This was where he was supposed to be. Trading whispered gasps, hands grappling for purchase in a seemingly fused blur of sheets and skin. He knew in the back of his mind that there was an outside world that would soon be demanding their presence, whether it was the telltale vibration of the garage door opening - located strategically beneath Kurt's bedroom or worse yet, the stompstompstomp of footsteps clomping up the stairs. In Finn's case, they served as a warning, a predecessor to a much more unwelcome intruder. In Burt's, a gunshot - as in, oh shit they had a matter of seconds to arrange the sheets in a less conspicuous manner or they were dead.
But for now, they were in their own little world. Blaine felt detached in the best way possible, like he was watching the scene unfold before him. Because this couldn't be them, the two awkward teenagers who were still trying to learn each other's bodies and hearts. Over the sound of blood rushing to his ears, he could distantly hear the little 'uhn uhn uhn' sounds that were falling from his lips and the way Kurt reacted with a startled stutter of his hips. They forgot the effect they had on one another sometimes. In those moments, he was reminded of how young they were. How lucky they were to know this kind of connection at their age. They weren't special, by any means. Just lucky.
Kurt looked positively wrecked, with sweat soaked hair plastered to his forehead. Blaine knew the mirror would find him in a similar predicament, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted the smell of this other boy, man, to seep into his pores and stay with him forever. Like the way the fibers of his clothes seemed to absorb Kurt's various lotions and detergents after an afternoon wrapped in each other's arms. Bruises and marks were nice reminders, but they faded with time. He needed him always.
"Kurt," he warned, raking his fingers down his arms in a feather light drag. There would be plenty of time for things to sync up, for the motions to be practiced and precise. And maybe they wouldn't. Maybe there would always be a fumbling, searching aspect to it all. It's beautiful, in it's own way. The thrill of every time feeling like the first.
He couldn't find it in his heart to be upset when Kurt tumbled off the ledge first, especially not with the determined way he gripped Blaine in a mockery of they had just been doing. A murmured encouragement rumbled in his ear, but it was quickly lost to the way the world closed in on the sensation. Every touch ignited sparks as he pleaded for something that the other boy had no intentions of stopping. But he needed the confirmation. He needed to know he'd be there for the fall.
...and fall, he did.