It isn't so much a dressing room as a small space surrounded by a thick cloth curtain. It's right behind the outdoor stage, and the sun shines brightly in. When Blaine tilts his head back, he can see blue sky above, with just a few puffy clouds. Inside the curtained area is just enough room for a table, a chair, a full length free standing mirror, and a coat rack for hanging costumes on. The amusement park is noisy around them. Children shout and laugh, announcers call for more contestants in their duck shooting games, and that death-defying sudden drop ride makes a whirring, startling siren noise nearby. The smell of corn dogs and deep fried Mars bars drifts in on the breeze.
Just minutes ago, Blaine was impeccably dressed in his suit and tie, complete with a pocket square and carefully polished shoes. But now his pants and underwear are around his ankles and his shirt and jacket have been pushed up high on his back. He's leaning over the table, one of those cheap but sturdy wood-topped ones with narrow metal legs, like the kind grade schools buy in bulk. He's leaning his weight on his palms as Kurt fucks him from behind.
It isn't the kind of fucking they indulge in privately, fast and urgent with loud moans and slapping skin and declarations of love. Every sound they make now can be heard just outside the curtain, so Kurt is thrusting slowly, purposefully, gripping Blaine's hips tight, and Blaine is gasping as quietly as he can.
Blaine pictures what it will be like when he goes out onto the stage immediately after they're done, still a little red-faced, probably, with Kurt's come leaking out of his asshole. He'll smile charmingly at the crowd of families, young couples, and sweet elderly folks. He'll sing about new love and summertime as he dances across the stage, and none of them will know that he'll be doing it all by muscle memory, most of his attention focused on the feeling of warm wetness dripping out of him and squishing between his ass cheeks.
He's close now, just from the thought of it, and he begs in a soft, soft whisper "Touch me. Touch me." He feels Kurt's arm wrap around him to grip his cock, pumping it quickly, jerkily. He feels Kurt's unsteady breath against the back of his neck. Blaine uses one hand to take his pocket square from his top pocket and holds it in front of his cock to catch the mess.
An agitated female voice comes through the curtain: "Ten minutes, Blaine." It's the stage manager. Blaine hesitates a moment, trying to hold steady, then says "Thanks! I'm almost ready." And that's what does it for Kurt: that casual outside interaction in the middle of all this, the fact that she doesn't know she's talking to someone who's being fucked. As the footsteps fall further away, Kurt bucks urgently into Blaine and hisses, his cock pulsing inside Blaine. He pounds intensely against Blaine's prostate on every thrust.
Blaine comes hard, rocking the table a few times as he arcs his body and shoots into the silky square of fabric in his hand. He feels it wet and warm, seeping through the fabric. His whole body floods with wonderful warmth, centered around the intensity of Kurt's hand gripping his cock, and Kurt's own cock still throbbing inside him. Nearby, a thudding bass beat starts up from a high energy carnival ride.
Blaine breathes deeply, allowing himself the relief of deep, loud breaths. If anyone hears, they'll just think he's doing a performance exercise. His heart's frantic pace starts to slow as he stands there, still bent at the waist, with Kurt's body warm against his back. Kurt pulls out, panting quietly, and sits down heavily on the plastic folding chair. Blaine puts the pocket square down on the table, pulls up his underwear and his pants, and starts tucking in his shirt just as neatly as before. He catches Kurt's eye and they grin goofily at each other.
Once Blaine is redressed and he's checked himself over in the mirror, he turns to Kurt for final approval. Kurt slides a finger under the lapel of Blaine's jacket to smooth it out, then picks up the pocket square, folds it efficiently into an elegant three point fold, and tucks it back into Blaine's pocket, with the stain hidden discretely in the center.
Blaine bends down to kiss Kurt lovingly, eyes closed and breath held. He can already feel Kurt's come leaking out, and his tender asshole clenches at the sensation. When their lips part, Kurt looks happy and excited. His pants are still open and his cock is hanging out, wet and shameless.
Blaine stands, grins, winks. Then he parts the curtain and steps outside.