“Today?” Blaine asked.

Kurt snuggled back against Blaine's warmth and cracked his eyes open. The light spilling around the window curtain was still early-morning soft.

“Maybe,” he said, with deliberate nonchalance, like he couldn't be bothered to give the matter much thought. Like Blaine's question and the need that drove it hardly registered on his radar screen.

Blaine spooned him tighter, throwing one leg over Kurt's thighs so that the skin-warm metal of the cage pressed against Kurt's ass. His fingers clenched against Kurt's ribs. He rocked his trapped and yearning cock into Kurt's body and sighed hot and shuddery against the back of his neck.

Kurt wondered if Blaine had any idea how much he could communicate with no words at all.

The breath that heated his neck hitched and broke and reverberated with an undercurrent of moan, but the sound was dark and ocean-deep, its frustration anchored by the weight of his desire. When Blaine was really approaching the breaking point all restraint was severed, the pitch went high and the balance fell closer to whine.

For now the war inside Blaine's body was still between his desire for release and his craving for unrelenting denial.

The unforgiving metal of the cock cage pressed and receded, pressed and receded – the gentle rhythm of Blaine tormenting himself. When Blaine was truly and properly desperate his overstimulated body avoided sensation. He would lie on his back, his legs spread so that his thighs didn't accidentally brush his swollen balls. He would moan and plead beautifully while Kurt's fingers explored, but he'd keep himself perfectly still; the impossibility of futile thrusting would become unbearable.

But now . . . now he still desired it more than he feared it.

The fingers clenching against Kurt's chest loosened, moved, slid up to stroke faint as the early light over his nipples, back and forth, back and forth, teasing them to pebbled arousal, then down, slowly, alert for any sign that they should stop, until they wrapped around Kurt's morning-thick cock and stroked him to full hardness. Blaine was always hungry for Kurt's orgasm, but when he'd been pushed to the very edge of endurance he never had the presence of mind to seek it out. No, desperate, he had to be taken and he would gasp with surprise when Kurt filled his ass or his mouth, as if he hadn't identified until that exact moment the only thing he longed for more than relief from his own torture.

But this morning he took what he wanted with deliberate intent.

Kurt grabbed Blaine's thigh to pull him still closer, tilted his head back against Blaine's jaw and hummed appreciation until the pleasure of the hand on his dick was too intense to allow sound.

As Kurt came down from the delirious heights of orgasm, Blaine's breath still shuddered against his neck, his cock still rocked into his ass, and his fingers still stroked, higher now, carefully avoided his softening flesh.

Oh yes, it was still much too soon.

* � � * � � * � � * � �*

�

“Today?” Blaine asked.

Kurt smiled at the light spilling around the curtain, slightly brighter today than it had been yesterday.

“Maybe.”