DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title is from "Risque" by Cute Is What Are Aim For.

Tumblr is here (endofadream)

Kurt has Blaine's last text up ("Did you still want to get frozen yogurt after practice?") as he stares at the blinking cursor. It's an easy, obvious reply: Kurt never misses out on any opportunity for one of his and Blaine's mini-dates (or the excuse to spoon-feed his boyfriend honey-vanilla Greek yogurt), but there's still hesitance there, and Kurt's thumb hovers over that blinking cursor as he thinks.

The Cosmo article he'd read a few days ago is still prominent in his mind, and while he doesn't necessarily think that his and Blaine's…love life needs spicing up, just the idea of it, of initiating something like this, makes him flush hot and squirm under the covers.

Biting his lip, he closes his eyes and goes for it, tapping the message bar and typing quickly. He hits send before he can change his mind and closes his eyes tightly, holding his breath as he waits for Blaine's reply.

It's a few minutes before it does.

To Blaine (11:05PM):
What are you wearing?

To Kurt (11:08PM):
Um the cardigan you picked out for me this morning. I haven't changed yet. Why?

Kurt groans, partly in frustration and partly in embarrassment. Of course Blaine wouldn't catch on right away. It's endearing most of the time, his obliviousness, but sometimes it honestly just drives Kurt crazy.

To Blaine (11:09PM):
No, I mean…what are you /wearing/?

The response is instant this time.

To Kurt (11:09PM):
Oh my god are you doing what I think you're doing

Kurt smiles, bites back his laugh as he stares at the text. He types out took you long enough, then deletes it as he thinks. It's best to just go for it and plunge straight into the deep end, but this is something that they haven't really talked about, something that Kurt doesn't really know Blaine's feelings on. He wets his lips and shifts restlessly under the covers as he tries to ignore the growing weight of his cock on his thigh.

To Blaine (11:12PM):
…Maybe. It depends on what you're wearing.

Kurt feels a rush of naughtiness when he hits send, and it's a moment's pause before he's kicking down his comforter, the air of the room cool on his overheated skin. He sets his phone on the bed, sits up and strips off his shirt. He hesitates with his pants, touching the hem absently before shimmying them off and kicking them to the floor. He's left in his underwear, his skin prickling with gooseflesh; when his phone vibrates again he snatches it up quickly and unlocks the screen.

To Kurt (11:14PM):
Are we sexting?

To Blaine (11:14PM):
God, Blaine, will you just tell me if you're naked or not?

Kurt slides his hand down his body, tipping his head back as his palm brushes over a peaked nipple. It's not the same as when Blaine touches him, nowhere near as electric and tingle-inducing, but it works, and when he rests his palm over his cock he's fully hard but still dry. He wets his lips and lets out a breathy moan, feeling the heat rush up to his ears.

To Kurt (11:17PM):
Are you?

Kurt imagines Blaine, imagines the wide-eyed look he must have on his face right now. This is new territory, and it's a little frightening, but he and Blaine have never done this before and Kurt comforts himself with at least if we screw up we screw up together.

He takes a deep breath, putting his phone down as he lifts his hips, hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and slowly tugs them down. His cock falls heavy and finally damp against his belly, and he cups his balls, shivering, and slides his fingers up the length of his cock, strokes teasingly along a pulsing vein as he types out a one-handed reply.

To Blaine (11:20PM):

To Kurt (11:20PM):
God, Kurt…

To Kurt (11:20PM):
I don't believe you.

Kurt whines, thumbing over the smooth head of his cock. It's Blaine's first tease of the night, the first open door into…pictures. Kurt's never, ever wanted to send naked pictures of himself before, even to his boyfriend, but he trusts Blaine, knows that there's no way anyone but them will ever see these. And it's the heat of the moment, where blood is thrumming and everything is pupil-blown lustful desperation and absolutely nothing is a better idea at this point in time than stretching out and baring himself.

To Blaine (11:21PM):
I can prove it to you.

So he does, stretching his arm up and angling his phone. There's the few-seconds' hesitation before the flash goes off, and Kurt doesn't even look at the picture before attaching it to a text and sending it. His heart is pounding, his hands trembling, and when his phone vibrates a minute later he can barely bring himself to look at it.

To Kurt (11:22PM):
oh my god oh my god oh my god

To Kurt (11:22PM):
fuck oh my god kurt ohmy god

Kurt laughs, a breathy, breathless sound, and strokes once over himself.

To Blaine (11:24PM):
Told you.

To Kurt (11:25PM):
You're so hot, Kurt, fuck.

Kurt looks down at his body at the milky-white expanse of skin; the rose flesh creeping from his neck down to the peaked points of his nipples; the heavy weight and thickness of his flushed cock dribbling drip after drip of sticky clear pre-come onto his navel. When he arches up the bumps of his ribs show and the muscle and soft skin his belly go taut, the hollow between his hipbones deepening.

Blaine doesn't send anything else, and Kurt waits, thinks up what to do next. He drags the flat of his palm over the soft-hot skin of his cock, presses against the unyielding hardness underneath; he goes lower, between his legs, gently squeezes his balls and drags the tips of his fingers over the stretch of skin between his sac and hole. He imagines that it's Blaine.

To Blaine (11:30PM):
Not as hot as you.

To Blaine (11:30PM):
Please tell me you're touching yourself right now.

To Kurt (11:32PM):
Not yet, but… fuck.

To Kurt (11:33PM):
Is it okay if I…?

Kurt doesn't have time to answer: his next text is a picture message, his stomach coiling tightly as he stares at their messages. His body is flushed hot, the sheets beneath his back too-warm while the exposed front half of his body shivers in the cool of the room. His cock twitches against his abdomen, and after a second he clicks on the picture bubble, carefully not staring at the preview.

He sucks in a breath, his eyes going wide. Blaine's in his en suite, his clothes an obvious hurried pile behind him. The light in the room is bright, highlighting his body where it's reflected backwards in the mirror. His face isn't visible, and the edges of the picture are a little blurry from what must be his shaking hand, but the camera has captured the rest of his body.

"Fuck," Kurt groans, closing his eyes and spreading his legs. Blaine's hard and flushed dark, his cock jutting and hanging heavy from his body. The dark thatch of hair above it is neat, recently trimmed, and the sturdy muscles of his thighs, spread so his balls hang comfortably between them, are as hot and hickey-worthy as Kurt remembers.

To Blaine (11:36PM):
Oh my god, Blaine.

To Blaine (11:36PM):
I want to suck you off so bad

To Blaine (11:37PM):
Make you come in my mouth

To Blaine (11:37PM):
On my face

Kurt hurriedly reaches over to grab the lube from his drawer, and in that space of time his phone vibrates three times in a row. He slicks his hand up, hisses at the cold lube over his dick, and unlocks his phone one-handed. His toes curl into the soft bedding as he arches up, jerking himself in short, tight strokes.

To Kurt (11:38PM):
god kurt please

To Kurt (11:38PM):
fuck I'm so hard baby

To Kurt (11:39PM):
I'm gonna finger myself please tell me you will too

An inhale turns into a choke, and Kurt squeezes his eyes shut, his lube-slick fingers creeping down over the soft skin of his balls, down past the stretch that he rubs with his fingers until his hips are jerking and he's whimpering, face turned to press into the pillow. He lets his fingers brush the dry, tight clench of his hole, wonders if this is how Blaine does this, if he teases himself first or goes straight for it.

Kurt pushes the tip of his finger in, feels the clench of his body, the stubborn tightness of the muscle. He's quick to re-lube, ignores the shock of cold as he pushes his first finger in. His phone vibrates again on his chest, and he pulls in a few deep breaths, adjusts his wrist and finally checks his messages.

It's another picture, only this time Blaine's lying down on his own bed; the image is blurry again, the flash white-washing some of his body. His legs are spread and his hand disappears between them. Kurt wonders if spontaneous combustion is still a thing as a roiling jolt of arousal flashes hot through him.

To Blaine (11:46PM):
jesus fuck

Kurt's quick to snap his own picture, attaches it and types as he twists two fingers deep, brushing just shy of his prostate with a frustrated groan.

To Blaine (11:47PM):
God you're so fucking hot, B, want to fuck you, want to come all over you fuck

He's close, and he has to edge himself so he doesn't come on the spot. He slides his fingers out, grips his cock and jerks hard and fast. His face scrunches then relaxes, and his breath is panting and loud. He bites his lip when he moans, arches up off the bed and spreads his legs, bracing his heels on the mattress.

To Kurt (11:48PM):
Yes yes god fuck me please I'm so close

To Blaine (11:49PM):
Me too

To Blaine (11:50PM):
How do your fingers feel tell me blaine

Kurt palms over the head of his cock, twists and groans as pre-come dribbles out, runs down his wrist. He's so hard he's aching and his body is tense, hot and thrumming with energy as the heat swells, then ebbs, before swelling again.

To Kurt (11:50PM):
so good so fucking good

To Kurt (11:51PM):
god I'm gonna come fuck gonna come

To Blaine (11:51PM):
Yeah fuck c'mon blaine come all over yourself

Kurt drops his phone, tightens his fist around his cock and fucks through the circle of his fingers. The bed creaks, trembles, and he tosses his head back, bares his throat to the voyeuristic presence of the room. Blaine's name is a bitten-off moan stinging his hips as he comes, his cock throbbing in his grip as hot streaks splash over the heaving muscles of his stomach and chest. He collapses back to the bed, his hand moving slickly over himself as come dribbles down to his fingers, re-lubes his grip as he wrings out the last few throbs of euphoria.

He catches his breath, staring out into the darkness as he listens to the pounding of his heart, the rush of blood in his ears and the lazy hum of his ceiling fan. His phone doesn't vibrate until he stops panting and the hot-cold feeling in his body begins to fade.

There are no words, just a picture of Blaine's body, his fist wrapped around his cock, the slick, swollen-red crown of it dripping come from the slit onto Blaine's fingers. Droplets of it are on his abdomen, in the thin line of dark hair running down his navel to the base of his cock. Kurt's positive that there's some higher up on his chest.

He lazily lifts his own phone, angles it and takes a picture of himself. He drops his arm weakly back to the bed, closes his eyes and lazily smiles as he waits for Blaine's response.

To Kurt (11:59PM):

To Kurt (11:59PM):
That was…awesome.

Kurt laughs aloud, sits up and reaches for a tissue to wipe off his fingers, then his torso and his mostly-soft cock. He hesitates, then shrugs and pulls the sheets up to his chest, frowning at the awkward feel of being naked under the covers.

To Blaine (12:00AM):
I don't even think that 'awesome' begins to cover it.

To Blaine (12:00AM):
So you liked it?

To Kurt (12:01AM):

To Kurt (12:01AM):
I'm kind of wondering why we haven't done this before.

To Kurt (12:01AM):
Why, do you regret it?

And the surprising thing is, as Kurt rests in the afterglow, the frantic urgency of his body dulling down to normal, he doesn't regret it like he thought he would after he came—and he surprises himself even more by wanting to do this again, maybe even vocally next time. He knows that he can just delete the photos in the morning, that no one will ever know what happened. It's his and Blaine's dirty little secret, and the thought of it makes him smile warmly, staring down at Blaine's words on the screen with love.

To Blaine (12:02AM):
Regret something with you?

To Blaine (12:02AM):