I really wasn't planning on a part two for this, but I wrote this (and part one, actually) for a roleplay. I figured I might as well post. It should be read separately, as there is little to no correlation between the two stories apart from the fact that it's Kurt masturbating.

Enjoy!

It had been too long, and he was getting impatient again. That feeling, that need for pleasure and for a release coiled in his stomach and sat there like a rock, weighing him down. He needed to allow himself that ecstasy.

Fantasies filled his mind, thanks to maybe-eventual-boyfriend, and he needed that release even more.

Alone time was hard to come by, but he was lucky enough to snag a few minutes.

He dressed in leather because leather made him feel sexy. His tight jeans hugged his ass and the bulge of his half-hard cock just right, and the black top was tight and was a fantastic contrast to his milky white skin.

He was ready.

He lay down on his bed, clothed and almost trembling with anticipation. He closed his eyes, and he allowed his imagination to take over.

"Touch me," he whispered to his phantom dominant, who steadfastly refused.

"Fuck, please, I need it…" he whimpered, rocking his hips into the air for the sort of friction neither the oxygen nor his phantom dominant could give.

It took minutes for the phantom dominant to give in. His hand fell roughly onto the bulge of his crotch, and he instantly mewled at the contact. His hand was warm, the tiny amount of friction sending pleasure through him. It wasn't much, and the satisfaction wouldn't last, but the contrast between no touch at all and this was unfathomable.

His phantom dominant undressed then, and he gasped. The dominant's build was perfect, just as he remembered, and his mouth was pretty much watering.

"Fuckmeohgodplease," he gasped, the words falling from his lips before he realized what he was saying. But his phantom dominant refused.

The phantom dominant controlled his hands, making him unbutton his leather pants and slip them off slowly, teasingly. His heart pounded with anticipation, hard, leaking cock springing free of its confines immediately (there was no room for any sort of underwear in those pants).

The cool air made him shudder, and the warm fist that wrapped around his cock made him cry out.

He was completely lost in his fantasy.

His hand sped up, pumping and flicking and stroking and fuck, it felt so good. His cock leaked precome, dripping onto his fist. The wetness made the friction feel so much better and holyfuck it felt so good to rub his thumb over his slit…

His hand was the phantom dominant's mouth. He cried out, pleading for him to suck harder, take him, make him feel that extreme ecstasy.

His hand was getting fasterfasterfaster, pumping harderohmyfuckmore, and he was getting on. His hips stuttered, bucking hard into his fist and meeting each and every thrust. His phantom dominant took his cock, swallowing it, letting him fuck his mouth.

The bed shook. The mattress trembled under the jerky motions of his thrusts, but he only increased the pace.

His stomach tightened, and he knew he was ohsoclose. He increased his pace to a desperate speed, hand practically numb.

The heat in his stomach exploded, and he came hard, come pouring onto his fist, dripping onto his torso and the sheets. He cried out as he rode out his orgasm, a loud "Blaine, fuck!"

He knew the whole hall could probably hear him, including the human form of his phantom dominant, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He was completely numbed, completely blissed out.

It was what he needed.