DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and no one. Oh God, I am going to hellhellhell for this. Seriously, I cannot believe I wrote this. I'm not too fond of it, either, because me writing someone I've never written before = awkwardddd, especially because I've never even tried to characterize Kurt before. So hopefully this isn't the utter disaster I feel it is. Reviews would be absolutely darling for this piece of work. Yeah. Enjoy.

The first text comes when Chris is asleep, BlackBerry beeping annoyingly on his nightstand. The noise only stirs him into a state teetering on the brink of fully waking up and drifting back off to sleep and all he does is pull the covers tighter around his body. The numbers of his alarm clock glow bright red, a dazzling color that shines through the thin cloth on his pillowcase and invades his closed eyelids, causing him to unconsciously scrunch up his forehead.

His phone beeps again, this time effectively waking him up, and he groans, wondering why the hell he decided to have his phone set to reminders when he knows he's going to need all the sleep he can get if he wants to effectively make it through the first few weeks back at work. Red Bull and Starbucks can only go so far, and as accident-prone as Chris apparently is, he really doesn't want to go any further than torn ligaments and sprained necks and wrists.

Feeling around on the nightstand Chris locates his phone, curls his fingers around it as he blearily squints at the clock to make out the words. 2:56AM. "Ugh," he says, running his free hand over his face. He squints against the too-bright light of his phone's screen and scans the text message, irritation slowly sliding away when he sees who it is.

I miss you already. Why did you have to go?

Chris shifts on his back and extricates his elbow before he types back a response. Because I have to start filming in a few days, Kyle. You know that.

The almost-instantaneous reply has Kyle's pout almost tangible. But I miss you. You need to move your house permanently to Texas. It's better here, anyway. Everything's bigger.

I just left yesterday, Chris types back, going for annoyance that's canceled out by the smile on his face and Kyle's not-so-thinly-veiled innuendo. I figured you could handle being without me for at least twenty-four hours. He almost hits Send before he realizes something: If it's almost three in the morning here that must mean in Dallas it's almost five. He raises an eyebrow and settles into a half-sitting position, sheets sliding down his chest. Color him intrigued. Wait, it's got to be almost five there. Shouldn't you be asleep?

I couldn't sleep. I miss you too much.

It'd almost be romantic, but Chris knows Kyle. The blonde does have his own sort of romanticism that Chris is, admittedly, rather fond of, but it's definitely not of the 2AM kind. The reason behind these texts goes further than just distance and the loneliness that accompanies it. Suspicion begins to grow. Kyle, what are you getting at?

I'm so hard right now, Chris. The shamelessness that comes with Kyle's speedy reply is almost cancelled out by the sudden jolt of filthy pleasure that travels like an electric surge through Chris's body and he's thoroughly embarrassed by the stirring in his boxers even though he's alone.

Oh, God. Ohgodohgodohgod. Kyle Burns was not just trying to initiate sexting, especially at this ungodly hour. Chris had specifically told him when they'd first met in LA last year that anything of the cyber kind was something he didn't find particularly enjoyable. Kyle had rebuked by saying that with both their schedules it might be necessary. Chris hated to admit that Kyle had a valid, albeit stupid, point.

The withering glare Chris had given him didn't even deter the older man. "Dude, listen," Kyle had said, looping an arm around Chris's shoulders, "you are adorable. Seriously," he'd insisted at the teen's blush, "like, mega-adorable. Anyway, my point is, I'm not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you even when I obviously can't have my hands on you." He'd waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Sexting is definitely something awesome we need to do when all my hands have is my phone's keypad."

Chris had adamantly said no and that was that.

But that was also last year. Sighing, he texts back Kyle with heavy fingertips. Follows it up with, You know I hate doing this. Seriously, he does. At least most teenagers get practice with this in high school; living in Clovis didn't offer Chris that opportunity. And since he's no longer a teenager and no longer resides in Clovis, why shouldn't he start now?

Kyle is apparently either undeterred or oblivious to Chris's pleas because his next text ups the ante from questionable PG-13 to definite NC-17. I'm naked in our bed right now; hand on my dick, thinking about your mouth. Holy shit, your mouth, Chris.

Chris tries to stifle his whimper. It takes him a few seconds longer than usual to type his reply, but he'd rather lose his singing voice than admit that he was beyond turned on right now. Kyle, stop. Seriously.

Why? Too much for you?

For someone as talented as Kyle, he could be so dense. This is just… it's really awkward for me, okay? You're pretty much the first person I've done anything with.

There are plenty of reasonable explanations for why he shouldn't be doing this: he starts shooting soon and it's absolutely necessary for him to rest his voice as much as possible; he tends to forget to erase his inbox sometimes, and Amber has a tendency to go through his phone when she's not filming a scene; cyber-sex with Kyle cannot be anywhere near as good as real sex.

He sighs. He shouldn't be making a big deal out of this. Kyle's his boyfriend—it's weird to think it, but he really likes it when he's able to use those words in a sentence—and he should obviously allow the blonde to have his fun as well.

And, sexting is basically 100% masturbation anyway.

Kyle's already replied back, the screen gone dim without Chris acknowledging the text. He taps a key and the screen brightens up. A too-early call to Kyle sounds like a really good idea because now he's past any initial shyness that might hold him back. I can stop if you want, baby.

He's subject to a lot of the stupid nicknames Kyle has given him over the past year of their growing relationship, but "baby" is where he draws the line. It reminds him too much that he still does look young, too young, and damnit; no one understands how annoying that is.

Seriously, no "baby" BS, otherwise I'll come down there and tie you to the bed.

As soon as he sends it he immediately feels foolish and… accomplished, in a way. Sure, it's not even relatively dirty, but it's a step, and everything takes baby steps, right? A bird's gotta hop before it can fly, and shit, that sounds like something Mark would say, and this isn't a good time to be thinking of his friends, not with his cock straining in his boxers and his hands trembling slightly with adrenaline.

When Kyle's next text arrives Chris voraciously opens it, fueled with a hunger he never thought he'd have. Well, well, what do we have here? Is my little baby growing up one sexy threat at a time?

Kyle, I told you even though he really isn't mad. Not even close.

If you're going to tie me up at least use those scarves you pilfered from wardrobe. I love those.

I have a feeling those scarves wouldn't hold under the weight you'd put on them. I'm thinking more along the lines of handcuffs. Or ties.

You're a kinky one, Colfer. Who knew? I'm starting to think that the "baby gay" thing was just a façade. Tell me; what was Clovis REALLY like? Chris groans in a mixture of annoyance and pleasure as he finally slides his boxers off and wraps a hand around his cock, dry and rough and fucking perfect. The soft cotton of the sheets drags against the over-sensitized head and it's so good he nearly forgets he's supposed to be texting.

Boring and painful, just like the rest of your life is going to be. Let's get to the "sexy" part of these texts before I lose interest. Contrary to popular belief, I actually don't get off on snark he types back.

You mean your nerve? And you could've fooled me.

If you don't shut up on your own I'll shut you up myself with my cock. Did he really just send that? Jesus, he really just sent that. He tries to imagine Kyle receiving the text all the way in Texas, slender fingers teasing along the length of his cock, drum-calloused palm creating the perfect friction that Chris absolutely adores.

The receiving text doesn't disappoint. Holy shit, Chris. You know I'd love that.

Yeah? Chris texts back, gasping as he thumbs the tip of his cock, using the bead of pre-come gathered at the slit for lube. I'd have to fuck your mouth, too, to teach you a lesson. He pushes the covers down to a heap at the foot of his bed, kicking his boxers down along with them.

He'd give anything for Kyle to be here right now, slender weight pressed on top of him as his skinny hips press down, then forward, muscular thighs and calves keeping his lower half locked into place.

When Chris's phone vibrates this time it indicates a phone call, not an incoming text. Chris barely manages to get out a coherent "Hello," a common formality that he can't escape, even though only one person can be calling him at three in the morning.

"You're a fucking dirty kid," Kyle breathes out as way of greeting, voice absolutely wrecked, and if Kyle sounds like that, the one who's normally composed at the height of sex, completely coherent even mid-orgasm, Chris almost wonders if he sounds like that. Sounds as good as that.

"I take after the best," Chris replies as he twists his wrist, hips arching slightly off the mattress. "I wish you were here." The overly cool temperature of the air conditioning sends his skin prickling where sweat rapidly cools.

Kyle moans, the sound cut off by a choked gasp, and Chris can only imagine what he's doing to himself. Before Kyle can get out any words Chris asks, voice delightedly low and husky, "Are you fingering yourself?"

"Fuck, yes," Kyle groans, his breath hitching. "Imagining it's you. I miss you."

Chris manages a laugh as his hand temporarily leaves his cock, fingers teasing and probing at his hole, wondering how many fingers deep Kyle is right now. "You may have said that already."

"Did I also mention that I'm using that dildo I bought a few weeks ago?"

Chris can't stop himself from moaning, sound high and clear in his empty bedroom, heels digging into the mattress as he slips one finger inside himself before withdrawing it, too worked up to concentrate on anything but Kyle's voice, his words, his breathing. "N-no," he murmurs, holding the phone tighter to his ear as he pinches a nipple and hisses in pleasure.

"I am," Kyle replies. There's a sound of the phone shifting before Kyle's breathing speeds up, choked little grunts and uh's becoming more frequent. Chris closes his eyes.

"You're close, aren't you?" Chris asks, continues and says, "I bet you're close," before Kyle can even answer. He's close himself, almost too close, tight coils of heat building low in his abdomen as he tightens his fist, drags a finger along the underside of the head of his cock. His head digs into the pillows as he moans, the phone almost slipping from his sweat-slicked grasp.

"Fuck, fuck, Chris," Kyle says, voice a high-pitched sound of pleasure, the textbook definition of beautiful and sexy, and Chris wants to see Kyle's tall, lithe body spread out on the covers, limbs splayed and his thin, muscled arm working the toy in a brisk in-out, in-out motion, cock red against his pale skin, brown-blonde hair a skewed mess.

"Kyle," Chris says, moans, desperate flicks of his wrist making the heat burn enticingly, muscles straining as his body jerks into the touch, seeks out more pleasure. He hears Kyle mirror the sound, thousands of miles away, and then there's a little whine, high in register, and Chris knows that Kyle's just come.

He grunts, something he's normally embarrassed about, but all he hears on the other end of the line is ragged breathing as Kyle catches his breath, and he can barely make out the blonde saying, "Wish I was twisting my fingers inside you right now, making you write and beg, come while I press my cock deep inside you," before he closes his eyes so tightly spots dance in front of his vision and he comes hard into his fist with a strangled moan of Kyle's name.

Slumping boneless onto the bed, Chris's grip slackens on his BlackBerry and it slides away from his ear just enough that Kyle's voice becomes slightly more distant and staticky and it takes a few seconds for the brunet to recover and make out Kyle's soft words.

"See, now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Kyle asks with traces of amusement in his voice.

Chris, too sated to really care about anything, just sighs and stares at the ceiling. He'll worry about the covers and cleaning up in a little bit. "If my voice is wrecked tomorrow you're going to pay," though he doesn't really mean it. "I need to work on vocal warm-ups."

Kyle laughs, and that brings a small smile to Chris's face. "I'll make it up to you next time we see each other if it is," he says suggestively. "Besides, that voice of yours is too pretty to ever be wrecked."

There's a momentary silence, both boys content to listen to each other breathe, before Chris says, "I really do miss you, though," and he does, probably too much to be healthy. "Thanks for… for getting me to do this."

"Anytime," Kyle replies, voice bright. "I'm gonna call you tomorrow night, alright?"

"'Kay," Chris says sleepily, eyelids already drooping. "I love you, Kyle."

"I love you too, Chris."

The call is barely disconnected before Chris is asleep.