The bed stops shaking.

Grunts and whines fade to soft, shuddery breaths.

The air in the loft, always too chill in the winter no matter how many times the radiator kicks on, hangs heavy, hot and thick, with the lingering tang of sweat and sex, too much breathing out and not enough breathing in, which leaves both Blaine and Kurt floating.

But Kurt, kneeling inside his sub's spread legs, holding tight to the mattress until he can see without random starbursts and dots shooting behind his eyes, still has the strength to straighten up and climb off the bed. Blaine, tied by his wrists and his knees to the bed frame, limbs pulled so far in four directions that he can barely move, had been awake until just a minute ago, writhing out his orgasm on the soiled sheets. Kurt pulled out right when he came and watched as delicious tremors racked through Blaine's body, not traveling from muscle group to muscle group but slamming him all at once - shoulders and spine, hips and ass, his legs nearly cramping at the knees. Then they died down, and so did Blaine. Kurt heard a final deep exhalation of breath, and seconds later, Blaine began to snore.

It made Kurt laugh to see Blaine fall out like that.

With a satisfied grin, loopy from exertion and from holding his breath, Kurt looks at his sub tied to their bed - used, spent, beaten, exhausted. Kurt kneels on the floor by Blaine's head and gently touches his sleeping face. Kurt had pushed him farther this time, gone at him a little harder. From this angle, Kurt sees Blaine's wrists rubbed raw; dark circles beneath his eyelids where strain had broken vessels and given him two mildly black eyes; his lower lip chewed till he drew blood; and down the length of his sides, his back, and his legs, purpling bruises and oddly shaped welts from pretty much everything they had in their toy box – a wooden spoon, a hairbrush, a spatula, and at one point, a meat tenderizer, which left blocks of pinpricks all over Blaine's ass.

At some point, Kurt can smell, Blaine had wet the bed.

Kurt had even taken a spin at turning the hairbrush on himself, smacking up and down the outsides of his own thighs right before he came – his own secret indulgence.

Kurt smiles. Blaine will be proud of the marks on his body when he wakes up and sees them, but Kurt plans on taking a few pictures for their joint blog, so that Blaine will get the chance to see them fresh, in all their vibrant glory. Kurt finds them fascinating, awe-inspiring, a sign of endurance that Blaine wears like a trophy. And with his tan skin and his defined muscles, they look good on him.

Someone who didn't know better might look at Blaine, bound and worked to the point of exhaustion, and see passion spent. As a younger Dom, Kurt would have thought that, too. But no. This is the proof of passion alive, and ever living. Energy may go, it can be built up and wasted, but in the same way pure water evaporates and leaves everything else behind, when energy is used up, passion stays. It doesn't disappear to be kindled anew the next time Kurt commands Blaine to kneel or to service him. Passion exists, always there, simmering beneath, waiting to be summoned. Their love for one another, their devotion, fuels it, and everything else that they do together, from sharing a meal, to talking, to dancing, to sex and these sessions, fans the flames, keeps them burning tall and bright.

Kurt thinks it's adorable, the way Blaine sometimes passes right out, but Kurt would prefer his sub awake after a session, especially one as vigorous as this. Down Blaine's front are the nicks from a zipper Kurt had made with wooden clothespins and yanked off before he flipped Blaine to his stomach. Kurt wants to talk to Blaine about it. He thinks Blaine enjoyed it. Blaine didn't safeword, he didn't complain. When Kurt had asked him how he was holding up, Blaine said he was green. But Kurt still got the feeling that the experience, which had been new for Blaine, wasn't as fantastic as it could have been. Actually, Kurt has a lot of questions for Blaine, things he'd like to discuss about the last two hours. But on the other hand, Blaine needs his sleep. They'd both had a trying day, and this session, which Kurt had been thinking over for a while but that he sort of threw together on the fly, was mostly aimed towards stress relief.

Kurt knows Blaine. He knows every sound that his sub makes, awake and asleep. He knows his sighs, knows his whimpers, knows his murmurs of distress. Kurt can usually recognize the signs that accompany a drop when it happens. As long as Kurt stays with Blaine, body to body, breath against his skin, arm around his waist and fingers playing in his hair, Blaine should be fine. Then, when Blaine wakes up, Kurt will order them some Thai delivery, and they can have a long talk about the good, the not-so good, and the outright bad.

Kurt stands and looks at his mess of an unconscious sub – the broken skin that needs tending, the sheets that need changing, the knots that he'll probably just end up cutting through. Meh. This wasn't his favorite rope, anyway. Kurt has a long road ahead of him until he can give in to his own exhaustion, but that's part of what comes with choosing the lifestyle he lives, and having someone as incredible as Blaine in his care. Blaine's trust and his love is worth any amount of discomfort on Kurt's part. He wouldn't have it any other way.