Blaine gets all loose limbed and dopey after he comes, which would be adorable, but usually they're sneaking in a few minutes here and there and Kurt needs his help disposing of the evidence and making sure they both look presentable before the barely cracked door is thrown open.

He likes to think that one of his most valuable talents is the fact that he can fuck his boyfriend while still keeping an ear trained on the door.

Today's different. They have had time to explore and haven't had to worry about volume levels and the sound of the garage door opening at any moment. And while neither of them are exactly loud (mostly likely due the years spent jerking off quietly in their bedrooms) it's the idea that they could be loud that excites Kurt.

Blaine is snuffling quietly with his head pressed against Kurt's chest. They're filthy, and normally Kurt would be squirming to get out of bed and jump into the shower, maybe even put on a new set of sheets, but he's just so comfortable. It's that perfect period of time after sex where the sweat hasn't cooled to a point where it's unbearable and he feels so sated. Good. Loved.

He lets his fingers trace patterns down Blaine's side with no destination in mind. He traces starts and stop of words, little swirls and hearts. Kurt wants to trace every wish he's ever had onto Blaine's skin in hopes that maybe he can keep them safe for him.

A gasp from Blaine alerts Kurt to just where his hand has ended up. His fingers are mindlessly tracing around the rim where Blaine's still wet and open.

Blaine tilts his head up and starts pressing messy, opened mouth kisses to the base of Kurt's throat as he slips a finger back inside.

Because that's the thing about these rare occasions where they have the house to themselves.

They aren't in any rush.

It’s sticky in a way that should be unbearable, but Kurt can’t find it in him to care as Blaine’s soft presses of lips devolve into nips and scrapes of his teeth.

“You’re going to leave a mark,” Kurt murmurs. There is no heat to his tone.

He can feel Blaine’s lips curve against the skin, just barely. “So I’ll leave a mark. You’ll figure out a way to cover it up. Won’t be the first time.”

“What if I want to show it off?” he says, testing the waters.

“You don’t want to,” Blaine says. “You like when it’s a secret.”

Kurt doesn’t argue, because he so does. He’s such a sucker for sore limbs and hidden scratches and mouth shaped bruises, because they’re the only ones that know that they’re there. Blaine’s fingers will find the spot on Kurt’s bicep where he gripped hard enough to mark the previous night during choir practice or even a Friday night dinner, and Kurt will have to bite the inside of his cheek to fight the ensuing flush of his cheeks.

He slides his fingers deep, harder, searching for --

Blaine fucks down onto his fingers and he sucks hard on the patch of skin he had been paying attention to. “Oh, Kurt,” he babbles. “Fuck me again, can you fuck me again?”

“You’ll be sore, baby,” Kurt says softly.

“I like it when I’m sore,” Blaine admits. His words are no louder than the gentle shift of the mattress as Kurt grabs the lube from the nightstand.

Kurt grabs the condom, too, before he can change his mind.

“You sure?” Kurt asks, trying to squash the silent voice that is begging for Blaine to say yes. His desire to be enclosed in the tight heat of his boyfriend’s ass will always be silenced by the welfare of aforementioned boyfriend.

“So, so sure,” Blaine mumbles against Kurt’s chest. Kurt doesn’t even want to think about the marks he’s left, but luckily they are limited to a general area that will be easy to cover.

There was a time where the v-neck of his Cheerios uniform would have shown at least one of them. Kurt thinks back to that time of his life dimly. Wonders if Blaine has a thing for cheerleaders.

Kurt thinks with as many condoms as they’ve gone through, he should be a pro at it by now. No struggling with the packaging and shaking hands, but a smooth, effortless slip. His hands still shake every time with the weight of what Blaine is trusting him with.

Part of him hopes it never goes away.

As if on cue, Blaine lays down on his stomach, his hips arches off the bed in a way that is as ridiculous as it is tantalizing. If it weren’t for the anatomical wonder that is Blaine’s ass, Kurt is sure that it would just be ridiculous.

It’s not. It’s so not.

Kurt grips himself by the base as his cock nudges against Blaine’s asshole. His legs are loose and open for him, and Kurt can’t help but groan at how good he’s taking it.

Blaine doesn’t tense as he starts to press in, in fact, his hips arch up into it. Kurt has to press his teeth into Blaine’s shoulder just to distract himself from how perfect this feels. It feels like the practiced, wonderful kind of sex that they shouldn’t know at this age.

When he’s bottomed out, he just stays there for awhile. Blaine whines and tries to shift his hips, but he has nowhere to go. The bed creaks in a way that Kurt would typically find lewd, but he only finds himself disappointed that no one is around to hear the sound of him fucking Blaine into the mattress.

He drags his hips back barely, just enough to hear Blaine gasp beneath him. There will be time for sharper, quicker, urgent. There will be time to turn him into a babbling mess.

No one is coming home any time soon. There is no training their ears to the door for a familiar set of keys turning in the knob or that panic inducing rumble of the garage door opening.

Like he was saying -

They aren’t in any rush.