Soon enough, the moment is broken, and before Kurt knows what is coming, Blaine is on him, tearing at his clothes, gentle and desperate, desperately undone. His hands are full, Blaine’s hair and his taught back and the smooth round curves of his ass saturating Kurt’s skin. In moments they are naked, delirious but tender, needing so much. Blaine starts to roll, to pull Kurt over him,  and Kurt is shaking his head, taking Blaine’s hand and pressing it between his legs. He’s shimmering on a thin edge, aching and hollow, the need to love Blaine sown into his skin, burning into his bones; to show this beautiful boy just how absolute and necessary he is.

“No, no please, please Blaine, I need you.” He can’t bring himself to be ashamed of the way he’s so shaken, destitute and specious, “Please I need you, fill me up, love me.”

Blaine has to take a moment, to regroup; they don’t often make love like this. When they have…Blaine can count on his hands the number of times Kurt has asked for it like this. So many times in his life Kurt has felt so out of control, so helpless. It’s not a big thing, Blaine loving to be taken care of and Kurt loving by giving that care; it just is. Kurt, who is imploring; naked need and love; he is giving this to Blaine. It’s apology and trust and breaks Blaine open like such ripe fruit, leaving them both swamped and overwhelmed.

By the time he’s thought of all this, his fingers are pressing against and into, and Kurt is helpless, firing synapses and electric skin; he can’t stop himself from crowding into the touch. When Blaine starts to pull away and fumble, Kurt reaches above them, butting Blaine’s hand away and opening the bedside drawer without looking. Once Blaine has the lube, things move more quickly; Blaine’s fingers are buried inside him, their foreheads are hard up against each other as they breathe, breathe into each other. Kurt is so undone, a wordless thing, Blaine is erasing the boundaries and they are pouring into the breech.

 It’s all Kurt can do to breathe because it really has been a very long time since they’ve done this and, ohshit, he needs a minute but jesusfuckgod it’s so good.

But he’s practically crying; it hurts when Blaine stops, leaning up and over him and looking for condoms. Without Blaine’s fingers he’s untethered, too open and not anchored,

“No, none, none,” Kurt is pulling at his shoulders, trying to get Blaine over him, into him, and Blaine has to grab his face, make him look into his eyes. Because they’ve never done this, even though they’ve known they could. But Kurt just looks back, sure and annihilated and not a second of hesitation and Blaine knows that it was nothing more than a kiss. And then he’s there, clamoring in, he can feel everything Kurt is, every bone and long muscle and all the beautiful lines of his body flush against him.

By the time he’s buried, so deep and so immediate, Kurt is begging, arms and legs wound so tight,

“Please, baby, please don’t go. Oh I love you, I love you so much.” He’s trembling against him, and Blaine has one arm under Kurt’s hips, tilting them just a bit until he feels their bones grinding. Their hearts, he can feel them, beating so hard against each other as they’re chest to chest and he’s looking right into Kurt’s eyes and his other hand is wrapped so tight with Kurt’s, rings and fingers digging bruises into each other. He has to think, to wonder, because it’s never been this before, so much together and still needing more.  They’re loving and it hurts, Blaine wants to unzip and unfetter this man, crawl into him, and he loves Kurt so much, this man who is giving him everything, every bit of control and need and letting Blaine just take him and take him and take him there.

They’re moving, rocking and breathing and the tears are pure pleasure. Kurt lets it in, lets it sweep him up, to spin him and husk him before he’s coming apart and Blaine didn’t even have to touch him, the press of their bodies and the movement of their hips is enough to tumble Kurt, helpless and lost.

In the seconds that follow, when he’s sure Blaine will follow him, he’s breathing him in, Blaine’s sweat and tears and that smell that is just something home. But Blaine isn’t there yet, and it’s a pleasure hurt, Blaine is just absolutely using him now. Kurt lets himself go, gives himself over to whatever Blaine will take from him, limp and oh, god,  the way he’s just being infiltrated.  Gentle Blaine is gone now, he’s some sort of primal thing unleashed, because Blaine is slamming into him, hand digging into his hip, nails pricking but Kurt wants it, he needs this. He wants Blaine all over him, fingerprints proof of his love and ownership and just how much he is Blaine’s in every way.

Blaine must know, can sense surrender, that he can take Kurt anywhere now, any way now; he’s biting, leaving marks, a wrecked path of love and hurt and greed; possession all over Kurt’s skin. By the time he’s coming Kurt is ruined, limp and sore and so aroused again already that all it takes is the touch of Blaine’s hand, sure and strong and in no way easy; they are in it together, crying out and tensing up and breathing heavily into each others' mouths. Never in his life has Kurt let someone in so completely, made himself to helpless, and it’s a breaking, shattering thing, his love for Blaine. When Blaine slips out of him, clumsily grabbing for tissues to wipe them up, he can’t bring himself to move, and when Blaine settles, pressed up against Kurt every place they can touch, it’s all he can to do grab Blaine’s hand, pressing their rings together and whispering,

“Family.”