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“So, I was thinking, we could—mmph! Mmmm... Kurt?”
Blaine’s pinned against his own closed locker in the vacant McKinley hallway, his boyfriend pressing wet kisses across his cheek until he gets to his ear. Kurt’s hands are at Blaine’s hips, his fists gripping tightly to the elastic waistband of Blaine’s sweatpants.
“Kurt, we’re all—sweaty, and the—the rest of Booty Camp could come out any s-second now—”
“’Booty’ Camp is right,” Kurt groans. “Have you seen what you look like in these pants?” The lowered timbre of his voice, coupled with the way he’s started kissing the spot right where Blaine’s earlobe meets his jaw, sends a shiver down Blaine’s spine.
“Well, no,” he giggles, blushing. He grabs onto the loose ties hanging from the neckline of Kurt’s sweater and holds him there.
“God, your—your ass, Blaine,” Kurt whispers, tugging at Blaine’s waistband. His fingers are restless, twitchy, like he just wants to pull Blaine’s pants down or slip his fingers inside or—
Oh god.
“Kurt, I’m—these don’t hide anything,” says Blaine, a pretty red flush starting to creep up his neck. His stomach’s twisting up with arousal and he's getting hard just thinking about the things Kurt could do with his hands if they allowed themselves to go south, if they allowed themselves to do so here, when anyone, most likely someone they know at this time in the afternoon, could come around the corner and see them...
Kurt slips his hands to the small of Blaine’s back, his fingers pushing up under the striped fabric of his t-shirt. “I know they don’t, you look—Jesus, are you even wearing underwear? It doesn’t look like it.”
Blaine blushes and snorts, “Of course I am, have you ever free-balled a dance practice? I don’t recommend it.”
“And your little waist, you’re so... compact, you’re such a perfect fit for me,” Kurt sighs, squeezing at Blaine’s hips.
When his fingers dig into the dimples right above Blaine’s ass, Blaine jerks forward and cries out, loudly, before he presses his mouth to Kurt’s shoulder to muffle himself. The choir room is around the corner, their friends could leave at any time, they could have heard him just now, they could come find them and see—
“Sorry, I just—I love how you fit right under my arms when I hug you, and I love how I can just pin you like this, close you in—and you just curl up so small and go with it like there’s no place you’d rather be—”
Blaine lifts on his toes and kisses him, pushing against him so that Kurt will do the same in return. It works; Kurt reaches up and wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck, leaning over him and pushing him back down onto his feet as he slips his tongue into Blaine’s mouth.
“Kurt, we—shit—” Blaine runs his hands up Kurt’s back, his hands resting on his shoulderblades so he can push him even closer. “Either we cool down r-right now, or we take this to your car, we were—you told them we were getting water, I can’t go back in there with a boner—”
“Neither can I. Okay. Okay, we’ll stop,” Kurt gasps, pulling away from him, and it’s only now that Blaine sees how far gone Kurt is too, since Kurt has very carefully kept their hips from touching this whole time. He puts a hand to his flushed collarbone and presses his kiss-swollen lips together, his eyes closed as he breathes deep, clearly trying to collect himself. “God, what you do to me,” he laughs, his smile falling somewhere between wicked and embarrassed.
Blaine leans back against the locker and swallows. “I know the feeling.” He reaches down to try and adjust himself and Kurt puts his hands over his eyes.
“Don’t—don’t touch yourself if you want me to cool down, Blaine, Christ—”
“Okay, okay, how about...” Blaine flips through his mental catalogue of cool-down material, which has become quite extensive as of late since they seem to need it more and more. “Remember last week, when we were in the locker room when the football team finished practice?”
“Yes...”
“And it had started raining so they were all soaked when they came in, and then they started taking off their uniforms?”
“Uh...”
“And remember how, when Puck took off his wet cleats, his feet smelled like pork rinds and mildew?”
Kurt gags and covers his mouth. “Oh—oh dear god, I remember—yep, that did it. That definitely did it. Jesus, Blaine, that’s not a cool-down, that’s an ice bath...”
“Desperate times, babe,” Blaine sighs, feeling himself soften in his underwear at the visual of Puck trying to slap Finn with his disgusting, yellowed socks.
“Okay, let’s get water now,” Kurt says, grabbing Blaine’s hand and dragging him back towards the choir room. “This time, I actually need it.”