Kurt wasn't letting Blaine sleep on the floor. He suddenly started unmaking the sheets, and scrunching the blankets, from the camp bed. Then he casually fiddled with his phone before placing it on the nightstand and practically leaping onto his own perfectly made bed.

Blaine was confused.

Kurt laughed at his expression.

"Baby, come here," he laughed, and held his arms wide. Blaine didn't even know how he crossed the room, but abruptly he was lying on the bed, holding Kurt like he never wanted to let him go. He lifted his head to kiss Kurt's beautiful pouty lips, and somehow within seconds, he had captured Kurt's tongue as a hostage. The boys were moaning softly before they realised that they needed to be quiet.

"Shh," Kurt half-giggled, half-moaned into Blaine's mouth, but Blaine didn't halt his assault on Kurt's lips.

He couldn't.

How wrong he had been about Kurt. It made him so frustrated with himself that he had never realised how perfect Kurt was. It was only seeing Kurt upset and crying that seemed to render Blaine unable to help his feelings for him and want to do nothing but protect him and comfort him; first with Karofsky, and second with Pavarotti. And Blaine was going to make it his mission to never see Kurt upset again.

That was a battle you could fight with your tongue, right?

Kurt was playing with him. He would capture Blaine's exploring tongue with his teeth and nibble at it, while Blaine struggled against him. Then he would switch to his lips and suck on his hostage so hard Blaine still couldn't escape no matter how hard he pulled. He would end up giggling into Blaine's open mouth and letting his tongue slip from his lips, and Blaine would kiss him fiercely. After this happened three times, Blaine was getting hard. How was he so hot?

He was playing with him, with his tongue in his mouth, like they had always been doing this.

Like it was a game.

Blaine let an involuntary growl escape his throat, and he moved so he was lying on top of Kurt, resting his weight on his arms, and wriggling his feet along Kurt's calf.

And suddenly Kurt was serious.

Blaine could feel him frustratingly hard against his own erection, and it was all he could do not to grind Kurt into the mattress. Kurt was kissing him back so earnestly and so passionately that Blaine started to forget why he shouldn't.

Kurt's hands were on his back, and he shifted a little.

Fuck.

Kurt let his legs spread around Blaine's hips and wrapped his ankles around the back of Blaine's knees. Kurt's hands were pulling at Blaine's tee shirt, and suddenly it weighed about a tonne. It was a brick wall that was stopping him from really touching Kurt; keeping him from really feeling his body underneath him.

Blaine had still managed not to thrust his hips downwards. He knew they were in too deep right now. If he started, he didn't know if he could stop, and although he was struggling to remember why, he knew they had to stop.

Blaine's eyesight suddenly went dark, and he began to wonder if all those old wives tales were right, when he felt a rush of cold air against his torso and he realise Kurt had actually pulled his shirt over his head.

Blaine was so hard now. Surely he had the self control to stop? Once wouldn't hurt, right?

Kurt gave out a breathy, moan into Blaine's gaping mouth, kissing forgotten, as the boys were suddenly preoccupied elsewhere. Blaine thrust hard - so hard - into Kurt's hips, gasping at the gorgeous stars that flew across his eyes. His whole body was tingling now. If Kurt didn't touch him soon…

And then Blaine's eyes flew open as he realised what would happen if he did. Blaine scrambled away from Kurt like he was diseased, and managed to untangle Kurt's legs from his own.

He pushed Kurt firmly back as he tried to follow him, and lay on the other side of the bed, pulling a pillow in between them.

Kurt cried out indignantly, mad Blaine had left him. Incoherent little noises that sounded like the starts of words, but never the ends. Blaine understood. His head was so fuzzy, so drunk on Kurt right now that he doubted he could make a coherent counter-argument about why he had moved. All he could remember was that he shouldn't have sex with Kurt; that it was wrong. "But why?" his groin was screaming at him.

Blaine couldn't remember. He struggled to think, then his vision got a whole lot more hazy as he realised Kurt had moved to press kisses against his chest.

Gasping for air to clear his head, he couldn't think. Why was it so wrong? He loved Kurt, and from the feel of what Kurt's tongue was doing to his nipple right now – Blaine moaned loudly – Kurt loved him too. So what was the problem?

As Kurt climbed on top of him, straddling his waist, Blaine couldn't think of one.

It was all Kurt. He couldn't see without watching him, breathe without smelling him, even opening his mouth, and he could taste Kurt's tongue pressing inside.

Apparently Kurt didn't have the same concern as Blaine about grinding their hips together. Blaine felt a rush of giddy Kurt-drunk pleasure as his boyfriend's erection thrust firmly against his own. Blaine felt the bed depress as Kurt moved again, and again, and again.

Blaine thought he might cry from the exquisite pleasure of it all. He was so close. He pulled Kurt's hips down, gripping him tightly, because if Kurt tried to leave him he might die.

Kurt grinned down at him then leaned over and ran his tongue over Blaine's nipple, followed by his teeth. He watched Blaine's face as he bit down on his chest and thrust his hips down again.

And Blaine was gone.

"Kurrrrt," he moaned loudly, earning him a kiss to shut him up, and he thrust upwards into Kurt as his spine bent into the mattress. Then Kurt was gasping into his mouth and Blaine could feel their come seeping through their pants and mixing together in one sticky mess.