Thud. ThudThud.

You know he's in there – you can hear him.

ThudThudThud. Thud.

But you know he's not mad – he told you he wants to get back into it. Because he forgot how much he enjoys beating the crap out of a punch bag, apparently.

Thud. Thud.

Another thing you know is that he probably looks sexy as hell with his tank top soaked through with sweat and his curls dripping with it.

ThudThud. Thud.

And, fuck it, you can't resist the temptation anymore, so you just walk in there, even though he told you not to wait for him after school today.

Thud. Thud.

You're right – of course you are, you're always right – there he is, looking hot as fuck, his grey wife-beater sticking to his perfect form. You see the beads of sweat dripping off the ends of his hair as he lunges and you can't help but let out a little strangled sound from somewhere deep in your throat. And that's when he notices you're there.

He pulls the punch he was going for, jerking up in surprise and almost losing his balance. He stares at you for a long moment, trying to calm his panting … which only makes your own breathing quicken. The quick rise and fall of his chest, the sharp staccato sound of the breath bursting out through his lips … his lips …

"Kurt. Wha- what are you doing here?" and his voice is deep and gravelly. You notice that the flush isn't fading from his cheeks, and you realise that it's not just from exertion, but from embarrassment.
"Just … watching you," you say too-innocently, trying to control the tremor in your too-high voice. He yanks off his gloves forcefully and starts unwrapping his hands.
"I thought I told you I was busy today?"
"Please, Blaine, it's not like I didn't know what you were doing! I just wanted to-"
"I don't want you to see me like this!" and he lashes out at the punch bag. You wince at his explosion and you both just stand there for a moment, watching it swing. You're sure the expression on your face is stunned, and he pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, breathing deeply. "Sorry – I didn't mean to shout, I just … I love you, and … I don't want you to see me when I'm … fighting. I'm a different person when I'm fighting – I'm not me, and-"

At this point in his slightly incoherent rambling, you understand his point. You also disregard it completely. So you make your way behind him –right behind him – and you position your lips next to his ear, inhaling his heady scent.
"Well," you whisper, cutting him off mid-ramble, "I don't think you're a different person, it's just a different side to you. A very … hot … side to you," and you punctuate your words with a sloppy, messy, wet kiss to the side of his throat. You can't help but moan into his skin at the salty flavour which is currently making your taste-buds explode. Your lips don't leave his skin, but you smirk a little around the hickey you're currently sucking into the juncture between his neck and his shoulder as you realise that's he's stopped talking and that his knuckles are white where he's gripping the weights machine for support.

You kiss down his chest, annoyed when your lips come into contact with his top rather than his flesh, but you just stretch it out of the way so that you have better access to his skin. He splutters a little as you start to lap up the little rivulets of sweat, dragging your tongue sinfully slow over his dark nipple. He lets out a needy little whimper, which you'd never thought you'd find so attractive, and you know you've found your mark.

You force him backwards, smiling as he stumbles a little, and down so that he's sitting on the edge of the bench press, pulling his shirt off as you do so. You love that he doesn't question your motives at all, just doing as you direct him, staring, with his honey-gold eyes wide and dark. His lips are slightly parted, and you can't help but swipe a kiss across them. He leans into it, eagerly, but you pull away. The look on his face is like someone just shot his puppy, but you stroke his cheek, soothingly.

"It's okay, baby, I'm going to take care of you," you croon. Then you straddle him, and the way his eyes light up makes you want to just ravishhim there and then. Luckily, you have just a smidgeon of self-control left. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you duck your head down, immediately swirling your tongue around his nipple. The strangled groan he lets out goes straight between your legs, and you shiver at the sensation of his hot breath in your hair. You suck a little on the bud, snickering as he jumps at the graze of your teeth.

"You … I … more …" and you love that he's so incoherent, that you can make your usually so dapper boyfriend fall apart with just your touch. You hum through your ministrations, making him writhe beneath you, all the while panting out a string of incoherencies, with your name and an occasional profanity thrown in the mix. He literally spasms as you bite down, hard enough for the cry to be equal parts pleasure and pain. You place a soft kiss over the sensitive flesh and direct your attention to his other nipple, starting the same routine again.

Your breath catches as he starts to thrust his hips up into yours, desperate for the friction, but you doggedly ignore his attempts to get you to move further down. You're about to end with your big finale, when suddenly the lights go out.

"Shit!" you say, abruptly sitting up, "that means we've only got five minutes before they lock up! How long have we been here?"
"Kurt!" he whines from under you, drawing out your name, "I want …"
"Blaine! Come on! We've got to get out of here! As much as I'd love this to continue, I refuse to get locked in school!"
"Don't care … doesn't matter … need you …" you smile at the petulant tone in his voice.
"Come on," you sigh, searching around in the darkness for his shirt, your bag, his hand, "my house is empty – we'll finish up when we get home. Promise." That seems to appease him a little because he doesn't resist as you drag him towards the exit. "Here, put my coat on – you'll freeze without a shirt out there …" but it's you who freezes when you look around, squinting through the darkness, to see that the hand that isn't holding yours is rubbing against his chest, tweaking at his nipples. You hear the little moan he lets out and literally manhandle him into the coat and pull him into the parking lot. Bundling him into your car, you reverse out as quickly as you can, trying so hard not to be distracted by the little mewling sounds emitting from his mouth as he plays with himself. You press your foot down on the accelerator, hard.

"What was that you were saying about me not watching you fight?" you literally growl.
"No- nothing," he hitches out around a groan-and-pant which has you speeding through a red light.
"I thought so."