are dark, and glimmer like treacle as he arches his back. The shirt slips from his shoulders as he rests on his elbows, spit slick red lips caught between his teeth as he suppresses a pleased grin. All part of the plan.

An infuriated little growl resonates from deep in Kurt's chest and he pounces, straddling Blaine's hips. "You salacious seducing little minx" Kurt mutters staring down at his gorgeous dishevelled boyfriend with lust blown eyes. Blaine let's out a loud laugh, the sound filling the heat flooded apartment, bright and hearty until Kurt descends.

His teeth scrape against Blaine's stubbled jaw. Suddenly, Blaine isn't laughing anymore.