“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine moans, stretching out on the back bench seat of Kurt’s Navigator as Kurt starts a journey down his chest, pushing aside his Dalton tie and undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one with shaking fingers. “Oh, God, yes ...”

“Don’t get ahead of me there,” Kurt scolds, teasing, but nervous, when Blaine lifts up and his hardening erection bumps Kurt’s clavicle. “We’re not going that far tonight.”

“I … I know, I know, and I’m completely on board with that plan,” Blaine backpedals quickly before Kurt calls an end to the whole make-out session, leaving them to find some awkward, PG way to cool off. “It’s just … God, you feel so good. No pressure. I just … wanted to tell you.”

Kurt bites his lip. He never knows what to say after that. Thank you sounds tacky and so do you sounds like he can’t think up a compliment of his own … which he can’t, hence his issue. But that stops mattering when an idea he’s been fiddling with pops into his head, inspired by the hard-on pressed against his chest.

“Blaine?”

“Yes?”

“You know how we have that no touching below the equator rule?”

Blaine looks at Kurt, immediately hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Well …” Kurt ponders how he can say it without outright saying it “… what if, for tonight, we re-establish that boundary … a bit lower?”

Blaine gulps. “H-how much lower?”

“I don’t know …” Kurt’s on the verge of waffling when he feels everything from his toenails to his eyebrows burn. “How about … Peru?”

Blaine stares up at the ceiling, negotiating a world map in his mind. After a tense minute, he shakes his head. “Kurt, I have too little blood in my brain right now to try and determine the geography of Peru as it relates to my anatomy.”

“I want to touch you, Blaine,” Kurt blurts out, “if that’s okay. But … only with my hands.” Kurt tries to gauge Blaine’s reaction from where he’s crouched over his boyfriend’s stomach. “Is that … alright?”

“Hm -- what?” Blaine asks, because for a split second, he feels like he’s dreaming. “Is that … yes! Yes, absolutely, yes! Without a shadow of a doubt, yes!”

“Alright, alright! I get the hint!” Kurt climbs up Blaine’s body, searching for a comfortable spot on the bench with his boyfriend. He only accomplishes it by lying on top of Blaine on his side, lining up legs and hips so as not to dig a hard lump of bone into a soft part of Blaine.

“Are you good?” Blaine asks, shifting to avoid an elbow to the midsection and a knee to the groin. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah.” Kurt settles onto Blaine’s body as best he can while trying to look a tiny bit sexy at the same time. “Yeah, I am.”

“Okay.” Blaine becomes breathless now that Kurt is on top of him, his lips so close to his mouth, his hand roaming, traveling to vistas yet unexplored.

“Is this okay?” Kurt asks, fingering Blaine’s belt.

“Yeah.” Blaine sucks in his stomach in the hopes that Kurt will forgo the belt altogether and just shove his hand down his pants. “That’s more than okay.”

Kurt doesn’t get the memo about the belt, but he makes short work of the thing anyway, undoing it and Blaine’s fly without even looking. Tentative hands creep past their comfort zones and into other zones, erogenous zones. Fingers that have done little more than lace with Blaine’s wrap around Blaine’s cock and hold, just hold, but that’s enough to make Blaine tingle all over, sizzle down every muscle fiber as if he’s a massive stick of dynamite getting ready to detonate. When Kurt begins to stroke, Blaine realizes he just might. He’s overwhelmed by sensation, a sparking ball of pressure preparing to erupt. Heat and pressure. He doesn’t recall ever feeling like this when he’s at home punishing the bishop. This is coming at him too fast, overfilling his veins, thrumming in his nerves. He has no control, and what’s left of his restraint, he’s losing.

Blaine’s body goes from pliant, writhing mess to board stiff when he processes what’s happening. Cold replaces heat, but anxiety ratchets up the pressure.  “K-Kurt … wait. K-Kurt, d-don’t. Kurt, stop!”

Blaine pulls his hips back, trying to dislodge Kurt’s hand. Finally connecting the urgency in Blaine’s voice to the words coming out of his mouth, Kurt stops stroking.

“What!? Oh my God! Blaine! Did I hurt you? Is something wrong? What did I …?” Kurt pulls his hand away a split second too late. He jolts up, smacking his head against the ceiling, while Blaine’s body convulses in weak spasms, Blaine’s incredible, soul-possessing, mind-wiping orgasm, the one he had tried to stem before his body went haywire, effectively ruined.

“Blaine!” Kurt gasps, throwing his hands over his mouth to cover his highly inappropriate, nerve-induced laughter. “I am so sorry. I am so so sorry. I didn’t understand …”

“That’s okay.” Blaine blows out quick puffs of air to calm himself down. “It’s just … I didn’t want that to happen … without you.”

“Oh.” Kurt sighs, laughter dying in his mouth, swirling down his throat and landing in his stomach as disappointment. “It did happen a lot earlier than I thought it would.” Kurt looks at his own body and frowns, his tight jeans smothering his erection. “Hardly seems fair.”

Blaine shimmies up, propping himself on his elbows, humiliation painting red splotches on his cheeks. “I … I’m the one who’s sorry, Kurt. You agreed to … you were so wonderful, and I … maybe I should just go.”

“Don’t you dare go anywhere, Blaine Anderson!” Kurt says, planting his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders and pushing him back down onto the seat. “That was just round one. And you know how the old saying goes.”

“Which one?” Blaine asks, grinning beneath the glowing and slightly suggestive smile of his understanding boyfriend.

“The third time’s the charm.”