"What are you still doing here, handsome?" Kurt asks, opening his dressing room door to find Blaine curled up in the armchair in the corner of the room. "You should be asleep on the bus right now."
"Where's the fun in that?" Blaine asks, hopping up from Kurt's chair and going to kiss him, even though Kurt's still covered in stage makeup and fake blood. He never exactly pictured himself playing Norman Bates in Psycho: The Musical, but it was a national tour and the role was pretty fun. Plus, Blaine getting a part in the same show was a major selling point. Kurt does have to murder him halfway through the first act, but Blaine doesn't mind. He's always enjoyed the horror genre more than Kurt and for some reason he really loves being covered in fake blood.
Kurt can't exactly say the same. It had been fun at first, but it was sticky and hard to remove and hell on his skin. He's not proud, but he's had more than one breakdown about his pores during long travel days when he has time to fixate.
"John said to tell you that we're leaving thirty minutes ahead of time, by the way," Blaine says, pulling Kurt's v-neck aside to kiss at a patch of relatively clean skin.
"Oh my god," Kurt groans, pushing Blaine off gently and hurrying over to his vanity. "That barely gives me time to get this stupid stuff off, much less properly moisturize."
"So I guess a quickie's out of the question then, huh?" Blaine asks, looking kind of adorably guilty.
"Blaine, you cannot be serious," Kurt says. "Do you realize how intensely creepy it is that you spend the entire second half of the show watching me from the wings, lusting?"
"It's not creepy," Blaine insists, grabbing one of Kurt's makeup removing wipes and starting in on the back of his neck. Kurt would complain, because Blaine always rubs a little too rough, but they're in a time crunch and he's not about to turn down help. "You're amazing, Kurt, I love watching you. I love it a lot," he adds, glancing up to catch Kurt's eyes in the mirror. Kurt tries to glare at him, but he can't ignore the effect that Blaine's eyes, dark and intent, are having on him. "Your neck's flushing," Blaine whispers near his ear.
"Because you're rubbing too hard," Kurt mumbles, flustered.
"I don't think that's the reason. I know how you get when you're turned on, Kurt Hummel."
"Please," Kurt says, scrubbing at one particularly stubborn patch of fake blood right at his hairline. "Don't think I'm forgetting the fact that watching me fake murder people turns you on."
"It's not the fake murder," Blaine says with a laugh, reaching for Kurt's toiletry kit and passing his moisturizer over. "It's your arms when you swing that knife, Kurt, god. You were born to command the stage."
"Don't try to ply me with compliments," Kurt says, fully aware that he's blushing now as he stands up so he can get in closer to the mirror, rubbing his moisturizer in. He did a pretty crappy job removing his makeup, but at least they're heading to a hotel tonight instead of just the bus so he can take an actual shower.
"I'm sorry if it's wrong to be turned on by my hot, talented boyfriend," Blaine says, pressing himself along Kurt's back. Kurt can feel him, hard in his sweatpants, and he resists the urge to press back. It's tempting, god, of course it's tempting. Kurt's still high from the memory of being on stage, the lights, the applause, that rush he gets every time he nails the big note at the end of the closing number. He's always keyed up after a performance, and he's usually all for taking advantage of some post-show sexy times, but he only has forty-five minutes left to get all his stuff together and make the bus.
"We don't have time," Kurt says, not even caring that his voice comes out more wistful than forceful.
"I can be quick," Blaine mumbles against his shoulder, and Kurt sighs and lets his head drop back when Blaine slides a hand down his stomach and into his sweatpants, his fingers teasing through the sparse hair above Kurt's cock. Kurt shivers, his hips arching forward just a little with the touch.
