“So beautiful,” Kurt whispers, followed by a kiss to his temple. “You’re gorgeous.” Between his eyes. “Breathe, baby.” His cheekbone. “Perfect. Perfect, and all mine.” The corner of his mouth, before dragging his lips across Blaine’s, pulling his lower lip between his own and kissing him sweetly.

That is, until Blaine musters up the strength to reply. He’s young – his recovery time is fast – and within a minute or so, his eyes are flying open and he’s grabbing a handful of Kurt’s shirt, pulling him in for a breathtaking kiss. It’s sloppy; he’s not completely back yet. It’s all teeth and tongues and their noses definitely bump more than once, but neither cares. In that moment, all they care about is being as close to each other as possible, so close they’re practically breathing for each other.

Eventually, Kurt pulls back with a swallow, breathing heavily. “We’re running out of time in here. They’ll come looking for us soon.”

Blaine just slides his hand down Kurt’s torso, smoothing down his shirt before reaching for the button to his jeans, his fingers fumbling with the clasp in his overly-relaxed state. “We have time.”

Kurt takes in a shaky breath and just nods, quickly. He’s not going to complain, not when he’s so hard it hurts, the sharp stiffness of the zipper digging uncomfortably into his skin. After a few silent seconds, he pushes Blaine’s hand away, bringing his zipper down in one smooth motion. Then he rocks up onto his knees, shimmying the tight fabric down over his hips before sitting down again to remove them completely. Blaine grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off, careful to drape it over the edge of the counter, since Kurt intends to wear it again later, and then-

And then he just stares.

They both know they’re on borrowed time. They know that Finn or Rachel or Puck or – God forbid – Santana could walk back inside at any second. They’ve already been in the cramped room for at least a solid ten minutes, and considering that Blaine came already dressed, there’s no way the rest of New Directions are going to give them much more time alone together.

But he can’t help it.

He raises a hand and places it on Kurt’s shoulder. After a slight squeeze, his begins moving down – slowly, almost torturously slow, his fingers barely ghosting against Kurt’s smooth skin.

He doesn’t linger. As much as he loves Kurt’s body and loves the very feel of him – wants to memorize every dip and contour – he knows this isn’t the time.

“Later,” he says. His voice is barely audible, even in the otherwise silent room, but Kurt knows that it’s a promise. So he nods, then pushes himself up onto his knees one more time.

Blaine takes the hint and moves his hands down to Kurt’s hips, grabbing the waistband of his briefs and sliding them down. They stretch a bit awkwardly over his lower thighs, just above his knees, but they can’t be bothered to pull them off all the way. Precious seconds.

With a firm grip, Blaine wraps his hand around the base of Kurt’s cock. There’s no time for smooth or slow or teasing or sweet. There’s no time for anything but sure, sharp tugs and twists. He pumps Kurt quickly, the friction of his bare hand against his skin almost overwhelming, but Kurt passed overwhelmed when Blaine came down his throat with a muffled cry.

“Faster,” Kurt says, jerking his hips up into Blaine’s grip.

Blaine is more than happy to oblige.

“Nggh – Blaine, close.”

Blaine’s movements never slow down. “Already?” he asks, circling the head with his thumb. His voice would be playful, but it comes out in such a ragged pant that he sounds as desperate as Kurt feels. Time is ticking and they both want so bad.

Kurt nods and throws his head back sharply, his eyes clenched shut tight. “Harder – faster, please, Blaine, please-…”

And that was the last thing he needed. Kurt so rarely begs him for anything; he prides himself on being the more composed of the two of them, even during sex. So when he comes undone, lets himself loosen up more, react more vocally, it kills Blaine.

He tightens his fist around Kurt’s cock, jerking him in rough, uneven motions. The time for tenderness is past, and they both know it. Blaine moves in even closer to Kurt, leaving just enough space between them for his frantic tugging, and before Kurt can even protest it, Blaine removes his other hand from Kurt’s hip, wrapping it around his waist.

It dips down, and Kurt thinks Blaine is going to grab his ass again like he did on Rachel’s porch, but he just keeps going, his hand gliding lower and lower until – with a barely there touch – Blaine slides his thumb into the cleft and presses against the tight ring of muscle.

Kurt falls forward, biting down harshly on Blaine’s shoulder to quiet the shout that erupts from him as he comes over his hand. Blaine milks him through it, pumping him with much slower, smoother strokes until Kurt’s body stops convulsing.

He lets go of Blaine’s shoulder, struggling desperately to pull in oxygen, and slumps off his knees, a boneless pile leaning against the dark wood cabinets.

Kurt knows he should get dressed – knows that both his and Blaine’s clothes are probably horribly wrinkled and that they really, really need to be getting outside – but he figures he can give himself at least one minute to relearn the technique of breathing.

Blaine is the first to move. He grabs a wad of tissue and wipes his hand off, throwing it into the nearby toilet. Then he slides his swimsuit back up, tying it back in place, and crawls the foot or so across the floor to Kurt. Carefully, he untucks the boy’s legs out from underneath him, stretching them out. With nothing but reverence and love now, he slides the briefs down the rest of the length of his legs, helping him to slide out of them.

He digs into the bag that Kurt brought, pulling out the swimsuit and tucking one foot at a time into the leg holes, pulling the fabric up his body until he can’t anymore.

“You need to sit up for me, love. Or raise your hips,” he says, leaning forward to press his lips to Kurt’s forehead. If he lingers there a bit longer than necessary, neither of them mention it.

With a sigh, Kurt rocks his hips forward again, raising them off the floor just enough that Blaine can pull his suit up, tucking him inside with gentle hands so as not to irritate the overly sensitive skin too much. Once he’s settled back against the floor, Kurt leans forward, nuzzling his face into Blaine’s neck.

“Love you. I hope you know that.”

Blaine chuckles. “You get so affectionate after sex.”

Kurt raises a hand, draping it across Blaine’s neck, twirling a loose curl around his finger. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He simply replies, “Never,” and kisses his temple, and Kurt knows it’s true.