Kurt’s lips were still bruised in the morning; Blaine noticed when the countertenor rolled over in his sleep. He didn’t stay sleeping for long, though, having rolled over onto the more colorful of his hips. Blaine’s jaw dropped as he heard the soft moan start in the middle of Kurt’s chest and rumble through his body as he slowly roused himself. Quickly, Blaine shifted and closed his eyes enough that he could peek at his boyfriend from underneath the expanse of his eyelashes.

Another groan and three cracks in his back later, Kurt was awake, rubbing his eyes against the soft morning light that spilled into Blaine’s room and onto his pillow. Kurt blinked, adjusting, and turned to look at the curly-headed man across from him. His face broke into a soft smile, and Kurt ran his fingers through the other’s hair softly before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Then, he swung his legs over to stand and winced. Blaine could feel his cheeks heating up, arousal stirring deep in the pit of his stomach while he tried to decide what they’d done exactly last night to cause that reaction. It took almost all of his will power not to grab the boy and drag him bodily back to bed. Blaine refrained, however, if for no other reason than loving to watch the sway of his boyfriend’s hips as he padded naked into the bathroom.

--

In the bathroom, Kurt stretched out, hissing as his fingers grazed over his lower back. He sighed and smiled. “Blaine,” he murmured softly, turning in the mirror to see if he could catch the full expanse of the bruise. It was in the shape of the Warbler’s thumb, and Kurt could clearly see the bruise of the rest of the man’s hand that accompanied it dipping below his back and onto the pale cheeks of his ass. Kurt shook his head and gave himself the once over in the mirror.

He was used to it now; the marks, but as they showed up with more and more frequency in the four months that their relationship had progressed from just romantic to sexual, Kurt was increasingly curious as to just how much Blaine had left on him.

It had been an interesting night when Kurt had learned that Blaine liked to mark what was his. It had been both thrilling and a little more than intense when Blaine had pushed up his chin and started sucking right underneath his jaw. Kurt’s thighs quivered at the memory, and his fingers absently brushed that spot. There were four marks there now, the original one long gone and replaced with newer, fresher ones that Kurt was going to have to hide. While he didn’t mind that Blaine had a very hands…and lips-on approach to their lovemaking, there were only so many scarves and turtlenecks that he could wear around the house without drawing suspicion from his father.

So he decided to count. From the top down, Kurt started to count every single bite mark, hickey, scratch, bruise, and indentation that Blaine Anderson was responsible for.

“One,” the countertenor started, his voice quivering slightly in the small space as his fingertips stroked the spot behind his ear that made him see spots when Blaine bit it. Last night, he’d spent nearly ten minutes trying to form coherent sentences after his boyfriend had pulled his lips away from his ear. His brief reprieve was ended by marking all the way down Kurt’s neck, creating a semi-circle of kiss bruises that ended on his Adam’s apple. “Two, three, four, fi-oh five.” Kurt’s fingers trembled against his neck, watching the way that his jaw went slack in the reflection on the mirror as he touched the side of his neck. His cock jumped, remembering the way that Blaine’s tongue had outlined the shape of each hickey. His free hand slipped down his torso to palm at it, sighing as he stroked himself to full hardness.

The next set of marks started at his shoulders, small fingerprints that trailed into scratch marks up his shoulder blades, and they were still there after a day. Kurt bit his lip and wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking softly at the memory of when Blaine had begged him to fuck him senseless. Kurt had agreed, and, true to his word, left the poor boy so wordless after orgasm that Kurt wondered, amused, if he’d broken his boyfriend. “Ah, Blaine,” he whimpered, tilting his head forward to rest on the cool bathroom mirror as his hand started pumping faster.

Kurt’s hand dragged downward, counting the bite mark and the two hickeys surrounding his nipples, crying out softly when the pad of his thumb grazed over the sensitive nub of his nipple. His eyes flew open as the silence that swallowed his sounds surrounded him, and he belatedly remembered that he was jerking off in Blaine’s bathroom. The boy took a deep, steadying breath and looked at himself in the mirror. He laughed in shock when he saw that he could hardly see the color in his eyes around the dilation of his pupils. “So this is what he talks about,” he mused with a smile, then took a step back to count the line of shameless marks that reached from hipbone to hipbone. Kurt’s fingers trailed fondly down his thigh, pausing to cover the smaller handprint on his hip. He’d loved the way it felt, when he’d told Blaine to move and he’d done just that. Kurt had come so hard he saw spots.

When his hips bucked forward involuntarily, remembering the intensity of his orgasm, the boy almost gave up on trying to count all the ways that Blaine had marked him. He was spurred on by six half-crescents on his inner thighs. “Blaine’s nails,” he murmured around a deep groan, tracing the outline of each small indent with his index finger. Kurt’s hips had a tendency to move of their own volition whenever Blaine went down on him, which was quite often. He blamed it on the fact that his boyfriend’s tongue did things that Kurt thought should be illegal, and he couldn’t blame himself for trying to get more. Last night, though, Blaine was feeling possessive, and he wouldn’t let Kurt so much as think about moving his hips. Kurt licked his lips and remembered exactly what the Warbler had said.

“Blaine!” Kurt cried, trying in vain to push his pelvis up, to have more of his aching cock in Blaine’s mouth. It was so hot, and Kurt needed it more than he needed air to breathe or water to drink. Blaine simply pushed his fingers deeper into his boyfriend’s thighs and pulled off of him. Blaine’s hair was a curly, unruly mess, strands matted down on his forehead with sweat while others couldn’t decide whether or not they wanted to fall down in front of his eyes.

“Fuck, Kurt,” he growled through wet, swollen lips, and it sounded like the boy’s name was being ripped from his throat. When Blaine said his name like that, it made his mouth dry.

“Sorry,” he started to apologize, but he was silenced by a hand coming to cover his mouth. Blaine gave the boy’s dick a few soft, teasing licks and was rewarded by quiet mewls coming from behind his hand.

“Don’t apologize. It’s so hot, Kurt, watching you lose it under me.” Kurt could only swallow, not trusting himself with words. “It’s so sexy; your eyes get all wild, and your lips do that thing where they start to make a word, but then you forget.” Blaine had to pause then, taking a deep breath and taking his had from Kurt’s mouth. He put both hands back on the countertenor’s thighs and spread them, licking a flat line from the tip of his cock to the base of the shaft, and then back further. Kurt’s legs tightened and a quiver spread through his stomach. Blaine’s laugh rumbled and vibrated through his body. He pressed a kiss to the juncture between Kurt’s ass and thigh, and when Kurt gasped his name, Blaine stayed, sucking up a mark, and then leaving another to match on the other side. Kurt keened and looked down at his boyfriend, his pupils blown so wide that Blaine was surprised Kurt could see anything.

“Yeah, Kurt. Like that,” he spoke, his lips pressed against the boy’s entrance. Then, without warning, he was pushing his tongue past the first ring, and Kurt was screaming. And then he was babbling, an incoherent stream of words and praise, punctuated with the occasional “please” and “oh, God, more.”

The soap dish clattered into the sink, and that was what brought Kurt back from his daydream. While he was remembering last night, he’d leaned forward and was fingering the marks between his thighs, and his free hand had splayed across the marble of the countertop. The world came crashing down on him quickly, and Kurt was instantly aware of the fact that he was so hard it hurt.

--

Blaine hadn’t meant to see what was keeping Kurt in the bathroom. He was simply going to go in, kiss his boyfriend good morning, and then see if he wanted to get in the shower. Instead, when he started toward the bathroom, the first thing he heard was one of Kurt’s “I’m-trying-to-be-quiet-but-oh-God” moans. Blaine froze in place, swallowed, and then took smaller, quiet steps to the bathroom door. What he saw had him hard instantly.

Kurt was facing the mirror, and he had two fingers from his left hand in his mouth; he was sucking them like it was his job. Blaine’s jaw went slack, and he didn’t try to wipe the shock from his face. His boyfriend’s eyes were open, and he was staring at himself. From his angle, Blaine could see both Kurt’s face in the mirror and his body, which was covered in a light sheen of sweat as he got himself ready. His right hand immediately went to his dick, and Blaine pumped it absently. Kurt pulled his fingers out of his mouth and gasped, wasting no time in pressing his middle finger at his entrance. He hissed as it pushed through the first ring, and then the second, and then Kurt was panting, but his eyes never left his own reflection.

That was when he heard it. Kurt called his name, and the boy knew he’d been caught. “Blaine.” It was like a prayer when he said it. Instead of looking at the door, though, Kurt turned his head to the left and pushed himself further back on his finger before adding a second.

Oh, Blaine thought. Kurt was imagining Blaine. Inside of him. The next time Kurt turned to look back into the mirror, Blaine thought he was going to come right then and there. Kurt’s eyes had that hazy, far away but intense look in them. It was the look that meant that Kurt couldn’t really see anything in front of him, but that he could feel. Before he could stop himself, Blaine was pushing open the bathroom door. He walked in, and before Kurt could even register that his boyfriend was in the room, a hand was pulling his fingers out of his ass, and Kurt faintly recognized the feeling of calloused fingers spreading him before there was that unmistakable wetness of Blaine’s tongue.

“Wha—oh God,” Kurt shuddered, and his arms collapsed until he was using the countertop to support his entire weight. “Blaine,” he sobbed, trying to turn around to look at him. Blaine only pushed his tongue deeper, and Kurt forgot everything but the name on his lips. “Blaine, Blaine, Blaine!” Kurt’s entire body went still, and then everything was gone. There was no more tongue, and the warm hands were gone. Kurt blinked and tried to figure out what happened, but he was pulled upright and was being pushed against the wall. He looked down and there was Blaine, his hair mussed from sleeping, and he was sucking up a new mark on Kurt’s right collar bone.

“Jesus, Kurt,” came a rushed voice against his neck, and then Blaine was kissing him. Hard. There was none of the propriety that there had been in their first kiss; it was a kiss that was seated in desire and lust, and that was only multiplied by the fact that Blaine was sure that he was in love with the boy in front of him. “I was watching. Watching you,” he said between kisses, and Blaine’s hand came up to cup Kurt, and then to stroke him from shaft to tip. They were touches that were meant to tease, just enough to put Kurt on edge.

“W-watching me?” was the stunned reply that came out two octaves higher than Kurt meant it to.

“Yeah. You had your hand up here.” Blaine’s hand reached for his hip and his fingers fit the marks that he’d left perfectly. “And then down here.” The hand came down to Kurt’s ass, and a finger pressed softly at his entrance. Kurt pushed on it, but Blaine pulled away. Kurt whined. Usually Blaine was grabby and dominant. Now, he was barely giving him anything to hold onto. Kurt reached out, and Blaine took his hands, pulled them as far up above his head as he could reach, and forced his thighs open with his knee.

Kurt was vaguely aware that being restricted was something that should have scared him, but it was Blaine and because of it, Kurt was quickly losing his ability to remember when anything felt so good ever. The thought ended quickly when the boy realized that he was being pulled away from the wall and pushed into the shower. Kurt raised an eyebrow, but Blaine was insistent, pushing until he was against the wall in the shower. Blaine slammed the door shut and cut on the hot water, his eyes never once leaving Kurt’s body. He let the water wash over them for a moment before dropping to his knees in front of his boyfriend.

“I need you in my mouth,” he said over the spray of the shower, and that was Kurt’s only warning before all of his cock was in Blaine’s mouth, and the head of it was bumping against the Warbler’s throat. Blaine didn’t stop, though. Instead, he urged Kurt to let go, to move his hips. Kurt had never seen Blaine this turned on before, but it was definitely something he could get used to. It was only a few minutes, though, before Blaine was pulling off of Kurt and urging him to turn around and spread his legs just a little wider, please.

With the way that Blaine was begging, Kurt would have walked through the halls of McKinley naked, and he turned so that he was facing the wall. He felt Blaine press soft kisses against the backs of his knees and thighs as he stood up, and then he was pushing two fingers into Kurt, resting his forehead on the back of his shoulder. Kurt tensed up and moaned, a full-bodied one that made him shudder as he pushed back against the fingers inside of him. Blaine crooked his fingers upward and Kurt went weak in the knees, thankful for the strength of the boy behind him.

“Fuck, Blaine. Please, please,” he babbled as his pushed himself backward, hips snapping to meet his boyfriend’s fingers and gasping when they hit his prostate. “Bl—fuck me, please. Please, oh God.”

That was all it took, and Blaine was pulling his fingers quickly from Kurt. Kurt cried out at the loss and tried to turn and force himself on Blaine for more, but he was hushed by a kiss to the back of his neck. He felt lips traveling upward, and he turned his head to capture Blaine’s swollen lips in his, still bruised to match. This kiss was slower, not any less passionate, just with less force. It gave Blaine enough time to steady himself, pull himself back from the edge while he positioned himself behind Kurt.

The kiss seemed to relax Kurt, and after a moment, he was nodding and Blaine was pushing slowly, slowly, until he was buried flush inside of his lover. He stayed still, breathing in the steam-filled air and trying to remember exactly why he ever thought that anything other than this exact moment right here was living.

Kurt, on the other hand, had different plans. He was content with Blaine being still for a moment, but after that he was restless and impatient. He needed movement, friction, anything. His cock was trapped between his stomach and the shower wall, and his boyfriend’s dick was going to graze across his prostate at this angle. Kurt needed movement. So he started to lift himself off of Blaine, whining in protest when he was stilled by hands gripping his hips, keeping their bodies flush together. “Blaine!” he snapped. Kurt was rapidly approaching desperate, and he wasn’t above using his begging skills to his advantage.

“Yeah?” Before Kurt could respond, Blaine snapped his hips backward, then forward again, and Kurt gasped, fell silent, and then groaned, his head falling backward. The water from the shower slid through his hair and fell down Blaine’s back, but all the curly-haired man could focus on was the boy falling to pieces in front of him. “You’re mine.” Another deep, meaningful thrust. Kurt cried out and tried in vain to get more motion. “Mine, okay? Mine to mark, mine to fuck, mine to kiss.” Each declaration of ownership was punctuated by a short thrust until Blaine was incapable of anything other than a repetition of the phrase “mine.”

Kurt shivered down to his toes and let his head fall forward against the wall, then took his erection into his hand. Blaine batted it away and replaced long fingers with his own wider ones, jerking Kurt off in time to his thrusts. He could tell that Kurt was close from the way that the noises never stopped. It was always a whimper here, or a moan, a choked off sob, or simply the kind of breathing that was more out of necessity than the actual desire to take a breath. With this in mind, Blaine’s thrusts were deeper. He shifted just a little and on the next thrust, he felt Kurt’s scream before he heard it.

The scream started with a tightening in his chest and back, and then it sent a ripple down his spine. When he opened his mouth to moan, Kurt was screaming; words, sounds, anything. And then it was coherent. “Blaine,” he begged, voice broken, “Please, please. I’m so close. Oh, God, Blaine. Say my name. Please, Blaine, please. Please.” The words deteriorated into half-words again as Blaine continued to rock against his prostate, but Blaine was surprised at how badly Kurt seemed to need to get off.

Blaine took his hand off of Kurt and yanked slim hips against his own, feeling his own orgasm knotting the pit of his stomach and sending blank spots across his vision. “Oh my God. Kurt. Kurt…Kurt!” And then Blaine was coming, his hips snapping erratically once, twice, three times, and then stilling. He pulled out of Kurt and spun the boy around quickly to face him. Kurt’s face looked like he was in a place of blissful pleasure-pain, and the second that Blaine’s hand touched his cock, Kurt was coming and falling forward against Blaine, entirely unable to support his own weight.

When he’d finished, Kurt looked up at Blaine, hair soaked from the shower, and covered in moisture that was either water or sweat, and threw his arms around the other. Blaine threw out a hand to steady them and keep them from falling over, and kissed Kurt’s hairline. “Oh, my God, Blaine Anderson. What the hell was that?” he asked as he forced his legs to work. Blaine turned so that his boyfriend was underneath the water spray.

“Sorry,” Blaine said sheepishly. “I was watching you from the bathroom door. I was going to ask if you wanted…wanted to shower together, but then you were looking in the mirror at the marks, and then you were touching yourself, Kurt. Jesus.” Kurt nodded, looking just as surprised as Blaine was. Kurt turned his head and tilted it downward just a little so that he could kiss Blaine thoroughly on the mouth. They were panting and laughing as the pulled away from each other, and Kurt was the first to grab the soap and offer it to Blaine.

“I only did it because I wanted to count how much you’d ruined my perfect skin.” The joke was teasing and light as Blaine lathered soap onto Kurt’s back. Blaine chuckled and shook his head, spraying water across the expanse of the shower. “It’s not my fault I remembered pretty much everything you did while I was counting.”

“Uh huh,” Blaine said, pulling his “there-is-no-way-I-believe-that” face and pouring shampoo into his palm to wash Kurt’s hair. Once he’d rinsed and there was conditioner sitting in both of their hair, Blaine turned to Kurt and quirked an eyebrow. “So, what was the count anyway?”

Kurt laughed. “Forty seven.”