It was a quiet evening. A still evening. There was neither wind outside nor movement inside that should have disturbed Kurt from his rest. But deep inside his dreaming, he felt light footfalls cross his skin - some pattering like rain, some swiping like a feather. They sent a current trickling through his nerves that lured his entrenched mind to the surface, his heavy eyelids fluttering as he felt himself pulled out of the arms of sleep.

“Is that you tickling me, husband?” Kurt asked through sluggish lips expending more energy smiling than speaking. “Or is that a beetle I feel crawling up my chest? Because, if it is a beetle, it feels like a rather large one, and I promise, I will scream.”

Kurt heard a laugh beside his ear, amusement underscored by a sultry thread that wrapped around Kurt’s heart and tugged him further.

“And as amusing as that would be for me to hear,” Blaine whispered, imagining the audience of servants they would receive if Kurt screeched the way he did when he say a particularly grotesque insect, “I must confess, tis only me, my love.”

Upon hearing his husband’s voice, Kurt’s eyes made a more concerted effort to open. Wide they went, and focused. When Blaine’s face and mussy hair came clearly into view, Kurt’s smile found its remaining strength.

“Hello, my lord,” he said.

“Hello, my love.” Blaine leaned in to kiss Kurt’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“I would rather be woken than have you lying here alone in the dark, my lord.”

“Tis very kind of you.” Blaine’s fingers moved past Kurt’s clavicle to continue unlacing his night shirt, toying with the strings and gently pulling the edges apart. “I know that it is still a long time till sun up, but do you mind my touching you?” His fingers glided over Kurt’s chest to his nipple. He paused there, circling with his middle finger, enticing a moan-like sigh from Kurt’s drowsy body.

“Hmmm, I guess not,” Kurt said, struggling to keep his eyelids open. They wanted so much to close so that his body might absorb his husband’s touches, focus on their pattern and direction. “But why are you awake, my lord? Did you have another nightmare?”

“No. Tis nothing of that nature. I simply woke and saw your skin glowing in the candlelight.” Blaine dragged his fingertips back across Kurt’s chest, pressing gingerly to see the tracks of his fingers painted red on Kurt’s skin. “Tis so pale, your skin. So fair that the firm touch of my hand leaves an imprint. The press of my teeth leaves a bruise.”

“Tis true,” Kurt agreed. “I am a blank slate for you to abuse.”

Blaine gasped at his husband’s chosen words. He stopped his hand and backed away, his brow pinched with worry. “Oh, my darling. I would never think to abuse you. Is that what you see when I leave marks on your skin?”

“No.” Kurt smiled to smooth Blaine’s worry lines away. “Because you do not wound or bruise me. You decorate me. You paint me. You brand me as your own. That is not abuse, my lord. That is love.”

Blaine bit his lower lip so as not to giggle like a dolt. Kurt’s sentiment was exactly how Blaine felt when he saw the marks his mouth left on his husband’s skin. Kurt forever told Blaine to do as he pleased with his body; that he would not shatter if Blaine held him too hard, would not break if Blaine pinned him down. But Kurt was unlike anyone that Blaine had ever taken to bed. He was perfect in his innocence, delicate in his inexperience. Kurt had told Blaine that if he could take Blaine at his most gentle, he could also accept him when he was rough, but Blaine was still learning how far those boundaries extended.

Biting and marking and leaving purple brands seemed like a safe place to start exploring.

“Then would you mind if I decorated you a little?” Blaine asked, fingers returning to skate circles over Kurt’s ribs. “If you are still tired, you may sleep while I do.”

“My lord” - Kurt shifted to better face his husband - “you have far too much faith in me.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow at his husband’s remark. “How do you mean, husband?” Blaine asked, for Kurt had all of Blaine’s faith, and as far as Blaine was concerned, it could never be enough.

“I am only human, my lord. With your fingers and mouth on me, I could never fall asleep.”

“Ah, I see,” Blaine said with the curlings of a shy and apologetic smile. “So, what say you then, husband?”

“I say …” Kurt gazed into Blaine’s eyes – his singular gold-and-whiskey eyes. He brought his hand from beneath the blanket and drew a path down Blaine’s cheek with a single finger that Blaine caught with a kiss when it came near his mouth. Kurt did desire more sleep, at least a few more hours. The coming cold in his stiff shoulder made him miserable sometimes, though he worked hard not to show it. But Blaine lived with the ache in his leg every day. At least Kurt’s would fade. These moments with Blaine in the early morning, these private moments, Kurt wanted to cherish, every one of them, whenever they presented themselves “…. keep me awake, my lord, so that we may sing the sun into the sky together, and glory in its rise.”

Blaine smiled. “As you wish, my charming husband.” Blaine nuzzled into Kurt’s neck and began his kisses there. He’d make a mark, then journey on and make another, creating a mosaic on his husband’s skin that would require two scarves to competently cover. Kurt moaned when Blaine’s teeth sank into the sensitive skin of his shoulder, but it was halved by a yawn that rose up to take its place, the last bits of sleep daring to lodge their complaints before they were shaken free.

Blaine chuckled against Kurt’s shoulder, seizing an opportunity to tease his husband.

“Do you think that my attentions alone will be sufficient enough to keep you awake, my love?”

“They should be, my cheeky husband,” Kurt snickered as Blaine nibbled a path down his chest. “They do make quite the impact.”