Work Text:
Season three goes ahead at full steam without Chord.
There's a bunch of new dialogue, new lyrics and choreography, and new blood that seeps in to fill the gaps Chord left on set. There's so much to do, Chris is always hurtling around pouring himself into something. He sings into the studio mic with his eyes shut. He lets dance routines soak into his muscles and puppets himself unthinkingly, professional as you please. He holds hands with Lea between takes as they laugh over how they're flailing their limbs for their routine, while the crew buzzes around them, resetting for a new shot.
He never got out of the groove of memorizing dialogue and shooting scenes, even if the breakneck pace of Glee is inherently different than Struck By Lightning. The show is like a well-oiled machine now, and so is Chris. He could (and often does) Glee in his sleep.
When he realizes that if Chord was there, Brooke or Zach would have him off to the side hammering with him on the dance steps, or Jenna would be saying, "Chord, Chord – look at your foot, your shoe's untied. I can see your sock!" and retying his shoelace for him, or Kevin would be letting him scoot around in Artie's wheelchair between takes, there's a wrench of disappointment in Chris's stomach, but it's razed with the odd edge of relief.
In a way, Chris misses him being there with everybody. It's like missing a habit or a pet or something. They're such family at this point, the cast and crew. They're all tight from the tour, from being around each other all day, every day, severely dependent on each other for company and entertainment in strange cities and from being in this crazy experience no one else would ever understand together.
But this thing, this texting... and stuff... is so new and strange. It's actually probably a good thing that Chris doesn't see Chord on set every day anymore, seeing as how even though Chord's not there, he can barely keep from thinking about him.
Sometimes a couple of days goes by, and nothing.
Those days, Chris surmises that Chord is with Emma.
Then there are days where Chord must not have her on hand, because he texts Chris the most random things, like pictures of his friend's bowling score or the view out his current window, or inane little things about whatever he's eating (fajitas!) or the weather (So damn hot out today, I just burned my fingers on my steering wheel!!! Be careful when u go out!!!) or what he's watching (Wtf is going on on trueblood, did i miss the episode where eric sucks?? Then: get it? Then: I forgot to ask, do u watch true blood?).
No matter how random the text, though, it always makes Chris's pulse shoot through the roof. He sees Chord's name and it's like everything stops... like his higher brain functions, for example.
Its a day for hats, Chord comments.
Five out of five Village People agree, Chris says back.
LOL that made me laugh for real
You should have seen the sailor hat they put me in once. You really would've laughed then!
I want to see that!! Send me a pic
Just Google my name plus "harrowing nautical misadventure" and it'll probably pop up...
But sometimes the texts aren't random at all. Chris is often awake, writing on his book, when Chord's mind seems to circle around to him in particular. Chris can always tell because Chord asks obvious stuff like, R u busy? Can u talk? Or he says something like, Thinking... and answers Chris's reply of Are you really? with Yeah, dirty thoughts!
That kind of thing is so flirty, and it's coming from Chord, and it's aimed toward Chris.
It truthfully doesn't take a lot to blow Chris's mind. Those words make his palms sweat and his world narrow drastically. Chord is out there somewhere – someplace Chris doesn't know, maybe with people Chris has never met, having spent a day in a song-writing session or going out on dates with Julia Roberts' niece or bro-ing it up with a Kardashian – thinking about him. Thinking about him in a sexy way. Chord's reaching for the phone and purposefully typing out those words to send to him. It's so weird and so thrilling. Chris gets an automatic hard-on just seeing he's got a text from Chord sometimes, random or not, so he's always, always up for it when Chord asks him if he is. Literally. God, if only Time magazine knew, they'd be doing some rescinding for sure. Chord's got to be way more influential than him. The power he's got over Chris's sex drive is absolutely crazy. He's never jerked off so frequently or with such amazing results before.
Oh, make no mistake, this shit is shady. Chris knows it's shady. And, like, a bad idea in general, in these days of hacked phones and celebrity gossip and political dick pic scandals. And that it can't possibly end well for a myriad of reasons. Chris knows that it can't be healthy and that he's probably got some kind of weird issue, since his primary sexual outlet is sexting with a straight ex-co-worker. This is not at all like him. Not at all.
But he can't, he can't stop.
The least he can do is not put any weight to the whole situation and never ask for anything from Chord, and only take what's offered when it's offered, because that way it's all up to Chord. They can still be friends, like Chord wants.
So Chris texts cheery things, jokes around with him, and says, Yes, I have occasionally watched True Blood, but I'm so behind! Spoil me, why does Eric suck (in various ways)?
Afterwards, he deletes all their exchanges, even the banal ones, from his phone so they all only exist in the air or in a gigantic Verizon database or the green cheese center of the moon, or wherever they're stored in the consciousness of the world's technology. They're out there somewhere, words that can't be unsaid, but at least they're not on his phone. It makes him sad; he can't help it, he's just kind of a nostalgic person, and plus, they're proof he's not, you know, making this whole thing up in his head. Also, he gets off just remembering things Chord's said to him (r u serious that's the hottest thing ive ever heard) and he wishes he could remember every single thing just for the sake of his spank bank.
But he can't keep the texts. It's too – potentially damaging, to both of their careers and to Chord's relationship with his girlfriend. What if either of them accidentally sends one to Twitter or something? What if Chris pisses someone out there off so much he gets hacked, and all the things he's said to Chord come spilling out into the open? He's crazy enough in the first place for doing this. There's no way Chris is going to tote that phone around with dirty texts on it.
So he deletes, deletes, deletes. If you looked at his phone, you'd think he'd never had a conversation with Chord in his life.
*
Shot the Middle today, Chord has texted to him. No dancing, lol what a relief! had some fun, dont know why im so tired
Unfamiliar sets and new roles can be unexpectedly difficult to take on, Chris sends back sympathetically. Can't wait to see the episode!
Thats probably it. U busy?
Chris inhales deeply, intensely colored-in fairy tale worlds falling away totally.
Just writing...
But he's come to a screeching halt – that becomes painfully obvious as the clock on his laptop ticks from 12:28 AM to 12:34 AM without him moving much, except to grip at his phone and blink and take deep breaths so he won't get hectic too fast.
Maybe, Chris thinks, when a full ten minutes goes by without a response, Chord fell asleep, or thought Chris was telling him he was busy writing. He fidgets, then thumbs out, Haha, wonder if you fell asleep?
A response comes mercifully, a handful of seconds later. Nah im totally awake, wanna talk? If ur busy its cool.
Nope, not busy, Chris replies, slumping back against his propped-up pillow. Such a lie. As always, he has a ton to do, and he really does want to write, but he just... wants this more.
tell me what your wearing
Black SBL t-shirt, blue plaid pajama pants from Target, underwear, reading glasses, socks which I don't think actually match.
what underwear
Your standard briefs. They're from Target too. They're navy.
God, there are so many things wrong with him, Chris realizes belatedly, rolling his eyes at himself. Mismatched socks and boring underwear, what the fuck; he could at least stretch the truth into something that might be more appealing, whatever that would even be – but that would probably jinx it or something.
haha i know what u look like in glasses and briefs from tour. but not together
OMG, were you looking at me in my underwear? teases Chris.
i saw u in a leotard every night, and yes i looked!
Oh. Electricity zooms up Chris's spine and makes everything in him go taut. All that time, Chris had found Chord one of the most oblivious people he'd ever worked with – just this guy who bopped along, somehow not seeing huge steel poles right in his way, and gave himself concussions. He hadn't even realized that Chord – had noticed him, looked at him particularly, given the number of times Chord ran into him and everybody else, off stage and on.
u there?
Yes, Chris replies hastily. I didn't know you were looking. How embarrassing...
u should get down to ur briefs so i can imagine, Chord says to him.
Chris does it immediately, slapping his laptop shut and pushing it aside. He has no idea what Chord's tone is, whether it's leery or enthusiastic or even just sleepy. It makes him feel on, like he's not really alone in his room and Chord can somehow see him, glasses momentarily knocked askew by his shirt coming off, kicking his pajama bottoms off the bed. The socks come off, too, one by one, tugged with one thumb. They are definitely from two different sock families.
He gropes for his phone so he can confirm: Okay. Just in my briefs and glasses. Should I take them off too?
leave them, bet u look like clark kent
Well, we do both wind up having to hurriedly change into spandex in cramped places, Chris allows.
lol i knew it, u are secretly always wearing spandex under your clothes!
Better than on top of my clothes! Biting his lip, bare knees drawing up, Chris asks, So are you imagining me?
yeah. imagining ur hard. is ur dick hard in ur briefs?
Yes. It's been hard since you texted.
all this time?
Yeah...
A flush of heat creeps slowly down Chris's neck. There's always a moment or two where he can't believe he's talking to Chord like this. Chord, of all people. They're friends – if this somehow ass-backwardly makes them friends – but it's just somehow completely different than any of Chris's other friendships. They're friends, yeah, but not close friends, and yet, distinctly more than friends all at once. It's kind of intense, swinging back and forth from buddying around over text to – this, whatever it is.
i love that, u make me hard too
What are you wearing? Chris presses back, needing to picture him better.
just a shirt and boxers
Keep going.
thy're gray
boxer briefs, white tshirt, Chord adds helpfully, a few seconds later.
Chris closes his eyes. He can picture much of Chord's physique well after all those shirtless scenes Chord did, as well as being all annoyingly muscular in his gold Rocky briefs and doing chin-ups with Mark and Harry on tour. Chord's a lot brawnier now though, just bigger. He was putting in so much gym time at the beginning of his Glee stint that his muscles used to be crazy-defined, tight, his body sleek and ripply and slender. He looks more like a man than a really built teenage boy now, and the thought is discomfiting, intimidating, and so hot.
His Blackberry buzzes in his hands.
u want em on or off?
It takes a second for Chris to realize Chord's referring to his clothes – asking Chris what he should do.
Usually Chord just does things and tells Chris about it, and wants Chris to do the same, and things just work... really good that way. Is there a right answer for boxers on versus boxers off? Is there something Chord wants him to say? Pressing his lips together and tonguing them deliberately, Chris shifts quickly towards his favorite button. It's his favorite because Chord always seems to like it when he pushes it, so much so that Chris gets turned on by it too, like a ripple effect.
Bet your dick's stretching 'em out, too big and boned to fit in your boxers. Why don't you push them down... I want to see it so bad.
It's a huge effort to swallow, his throat's so tense and closed – it's just so true, it makes him embarrassed to say it, and yet relieved to think that someone understands him in this way, even a little bit. Whatever level he's on, Chord's meeting him there, whether he's meaning to or not. He takes a deep, calming breath, and lets it out slowly, centering himself and letting his body go slack on his mattress. His phone lights up.
pushed em down for u. what about my shirt?
You have to let me see everything. Push it up.
pushed my shirt up too so u can see my abs. practically naked! like my dick boned up huge don't u?
Yeah, so much, Chris types furiously, imagining it – or trying to, anyway. He doesn't stop there, though. Turns me on just thinking about it.
ur in luck, just keep getting bigger
Good lord. Yes, yes, yes. Why is this always so hot? How does Chord do this to him? All he can think about is making Chord hard... the fact that Chord's clothes are shoved out of the way for him and he's laying there spread out over his bed or whatever.
Hmm, are you touching your dick? Chris guesses.
yeah, stroking it slow, imagining u watching
Chris's imagination kicks back into crazy vivid overdrive, this time not imagining distant fairylands from the enchanted ground up, but sliding himself into the mental picture Chord's providing for him and coloring it in with Chord's bare bicep flexing and the shape of his hand around a mic, just flashes of images leftover in his brain from touring – which is the last time he saw Chord, really, before their thirty-second reunion at the concert movie premiere that gave him colorful impressions of the flushed candy pink of Chord's mouth and ginger-gold tone of his hair. Gray boxer briefs around his careless knees. Abs, pale without the faux tan. The arch of ribcage up to the wrinkled ring of white t-shirt tugged up for him. And that cock – towering almost two inches over Chris's, which might actually be more of a height difference than Chris and Chord themselves have. He doesn't really know how it looks but it's probably gorgeous, just like Chord.
Getting it harder and harder in your hand for me? Pumping it just so I can see how boned u are? Chris purrs. When his texting starts to go lazy in favor of speed like that, it feels like he's whispering in Chord's ear or something, speaking to Chord like Chord speaks to him. Chord's typing skills really go down the tube though.
love how obsessed u r w my dick
Chris wants to laugh and moan at the same time, hips twitching and fidgeting – wanting to roll upwards so bad, wanting to thrust his hard-on around in his briefs.
Me obsessed? I think ur obsessed with me thinking about ur dick! It totally gets u going to jerk off and tease poor me about it. Technically I think that makes you a cock tease.
just a lil bit ofa tease. but what if i didn't tease u?? what if u were here, would u want to touch me?
Inhaling sharply, Chris shakingly shoves one hand into his briefs, staring at the words on the screen as he rubs his hard-on and takes a moment to groan. He does – he does want to touch Chord, and Chord knows it, and the sharp longing has just built up over the weeks into something useless; Chord's never actually asked him if he would actually do it. His left fingers try and dart clumsily over his keypad, typing a response slowly as his right hand restlessly, distractedly pumps.
U have no idea.
giv me an idea
Chris's hand is working steady now, his balls edging up tight in his underwear, the stretch of the cotton over his knuckles ridiculous and stupid and the roll of his hips deep instinct, smooth automatic neediness. His phone, warm, buzzes pleadingly in his hand.
i wanna know
tell me
God, he is gonna come – Chord really doesn't have any idea how bad he actually wants this, how hard his crank is turned –
maybe ur the cocktease??
Who, me? Chris barely responds, edging and letting go of his dick before he can cream himself. With both thumbs and his thoughts so hectic, it's easier to let the words fly out. You're totally desperate for me to get my hands on you, aren't you, big boy?
i know u want it
Cuz girls can't handle that big cock like I can, Chris replies knowingly, face red with fierce arousal as he turns Chord's crank right back, getting revenge, getting the upper hand. They don't drool over it half as much as I do, do they?
u like it
You need a nice strong grip...
yeah
And someone just begging you to blow and let him see your cum.
u, Chord sends; Chris hears it in his mind like a huff, a short plea.
Me?
yeah
You want me to be the one stroking your cock nice and slow?
plz
Yep! You want me to worship your dick sooo bad, it's ridiculous, Chris teases, pulling back from the short responses with feigned disinterest. You're downright asking me for it now! Begging! You even said please. You fucking love that you have a guy practically creaming himself over how bad he wants your monster dick. Such a gay cock tease, Chord. Maybe I'll just leave that big dick swinging, all hard for me to touch it. Tease u right back, see how u like it!
There's a long pause then that Chris can't wait out – his hand's back in his briefs, jerking heatedly around the sensitive neck of his dick, his warped mind going through with the fantasy of reaching out to wrap his hand around Chord's dick just like this (in his mind, with Chord going to pieces, begging Chris to touch him, goading him, teasing him about how much he loves it) till he's shooting off (and Chord is too) and ruining his underwear unabashedly. It all smashes together in his mind – he desperately thinks of how it might be to feel Chord's load all hot and wet like this, sloppy on his knuckles – and he whispers, "Fuck, Chord," there alone in his bedroom, as if Chord can hear him.
Then he hazes, pleasantly boneless and insanely satiated, hitting a place of stillness and awe he only ever really gets to when texting Chord's involved. For a minute he just zones out as he lies there with his dick twitching in his sopping briefs, which go from hot to body temperature too fast.
And then it suddenly seems like forever just passed, like it's been an hour since Chord responded. Sweaty and limp, Chris picks up his phone, which had kinda fallen somewhere under his ribcage, and peers at the screen through his glasses.
Nothing. The pause is still in effect; Chord still hasn't said anything back.
Something in Chris's chest pulls weirdly.
Hellooo? If you fell asleep on me I am going to tweet your number and you may never ever sleep again, he types mercilessly.
The long-distance shake makes a response spill back in fast spurts.
nooo
noo
im awake
haha
sorry mess
Oh? Did you spill something? Chris asks innocently.
just jizz all over the place!
Satisfied, Chris wriggles like a cat on its back, limbs all humming happily. Hmm, wish I could see that.
how can i wash curtains?
What do you mean? Did you get jizz on your curtains? Chris asks, wryly unsure if Chord is joking or if his mind is just drifting to odd places. He can be so random, it's really hard to tell.
Another minute goes by.
u just exhausted me, is what Chord replies.
Did I? Sorry... Chris says. Then he adds, ;)
:), Chord sends back.
Chuckling fondly and thinking of getting out of his jizz-soaked underwear and into a nice, quick, hot shower and locking down an awesome night's sleep, Chris sends him off to bed.
Get some sleep. Nighty-night, big boy.
*
A few days go by without texts; Emma days, as Chris off-handedly thinks of them.
Then it's a week into September.
With his work grind on and his calendar pretty damn full, time gets sucked down the drain of life with Chris hardly noticing until it's suddenly a different month, that they're almost wrapped on yet another episode of Glee – that another chunk of time is just totally gone, lost to dance rehearsals, filming, interviews, attending events and awards ceremonies, and writing. Good God, he wouldn't have it any other way. He doesn't even know how to not be doing something.
But without Chord's texts on his phone, he loses track of how long it's been since they've texted. And it's nigh impossible not to think of him every time he picks the damn thing up. He hasn't heard a thing from Chord in a month, not even weather commentary or a random picture.
Chord's busy, too, with his music – and his girlfriend, Chris realizes distantly. Chris has been totally preoccupied with finishing his book, but what has Chord been doing?
Sitting in his director's chair on set, he casually opens Chord's Twitter page just to check it out, feeling kind of strange for essentially spying on his activities. His tweets are even more vague than his texts somehow: he's writing hit songs, getting work done, eating some good food... and is really into Moneyball and monkeys. It makes Chris snort, but the amusement and affection kind of twists in his chest into something infinitely more complicated and wrong.
Maybe he just needs a nudge, Chris thinks, so he composes a friendly little hello: Hey there, stranger! Thinking of seeing a movie this weekend! Any recommendations? :)
And he gets an answer fifteen minutes later.
Moneyball!!!!
Chris smiles. Thought you might say that! ;)
Another dawdling reply comes after a little while: lol guess I'm predictable!
A little blue bird icon told me you said Moneyball is fantastic, four stars, four exclamation points, Chris types. Also, if you get a monkey, can I hold it? Promise not to abduct it...
Ok but remember, it's not a sea monkey! Chord returns.
Monkeys are excellent out at sea. Just ask Pippi Longstocking.
lol I will ask, but if u try and take my monkey while my back is turned, u will be sorry!! It will be monkeywar!
Getmonkey! Chris teases.
Damn you!!! Getmonkeyback!
Runmonkey!!!
All day long, Chris is left wondering how exactly to get the conversation headed down a much, uh, seedier path – not that he wants to send dirty texts during a choir room scene, but for later, you know. Chord's always so blatant... and he's always the one who initiates it, with this odd unconcerned ease, just coming right out with it because he knows Chris wants it.
As a general rule of thumb, Chris is brutally honest with himself. It just isn't him to build fantasies into delusions. So many people in L.A. do that and don't seem to realize it, and boy, the second-hand embarrassment is strong enough to get a buzz of mortification off of, yourself. So Chris has no illusions about their texting meaning the same thing to Chord as it does to him. The truth is, if Chord had been coming back to the show, nothing ever would have happened. Ever. It's unbelievable that it did at all. He never would have texted Chord; Chord never would have had cause to reply. It never would've spiraled into anything. And with the ball in Chord's court, Chris has never had to work up from fantasy to delusion and wind up making a total ass of himself by flirting without a clear-cut invitation.
But Chord hasn't initiated anything lately. Besides the little exchanges about a monkey war they traded all day that someone could probably turn into an low-budget computer animated direct-to-DVD adventure, Chord hasn't really texted at all. Let alone with anything sexy.
What does the radio silence mean? Is it really that Chord's busy, or is it that he's bored now? He's over his little fascination with their mutual jerk-off sessions? Maybe things are getting more serious with Emma. Maybe it's just over, and the texting was like the equivalent of a meaningless summer fling. A two-month stand, or whatever. After all: What's a little sexting between friends?
He's overthinking it all into the ground, Chris realizes, as he slouches in bed at like two-thirty in the morning, both thumbs restlessly stroking his phone clutched in his hands. He's exhausted from dance rehearsal but unable to turn his brain off, as per usual. Most of the time he has something to funnel that manic energy into, even if it's just gluing stuff together for a costume-in-progress. But right then his brain is stuck on Chord like a broken record.
At this time of the night, he can't assume that Chord's awake. And he can't even assume Chord's alone, either – he has a big group of guy friends as well as a girlfriend, and siblings he likes to hang with. But Chris just knows that neither his brain nor his sex drive is going to let this thing go until he knows for sure that he should. He thumbs to his conversation with Chord, which is still hanging on their dumb, too-long monkey joking from earlier.
Hey, are you awake?
Feeble. Seriously. After a minute, though, Chord's reply pops up.
Hi
I woke you up, didn't I? Chris guesses.
nope Im actually still awake, doing stuff
Oh, good! Chris takes a few seconds before tapping out, So are you busy, then?
no just Getting some stuff taken care of
Well, are you alone?
Yep
I was just thinking... Chris sends.
Chord asks, About monkeys still?
Yep!
I'm hooked
Chris could not be in a deeper tunnel of intense concentration if he was working on the climax of his book.
You know, just innocent thoughts. All that monkey business and you never once made a "spanking the monkey" joke! As you can see, my thoughts are totally pure and don't at all revolve around you jacking off.
It takes a minute for Chord to reply, but when he does, it makes blood roar in Chris's ears.
Flirting with me again??
If by flirting you mean intent on getting you naked... maybe.
If u dont want me to get hard, better say so now.
I definitely want you to, Chris says, exhaling harshly when he presses send. For some reason, he doesn't stop there – it's like some little dam in him busts and a month of ignored and stifled urges pours out of him, fingers first. I want to imagine where you are, I want to imagine your body, what you're wearing, everything. Tell me.
After a lengthy pause: well I was doing laundry. sitting on my bed now. black basketball shorts. commando
The description, short as it is, punches some big red button in Chris's brain that launches him into overdrive.
So you're naked except for a pair of flimsy shorts?
yeah. do u like?
I love... Chris says. Now I'm thinking about watching your dick get hard, watching it twitch and swell till it's tenting your shorts right up in front. Are the shorts all stretchy?
yeah no way i could hide a boner in them, u can see everything, Chord sends back. dick sticking out straight
Right now?! OMG, I want to see.
u do?
Yeah. God, you're so hot, Chris says baldly.
It's the longest minute ever until Chord's reply appears on his screen, but Chris is concentrating so intensely that he doesn't even move, just rereading Chord's words and vividly imagining the bulge of his dick under black mesh shorts, pressing the material right up over the sharp thrust of the head and leaving it to cling down the spine.
Chord says: ok u have me right where u want me
Busting out of your shorts?
yes. this is kind of embarrassing!! sorry
WTF are you apologizing for? I'm dying over here!
last time
What about it?
for wanting u to
Maybe Chris is just tired, since it's past three in the morning now, but he honestly doesn't even follow that. Without the texts on his phone, all he has are shreds of memories he's jacked off to since, shoved to the extremes in his feverish imagination.
Keep going, he prompts.
like u said...worship!
Like I said?
ur right, i pretty much was begging, i was desperate. i tried to stop! u are right about me.
Tell me what I'm right about so I can fully enjoy my insightfulness, suggests Chris, half worried and half just fucking turned on.
Chord types quickly, and it becomes increasingly obvious to Chris with each text stacking atop the last that he's been thinking about this since the night it happened.
i am kinda a tease
like u said
i do want u to want my dick
ia m obsessed like u said
its pretty sad
i was begging, like saying please,4 u to touhc
i kept trying to stop i wasnt even touching my dick anymore
but it felt like u were leaving me swinging like u said like i needed to begmore
i couldn't even stop i came anyway i dont know how never cum like that before
i didn't get to make you cum i wanted to but i couldnt i didn't know what to say
The barrage finally stops, leaving Chris sitting there, stunned. His heart's chugging like a freaking freight train, even though he's not sure he actually understands what Chord is sorry about in all of that, since it sounds like he had one hell of a come.
Reaching back to that night, trying to remember what they'd said, all he can remember is their usual push and prod for details and actions – even though Chord had asked Chris for more direction than usual, he's pretty sure Chord was also teasing him more than he was teasing Chord. But something he'd said had crossed a line, maybe, or stepped unknowingly on something Chord was sensitive about, like accidentally hammering on a reflex.
It's okay, I got off, Chris tells him lightly. I like your teasing. Drives me nuts, in a good way. I like it when you say please, too. It's cute. ;)
something maybe! but not cute
Of course it was, it's adorable you begged for it!
omg are u not gonna let me apologize??
Something about that seems genuinely grievous, but Chris is on the scent now. Oh, yeah.
Whatever. It's cute when you tease me about wanting your body and want to show off your dick and get so horny over the idea of me seeing and touching it that you cum all over and make a mess out of your curtains. Am I right? ;)
Another long pause.
no clue what ur talking about
You couldn't have possibly have been begging so frantically for my attention that you came doing it, is that it? Ur too straight to want a guy touching your dick aren't u?? Chris cajoles merrily. You are a tease! A cock tease.
just a lil, Chord admits.
Nope. Major fucking cock tease in your basketball shorts with that dick just boned up in them, driving me absolutely insane. Major fucking gay cock tease, telling me how big you are because you know it makes me crazy. And I'll never get to see it because you're into girls, but you still send me dirty little texts and get me worked up, tease.
Chord says, r u worked up i wanna get u all worked up
You sure do! You're jacking that fat cock right now, aren't you? Chris asks, typing with the feverish certainty. Wishing I was watching you, wishing I'd fall all over you and just worship it all the way up to the tip and down again... maybe if u said the magic word...
please, Chord instantly responds.
God, yeah; with an awkward, one-handed shove, Chris has his pajama pants and briefs down just far enough to grab at his own dick, left hand managing his phone for him.
I like that. Say it again.
please, please
Cute, Chris tells him casually, panting.
like???
Begging for me while u jerk? Love it. U know I wanna jerk it for you...
please want u to please pleas
Too bad! You're kinda being a cock tease, aren't ya?
yes
Say it, Chord, say it, ur teasing me so bad.
im a tease
So into cockteasing me! Admit it!
fkcingintocockteasing u please please gonna cum, Chord gets back.
Well apparently u wouldn't be able to stop if u tried...
This time, the silence of his phone in his hand is completely transparent – Chris knows Chord is shooting off, maybe all over the silky stretchy inside of his shorts or maybe up his own ridiculous abs, but either way the mere thought is enough to have Chris doing the same. His jizz lands lightly on his t-shirt, striping it just hot and heavy enough that it's ticklish even though the cotton against his skin, and he wrings it out like crazy, lifting his head after a few spurts to squint hotly at just how damn much he's letting off. God, it's so much. His fingers fling droplets around messily and the rest clings to his skin and bead after bead bulges from his slit, hanging till the next makes it sluice heavily and hit his belly or slide down his dick wetly. Some part of him is mildly shocked, but the rest of him is just thundering inside.
Made me cum, he types to Chord with his clumsy left hand, blinking, fuzzy.
After a sludgy minute, Chord inarticulately replies, omg....
Chris basks. Maybe Chord does, too, because silence stretches on, but it's warm, and somehow instead of feeling distant, Chord seems like he's right there next to Chris somehow, covered in his own load too.
Finally Chord says, wish i was there
One of the benefits of sexting is that you don't have to actually be here, Chris points out.
guess ur right!
I'd better sleep. 6:30 call time!
so ur going to get 2 and half hrs of sleep? ouch
Still wish you were here? Chris kids. Text me later, let me know what you're up to!
get a good nap!
I will. Night, tease. ;)
*
Chord sends him a picture that afternoon, while Chris is stretched out over his, Cory's, and Amber's chairs, power-napping in full Kurt regalia; the buzzing of his phone tucked over his heart wakes him with an unwelcome start.
good morning :), says the text, and the picture is of a half-devoured bowl of cereal with bananas and strawberries cut up in it.
For a reply, Chris reaches out a heavy arm and blindly takes a crooked picture of his face smushed into the seat of his chair and sends it without caring that it's blurry.
how can u sleep in full body spandex??? Chord asks.
Chris tucks his phone away again and smiles sleepily as he drifts off again, set chatter meaningless and calming.
Late, late that night, Chord sends a picture of a plastic cup of yogurt. Chris replies with a picture of the Diet Coke he's clutching like a madman, his sixth that day.
The next morning, another picture: a blue sky. Chris takes a picture of the parking lot outside his trailer, empty except for a PA hustling by.
They trade pictures for days, sometimes multiple times a day, as if their last exchange of actual words was so intense they both feel kind of shy. Chris sees the sushi Chord is eating, the bottle of Jameson he just bought, the tan lines he got on his feet from wearing flip-flops, song lyrics written across a page crookedly, a studio mic waiting to be sung into, a dog he's pretty sure does not belong to Chord. Chris sends back the embellishments he Sharpied onto the prop girl's mannequin tattoo, someone's dumb vanity plate, the failed prototype headgear for his Halloween costume, the grand shatter of his broken sunglasses, and a picture of himself dangling in the rehearsal studio. This time, Chris keeps them all. They're harmless, random. Everyone has pictures like this on their phone.
Then one night, it's a picture of Chord in his bathroom, standing in front of his mirror, a pair of shorts hanging off his hipbones but otherwise fairly gloriously shirtless. Uh, this is not shy at all. He looks more blond than Chris remembers.
Been hitting the gym. How do I look??
Hang on while I fwd this to Perez Hilton, Chris responds.
What do u think? Chord persists.
Oh, I'm mainly wondering if it's going to rain, and the Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song is rattling around in there too, says Chris. But I guess this breaks my concentration a little...
know why it's crunch time? literally?
Because you love to torture me, Chris accuses.
Yes ur right as always! But u really don't know???
Enlighten me, perhaps by sending me another pic!
Im gonna come back and do a couple episodes of Glee. Guess I'll be seeing u soon!!! :)
...You're teasing me.
No I promise Im not teasing! Been in talks for awhile but just made deal today. U should be hearing soon, tomorrow. But for now u are the first of cast to hear it. Do I look good? Have to keep it tight, for all the ladies and gentlemen out there such as yourself!
Chris is stunned into enough of a lull that he receives another picture, playfully sent to him as per his request; Chord's thumb is hooked right into his waistband, weighing the shorts down just enough to make Chris's pulse basically shoot so high it's probably visible for miles around.
Okay, NOW you're teasing me, he finally replies.
Just a little! Like what u see?
It's only then that Chris realizes the full extent of just how difficult it's going to be, seeing Chord face-to-face on set when he's gotten so used to communicating like this – sending pictures, flirting, texting intensely sexual things. This is absolutely not going to end well and they need to stop this.
But he can't stop. He just can't stop.
U know I do.