Kurt's phone buzzes, startling him from his nighttime moisturizing routine. It is nearly 11pm and he sighs heavily, glancing at the phone and feeling a sharp pang in his chest. He already knows who it is. It's the same thing every night and has been ever since the world tipped over and threw Kurt off his axis.

He never responds, and sometimes he won't even look at what Blaine writes. Kurt doesn't want to see the apologizes or declarations of love, even though those have started to fade, replaced with mundane facts about what Blaine did that day or random thoughts Blaine couldn't share with anyone else. There had been a few times that Kurt had wanted to reply, his thumb hovering over the ‘call' button or the keypad until his own stubbornness won the fight. It was a harsh truth that he dragged around with him, clanging behind him like heavy chains. He didn't have Blaine anymore, not as his lover, not as his boyfriend, and, perhaps the worst of it, not as his friend.

Kurt lines up all the bottles on his makeshift vanity and stretches his arms up high, glancing at his reflection in the full length mirror and wondering when he had managed to turn into an adult. He makes his way to the bed, ignoring the flashing light indicating there is a text waiting for him. He refuses to look at it for as long as possible, knowing full well that the curiosity will end up getting the better of him eventually. Despite all of the anger and betrayal he has been feeling over the past few weeks, Kurt still loves Blaine, and he wants to know that Blaine is alright.

Flicking off the light, Kurt settles down underneath the blankets, pulling them up to his chin. He tries to shut his eyes, but they seem intent on staying open, straying to the side where his phone is laying and taunting him. Kurt clenches his jaw and shakes his head, thinks about how juvenile he is being, and gives up the battle. Reaching for the phone, he expects a ‘good night' or ‘I hope to talk to you soon', but what he actually gets is completely unexpected.

I joined the Cheerios today.

Kurt reads the words over and over, trying to process them once he is sure his eyes are functioning properly. He tries to think of reasons why Blaine would subject himself to the horror that is Sue Sylvester, the crazy diet, the workouts that still make Kurt's bones ache at the memory them, and the uniform.

Oh. The uniform.

Kurt puts his phone back on the nightstand and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to ignore the images of tight, red polyester flashing through his mind. It wasn't that long ago that he was wearing that same uniform, and he remembers how it was so snug around his own shoulders, how it hugged his hips and clung to his arms. He had always thought he looked damn good in that uniform. Now Blaine would be wearing it.

Finally closing his eyes, he tries to picture it even though he knows he shouldn't. He doesn't have the right to think about Blaine's body anymore. It isn't his and hasn't been for weeks. Still, the image of Blaine walking the halls of McKinley, bright red fabric stretched tight over the roundness of his ass, couldn't be ignored. Kurt takes a deep breath, his fingers dancing over his stomach under the blanket.

Blaine would fill the uniform out perfectly, the sharp ‘V' of the neckline framing the dip below his neck, one of Kurt's favorite places to trace with the tip of his tongue. Blaine always moaned beautifully when Kurt would give that spot some attention, the vibrations tickling Kurt's mouth. Blaine was always so responsive to every nip, every small flick of Kurt's tongue, and each barely-there touch of his fingers over his skin. Kurt thinks about how Blaine's shoulders would look so much broader with the boxy cut of the uniform shirt, how he would love to run his hands over them, kneading the muscle underneath as he kissed along Blaine's throat and whispered in his ear.

Kurt feels his stomach swoop. He isn't quite sure if it's guilt or want, but his hand seems to have made it's way to the waistband of his pajama pants regardless of the emotion he was feeling. Kurt's eyes snap open and he holds his breath. He can hear light snores coming from the other side of the partition, reassuring him that Rachel is dead to the world. He swallows hard and slips his fingers underneath the elastic of his pants, then under his briefs because he isn't going to bother kidding himself. He knows exactly where this is going.

Settling back further into his pillow, Kurt allows his mind to wander freely for the first time in what seems like forever. He always keeps a tight leash on it, not letting it distract him, the memories and the emotions locked away in a secret corner, the key lost somewhere between ‘I was with someone' and the deafening silence of the morning after.

Kurt shuts his eyes tighter, wraps a hand around himself loosely, and lets out a long breath as he begins to stroke himself slowly, thoughts returning to Blaine. He can remember how much he loved that the uniform shirt would make his own arms look bigger, and Blaine's arms would look fantastic, pulling at the cheap red fabric, flexing as he danced around the gym floor. Those were the same arms that used to wrap around Kurt's waist, pulling him in harder, deeper.

There are so many memories that wash over Kurt, some sweet and romantic, but most of them anything but. He thinks of the many times they tried to get off together before someone walked through the door, the hand jobs in the car minutes before curfew, and the first time Blaine went down on Kurt against his bedroom door, Carole cooking dinner and his father watching TV less than thirty feet away.

Twisting his wrist just below the head of his cock, Kurt thinks of how Blaine always looked so good sucking him off, his eyes shut tight and his mouth red and swollen around him, bobbing his head with a frenzied enthusiasm that made the hairs on Kurt's neck stand on end. Blaine would look so good on his knees in the uniform, his flushed, hollowed out cheeks clashing with the bright red of the school colors.

Kurt wonders what would have happened if Blaine had joined the Cheerios last year, while Kurt was still there to appreciate it and learn what it was like to peel those uniform pants off of his thighs. God, Kurt loved Blaine's thighs, he still does, the power of them as they squeezed around him, the way they would shake as Kurt marked them with his lips and tongue and teeth.

Kurt bites his lips to stifle a groan and tightens his grip, thinking about how incredibly sexy Blaine could be jumping and kicking with the other Cheerios, more flexible than before thanks to the never-ending drills and practices. Kurt would love to test that flexibility, move Blaine around under him, or over him, his legs spread wide as Kurt licked his way inside of him.

Kicking at the blanket, Kurt uses his other hand to shimmy his pants and briefs down further, the heat stifling at this point. He swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the slickness down with a tight stroke, trailing his free hand up under his shirt and flicking his thumb over a nipple.

Blaine would be wearing his uniform all the time. Kurt imagines being able to drag Blaine by the hand into the choir room during free periods, kissing him deep and dirty while his hands barely fit underneath the shirt, the fabric pressing his fingertips in as he dragged them over Blaine's chest and back.

Kurt contemplates whether Blaine would let him pin him to the door, Blaine's face pressed against it as Kurt slid those sinfully tight pants down, just enough to grind his cock against the cleft of Blaine's ass. He thinks Blaine would love it, would beg for more, his fingers scrambling for something to hold onto as Kurt pulls his cock out and slides it over his entrance, down behind his balls and between his thighs.

Kurt's hand speeds up and he's panting, fantasy mixing with memory, the pull too dry but still so incredibly good. He feels his legs start to tremble, his free hand shaking under his shirt, and he drags his nails across his stomach just like Blaine used to. He focuses on what it would feel like to have Blaine's ass cheeks squeezing against him while he thrusts forward and down, the waistband of Blaine's Cheerios pants dragging over the underside of his cock.

Blaine would beg him to come. Kurt knows he would. Blaine would plead, wanting Kurt's hand around him, stroking him through those damn red pants, pressing against the hard outline of Blaine's cock. Kurt would tease at first, palming him with not enough pressure, increasing his pace as the time they had to spare grew shorter. He would sound so pretty, too, gasping out Kurt's name with a litany of curses and praise.

Kurt's back arches against his mattress, his wrist starting to hurt, but he can't stop now. Not when he has the image of Blaine moaning against a door in his mind, so vivid and bright he can almost hear Blaine breathing and keening and feel the sweat covering his skin underneath his shirt where Kurt would be gripping him tightly. Kurt strokes himself faster, his cock hard and so heavy in his own hand, wetness pooling around his slit until he passes his hand over it, breath catching as the slide gets easier for a few moments and then he does it again. He feels the heat simmer low in his stomach and his balls draw up tight, his teeth clenched as he holds on for a little while longer.

Blaine would let Kurt come first, let him spill out over his ass and mark him, and Kurt would watch it slide down behind Blaine's balls, wringing out every drop with his fist and moaning Blaine's name quietly into the skin at the back of Blaine's neck. Only then would Blaine's own orgasm wash over him, the feeling of Kurt's come against his skin too much for him to handle. Blaine would be a mess, the inside of his uniform pants sticky and wet, and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He would have to walk around all day like that, go to practice and flip and dance with the rest of the squad, and Kurt would watch from the bleachers, knowing that he was the cause of Blaine's sudden stiffness and awkward movements.

Kurt's breath catches as he thrusts his hips up, fucking into his fist, so close he can feel it everywhere. He strokes once, twice more and then lets himself fall, his body tight and his mouth open in a silent cry, nothing but ‘BlaineBlaineBlaine' going through his mind. He comes harder than he has in a long time, which doesn't surprise him since he has been trying to think about nameless strangers and failing every time he does this. He hates that it takes thinking about Blaine in a damn Cheerios uniform to get him there, but he concludes that it's mostly because of the reasons why he tries to think of strangers in the first place.

After he wipes his hands with some tissue and rights his pants, he looks back at his phone. It's been about half an hour since Blaine texted him, and Kurt wonders if he's still awake. Against all of his better judgment, and he supposes he could blame the amazing orgasm if he wanted to, Kurt unlocks his phone and sends Blaine a text for the first time in too long.

I would love to see that.

Kurt hits ‘send' before he can talk himself out of it, then types out a second message.

I miss you.

He settles back and closes his eyes, smiling to himself as his phone buzzes again.