Archive of Our Own

“I think we should talk.”

Kurt fidgets with his hands when he’s nervous about something. And judging by the comforting stroke of his fingertips on the knuckles of the other hand, he’s terrified.

“What about, baby?” Blaine asks, holding his hands out for Kurt, beckoning him closer. Kurt takes them and seats himself next to Blaine on the couch, facing him.

“I’ve been feeling...better,” Kurt begins. “Not all the way, but...the medication has kicked in, and I seem to be doing all right on it. My therapist says I’ve been improving, and I’m on an upswing...I think it might be time to consider the last item on our list.”

Ah. Their list, made three months ago, when Kurt had fallen into that last depression, the one that prompted his therapy in the first place. They’d crossed a lot of things off of it--getting Kurt therapy, making more time for each other, working through the issues around the downswing--but they had agreed to hold off on the only uncrossed item until Kurt felt better.

Now, evidently.

“I’m feeling a lot more stable,” Kurt says, “but...I don’t know if it’s all the way.”

“Do you think it’s an issue with the meds?”

Kurt’s mouth thins into a tight line. “No. I do think there’s an issue with you trying to redirect the conversation pointlessly.”

Blaine’s eyes narrow in confusion and, truthfully, irritation, and he blinks at Kurt, surprised.

“I was trying to make sure I wasn’t assuming,” Blaine corrects him. “You look a little...agitated about this. What do you need from me right now?”

Kurt sighs and slumps.

“I need...” He blinks and sniffs, and Blaine squeezes his hands. Kurt’s obviously upset, struggling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this would make me so emotional--”

“It’s okay, baby. Take your time.”

Kurt bites his lip, staring at Blaine with wide eyes, a plea clear in them.

“I need my Dom, Blaine.”

Blaine reaches out to stroke Kurt’s cheek, comforting him with the contact as best he could. The first two months of therapy, seeing Kurt suddenly upset wasn’t uncommon. Thanks to his connections through college, Blaine had been able to find him a therapist that’s been a good fit, but unfortunately, it’s often the way of therapy to start with hard topics. Kurt would often come home crying, tired from a full day of school, work, and therapy in any combination, unable to cope with everything at once. Blaine spent a lot of time holding him, soothing him to the best of his ability, letting him get it out before trying to help him move past it. Only in the third month, when NYADA had gone into summer semester, and Kurt’s medication had really started to work with his body, did he start to show a significant improvement. Time off from classes is doing a world of good, especially since, two weeks after NYADA let out, Blaine’s hotline had really taken off, running well without need for his constant presence, and it had even earned him credits for independent study, putting him on the fast track for early graduation. They had time for each other, and for themselves.

And Kurt has every right to ask for what he needs of that time. Blaine wants to give him what he needs.

“You have me, Kurt, whenever you need me--”

“I don’t just mean for a scene,” Kurt interjects. “I--I want to explore what we talked about, what we put on the list. I want to figure out if we could...possibly...go back to how things were in high school. At least as far as my submission goes,” he adds with a smirk. “I’m not advising a return of the mesh.”

“Not even a little?” Blaine teases.

“Not even a little--”

“I don’t know, I think you could pull it off--”

Kurt lunges in and starts poking Blaine’s sides, and Blaine laughs and falls back, pulling Kurt on top of him, holding him close, smiling at the smell of bergamot in Kurt’s hair, and the peppery smell of the bath oils he likes to use.

It’s been on his mind, too, of course. Seeing Kurt fighting like this, all he’s wanted is to step in and make it all go away. Take the reins, fix it. But it’s not his to fix now--Kurt’s capable of taking care of it himself. So Blaine has deliberately not acted like a Dom, not wanting to take away any of Kurt’s agency in his own healing. It just wasn’t his place to confuse Kurt like that, to potentially weaken him. That’s not the point of that side of their relationship--rather, the opposite.

But if Kurt feels strong enough to request it, if he thinks it’s time--

“Well...if you think it’s time to discuss that...then it’s time. Does that mean I should call Jam?”

With Kurt’s permission, Blaine had talked to Jam about their relationship, but as Kurt had been busy working on himself, they hadn’t discussed much in the way of the future of it--just the past. But Jam had stuck by his offer to help them out, and continuously made sure Blaine knew that he’d be around to advise them when they took a step, both as a Dom and as someone who’d spent a long time in the scene.

“I think I have a better idea,” Kurt says, smiling serenely up at Blaine. “Since...you know...we’re both out of school for a few months...”

The smile turns up just enough to be mischievous, his eyes sparking. Blaine spends a good minute just looking down at Kurt. That smile, something about the light, maybe just because Blaine is looking so closely...whatever the reason, Kurt looks unimaginably beautiful as he says it. And Blaine is perfectly happy to take that time to treasure it, considering Kurt looks perfectly happy to let him look while he waits for Blaine to respond.

How did a man like him get so fucking lucky--

“Well then. Let’s hear it.”

--

The flight to Los Angeles, where Jam lives, starts out hard. Even when Blaine dipped into his considerable trust fund to spring for first class seats for them (something he assured Kurt would have no negative effects on their well-being, thanks to a truly ridiculous life insurance policy his parents had paid into for years before their death, as well as a considerable savings from his father's corporate work and his mother's own trust fund), he found himself shifting in the large leather seat, jittery and uncertain. Blaine had even bought them glasses of wine, but it was too bitter in Kurt's throat, and not nearly enough of it to settle what was fast becoming anxiety.

Kurt was seconds away from giving in and asking for Blaine to help him somehow when Blaine unbuckled and stood up, somewhere over one of the great lakes, and slipped to the bathroom, leaving Kurt alone.

He squirms in his seat until Blaine returns, casually reaching up for his carry-on and rooting around in it, pulling out a little zippered black bag, similar to a shaving kit in size and shape.

"I thought you might need this on the trip," Blaine says. There's something cautious in his gaze, in his movements, but his hands and his voice are steady. "Everything in there we'll need for you to have a...calmer flight. You pick out what you want from it, and then I'll take it from there."

Kurt zips the bag open. Inside are his leather cuffs, bought in high school and rarely used for their play, as they've proven to be unreliable for heavier bondage and it's been easier to store and use scarves and lengths of soft fabric. Beside them, a simple eye mask, and a package of ear plugs. Finally, a small, spongey ball.

"I figure a gag wouldn't be as discreet," Blaine explains, "but considering anyone could come and see it in your mouth, it might prevent you from talking just as well."

Kurt squirms again, a whole new discomfort growing in his pants. Blaine's smug smile and darkened eyes on him aren't helping, either.

"All of it," Kurt announces.

"Even the ear plugs?" Blaine nods to the front of their little space. "We do have headphones, you can listen to the movie I'm going to put on if you want. Or some music...it even has a white noise channel."

"No, I want the ear plugs," Kurt insists. "Just...don't stop touching me when I...when I go under. I want to feel you."

"I won't let you go."

The cuffs go on first, and his hands are placed gently in his lap before Blaine clips them together. It looks like he's just resting, but if he lifts his arms at all, it will be clear that he's tied, unable to move his wrists apart. Then with a glance around to make sure the passengers across the aisle are sleeping, and the flight staff are otherwise occupied, Blaine pops the little ball in Kurt's mouth. It's a strange texture, but the weight on his tongue is comforting and restrictive, and it pulls off the same idea as a gag, just like Blaine said.

When the mask goes over his eyes, Blaine leans in and whispers in his ear.

"I will be here the whole time. If you need to come back for any reason, your safe word is to kick me, okay?" He presses their legs together, and Kurt pulls his foot back and knocks it into Blaine's again to test before settling back, pressing from thigh to ankle. "Good boy. Ear plugs are going in now."

One, then the other, little buds of smooth foam, twisted and then stuffed in his ears, expanding slowly back to size until he can hear absolutely nothing outside his own body.

He relaxes back, his own breath and heartbeat loud in his head. Blaine's leg against his, and the hand stroking through his hair, are the only things he can feel for certain. He might as well be floating without the airplane around him--he couldn't tell. He plummets into the calm and quiet drift of subspace, his mind quieting to a gentle drift of love and gratitude for Blaine, which gradually turns into the darkness of sleep.

--

Significantly more rested, Kurt holds Blaine's hand through the Los Angeles airport, each toting their carry-ons in their free hands.

"So what's first?"

"We can drop our stuff off at the hotel," Blaine offers. "Maybe spend a little time just relaxing? I know the flight was hard for you."

Kurt gives him a wry, sidelong smile.

"Only til I sunk like the Titanic," he says. "I feel pretty good, now. But if you want to relax, I'm perfectly happy taking part."

"Well, maybe we can--holy shit."

Kurt glances over, confused, finding Blaine staring across the terminal toward baggage claim. Standing near the conveyors is a short, plump girl, dark hair pull back into a ponytail, dressed in a see through, loose tank, beneath which her push-up bra is clearly visible, and tight black jeans that have geometric shapes cut from them, revealing her legs beneath. She's got two full sleeves of tattoos, a tattoo down her sternum and stomach, and three piercings through her left eyebrow, as well as several in each ear. As they get closer, Blaine tugging Kurt into a half-jog, he sees that her eyes are green beneath heavily coated lashes and bright purple eyelids. She's got a tongue ring as well.

"Mel!" Blaine exclaims, rushing forward, dropping both his bag and Kurt's hand (which he uses to retrieve the bag--he doesn't trust airports), lifting the smiling woman, whose eyes show clear laugh lines that only come with age, into his arms.

"Baby Blainey, all grown up," Mel says in a high, mellow voice. Blaine sets her back down on her feet, and she squeezes his arms. "Puberty hit you like an apocalypse, didn't it? Please tell me you work for these, or life is really unfair."

"Boxing," Blaine replies. "You haven't changed one bit."

"I have thirteen new tattoos and at least five more piercings," Mel protests. "And you've changed shitloads. What the fuck happened to your manners?"

Blaine looks bashful as he turns, grimacing apologetically and reaching out for his bag first, and then Kurt's waist, which Kurt obligingly twists into place against Blaine's side.

"Mel, this is Kurt," Blaine says.

They smile at each other for a long moment. There's a strange connection between them--they've never spoken directly, and Kurt's only ever heard her voice and seen her face on passes by on rare occasions when Blaine's on Skype with her. Mostly, they text, and it's not nearly as often now as when they were in high school. But in any case, if anyone knows Blaine best that's not Kurt, it's this bright woman before him.

"Blaine talks about almost nothing but you," she says, holding out her hand. "And if you got him back into the clothes he wore before he joined the dark side, you've gotta live up to at least some of the hype. Pleasure to meet you, Kurt."

Kurt shakes her hand. If he'd been younger, he might've snarked at her, gone on the offensive. But she's smiling kindly and he doesn't have quite the same need to prove himself to everyone as he did back then.

"Pleasure's mine," Kurt says. "May I say, I admire your bold sartorial choices. Not a single woman I work with would have the guts to wear that top without at least a crop top underneath."

"I bet they wouldn't do it without three months of dieting on laxatives and bitching, either," she remarks. "You work at Vogue, yeah?"

"Yes," Kurt replies. "And you're right. I could tell you horror stories about some of them. Though it's not nearly as bad the past few years. It's actually worse at NYADA."

"Kurt goes to school with ballerinas," Blaine explains.

"Shit," Mel says simply. "Well, you got a bag or two? Grab 'em, we'll drop them at the hotel and then we're going out."

The boys look at each other, and then, in tandem, they shrug. Mel snorts.

"That was fucking creepy," Mel laughs. "Do you guys choreograph dances together, too?"

"You could say that," Blaine says, and then, in a stunning moment in which he reverts to his teenage self, he slaps Kurt right on the ass. Mel laughs raucously, and Kurt stares, blushing.

"Blaine, did you bring our supplies?" Kurt asks, false seduction threading his tone. Blaine eyes him suspiciously.

"A few things...why?"

"I've suddenly got an urge to punish you," he replies, dropping his voice and stepping closer, pinching Blaine's side hard. Blaine flinches and jerks away, muttering ow and snickering.

Mel laughs again.

"Not so good an influence after all. Oh, I cannot wait to see you two in the scene," Mel says. "Come on--time's a-waistin'."

--

Kurt should've known what shopping would've entailed with Mel, and with what they'd come out here for, but somehow it didn't really hit him until they were walking into a dark, unlabeled shop, a simple open sign discreetly in the corner of the window, which is covered with a dark curtain.

He expects red lights inside, but is again surprised by the kind of place it is. It looks like a normal store--wood floors, clean walls. It doesn't look like a porn shop, like the seedy places in Ohio or even in New York. The racks definitely have clothing you can't find in Nordstrom's, though, and the walls are hung with a lot of things that would make his usual shopping partners run for cover.

"Bask in it," Mel suggests. "Jam's gonna meet with us tonight, and we're headed to a club called Knick Knack. It's off the grid, kinkster crowd only, and you're fucking lucky it's your first club. A lot of places are trashy. But you can trust it there. Thing is, you might not want to wander in looking vanilla, or you're going to get eaten alive."

She does a surprisingly girlish little skip over to a rack, pulling off a shirt made mostly of leather straps.

"Kurt, you look like someone who likes to try things on." She holds up the shirt. "Want to pick some stuff out, get a fashion show ready for Blaine here while he plays amidst the gear?"

Kurt, well aware that he's still wearing his cuffs from the plane, and that it should stand for something, especially in a place like this, looks to Blaine. When he gets a nod, he turns back to Mel.

"Absolutely. But let me see if there's anything closer to what I'm used to before I let you go all out."

"Oh?" Mel asks, hanging the strappy shirt back up and raising her pierced eyebrow at him. "And what are you used to? Blaine says you've been pretty much vanilla since high school."

"Fashion is a passion of mine," Kurt explains, moving to a rack that's got various styles of suspenders on it. "I've used plenty of bondage gear to accessorize my wardrobe. I brought a few pieces, but I'll admit they're not quite up to this quality or range of style."

"I bet Blaine went wild whenever you wore something once you guys got started," she comments, nodding with appreciation when he selects a pair of leather suspenders, thick and black, with little twisted iron rings riveted along each side along the length, a few inches apart. They almost look like little door knockers, and they make Kurt smile. In addition, he grabs some loose leather straps, and some of the same rings, loose in a container atop the rack.

"Oh, you going custom?" Mel asks. "I like you, you've got style."

"Why thank you," Kurt says. "I might as well go all out, right? Oooh, look at these--"

He tiptoes over to a display of jeans with actual chainmail in vertical stripes along the black-dyed denim, the silvery color contrasting beautifully. And he could definitely work them back in New York, too, maybe with a new top, something he could design, something like his suspenders but with silk, designed right into a shirt--

"Grab em," Mel instructs. "But don't get too caught up--it's a big store, we've got a lot to see."

--

Kurt decides to be selective, ending up with only five outfits to show Blaine, who lets a salesperson handle his selections while he goes to sit in one of the chairs by the changing room. Mel graciously helps him into the more complicated outfits, telling Kurt more than once that if she weren't Blaine's friend, she'd be taking advantage of the proximity of her hands to his ass.

"Blainey, you got taste," she calls out, just as the first outfit is on. She lets Kurt out, presenting him in his outfit of black and sheer checkered silk pants, not quite as tight to his skin as his usual pants, but close, paired with a top that mimics the pattern of a spiders web with thin ropes of white and red threads.

"Not sure about the top," Blaine says, looking him over. "But I love the pants. Yes to those."

Mel blinks at him.

"Really?" she says. "You aren't drooling, even a little bit?"

Blaine smiles.

"I've seen him in sexier," Blaine says, and Kurt narrows his eyes at him. Challenge accepted.

But the next three outfits meet similarly tepid reactions. Even the white and black diagonal striped pants that make his legs look about three miles long. Even the fine mesh shirt with squares down each side of the front, bare in the center, leaving Kurt's nipples hard in the air ("It's mesh, Blaine," Kurt had insisted incredulously, when Blaine had tilted his head and hummed musingly, but ultimately said no).

In the end, it's the outfit Kurt picked out to begin with that has Blaine's mouth watering. The suspenders are a hit, even when Kurt explains that they'll be connected by a few more straps and rings across his chest. But when Blaine sees the chainmail on his legs, he actually gets up and gropes over Kurt's ass and thighs.

"These," he says in a husky voice, "go in the yes pile."

Kurt ends up with three pairs of pants, the suspenders, and four shirts Blaine ended up picking out for him, little strappy things in silk, leather, even one in jersey that looks a lot like a shirt Kurt wore junior year over his famous kilt, just without sleeves and significantly tighter.

Blaine refuses to show Kurt the outfits he'd picked, nor the items he'd bought ("You can see them when I use them on you," Blaine says.). Instead, he tells Kurt to look around and tell Blaine anything he wants.

Mel goes to instruct the salesperson about what Kurt wants customized with the suspenders, and Kurt ends up looking around the shop, selecting, shyly, a paddle that has bare wood on one side, and padded leather on the other, as well as a brocaded mask that covers both eyes and ears completely. He points out some cuffs and restraints, a crop, and an intricate cock strap, but Blaine just nods, not adding them to their purchase.

Finally, Blaine tugs him over to a display of collars, surrounded by candles.

“I think you should have a collar for public play. I don't want you to wear our collar for a club. I think that one should be just for us."

"I like that," Kurt agrees. Not that they haven't had him wear it in public before, but it is kind of special to them. Maybe keeping it for their private sessions could make it even more special.

"Okay," Blaine says. "So let's pick you out a collar, something simple I think? How about this?"

The fourth collar they point out is the one they decide on--leather braided into a circle with a chevron dip in the front, a locking clasp in the back, and a sturdy o-ring on the front. Blaine also picks up a long leash to match, and Kurt finds that when they settle the purchases, he's got his head bowed naturally, his hands folded demurely, walking a pace behind Blaine. There's a peaceful anticipation inside him, a knowledge that he'll get to use all these things soon, and with Blaine. And while he'd normally declare he couldn't wait, he finds he could wait. As long as Blaine promised they'd be playing sometime, he could wait to use the pretty toys that come with it, though he's looking forward to it.

Blaine stocks up on aftercare supplies as well, and then he's told they have a delivery service--everything will get to their hotel by five o'clock, left at the front desk in discreet bags and boxes. They pay and stroll out, but not before stopping in the alcove by one of the windows.

"Thinking about maybe getting one of those back home?" Blaine asks. It's a very long, wide bench, essentially--leather, naturally, and carved wood. It's got buckles on the legs and along the sides, and a padded circle for a face to sit comfortably, almost like a massage table. But on the display, there are straps and restraints fastened, and nearby is an optional addition that goes over one end, sliding over the bench, and apparently it can be attached to several types of...penetrative attachments, according to the box. And it's got a hand crank.

"They've got battery powered ones, too," Mel says, smirking. "My old Dom had a bench that had a ton of things that could be attacked, all kinds of restraint systems and playthings. Even a whipping post."

"You're a sub?" Kurt asks, surprised.

Mel snickers.

"Dommy switch," she clarifies. "I don't like subbing, generally, but sometimes it's good to know what I'm doing to others. And to relax, a bit. Subspace is like a fucking drug trip sometimes."

Kurt at least nods in agreement to that. She's absolutely right.

"Come on," Blaine says, rubbing over Kurt's back. "I think lunch, and then hotel."

"I'm gonna meet up with Drew," she says. When Blaine looks over at her, she clarifies, "My best gay since you went to New York and stopped being fun."

"I think you're fun," Kurt says immediately.

Blaine laughs and kisses Kurt, the dirtier slip of his hand over the waistband of his pants promising thanks for the support later.

"Different strokes," Mel says. "You at least still smoke?"

"I'll pick up a pack for you to bum off later," Blaine says. "We'll see you tonight?"

"Yup," she replies, and with a wave, she trips away, tapping away at her phone.

"Come on," Blaine all but growls in Kurt's ear. "Let's eat, and then we can go try out the jaccuzzi tub in the hotel."

Kurt can't help but like the sound of that.

--

There’s a knock as Kurt’s drying off, careful around his sensitive cock, which Blaine had just sucked enthusiastically in their bath, making Kurt kind of miss his tongue ring.

Blaine, already dressed in his sweatpants and tshirt for lounging around until that evening, shrugs at Kurt, who shuts the bathroom door with a curious look.

“Blaaaaaineeyyyyy.”

Blaine blinks hard before peeking out the peephole. On the other side, Cooper’s distorted eyeball glares back at him.

“You look good upside down,” he calls through the door, and Blaine sighs. “Come on, let me in. Not like I haven’t seen you naked before--”

As soon as Blaine obliges, the door slams into the wall and he’s enveloped and lifted in Cooper’s arms, which are still stupidly swollen with a lot of working out. But they feel much smaller than when he was a kid, and not at all familiar.

“Coop,” Blaine says. “How’d...how are you?”

“Oh I’m great,” Cooper says, setting him down and wandering into the hotel room. Blaine rolls his eyes a little at his back and his entitlement. “Just visiting my little brother, who I haven’t seen in seven years. No call, huh?”

“I was going to drop by your apartment tomorrow,” Blaine protests. “Thursday is your self-proclaimed day of rest, remember?”

“Nah,” Cooper groans. “Moved it to Sundays last year, figured I was losing opportunities. Tried to call and tell you, but I never got a call back.”

Blaine feels faintly ashamed. Even after all the shit between them, after Cooper let him raise himself, watched passive and uninterested as he slipped into delinquency, and then refused to stand up for him after he was sexually assaulted at Dalton, instead dumping him alone in an apartment and letting him continue to live completely isolated. Oh, he’d call, whenever he needed something, but the moment he had no use for Blaine, the number of calls tapered. And maybe when Blaine was a teenager, he’d have still answered that call--hell, he did, numerous times. But when Cooper’s number had appeared on his caller ID, he’d ignored it, and deleted the voicemail. Yet still, Cooper makes him feel like he should’ve answered, makes him want approval and acceptance all over again, even though he knows he won’t get it.

“Cooper, what do you want from me?” Blaine asks. “How many calls of mine went unanswered over the past thirteen years? How long did it take you to even come to the hospital with my insurance card when I was attacked? How many days did it take to reach you when I got kicked out of Dalton? Hell, why didn’t you just try to call again? I can’t be the only one trying to be a brother.”

“Blaine, you weren’t expecting me to be your brother,” Cooper says, sudden gravity in his words as he turns and faces Blaine. “You expected me to be your father. I have never had a clue how to do that.”

“You didn’t have to, Coop,” Blaine snaps. “I was telling you exactly what I needed, and you had more important things to do.”

Cooper settles with his hands on his hips, creases around his eyes and mouth appearing. He looks...old. Older than his thirty-one years.

“I’m not saying I didn’t screw up.” He shakes his head, looking frankly at his little brother. “Hell, I never had a clue what to do with you. You were just so angry all the time. I thought maybe...” He blinks, eyes wet, and he looks around, and Blaine feels so much more powerful than he does for the first time in his life. “Look, since this Kurt guy showed up, you’ve...gotten back to the guy I always thought you were gonna be. The kid that disappeared after those guys beat you up. I...I thought I’d lost him, Blainey. And then, hey, I saw you on Skype, and you were in college, and you were wearing a bowtie, and not a piercing in sight. You were someone I felt like I knew again...whatever happened, if it was Kurt or college or just growing up, it was like you were brought back to life. I thought we could relate again--”

“We never related because you never tried, Coop! You thought because I wore different clothes and dyed my hair that it made me a different person, but I was still just a fucking kid. And I needed my brother.”

Cooper’s face crumples a bit, and he looks back at Blaine openly.

“I know,” he admits. “I just wasn’t sure how to handle it. I was never prepared to be responsible for you, and I never should have let it happen like it did. I never should have left you on your own. But I was a kid, too.”

The bathroom door opens, and Blaine whirls around at the soft sound. Kurt slips out and heads right for him, ignoring Cooper completely. His hands reach out, and as soon as they’re on Blaine’s face, wiping away his tears, Blaine slumps. All thoughts of protecting Kurt, being the strong one, the rock, fall away, and he’s just a man who needs his boyfriend.

“I know, baby,” Kurt whispers, holding eye contact as his thumbs across Blaine’s cheeks. He kisses Blaine quickly, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s okay to be hurt. I’m here for you, whatever you need from me.”

Blaine leans in and kisses him again, nodding before he turns back to Cooper, who’s watching with a smile.

“Cooper, this is Kurt.”

“Pleased to finally meet you,” Cooper says, holding out a hand. Kurt shakes it firmly, and Cooper nods approvingly at Blaine. He’s not sure if he should be irritated about that. “I’ve heard loads.”

“Well, I hope it’s all good,” Kurt replies with a head tilt and a wide stare that’s familiar to Blaine. Blaine almost gets angry, but then he realizes it’s really not something he should be angry about. He can talk to Kurt calmly about it later.

“Oh, not a bad word about you. How long are you guys in town?”

Kurt looks over to Blaine, deferring to him, and Blaine lifts a smile onto his face.

“A week,” Blaine says. “We fly back Sunday afternoon.”

“Well, since Sunday is a day of rest, why don’t I take you guys out to brunch? Tomorrow at least, and next week if you’ve got the time? I know a place that makes mimosas with blood oranges, it’s not quite as good as a regular mimosa, but it’s much classier--”

“I could go for a mimosa,” Kurt says loudly. Then, softer, in Blaine’s ear, “I’ll make sure our plans tonight leave you in better spirits.”

Blaine feels a thrill at that, and he needs so much now to have Kurt by himself.

“Text us a time and place, and we’ll meet you there,” he says to Cooper, who smiles widely and gathers him up in another hug.

“No problem, little bro,” he says. “I’ll just, uh, let you kids get back to your plans. I’ll let myself out, see you tomorrow, all that--”

He walks himself out, slipping out the door with a wag of his eyebrows that sets Kurt laughing, and then they’re alone.

Blaine pulls Kurt into his arms, a touch more force in the gesture than he usually employs.

“You were awfully friendly with him,” he growls, smiling to make sure Kurt knows his jealousy is playful. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were imagining something dirty.”

Kurt licks his lips and gives in to Blaine’s embrace, falling against him and looking up at him through his lashes. Blaine might be the Dom, but he wonders if Kurt knows just how much the control is really his.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked that kind of idea.”

Blaine nips at Kurt’s chin before latching onto his throat, sucking a mark just over his pulse.

“I think we’ll have a lot to discuss after tonight, don’t you?”

Kurt just nods, head back, eyes closed, surrendered. He’s the most stunning thing Blaine’s ever seen.

“I think it’s time to start writing out our contract,” he continues, right against Kurt’s skin, which shifts heavily with his quickened breathing. “Maybe try out a few new kinks? Expand the lists we’ll be making?”

Kurt groans, and then with a wicked smile and a press of his hips against Blaine’s, says, “You know how much I love lists.”

Blaine drops his head, laughing into Kurt’s shoulder.

“You know how much I love you,” he murmurs. Kurt hums.

“Maybe you should remind me.”

Blaine bites the muscle near his neck, drawing out a gasp, but before he can do more, the sound of the door slamming open jumping them apart.

“No fucky fucky,” Mel yells, striding in with her hands laden with two grey bags each, two garment bags over her shoulder. “I brought your shit.”

She drops the bags near their luggage and hangs the garment bags before shutting the door and striding back in.

“Mel, what the hell,” Blaine curses. “How did you get in?”

“Cooper left the door just a bit open for me,” she explains unapologetically.

“Wait...how’d he know you were coming?” Kurt asks, eyes narrowed. “He left before you’d even have gotten on the elevator--”

“Because that’s what we agreed on when I told him where you were staying.”

Blaine feels the epiphany hitting him like a backhanded slap.

“You two are together?”

“Well...fucking, anyway. On and off since I hit legal age.”

“Eight years!?”

“Your brother is hot and available, and we’ve lived next door to each other for a long time,” Mel says. “We’re consenting adults, and it’s never been anything but casual until you stopped returning his calls.”

“So I’m guessing you’re the reason he’s suddenly interested in getting to know me despite the skank thing.”

“Thank yous are unnecessary. Just give him a chance, okay?” She looks and sounds softer than Blaine’s seen her in all the time they’ve known each other, and it’s that that makes him give in.

“We’re going to brunch with him while we’re here,” he cedes. “Happy?”

“Not as happy as he’ll be,” Mel replies, smirking. “And a happy sub--”

“Oh my god, please stop there.”

--

Not two hours later, they’re approaching Knick Knack in Mel’s junk of a car, pulling into a side lot and parking as close as possible.

“Okay, baby,” Blaine says, unbuckling from the front seat. “You stay right there, I’ll come get you.”

He slips from the car and quickly opens the back, leaning in to unbuckle Kurt. Kurt takes the opportunity to take in Blaine’s outfit--tight motocross jeans reminiscent of the ones Kurt first saw him in, leather boots, and a simple tight black tank. He’s got a thin black cuff on his left wrist that matches Kurt’s collar, which he unclips a leash from before attaching it to Kurt. His hair is gelled into a faintly wavy part, taming the curls beautifully. He’d look like a gentleman if not for the smeared eyeliner and vicious outfit.

“While this collar is on you, while you are attached to my leash, you are mine,” Blaine says firmly. Kurt instantly leans into him, accepting the orders with calm pleasure. “I will instruct you as you are needed. And here, baby, you show me respect, okay? I’ll do the same for you, don’t worry. I just want to make sure we don’t offend anyone or cause trouble. Do you understand me?”

Kurt nods silently, and Blaine kisses his temple.

“Good boy.”

With a helping hand and a short tug of the leash, Blaine helps Kurt out of the car and shuts the door behind him, leading him across the parking lot. Kurt keeps his head bowed and his hands together, trying to look as submissive to his Dom as possible, but too nervous to go under into a true level of it just yet.

Blaine will get him there. He trusts that.

The club is dark. The bar is at the head of the room, past a raised dance floor with what looks like a small stage in the center. Groups of booths and tables line the walls, and on either side of the dance floor, staircases leading up to a second level that overlooks the first, a short railing on the inner edge.

It’s the stage that catches Kurt’s attention. In the center of it, a tall woman in a leather mini dress wields a crop, torturing a smaller girl who’s tied mostly naked to a St. Andrew’s cross that’s got a heavy cable out of the top. As they pass by on the way to the bar, Kurt sees several other pieces of equipment suspended up near the ceiling high above the second floor. Those, and the other smaller accoutrements decorating the walls, must be the “knick knacks” for which the club was named.

There’s a sharp tug on his collar, and Blaine tugs him close.

“Stay by me,” Blaine says, eyeing his strappy suspenders and chainmail striped pants. “Close. I don’t want anyone snatching you away.”

For the first time, Kurt looks at something other than the club itself. He bites his lip nervously--there are many eyes on them, male and female alike, and their stares are certainly complimentary.

“Yes, Sir,” Kurt replies quietly, and Blaine nods approvingly. Kurt smiles, pleased at the silent praise, and follows much closer behind as they approach the bar.”

“Hey, Mel! These your boys?”

A tall, terrifyingly muscled black man waves at them, grinning widely. His white leather pants would normally offend his sensibilities, but next to his dark, rippled torso, its stunning contrast appeals.

“Jam,” Mel greets.

“Blaine,” Blaine says, offering a hand. “This is my sub.”

“The infamous Kurt.” Jam’s gaze is heated along his body as he shakes Blaine’s hand, and Kurt feels a thrill of attraction that he didn’t expect. “Pleased to meet you both. Jameson Riley, but Jam is my name here. I look forward to helping you both out.”

Blaine steps in front of Kurt just a bit, blocking him as much from view as he can with Jam’s advantageous vantage point.

“You’ll only be helping me out, unless I explicitly permit it,” Blaine warns, keeping his tone friendly but the message unequivocal.

Jam laughs.

“Of course,” he says. “I was just admiring what a beautiful sub you have. You’re gonna get a lot of that, but no one here will cross a line without your go ahead. There are rules here.”

“I’m going to the dance floor,” Mel announces. “Have fun, boys.”

“I’ll buy you guys some drinks,” Jam offers. “What are you feeling like?”

“Whiskey sour for me,” Blaine says. “Kurt will take a bubble cherry. Extra cherries.”

“I like the sound of both of those,” Jam says. He turns to the bartender and slaps down a bill, grabbing the boys’ drinks and handing them both to Blaine before picking up his own, which looks like a whiskey sour, with just a touch more red.

“Whiskey sour with extra cherries.” Jam says with a deep laugh. “Let’s grab a table and talk, okay?”

--

Kurt stops at one drink, as does Blaine. They spend most of the night watching each performance on the stage, applauding as the first woman steps down with her limp sub, covered in tight red lines, and then again as a man steps away after using a violet wand on his two female subs, both of them entwined together on a bench, facing each other and trying to work the other to orgasm with jolts of electricity ripping through them periodically. When one finally comes, she’s thrown down and caned, screaming even louder than when she’d been electrocuted, and apparently enjoying it, but Kurt looks away and buries himself into Blaine’s side, needing to feel protected.

“A no on electric play?”

“And caning?” Kurt offers timidly, feeling smaller by the minute as he peeks at the display and at subs kneeling at almost every table--he’d been allowed to sit with Blaine after an assurance that no one would make trouble about it. “I...I don’t know if I want to go anywhere near something like that.”

“I understand, baby,” Blaine agrees. “I don’t want to risk breaking open that perfect skin of yours, or really hurting you. So we’ll take whipping off the list, too?”

“I think so,” Kurt nods.

“Good boy, thank you for telling me your limits.”

Kurt’s rewarded with a deep kiss, which he whines into.

“You boys okay to keep watching on your own?” Jam asks when they pull apart. “I’m thinking I need to find a sub for tonight.”

Kurt glances over and sees Jam’s eyes on his body, and he flushes, unable to push away the excitement it brings. Blaine says something, but Kurt realizes with a touch of shame that he hadn’t been listening, and he hopes he didn’t need a reply or addition from Kurt.

Jam leaves, heading onto the dance floor and quickly finding a small girl who’s been dancing by herself, a silver bracelet on her right arm noting her sub status, but a lack of cuffs or collars giving Jam the signal to move in.

“Jam’s bi,” Kurt says, kind of uselessly.

“That, or he’s straight with a Kurt exceptionooo,” Blaine says against his ear. “He couldn’t stop staring at you.”

Kurt tenses with arousal, and Blaine bites his ear.

“You looked at him, too,” Blaine says. Kurt tenses again, not a good reaction this time, but Blaine makes soothing noises in his ear. “It’s okay, baby. I looked, too. Looking’s not a crime. And neither is wanting to think about it, and neither is talking about it. I, for one, wouldn’t mind seeing you pinned down under a big, sexy man, begging me to let you come all over him.”

Kurt gasps, pressing himself into Blaine, who sneaks a hand down to the front of his pants, stroking him into an aching hardness that only becomes more desperate as he keeps talking.

“I think you’ve always wanted to be watched, too,” Blaine continues. “I think you’d love to be up on stage, letting everyone see how fucking perfect you are. What a good, sexy sub you are. And I think we’d both get off if I let a few other people play for a while. What do you think about that?”

Kurt pushes his erection into Blaine’s squeezing hand.

“Please, Sir,” he begs. “If...if you were the one to make me come, I’d do anything you wanted. And...and I’d want to.”

“Mmm, well, we have an opportunity,” Blaine says. “If you’re okay with it, we can take it any night this week. And we could take an opportunity to bring someone else back to the hotel room if you wanted as well, or up into a private room. Would you like that? Would you like two men all over you, trying to make you come, holding you down and making you take it--”

“Blaine--”

There’s a tight hand on his jaw, and his face is turned right to Blaine’s own.

“That’s one,” he growls. “You’re to call me Sir whenever this leash is on, do you understand?”

Kurt whimpers and nods, unbearably close to coming already, his hips retreating as much as they can with Blaine chasing him back into the chair.

“You’ll be paying for any indiscretions later,” Blaine says. “Don’t rack up too many, baby.”

Kurt nuzzles into Blaine’s throat. And there’s the sweet feeling of being owned, stronger than it ever has been, because Blaine is more Dominant than he’s ever been. Almost demanding. It’s hot, the way Blaine’s eyes narrow dangerously, the way his hands grip harder and more possessively. And he stands by what he felt as they were walking in--Blaine will take him where he needs to go.

“Let’s dance,” Blaine suggests. “Give everyone a little taste of what they’ll be seeing on stage this week.”

With a last tight squeeze to Kurt’s cock, he stands up, pulling Kurt behind him into the throng, settling near the center and turning to pull Kurt in and start moving their hips together, a promise for later.

--

They stumble through the hotel room door, barely kicking it closed before they’re ripping each other’s clothes off. Blaine pushes Kurt back, using the two main straps of his suspenders to shove him back onto the bed before unsnapping them from his half-open pants. Kurt reaches up, determined to get Blaine’s shirt all the way off somehow, even if he has to tear it off with his fucking teeth.

“Fuck, Kurt,” Blaine groans, finally removing the goddamned shirt before tugging Kurt’s pants almost painfully off, not stopping til they’re discarded. “Tell me it was okay, the...the way I treated you. The demands, and how--how strict I was--”

“Yes, yes,” Kurt babbles, and god, Blaine needs to never wear pants ever the fuck again. “You need to do it more.”

Blaine falls onto him, attacking his throat with needy lips and hard presses of tongue, dragging up the hard rasp of his stubble. Kurt falls back, offering, and Blaine lifts him bodily to shove him further back onto the bed, so only their feet hang off the side, the pillows still pristine to their side until Blaine grabs one and lifts Kurt’s hips, shoving it beneath his hips.

“I need to punish you, baby,” he breathes. “I think one minute of me doing exactly what I want to you...do you think you could take a little pain?”

“Yes, whatever you want,” Kurt gasps. “I trust you.”

Blaine kisses him hard, and Kurt curls his fingers into Blaine’s hair, holding him close and breathing him in.

“Okay, lay back, baby,” Blaine instructs, and Kurt goes limp at the command.

He waits with closed eyes for a long moment, tense and anticipatory. And then, suddenly, he cries out, back arching as Blaine’s mouth latches over one nipple, sucking hard and pressing in just a little bit with his teeth.

“Oh, fuck,” Kurt blurts, hands flying up to grab his own hair, a distraction as Blaine bites harder, twisting his head as he sucks. Kurt grits his teeth--it does hurt, more and more each second, but his nerves explode with all the things Blaine can do to him, make him feel, too much.

Then Blaine switches sides, fingers twisting and tugging at the one he abandoned as he gives the other side the same treatment beneath his mouth. Kurt thrashes, crying out without thought, loud in his own ears, as though someone else is screaming right against him. But it just burns and shoots sparks down to his cock, his hips bucking uncontrollably with it. God, if Blaine keeps doing this, he’ll never be able to take it again, he feels like Blaine is ripping apart--

“You’re all done, baby,” Blaine says, and Kurt looks down. His mouth is off Kurt’s body, his fingers twisting off one more time before he lays soothing kisses over first one nipple, and then the other, before he rises up and kisses Kurt’s open, inhaling mouth. “All done, so good for me. Thank you so much for trusting me, thank you--”

“Need you,” Kurt whines, curling his sore chest away, but pressing his mouth in harder, barely able to talk past their kisses. “Need you, Blaine--”

“Love you so much, Kurt,” Blaine replies, kneeling up and holding Kurt’s face, pulling him up. Kurt grabs Blaine’s hands, pressing them in, taking the claiming kisses Blaine keeps giving him, letting his tongue slide past his lips, licking along his own and flicking at his bottom lip as he pulls back.

“Love you, too. Love you--please.”

Blaine holds him still, and presses their foreheads together, breathing heavy between them. Kurt tries to focus, tries to look at Blaine from too close, but he’s just a blur.

“You don’t know how much you mean to me, Kurt,” he says. “How much you give me. I--I could never tell you. I don’t have the words.”

Kurt clings to him, hurting and hard and needing, his heart clenching in his chest, and he remembers the promise he made to himself when he decided he wanted a contract. He’s going to marry this man, and he wants it more than ever.

“So show me,” he says, rather than blurting out a proposal like he so wants to do. “Show me, I want you to.”

Blaine kisses him once more before pulling back, rushing to his suitcase and pulling lube out of the front pocket.

“Anything,” he says, straddling Kurt and coating his fingers before reaching back and opening himself up. “Anything you want.”

--

Every night that week, they return to Knick Knack. The days are filled with various visits to touristy locations, time spent with Cooper and Mel, and relaxing with each other in the hotel room. But the nights are in the same location, in the same booth on the first floor of the club...at least at first.

They’ve been adding to their list of wants and limits, rules and needs for their contract. And a lot of it comes from viewing the performances each night. Blaine can’t wait to use the special colored candles he’d bought to use on Kurt when, one night, a thin man who rather resembles Kurt writhes beneath a delicate, swirling path of hot wax, dark purple over his pale skin, then peeled away to reveal red marks in place. The Dom then licks a path with his tongue, and Blaine thinks he’d love to try that on Kurt, maybe with an ice cube in his mouth to make the temperature change even bigger. But only after leaving bright patterns all over his body, in every color he can manage to fit over his skin.

Kurt, on the other hand, is fascinated by the bondage he sees. He’s a little terrified by the suspension of a tiny girl who ends up safewording, the ropes digging into her dark skin and leaving it pale around the edges. But a pretty Domme spends a great deal of time winding and knotting thin ropes over her sub, from his shoulders to his thighs, around his cock and neck and arms. He is very obviously in subspace almost the whole time, his body lax and yielding to every new bulge of knotting, hard and leaking but showing no sign of desperation until she bends him over and, careful of his arms behind his back, and uses a thin little vibrator to make him scream and come again and again until he’s out of voice and energy, his cock spasming, his balls clenching tight into his body. And Kurt can’t look away--Blaine would love doing that to him, he always loves when Kurt’s body is pushed to its limits again and again and again and--he very deliberately asks for a drink after that performance is over.

There are other performances. One man stands calm before his sub and slaps his hard cock over and over, with varying levels of force, until at a command he comes all over the stage, the come flying impressively. An athletic female sub is made to hold various difficult poses while her Domme flogs her nipples and clit over and over, til she collapses and comes in violent waves. Kurt watches them hobble by, the Domme mumbling sweetly about how her reward was waiting, how proud she was.

And Kurt wants it.

“So...tomorrow night,” he says, after Thursday’s club night, which ended with Kurt kneeling before Blaine and blowing him in a dark corner, out of sight but not out of earshot, which had been thrilling, as Blaine had not held back his noises.

“Tomorrow night,” Blaine says, curling his hand around Kurt’s hard dick as they relax into bed, a reward for how he’d served so well in the club. “Last night at Knick Knack.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Kurt confirms. “I--I want to discuss performing.”

Blaine squeezes under the head of his dick, and he fights against the squirm of his hips.

“You really do like that, don’t you,” Blaine grins. “You want to get up on stage and have everyone want you?”

Kurt bucks into Blaine’s hand, and Blaine responds by jerking him quicker, not bothering to tease after denying him all night.

“I think I have an idea,” Blaine continues. “You think you’re up for fulfilling a fantasy?”

--

Blaine can tell Kurt is nervous, but it’s the kind of nervous that Kurt ends up thriving on. As Blaine presents their IDs at the door, Kurt stops fidgeting, stands up straight, and shakes it off, bowing his head submissively but keeping his shoulders back, easy. Blaine smiles lovingly at him as he pockets their licenses, leading him in by the leash, but for once wishing he’d decided to hold his hand.

They don’t get drinks. They both want to be clear-headed for this.

“Tonight is the night,” Jam says when he catches them, laying a huge hand on Blaine’s shoulder and nodding respectfully to Kurt. “You have your limits set up?”

Blaine nods.

“Good. I put you on the roster, you’re up third. You sure about what you put on the itinerary?”

“We’re positive.”

It’s Kurt who says it, and Blaine leans back to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“You heard the man. We’re positive.”

“Well, I’ll be on the sidelines, ready to help out,” Jam replies with a fierce smile. “If the Dom approves.”

“I’d be happy to have you up,” Blaine says. “Kurt would too.”

Jam flicks his eyes over and Kurt lowers his own, blushing. Jam’s responsive chuckle is pleasant, and Kurt starts to feel truly excited for the first time that night.

“You boys go hang out near the stage,” Jam tells them. “They’re on the first pair, and there’s a triad after them, but then you’re up. I’ll see you boys up there.”

He disappears through the crowd, and Blaine leads Kurt through the thick press of bodies on the dance floor. They dance half-heartedly, more interested in holding each other than moving to a beat, kissing and squeezing each other tight as they wait for the triad to first get on the stage, and then finish up with their fairly impressive display of a genderqueer sub being instructed to make the female sub come as hard as possible, following their Dom’s instructions until she’s squirting hard all over their face.

A short break for an employee to clean up the stage, and then the emcee nods to Blaine.

Blaine removes Kurt’s leash, wraps it around his forearm, and clips it to his cuff. Then, he leads Kurt on stage with a finger in the loop of his collar.

“Are you ready, baby?” he asks in a whisper, as the restraints he’d requested are lowered and secured by some stage hands up in the rafters.

Kurt just nods, his eyes already starting to cloud. Blaine cups his jaw and kisses him deeply for several long moments before pulling back, watching as Kurt obediently raises his arms.

He straps his wrists into the heavy leather cuffs, making sure they’re secured and comfortable before nodding. Kurt’s lifted up just a few inches, putting him on his tiptoes. He holds tight to the red handkerchief in his hand, given to him before they entered as a silent safeword.

Blaine is pleased with the display, but not pleased enough. Kurt is shirtless, and wearing the sheer checkered pants they’d bought their first day. He’s bare beneath, his hard cock peeking behind the dark panels, only visible through the pieces of transparent fabric, and as Blaine circles, he grins at Kurt’s ass, visible and tantalizing. But not enough.

The pants drop easily. And thanks to planning, his shoes slips off, and everything is placed carefully aside. Kurt is left totally bare, his legs taut as he finds his balance with just the tiniest bit of his feet on the ground. He manages, and Blaine is pleased with the long, strained beauty of Kurt’s body, and the admiring murmur of a quiet crowd next to the stage, only a bare ring of dancers around the edge of the floor.

Blaine starts with a vibrator from the tray of toys he requested. He puts it on its lowest setting and runs it over Kurt’s throat first, gradually bringing it over his nipples and down his stomach, inching slowly closer to his dripping cock. But just before he reaches it, he shuts the vibrator off and pulls back.

“I need a few volunteers.”

A great number of hands raise up in the audience, and Blaine pulls up five people--all of them men but one, a woman that he thinks will make things interesting--she did a great display of pain play earlier in the week. Kurt didn’t have gender as a limit, and says nothing, the handkerchief still tight in his hand. So Blaine lines up the volunteers, the first man, the woman, the couple that volunteered, and then Jam.

“You are only allowed to use the toys provided,” Blaine instructs. “No penetration unless I instruct it. My sub is under orders not to come, and should he do so I will invite you to assist with his punishment. His safeword is mesh, and he has a red kerchief in his left hand--if it drops, it acts as safeword as well. I have the final word on anything you do, and if you don’t abide by my word, you’ll be escorted from the club. Any questions?”

There are none. Blaine nods at the first to step up.

He’s a small Asian man with wide, pretty eyes and an impish smirk. He’s got a bracelet indicating his Dom status, and a tattoo of a coiled, golden whip with multiple tails over his left pec. He walks over to the tray and picks up two things--a cock ring, and a feather. He lubes up his hand and the cock ring, and slips it onto Kurt carefully, following it up with several tight strokes. Kurt moans, head falling back, and the Dom smiles before wielding the feather, circling him to run it along his spine.

He tickles Kurt for several minutes, drawing it over his nipples, his ass, his balls, before finally circling the head of his cock, riling him up just a little bit, not enough, torture in itself as Kurt’s body begs for something harder. But then Blaine taps him out, thanks him, and turns to the Domme.

“You’re up.”

“What would he prefer--flog or paddle?” She’s got a pretty English accent, and her eyes sparkle when Blaine smiles at her.

“Paddle,” Blaine replies. “He’s had thin wood, but nothing else yet, so you’re getting a first.”

“My thanks,” she says, pleased. “Is he allowed to speak?”

“All he wants.”

The woman nods, and grabs the thick leather-padded paddle off the tray. She’s on high enough heels to be able to reach Kurt without awkward bending, and she tosses her curly black hair over her shoulder before adjusting her corset over her heavy breast.

“I want you to count for me,” she requests, and Kurt nods his assent. “I will only stop when you are either incapable of speaking, or when your Dom stops me. As he said, you can safeword at any time.”

It’s a challenge, Blaine realizes, but he sees the fire in Kurt’s eyes, and knows he’s perfectly up to it. Especially when she pulls back, lets him have a powerful smack, and he barely flinches, announcing, “One!” in a clear voice.

She grins, and lets him have it again. His body shakes, and he loses his balance, but he clearly enjoys both the sting and the clarity in his own voice when he says, “Two!”

“Two, ma’am,” Blaine corrects him. “Do it over, please,” he says to the Domme.

Kurt shivers, eyes rolling back a little, and he takes the next hit, saying, “Two, Ma’am.”

She lays six more on him before he starts to show discomfort, sweat forming on his body, his ass bright red, his mouth hanging open as he fights her control. It’s then that Blaine realizes that he won’t go under when he’s been dared like this.

“One more,” he says, and when Kurt grits out, “Nine, Ma’am,” he nods to her and thanks her, turning to the couple waiting in line.

“My sub would like to suck your sub’s cock,” the Dom says. “With your consent, I’ll lift your subs legs and control his movements into my sub.”

“Go ahead,” Blaine allows, and the Dom grins, his sub lowering his head with a sheepish smile.

Kurt might not be able to get through this one, and Blaine watches carefully as the sub pulls over a low stool and kneels on it, face level with Kurt’s crotch. The Dom lifts Kurt up, taking most of his weight, holding him by his thighs, which he spreads wide, murmuring admiration of how flexible he is when they go to almost right angles. Blaine smirks--Kurt could go wider, but he approves of saving that special talent for just them.

He also approves of Kurt’s cock gliding into the mouth of the sub, slipping into his throat and gagging him for a second before the Dom pulls him back so that only his head is between the sub’s lips, grinding into Kurt’s ass through his pants before shoving him forward again, his cock swallowed again and again, harder and harder--

“Oh, god,” Kurt cries. The Dom is holding him forward, grinding him into the sub’s mouth, who swallows continuously. His head is back, his eyes clenched tight, his breath coming ragged. He’s flushed dark, and he’s clearly struggling not to come.

Blaine ups the ante. He walks forward and reaches down beneath to grab at Kurt’s balls, tugging them down and fondling them while he nips at his ribs.

“Doing so well, baby,” he says.. “Almost done, and then one more, okay?”

Kurt nods, his ass tensing, sweet dimples appearing on the sides as he uses the Dom’s grip for leverage to thrust himself. The Dom encourages him with squeezing fingers and tight groans, and Blaine’s certain the kneeling sub is going to come in his pants just from the constant intrusion into his throat and the scant gasps of breath in between.

“Would you like to make my sub come?” the Dom asks. Blaine looks to Kurt, who looks more turned on than ever, nodding frantically. Blaine nods, receiving a small list of limits he’s more than okay with before crouching down behind the boy before leaning in and whispering to him.

“My sub is a fantastic top,” Blaine informs him. “I’d love to see him hold you down and fuck that tight little ass of yours--his cock is so pretty, and opens you up so wide. And his hips can do incredible things. The drag of his shaft against your rim, the slap of his balls between your legs. And he makes the prettiest noises, just like you--”

Blaine tucks his fingers into the sub’s leather pants and pulls them tight, giving him just a touch of friction on his crotch. The sub starts whimpering and rocking his hips hard.

“Touch yourself,” Blaine says, supporting his precarious position much like the boy’s Dom is supporting Kurt, with hands around his thighs and his back pressed into the boy’s front. The sub reaches down and starts stroking himself through his pants fast, his voice going higher every time it’s not cut off by Kurt’s cock.

“He could hold you up, you know,” Blaine continues. “He could you right against a wall and fuck you til you couldn’t stand up anymore. He could fuck you deep, pull you down hard onto his cock, his perfect fucking cock. And his hands would be all over you, holding you up by your ass, your throat--”

The sub screams in his throat, muffled, and bucks, pulling off Kurt’s cock to fall back into Blaine, coming hard in his pants. The Dom carefully lowers Kurt to the ground, holding him steady while he wobbles, his legs twitching, his cock dribbling onto the ground. He’s so close, Blaine can see it written all over his body.

“Good boy,” the Dom says to his sub, helping him up and nodding thanks to Blaine before leading him off. Blaine specifically watches him until they’re in a booth, the sub sinking down onto his master’s cock eagerly.

“You are fantastic, Kurt,” Blaine praises, leaning down to kiss Kurt’s tattoo and massage his legs for a moment of respite. Kurt moans brokenly and his head lolls. He’s not quite under, but Blaine hopes the next contender will help him along.

Jam steps up, and Blaine smiles at him.

“You know, Kurt and I have discussed inviting you back with us for a threesome,” he says. Jam grins, and he really is unfairly attractive. “We’ve decided to talk it over more before it happens--but next time you’re in New York, we’d like to see you.”

“I’d love that,” Jam says, looking Blaine up and down and licking his lips with a pink, pink tongue. “Can I use that against him?”

Blaine laughs.

“Yes,” he says. “And I’m allowing you to penetrate him with either the vibrator or the prostate stimulator, your choice to use either.”

“You are generous, my friend,” Jam says sincerely. He pats Blaine’s back, and Blaine settles back to watch the show.

Jam starts without a toy. He walks up to Kurt and presses his huge body against him, holding his hips close, and whispers. Kurt listens, and then nods, slumping a little bit. Blaine smiles--Kurt looks absolutely incredible in Jam’s hands, so pale against his dark skin, so small and lithe in comparison. And seeing him go limp like that, submitting to Jam and, by extension, Blaine--he’s perfect, so perfect.

Jam continues stroking his hips and whispering, and Kurt starts to whimper, face desperate and crumpled with need. Blaine almost wishes he could hear what Jam is saying, but he’s sure Kurt will let him in on it later, if he remembers it, and the view of him like this, in Jam’s hands, is far too good to cut off.

Jam lets him go gently, and heads to the tray, lifting the vibrator and coating it with lube. Kurt clenches his hands, swinging a little as his hips twist, his legs trying to spread with no way to keep traction on the ground.

Jam fingers him first, just one thick finger in, twisting and thrusting until Kurt is loose and begging in a steady litany of please, yes, and more.

Then, he slips it out and puts the vibrator in, tilting and searching until Kurt gasps. Jam grins, pleased, and praises him in his deep voice, turning the vibrator very suddenly onto full power.

Kurt cries out, back arching, and Jam steadies him with a hand around his cock, joining the cock ring in holding him back. Then he drags the vibrator back and forth, pulsing the power level and slipping it in and out slowly, always finding that perfect spot on his passes by. He continues talking now, and Blaine gives in to the urge to step forward, listening.

“--watch you bounce on my cock, backward or forwards, or maybe both. Take you all over the room while Blaine watches. And then he can join, slip inside you next to me, hold you over us and fuck you so good, pretty.”

“What do you think, Kurt?” Blaine asks, stepping forward and unclipping the cock ring, a final test that there’s no failure in--Blaine will be so proud if Kurt holds back, but he’ll be proud of it he lets go. Anything Kurt does will be a perfect end to this, a moment to remember for his perfect love. “Do you want to get fucked by two men? Or would you rather be fucked from both ends, a cock in your ass and one in your mouth? You can have it, Kurt. Jam agreed to visit us in New York sometime.”

Kurt almost loses control. He doesn’t take a single breath without letting out a desperate, high noise, his body straining and sweating and twitching from the effort of holding himself up.

“Slow it down, Jam,” Blaine says, and Kurt sobs in relief. He’d been holding back, determined to obey his Dom and show everyone what a good sub he is. And he’s on the edge of a beautiful precipice, and Blaine’s eager to get him back to the hotel and shove him over as soon as he can let go.

Jam removes the vibrator, and thanks them both profusely before he looks to Blaine.

“Want help with him?”

Blaine nods, and together they lower Kurt and unstrap him. Blaine immediately rubs his wrists, getting the blood flowing and unclenching his fingers from the handkerchief. Jam helps him stand up, and then Blaine puts his pants and shoes on and accepts the applause on his behalf before they bring him through the crowd and out into one of the cabs that hangs around waiting for drunk people to appear.

Jam helps them all the way to the hotel room, at which time he lets Blaine take over, bidding them adieu for the night and promising to pick Blaine up for their plans the next day.

Blaine gets Kurt into the bathroom, strips him, and sits him on the edge of the filling tub before sinking to his knees.

“Such a good boy, Kurt,” Blaine says. “You’re so perfect for me. So good to me. Thank you, baby. And I can’t wait to collar you.”

Kurt whimpers a tiny, “Please.”

Blaine smiles and sinks over his cock, sucking him gently and steadily until, less than three minutes later, he comes, grabbing Blaine’s hair and fucking into his throat. Blaine lets him, swallowing most of the massive amount of come that Kurt gives him, sucking him through it and wiping the remaining drip off his chin before cradling Kurt close, shutting off the water before lowering him in carefully, slipping in behind him and turning on the jets.

Kurt is completely gone. He breathes deeply, but he doesn’t respond any other way, dead to the world, as good as asleep, only the barely-open flutter of his eyes giving away that he’s awake and simply in a deep subspace.

Blaine drains and re-draws hot water three times before Kurt comes to, stirring in his arms, flipping over and kissing Blaine so off-center that he catches the side of his nose.

“I love you,” Blaine laughs, and Kurt pouts and whines.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he says. Then, with a yawn, “How long?”

“At least an hour and half,” Blaine replies, “but there’s no clock in here, so I’m guessing.”

Kurt blinks his eyes wide and sits up, rubbing his hand through his hair and groaning when a jet hits his back.

“Well, I could use a serious meal, a full-body massage, and then about three days of sleep. Can I get two out of three, considering Mel is kidnapping me tomorrow?”

Blaine kisses his nose in return and smiles.

“We’ll order room service and use some of your oils,” Blaine says. “And you can even call the shots.”

“Oooh,” Kurt coos facetiously, “is this my reward?”

“This is aftercare,” Blaine corrects. “You can have anything you want as a reward.”

Kurt answering smile is far too knowing for Blaine’s ease of mind.

“I’ll hold you to that, Blaine Anderson.”

--

The next day, they part ways, Blaine going with Jam to get a little training at a dungeon, and Kurt staying back for a lazy morning at the hotel before Mel comes to get him for shopping. He gets their things organized to leave the next day, and tidies everything up, and then is left bored for the last hour before Mel comes.

So he takes out his sketchpad, finds a free sheet, and doodles BDSM inspired outfits for a few minutes before he finds himself doodling rings, and then various kinky things he might be interested in from their list for the contract, which is in Blaine’s bag, ready to be organized and potentially combined with a comprehensive list, depending on how he’s advised at the dungeon by the professional Dominants there.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by his phone buzzing several times.

From Blaine: Remind me to tell you what this Domme said about my arms.

From Mel: Get your ass to the lobby, I’m early.

From Mel: Don’t make me come up there.

From Blaine: Kurt, I just electrocuted someone. Hard limit, definitely.

From Mel: That’s it, I’m getting in the elevator.

From Blaine: I mean, she liked it, but she peed.

Knock knock knock knock knocknocknocknocknock--

Kurt runs to the door and pulls it open, and Mel is smiling at him on the other side.

“Is your phone dead?” she asks.

“No, just being a pain in the ass,” Kurt replies. “I just got your messages, sorry. Let’s go, I’m ready.”

“Good,” Mel says. She links her arm through his and guides him out of the hotel and into a taxi, explaining that her car’s in the shop, taking him back to the general area of the BDSM store from their first day--they even pass it, getting dropped off on the corner two blocks away.

“Okay.” Mel grabs his arm again and leads him down a side street. “Cute store down here, nice accessories. Help me pick out something classy.”

They end up going from store to store, vanilla and lifestyle, bright and open and dark and closed. Finally, Kurt, who’s felt an urge itching at him the whole trip, needs to scratch.

“Can we go to a jewelry store?” he asks. “I need to pick something out.”

Mel turns and glares at him.

“Do not get my hopes up,” she demands. “If we’re going for earrings or a necklace or something for some chick friend or family or something, tell me now.”

“No,” Kurt says, unable to keep from grinning, silly and wide, a bounce building in his legs. “I’m buying an engagement ring.”

Mel squeals, leaping into Kurt’s arms and squeezing him hard.

“Oh my god, if you told anyone I screeched like that I’ll kill you, but oh my god--”

“Come on,” Kurt says, setting her down and letting the bounce happen. Whatever, he’s excited. “There’s a ring out there that’s waiting for me to put it on Blaine’s finger, and we’re going to find it.”

--

It’s almost time to go back to the hotel to meet Blaine for dinner when he finds it, in a secondhand shop he goes into in a last ditch effort. Mel trudges in, tired and aching from her tight boots, and immediately starts looking at the rings, hoping to help Kurt find something.

But Kurt spots it.

“That one,” he breathes. The apathetic clerk pulls it out, and after testing it on his own finger, which is slightly thinner than Blaine’s, it might have to be sized down a bit, but otherwise it’s perfect.

The black tungsten band is carved like a flat, immobile chain, and each link sparkles with a tiny white gem--probably cubic zirconia, but Kurt doesn’t even care. They can go all out on the actual wedding bands.

He pays an exorbitant amount anyway, but honestly, the relief of finding something so perfect is well worth it.

“Good, finally.” Mel drags him out by the arm when the ring is boxed, in his pocket safely so Blaine won’t see a bag and get curious. “Let’s get you to your man so you can have kinky sex and get engaged. Or the other way around, whatever.”

--

It doesn’t happen that night. They end up eating their room service dinner off of each other, and by the time they’re done and washing up, Kurt doesn’t feel like it’s the right time. They’re both exhausted, and Blaine’s too excited to talk about learning to properly wield all kinds of equipment and watching people using the most outrageous benches and seats, and he ends up giving Kurt a demonstration of how a smotherbox would work with pillows. He blocks the movement of Kurt’s head while lazily fucking his mouth from straddled over his shoulders, and Kurt doesn’t want to end up coughing through a proposal.

It doesn’t happen in LA at all. They get all the way back to New York and the ring box is carefully secreted away in a pair of socks in Kurt’s luggage, and then in the drawer of his nightstand, just another box among the ones in which he keeps his brooches and pins.

They spend the last three days of their granted ten days off from work finishing up their contract and spending as much time together as possible, trying out kinks and revisiting their favorites, cuddling and watching television and ignoring the world for a little while.

The final night of their break, Blaine sets out two copies of their contract and asks Kurt to kneel.

“I want to take this opportunity to...formally claim you. To collar you.”

Kurt strips himself without being told, folding his clothes up and sinking down before Blaine, totally and wilfully vulnerable.

There was no research done on how collaring ceremonies are supposed to go. The way other people do things has rarely been their way to go.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, “I want to present you with...this collar.”

Kurt lifts his head and sees Blaine holding their usual collar, with the same silver ring with birds on either side, the same clasp in the back, the same soft leather.

“I added a little something to it,” Blaine explains. “Something to show clearly who put this collar on you.”

He lowers the collar to Kurt’s eye level. The collar looks unchanged, until Kurt sees the inside of the leather. On the right side, branded into the leather, is Blaine + Kurt. On the left, 9/8/2011.

“The...the first time we got coffee together?” Kurt asks, confused.

“The first time I...I sort of Dominated you,” Blaine says with a touch of a chuckle. “Remember? I made you drink a full fat mocha and bought you food.”

“I remember,” Kurt says, emotional. “I couldn’t decide if I was mad at you or not. You kept looking at me like...like you saw me.”

“I did,” Blaine replies. “And...and I never stopped looking, Kurt. That day, I decided I wanted to take care of you, and I still feel that way. And...and I want you to take care of me, too. I want to put this collar on you, Kurt, and make sure that when you wear it, you know that it’s a symbol for both of us. I might be the Dom, and you might be the sub, but we’re in this together.”

He stands up very straight, towering over Kurt, holding the collar in front of him like an offering.

“Will you accept my collar, Kurt?” He smiles, his eyes shining, his voice thick in a way that rarely escapes his control. “Will you trust me to be your Dom, to push you and to free you from your burdens?”

“I will,” Kurt says happily. “I will accept your collar, Blaine, and I will serve you as you command, and give you my respect and trust. I will support you as you support me, and I promise I won’t make it too difficult on you.

Blaine laughs, endearingly squeaky and breathless, and he clasps the collar around Kurt’s neck before drawing him to his feet.

“Oh, please do,” he says, and Kurt laughs, falling into Blaine’s arms and kissing him through a smile.

“Come on,” Kurt says. He looks up at Blaine coyly from under his lashes. “May I sign the contract now, Master?”

“Oh, don’t start calling me that now,” Blaine moans. “And yes, baby, you may.”

Kurt looks over both copies of the contract carefully before signing, earning an approving nod from Blaine, who takes the pen and signs after him.

“Officially mine,” Blaine says, drawing Kurt into his arms. “I want you to go into the bedroom and kneel on the bed, facing the headboard. I’ll be in in a moment.”

Kurt nods and hurries to obey, hopping up and kneeling, eyeing his nightstand off to the side.

Soon. A big moment. Something we’ll never forget.

After a few quiet, peaceful moments, Blaine slips into the room with a rustle of partition curtain, climbing up onto the bed and sitting against the headboard. He pats his lap invitingly, and Kurt shuffles up and straddles over him.

“I love you,” Blaine says, brushing Kurt’s hair off his forehead.

Kurt’s grin is so wide that it might actually hurt. But he can’t tell, past the rush in his head.

“I love you, too.”

Blaine wraps him up, hands wide over his back, kissing him with gentle presses of lips, suckling his bottom lip and stroking it softly with his tongue. Kurt shudders and gasps, and Blaine tilts into the kiss and Kurt’s open mouth, molding their mouths open, closed, open, closed, soft sounds and hard squeezes and tight fingers in his muscles.

“Open me up?” Kurt asks, reaching back to guide Blaine’s hands lower. Blaine obliges, squeezing the rounds of his cheeks, parting them, slipping one finger hard down the center, brushing the soft pucker of his hole with dry presses before stroking back up. Kurt arches in his lap, legs spreading wider to accommodate.

“Please, Blaine.”

Blaine reaches to his nightstand and pulls out the lube, leaving the condoms untouched. He coats his fingers and continues his touch down over Kurt’s ass, pressing inside as he begs for it with every plea he can come up with.

It feels incredible, Blaine working his body open, making his way inside not as an intrusion, but as a welcome addition, as something that was missing.

When he’s spread wide, a sweet ache of emptiness in him that needs to be filled, Blaine pulls his legs from under him, wrapping them around his back. Kurt leans into his support to sit over his cock, sinking down slowly, gasping for breath stolen by Blaine’s lips over his struggling throat. When he’s down, he digs his heels into Blaine’s ass, rocking himself back and forth, unable to gain purchase to lift up.

“You feel so good,” Blaine breathes. His eyes are shut tight, his brows drawn, panting into Kurt’s ear. His hands help Kurt work over him, scrabbling desperately across the sweat and skin of Kurt’s flank, pulling him in when he rocks back, groaning soul-deep when he succeeds in dragging him closer.

“You do too,” Kurt gasps, cupping Blaine’s face, staring at his mouth as though he could fall into him, kiss him deep enough to never stop feeling it.

Blaine’s legs twitch and jerk behind him, one moment trying to help Kurt to move more, harder, the next stretching and tensing as a more powerful wave of pleasure rolls out from where he’s buried in Kurt.

“Say you’re mine, Kurt,” Blaine begs--begs--hands fluttering over him, shoulders and back and waist and hips and thighs, never staying long, grabbing all of him at once. He bites into Kurt’s neck above his collar, sucking hard, and Kurt strains into him, willing to give anything. “Say it, say it--”

“Yours,” Kurt promises, grabbing Blaine’s hands and placing them hard on his hips before gripping his shoulders in return, pulling tight on every muscle in his body to lift up and drop back down, dragging along Blaine’s cock in the way he needs to come. “I’m yours, Blaine. Always yours.”

Blaine cries out, and burying his face into Kurt’s collar and sobbing his name, he comes, hips stuttering in tandem with his voice.

“I love you,” Kurt whispers as he comes down, holding Kurt close. “I love you so much.”

“I was going to put you under,” Blaine says when he looks up, eyelids heavy.

“I just need you to touch me,” Kurt replies easily, not at all regretful, especially when Blaine wraps his hand around his cock, lovingly stroking him into release while still inside him.

They curl up together, caressing sore, sweaty muscles, kissing anything within reach, lips ending up on eyebrows and ears and collarbones. The weight of the collar on Kurt’s neck keeps him grounded, connected, even when he wants to drift away and sleep, as tacky and uncomfortable as he’s becoming.

He looks up, and Blaine is smiling down at him, sex-stupid and bright and his stupid teeth are just right there, and he’s got a bit of pudge beneath his chin when he looks down like this, and Kurt loves him so much that he might shatter from the pressure of it.

You know what, Kurt thinks. Fuck it.

He rolls away from Blaine, who lets out an adorable whimper of protest, but he ignores it and reaches into his nightstand drawer. He finds the box that’s a touch smaller than the rest, and pulls it out, rolling back and plopping on top of Blaine, laying his chin over his sternum and putting the ring box before his nose.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, his voice shaking as his heart starts to hammer under Kurt’s hand. “Kurt, what is that.”

Kurt bites his lip and opens it, careful hands around it, presenting it to him.

“Blaine Anderson,” Kurt says, trying for seriousness but utterly failing as Blaine’s eyes go wide and he looks hopefully down at the ring. Instead, he sounds playful, a strange contrast to the most important moment of his life. “I can see the future right now, so clearly. You’re going to take this ring, and wear it on your finger, so that everyone knows that you’re mine. And soon, we’ll order matching ones, maybe a little classier than this, and we’ll get up in uncomfortable but stylish suits and write really terrible vows and some idiot with an internet certificate will tell us to put them on each other, and then we’ll kiss and--the only thing that will change will be some paperwork, and maybe our last names. But first, for all that to happen...you have to say you’ll marry me.”

Blaine laughs, eyes tearing up as he covers his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and sniffling before he gets himself under control, laughing again down at Kurt and wiping his eyes.

“Yes,” he says, voice breaking, and he just keeps laughing. “I’ll marry you, god, Kurt, yes--”

Kurt laughs with him, squealing a little as he pulls out the ring and slips it onto Blaine’s finger. It doesn’t fit quite right, but Blaine stares at it like it’s absolutely perfect. And maybe it is.

“I love you,” Blaine says, and Kurt dives down and kisses him as best as he can through their ridiculous, happy, uncontrollable laughter. “Oh my god, I love you--”

“I love you too,” Kurt replies. “I have never seen you like this, Blaine, are you okay?”

Blaine nods.

“I think a part of me still thought it could never end up this perfect,” he admits, voice still thick. “You’re everything, Kurt. And I never thought I’d get the chance for this the day I stole your sweater, but--here we are, and I just can’t believe it--”

“I still haven’t forgiven you for that, by the way--”

Blaine snorts, and they fall into each other again, rolling around and kissing as best they can, gasping and clutching at each other until Blaine lands of top of Kurt, grimacing.

“I can’t believe you proposed when I was covered in come,” he says, and Kurt covers his face.

“Oh my god, I did.” His voice is muffled, but Blaine giggles, pulling his hands away.

“We’ll figure out some PG rated story to tell everyone else,” he assures, and Kurt kisses his nose in thanks. Then Blaine grins, eyes sparkling. “Maybe tell everyone I was at least wearing a condom.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him and slaps his shoulder playfully.

“What kind of PG movies do you watch--”