“Blaine, we should—” Kurt pulls back, panting softly and, if the heat in his face is any indication, flushed bright red. He gets one good look at Blaine’s face - his heavy-lidded, warm eyes, his red and slightly swollen mouth, his lips just parted - and Kurt suddenly can’t bring himself to say “stop.”
“I want you so bad,” Blaine says in a voice that’s so low it’s almost a growl, and Kurt’s breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding. Blaine can’t just say stuff like that. It reminds Kurt of heated nights or afternoons in Blaine’s bed, when they’re all roaming fingers and mouths until Blaine gets to that place where he just keeps begging, babbling between kisses about how good Kurt feels, tastes. Even the memory is enough to make Kurt blush, but they haven’t gotten enough time to themselves to have sex for weeks now.
“We- we don’t have time to—” Kurt tries to say, but Blaine’s kissing his neck now, his nose tucked underneath Kurt’s ear while his lips and tongue worry at the sensitive skin there. Kurt grabs blindly at the back of Blaine’s shoulders, fisting his hands into the material of Blaine’s shirt and pulling him closer and just clinging because if he doesn’t he’s going to start whimpering. “We can’t, sweetie,” Kurt finally whispers.
Blaine groans into Kurt’s skin, but it’s more frustration than anything. “Can’t we just— you know.” Kurt tilts his head to try to meet Blaine’s eyes, because he doesn’t know, but Blaine’s staring down Kurt’s body, his wide palm sliding from Kurt’s hip to the small of his back and pushing firmly until Kurt’s body is flush against Blaine’s.