He was ready early, for once. His pre-calc homework had proven to be less intimidating than he’d originally thought and since his paper on post-colonial trade in India wasn’t due until next week, after the play had opened, he was giving himself an out of working on it for the evening.

Ten thirty.

He still had another fifteen minutes before his nightly call to Kurt where they would discuss their day, with Blaine on speakerphone, while Kurt went through his elaborate skincare routine and Blaine mostly spent his time making faces in the mirror, testing expressions as they talked. Other nights, Blaine would lie in his bed during their call, keeping his eyes closed and pretending, just for a little while that they weren’t stuck in a backward Midwestern town. Instead, in his mind, they were in New York, in their own apartment, and Kurt was just on the other side of the room, doing his routine as they recounted their days.

Tempted to call, he picked up his phone, but quickly set it back on his bureau. Kurt hated when he called early, he was usually still dripping wet from his shower and would feel rushed to get ready for Blaine, not that Kurt ever said as much, at least not in so many words, but Blaine didn’t need to ask, he just knew. Just as he knew that Kurt would definitely be in the shower right now, or just getting out.

He could only imagine the way rivulets of hot water would glide over Kurt’s beautiful pale skin, down the elegant line of his back, down Kurt’s thigh, sliding over the slight curve of his calf. Blaine wondered what it would be like to follow that trail in reverse, licking up the water with his tongue, his hands sliding over Kurt’s broad shoulders, down his chest and lower, lower than they’d allowed themselves, to stroke Kurt’s cock.

Kurt would be hard for him, would tilt his head back on Blaine’s shoulder, settling his ass against Blaine’s erection, and would arch into Blaine’s touch. He’d never seen Kurt’s cock, but he could imagine, and based on Santana’s not-so-subtle speculation, Kurt was big in his head, heavy in his mind’s imagination, longer than Blaine’s own, but not quite as thick, and perfect.

Blaine hadn’t noticed he’d been touching himself, lying back on his bed, with both hands in his boxers. His right hand was wrapped tight around his erection, slipping in long strokes, his thumb catching on the bottom of the head with each upward twist of his wrist. The left was buried lower, massaging his balls, one finger dipping back to rub along his perineum.

Only his hands weren’t his hands, they were Kurt’s, sliding, slick over his cock, rubbing his balls. Blaine groaned low and deep as he let the fantasy take over, the phantom of Kurt behind him, replacing his sheets with Kurt’s sturdy chest and Kurt’s erection pressing hot and hard against Blaine’s ass as Kurt’s finger traced his perineum and farther to tease his puckered entrance.

Blaine choked out a moan as the tip of the finger pressed; dry, into his hole, the fist on his cock speeding up as his hips jerked in the air. He was close, so close.

The sharp tone of Blaine’s phone going off shocked Blaine back to reality, shattering the illusion.

Blaine yanked his right hand from his boxers, rolling off the bed as he grabbed for his phone, sliding his finger across the screen to accept Kurt’s call before realizing his other hand was still wrapped tight around his balls, a fingertip in his ass.

“Hey!” Blaine greeted, perhaps a bit too brightly, his breath still coming in pants as he eased his hand out of his underwear.

“Everything alright over there?” Kurt asked, the worry in his voice evident. Blaine snuck a glance at his clock, ten forty-seven. He was late in calling by two minutes.

“Y-yeah, sorry, just…distracted.” Blaine explained. It wasn’t a lie, but Kurt didn’t need the full truth.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve never called late before and you sound a little breathless.”

“Yeah, yeah, I was just…uh…doing something.” Blaine finished lamely. He had to get better at lying.

“What kind of something?”

“Um.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said, warning. Blank. His mind was blank. Why couldn’t he think of something? Anything would be better than ‘I was thinking about you fingering me’. Damn.

“Total honesty, right?” God, was he actually going to do this?

“Of course. What’s going on?”

“I was touching myself.” Blaine admitted. “Please don’t freak out,” he added quickly.

“Why, why would I freak out? It’s perfectly normal for—“

“I was thinking about you.” He really hadn’t needed to say that. Why did he say that? Blaine smacked his palm to his forehead. Idiot. The line went silent for several moments and Blaine tipped his phone away to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped. “Kurt? Please tell me I didn’t freak you out. I’m sorry, I never should have told you that.”

Another beat of silence.

“You think of me when you touch yourself?” Kurt asked, his voice half and octave higher than usual. Blaine nodded as he watched himself in the mirror over his dresser before remembering Kurt couldn’t actually see him.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Kurt replied. “How often?”

“How often do I touch myself or how often do I think of you while I do it?”

“How often do you think of me?”

“Always. Every time. How could I not?” Blaine asked and when Kurt stayed silent, he couldn’t help continuing. “Do you have any idea how soft your skin is? And it just goes on forever. This beautiful, milky white skin that I just want to kiss and lick and taste forever, every inch of you.”

Blaine paused, waiting for a reaction, but didn’t get one so he kept going.

“And your eyes. They mesmerize me every single day, but after we’ve been together for a while, kissing and touching, they get so dark and I can see how much you want me, how much you love me. It’s intoxicating. God, Kurt, you’re so beautiful. Not even normal person beautiful, but like supermodel gorgeous.”

And Kurt scoffed at that.

“No, but you are. I don’t understand how you can be with me sometimes. I’m so not even on the same level as you, but it’s not just all of that. Not just how stunning you are. You are so, so sexy. That little quirk of your lips? That’s so hot. Your mouth, in general.” Blaine stopped for a moment, lost in the thought of Kurt’s mouth on him, sucking on a nipple, kissing his neck, and farther down, sliding, wet and tight over his cock.

“Oh my god, Kurt, the things I want to do to your mouth,” Blaine moaned and then froze. What was he doing? His boyfriend probably thought he was some kind of pervert and would undoubtedly break up with him now. “Oh god, Kurt. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinki—“

“It’s fine.” Kurt’s reply came through as more of a squeak than anything else. “I-I think about you, too. When I…you know…” Kurt trailed off.

“Masturbate?” Blaine finished for him.

“Yeah.”

“What do you think about when you think about me?” Blaine asked, his voice dropping low and gravely, his half-hard dick twitching at the mental image of Kurt touching himself, thinking of him. The question had ripped itself from his throat before he’d been able to even consider it, but there was no way he was taking it back. Kurt made a garbled noise before replying.

“I-I…I.” Kurt stammered.

“It’s okay. I won’t judge you.” Blaine reassured. The line was silent for a moment before Kurt cleared his throat, his voice just barely above a whisper and slightly muffled as though he had closed his hand around his mouth to ensure no one, but Blaine heard him.

“Your butt. I think about your butt,” Kurt admitted. Blaine’s eyebrows shot up and he couldn’t help watching the action for a moment in the mirror.

“You think about my butt?”

“You have very nice assets,” Kurt stated. It took a moment for Blaine to burst into laughter, Kurt groaning on the other line. “Oh god, it wasn’t supposed to come out like that. That sounded like a terrible, cheesy pick up line.”

They both laughed it off for a minute, Blaine settling back on his bed, his eyes dropping closed as he listened to Kurt’s laughter evening out.

“So I’m pretty sure I failed my chemistry test earlier,” Kurt said and just like that it was back to normal, back to them exchanging small stories about their days, Blaine pretending they were in New York as Kurt rubbed in his various skin cr�mes.

For a moment, Blaine grieved the change of subject, wondering how far it could have gone if they’d kept going, if maybe they would have exchanged fantasies as they got themselves off together on the phone. He dismissed the idea almost immediately, as hot as the idea was, it wasn’t really them, and he definitely wanted to be there the first time he was directly responsible for Kurt’s orgasm.

So that was the end of that and they went on for another twenty minutes as Kurt worked through his products until Blaine heard the telltale snap of the lid on the last bottle (number twelve) of Kurt’s routine through the connection.

“Blaine? Can you do something for me?” Kurt asked and Blaine can hear the sharp intake of Kurt’s breath after the question.

“Anything.”

Kurt gulped through the line.

“Think about me, tonight. I’ll be thinking about you.”

Blaine almost groaned. The simple line, seemingly so innocent to a passerby witness of their conversation, would never know. They would never know the true extent of that statement and it lit a fire of arousal in the pit of his stomach.

“Of course.” Blaine managed to choke back, his voice a little hoarse.

“Good night, Blaine. Sweet dreams.” Kurt’s voice was a singsong tease that Blaine couldn’t get enough of, and for a moment he thought one day. Not now, but someday, maybe they could do this and have this full conversation and get off together before going to bed, but for now, a good night laced with innuendo would be more than good enough.