It’s a Wednesday afternoon and Kurt is being slammed back into the wall, big strong hands gripping him tight and holding him up as Blaine’s hips slam up into his. His long legs wrap tight around Blaine’s waist and cling tight, his hands around Blaine’s biceps and squeezing hard enough to bruise. He doesn’t quite know how they got to this point but when Blaine thrusts up hard, pushing Kurt higher up on the wall, he can’t find it in him to complain. He groans loud, not caring about how sore his back will be later, or how much the neighbors must hate him for how loud they get when they have the chance. All around him is nothing but Blaine, Blaine’s hands on him and the low moans he can’t help but make, vibrating throughout his whole body.

“Yeah, right there,” Kurt gasps, but of course, Blaine knows that, knows him, knows every way to make him feel good. His hands scrabble at Blaine’s shoulders and arms and back, unable to decide where he wants to touch so he just settles for everywhere. Blaine pounds into him almost hard enough to hurt, but not quite - just enough to feel fucking incredible. Blaine is so careful with him, every time, even when he’s rough there’s always an edge of tenderness.

Kurt has almost given up on feeling guilty about what they’re doing. Almost. But the only way he succeeds is by not thinking about it too much at all. He lets himself go, when they’re like this together, sweaty and sticky and not caring one bit. He doesn’t care about anything but this, writhing under Blaine’s wandering hands and rolling his hips down to meet him, fucking himself down on Blaine’s cock.

He takes the hand that had been tangling itself in Blaine’s unkempt hair and lifts it to Blaine’s lips, letting Blaine lick and kiss and mouth at the palm of Kurt’s hand for a few moments before he tugs it away again. He wraps his slick hand tight around his own cock, pumping in time with Blaine’s thrusts, which stutter when he looks down at Kurt, eyes wide until his closes them. “Fuck,” he groans. He thrusts up again, not fast like before but hard, driving into him and making Kurt jolt and cry out whenever Blaine hits that bundle of nerves deep inside him. “Like that?”

“Uh-huh…”

It doesn’t take him long to come after that, his whole body arching toward Blaine’s, mouth falling open, unable to make any sound but tiny whimpers as come splatters over their chests. Blaine doesn’t last any longer, one more thrust and he’s stilling, muffling his moans into the crook of Kurt’s neck. They both go limp, sagging against each other, and Blaine’s breath comes hot and heavy in the aftermath of his release, panting against Kurt’s shoulder, eyes closed tight.

It’s strangely quiet after that, after their moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin die away. Kurt feels like the apartment is a bubble from the outside world, as if they’ve been taken out of time. Like they could just stay like this forever and it would be okay.

They don’t move for a long time, and Blaine is still inside of Kurt and holding him up while Kurt clings to him, probably looking ridiculous but not caring because there’s no one else to see. No one else knows about them, after all, not even Rachel, and he tells her everything. (He’s not sure if Blaine would tell Santana, but he assumes that she would mention it on one of her visits to see Blaine if she did know. She can’t help but provide a running, judgmental commentary on everyone’s sex life.) Rachel would judge him even if she said she didn’t, and he judges himself way too much to want any more of that.

It can’t be comfortable for Blaine, staying like this, and Kurt’s spine is starting to ache and they’re both oversensitive to every shift, hissing when they brush against sensitive skin. But Blaine is still stroking little nonsense patterns on Kurt’s hipbones and burrowing his face into the crook of his neck, and neither of them are in a hurry to leave. He shuts his eyes and lets his head tip back to thunk against the wall, still trembling with the intensity of it, absently letting his fingers card through Blaine’s sweaty hair.

Blaine nuzzles into Kurt’s skin once before he lifts his head, staring straight into Kurt’s eyes when he opens them. It’s almost startling, the way Blaine looks at him, for some reason that Kurt can’t quite explain. Kurt wishes that he didn’t have this ridiculous self-imposed rule against kissing, as if that actually removes any emotional connection that might come along with this, because Blaine looks sinfully kissable, now and always.

“We have to talk about this,” Blaine says softly. He lifts a hand, trembling imperceptibly, to touch Kurt’s cheek, stroke across his jaw and cheekbones with feather-light brushes of his fingertips. It’s impossibly tender, overwhelmingly terrifying.

Kurt tries to force his heart back where it belongs instead of letting it leap up into his throat to choke him, and gives a minute shake of his head. You’re the one who said we didn’t have to, Kurt thinks, but he knows that’s different. It was just a postponement, giving Kurt a little extra time to sort through his feelings… which he very much has not. He’s still just as confused as before, but he doesn’t want to figure it out. He knows that if he manages to think straight for once he’ll realize what a mistake this all is.

He’s not ready for it to be over yet. Not when Blaine is warm all around him and looking so beautiful it actually breaks his heart to see. Not now.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, and Kurt can’t do it, can’t make eye contact any longer. He looks away for something to focus on - the lampshade, the curtains, or the mess in the kitchen that he was supposed to be cleaning up before they somehow ended up here. Anything but looking into Blaine’s eyes and seeing the hurt, and worse, the hope there.

“I know,” Kurt says. Blaine’s breath shudders out of him, and he lets his hand fall away, leaving tingly spots on Kurt’s skin in its wake.� He wraps his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and pulls him in close. “But not today.”

“Not today,” Blaine echoes, and Kurt takes that as an agreement, or close enough.

--

The time comes sooner than Kurt would have liked. Amelia is at her friend Max’s house for the night, her first full night away from one of her dads. Apparently the bullying incident - quickly resolved, thank god - had brought the two of them even closer together. “We’re like best friends now or something!” Amelia had exclaimed. Kurt had fretted over the sleepover until Blaine calmed him down and he was assured that she could call or come home the moment she needed to.

So they have the house to themselves for once, and Blaine is in Kurt’s lap and pressed all around him, sucking bruises into the sensitive skin of Kurt’s neck. It’s close enough to real kissing to make Kurt nervous but not close enough to make him put an end to it. Kurt groans, his hips bucking up into Blaine’s, the only thing separating them their underwear and Kurt’s undershirt. He shoves them down over the curve of Blaine’s ass, grabbing and squeezing and pushing them closer together, groaning when Blaine grinds down into his lap.

“Want you.” Blaine gasps out, suddenly close and breathing hot in Kurt’s ear. Kurt whimpers. They don’t really talk during, not often, but the sound of Blaine’s voice deep and growly with desire makes Kurt crazy. “Want you so bad.”

He kisses up Kurt’s jaw, a bit of stubble tickling Kurt’s clean-shaven skin, and that’s nice, all of that is good - until Blaine’s lips are covering Kurt’s, all at once like he was trying to do it fast before he lost his nerve. Kurt’s first instinct is to jerk away, making Blaine’s lips skim dry across his cheek instead, and lean back to put some distance between them, hands on Blaine’s shoulders to keep him from pursuing.

Blaine freezes, and Kurt’s heart plummets. It wasn’t out of shock that he pulled away, it was that stupid rule he’d put into place. Because kissing is still overwhelming for Kurt, sometimes - even after everything they’ve done to and for and with each other, it’s still a lot. It’s emotional in a way a lot of other things they do aren’t. It’s a connection, for lack of a better word, one that he’s scared to make again. Maybe he should have told Blaine that, established that boundary from the very beginning, but it’s too late now.

“Blaine -“

“This really doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”

“I -“ Kurt chokes. He doesn’t have the words to explain, most of the blood that should be in his head is still much lower and he’s barely managed to figure it all out himself, anyway. But Blaine takes it as a confirmation before Kurt can say anything. Blaine lets out a frustrated huff and climbs off Kurt’s lap, grabbing his clothes from where they had been discarded. “Blaine, wait -“

“Can’t you see how screwed up this is?!” Blaine shoots Kurt a glare that makes him shrink back. He pulls on his pants, face etched into a scowl. “I’m not going to let you do this to me again! If you want me - and I mean all of me, not just treating me like some fucking sex toy - then fine. If you don’t want me, fine. But you can’t just act like you love me and then push me away as soon as I get close!”

It’s almost too big an outburst for this one incident. How long has he been keeping it in and why did it take Kurt until now to see his frustration? Weirdly enough, he’s almost proud of Blaine for standing up for himself, or he would be if the sick feeling in his gut would let him feel anything else. “That’s not - Blaine -”

It’s too late. Blaine doesn’t look at him again before he leaves, slamming the door behind him and making Kurt jump even though he was expecting it. Then silence. Kurt dimly realizes he’s shaking a little, staring at the bedroom door with eyes starting to prickle with unshed tears. All this time, he knew it would come to this, but he let it happen anyway. Fuck. He’s never felt more disgusted with himself.

On trembling legs, any arousal he might have had before departed, Kurt pulls on his clothes and leaves the bedroom, wandering into the living room feeling lost and out of place. He sees Blaine immediately, out on the balcony, leaning on the railing and staring out at the city around them. Kurt doesn’t like going out there, hates Blaine being out there even more - it reminds him too much of his dreams, his nightmares, which he’s had more and more frequently in the past weeks. He pushes those thoughts away and steps out, closing the sliding door behind him. He starts shivering the instant he steps out into the cold December air. A few flurries drift around them, but nothing substantial.

“It’s cold,” he says quietly, feeling like an idiot because obviously Blaine knows that. Blaine shrugs. “Come back inside.” Kurt pleads. Blaine shakes his head.

Blaine’s hands are clenched into fists, so hard his knuckles are turning white. His fingernails dig into his palms, and Kurt’s stomach clenches as he sees tiny drops of blood there. “Blaine, your hands,” he says, stepping closer and taking one of Blaine’s fists in his hands. They’re so tense he can’t even relax them. Blaine looks down, eyes widening a little.

“Sorry. Nervous habit.” Blaine mumbles, and Kurt isn’t sure why he’s apologizing. At least it’s better than intentionally hurting himself - not much, but still. He cradles Blaine’s hand like it’s a bird with a broken wing, gently massaging the tensed muscles until they start to relax. His fingernails leave little red crescents in their wake.

Blaine doesn’t look at Kurt as they stand there, just lets Kurt stroke and rub the tendons of his hands until they’re pliant and warm. His brow is still furrowed, staring at their joined hands like they hold some secret. Kurt holds on tight as he whispers, “I am so, so sorry.” Blaine’s breath hitches. He looks away and doesn’t reply. “On a scale of one to ten, how mad at me are you?”

“I’m not -“

“You are and it’s okay. I just need to know how much I fucked up.”

“…Eight? Nine?”

“Wow. Okay. If you’re going to hit me avoid my nose.” It’s meant as a joke but Kurt feels sick just saying it.

Blaine jerks his hands away, snapping in a voice that almost sounds panicked, “Don’t.”

“It was just a joke.”

“I know. Just - don’t.” His voice breaks on the last word.

Kurt stares at him and wonders, helplessly, what to do. “Please come inside?”

This time Blaine nods, following Kurt into the warm apartment. Kurt sits down on the couch, gesturing for Blaine to sit too. He does, as far from Kurt as possible, though that isn’t saying much with such a small couch. Swallowing back the lump in his dry, scratchy throat, Kurt tries to figure out what he can possible say.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he begins, trying to meet Blaine’s eyes and show him how much he means it. It’s terrifying, being honest, but Blaine deserves honesty so he pushes through the fear and keeps going. “And it wasn’t about using you. I know that’s sort of how it ended up, but that’s not… I didn’t mean to.”