Kurt didn't know for how long they rode, he just knew that, suddenly, they stopped. The darkness was just starting to slowly engulf the world under its blanket, and he could still see the sun, now an angry red globe, disappearing under the horizon, as if the water was swallowing it. They were on a green patch of land, punctuated and surrounded by rocks, and some flowers could be spotted too, making the harshness of the landscape look just a bit sweeter.

When Khal Blaine halted the horse, he didn't give Kurt the time to climb down first: he was on his feet in an instant, taking Kurt by the waist once again. Kurt didn't know whether to find it endearing or humiliating: was that kindness and chivalry (he had great doubts about that) or was he being considered as a fragile, scared girl?

Whatever the reason, he didn't have the time to think about it, because suddenly the horse was secured to a rock nearby and Khal Blaine was in front of him, staring, thinking, Kurt didn't know. And for a long time, that was all it happened.

Kurt had hoped the khal would do it fast; after all, he didn't look like the kind of man who enjoyed slow, sweet love-making under the stars. He had hoped to close his eyes, grit his teeth and wait for it to end; but as he looked back at the man in front of him, he could almost hear him thinking, picturing all the things he'd want to do to Kurt. Suddenly, he was scared.

Khal Blaine, his eyes hooded, their color still unknown to Kurt, took a step towards him. An unexpected tear ran down Kurt's cheek. He didn't want to cry.

The expression on the Dothraki's face shifted, from lust and primal desire to something like worry, and in the blink of an eye there was a rough, yet wary hand stroking Kurt's cheek, a calloused thumb brushing the tear away. Kurt blinked and looked him in the eyes; they were the color of honey, of gold, of the last flicker of sunlight dancing on the earth.

"No" Khal Blaine said, his voice softer, different from the tone he'd used during the wedding when speaking to other Dothraki. Kurt blinked in surprise.

"Do you speak the Common Tongue?" he asked in a whisper. The hand on his cheek disappeared.

"No."

Kurt wanted to say something in reply, but Khal Blaine decided to touch him again. He lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, and the other hand to cup his neck, caressing it softly. Then his jaw, his ear, his sharp cheekbone, the line of his nose, a surprisingly delicate finger coming down to trace around his lips, and Kurt gasped and shivered with something he had never felt before and didn't quite understand, heat coiling low in his belly.

It was as if the khal was studying him, mesmerized and fascinated by his body, and for the first time Kurt realized that maybe he looked as foreign and mysterious to Khal Blaine as the Dothraki looked to him. His pale skin, his slim body with no signs of victories nor of failings; it had to be weird and different for him, and Kurt couldn't help but think about his brother's words. He likes fragile pretty boys like you.

When the king's hands traced Kurt's shoulders, carrying his aqua green tunic with them, the garment falling to the ground in a soundless caress, Kurt was no longer able to stay still and tried to cover himself with his arms; one over his chest, the other covering his half-hard cock in shame.

"No" Khal Blaine said once again, prying his arms away and holding them at his sides, and when Kurt blushed and turned his face away, a hand came up to cup it gently. "No."

Kurt looked at him again, the mix of lust and tenderness in the khal's eyes striking him, seeping into his very core, and for a brief moment, but long enough, that was no khal, it was just a man; a man who wanted him, and that simple thought made Kurt's cheeks hotter.

"Is that the only word you know?" he felt the need to ask.

"No."

Without breaking eye-contact, Khal Blaine moved one of his hands again, his palm caressing Kurt's collarbone and then brushing on a nipple, casually at first, then purposefully, his forefinger rolling it over and over until Kurt was panting without even realizing it, lips softly parted and fists tightened at his sides, watching, looking into the other man's eyes while his mind clouded and his legs quivered.

A whimper escaped his mouth and Khal Blaine drew his face closer to Kurt's, lips parted and eyes wild, his hand travelling down Kurt's flat stomach and stopping right at his bellybutton, a silent question drifting in the air around them.

"No?" he asked, his hot breath grazing Kurt's lips, and Kurt lost the resolve he thought he had.

"Yes" he whispered, taking Khal Blaine's wrist and lowering his hand between his legs.

After stroking Kurt's cock to full hardness, the khal gripped his hips and turned him around, locking their bodies together, making him feel how much he wanted him, his cock hot and hard between Kurt's cheeks even with the thin layer of his skirt as a barrier.

A strong, firm hand pushed between Kurt's shoulderblades and then he was on his knees, helpless and waiting and yet fear was long forgotten, subdued by lust and surrender and the wild, sudden need to be owned by someone who wouldn't hurt him, and as crazy as that sounded, in that moment Kurt knew that Khal Blaine wouldn't.

It was in the hand softly going up and down his spine while a slick, long finger entered him for the first time; in the way that same hand came around his stomach to hold him close when he tightened around the sudden fullness and whimpered; in the way one, two, then three fingers found and stroked a spot deep inside that made him grip the grass under him and shove his body backwards shamelessly to have more, just a bit more, please.

Then the fingers were gone, and Khal Blaine entered him in one smooth thrust, a guttural moan leaving his mouth and his hands gripping Kurt's hips so hard he was sure he'd have bruises in the morning. Kurt gritted his teeth, willing the sharp pain to go away, but the khal began to move inside of him, long, powerful thrusts while he kept Kurt perfectly still, filling and emptying his body as he pleased.

Kurt found himself longing for a sweat-slick chest against his back; soft, sinful lips biting at his neck and whispering things in his ear, letting him know how good it felt to be inside of him; a hand gripping his hair and twisting his head around and lips covering his in a deep, breathtaking kiss. None of that came, and not a single word was exchanged, in any language.

It became clear that sex to Dothraki was nothing more than finding release, and when Kurt came, the other man's hand on his cock to match his last uneven thrusts, he felt as if he'd been tricked into thinking it could be something more.

When they rode back to the khalasar, the fingerprints on his hipbones hurt less than those fake, sweet touches, their echo tingling on his damp skin.

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"Gods, the heat is killing me" Sebastian complained for the hundredth time that morning, his arms flailing wildly in the air to keep the flies away. "This is a fucking waste of time."

"I know, my lord" Finn Hudson said, riding along with the brothers. "But the Dothraki are very fond of their traditions, and after every marriage they have to ride to Vaes Dothrak in order for the Mother of Mountains to bear witness to-"

"Do I look like a give a damn?" Sebastian spat, making Kurt flinch on his silver horse.

"Seb, he just wanted to explain" he reprimanded him, exhausted by his behavior on top of the admittedly unbearable heat. "Please, be kind."

Sebastian glared at him, the fire of rage glowing in his eyes, and suddenly his horse was blocking Kurt's way, making him stop. The long line of the moving khalasar kept walking behind and in front of them, like a river whose waters streamed through their legs while they remained still in the middle of it. If he looked at it in the distance, it was like staring at little black ants, marching dutifully and cutting through the Dothraki sea – a sea of long green grass moving in the wind.

"Since when you tell me what to do?" Sebastian growled, his eyes narrowed. "Just because the khal likes to mount you every night, you think you're one, too?"

Kurt felt tears of shame gathering in his eyes, but he blinked them away. If there was one person he didn't want to see him cry, it was his brother.

"These are my people now" he said proudly, head held high and voice only slightly wavering. "I'm trying to respect their customs; I just wish you'd do it, too."

Sebastian arched an eyebrow, looking at him in disbelief and mockery.

"I think I'll ride up front, where a king belongs. I'll leave you two here with women and slaves, where you belong, little brother."

With that, he turned his horse and left, his body getting smaller and smaller while he rode to reach the beginning of the line, where Khal Blaine rode with his bloodriders, Dothraki whose lives were devoted to protect his no matter what. When a khal died, his bloodriders had to follow him in the nightlands.

"The khal will have him killed if he tries to ride at his side" Kurt said, shaking his head and commanding his horse to keep going.

"Maybe we should let him" he heard Finn Hudson say under his breath, but loud enough.

"Sebastian is... self-centered. But he- he is my brother. I don't want him hurt."

Finn turned to look at him, a baffled expression on his face.

"I think you are the kindest person I've ever met" he said with striking honesty, and Kurt couldn't help but smile at that.

They kept marching, the sun cruel and unforgiving over their heads, sweat sliding down Kurt's temple. He had woken up in a cloudy mood that day, and Sebastian had only made it worse with that comment about him and the khal, twisting a blade into an already open wound.

A week had passed, and the only thing Kurt and his husband had shared was his bed – the pile of furs and cushions he slept on, to be precise. He'd get into the tent every night, twist Kurt around, stroke him long enough and then take him, Kurt's face muffled by the improvised mattress when he didn't bother to hold himself up on his elbows. The third night, he had even stroked himself in advance and rolled onto his stomach to save Khal Blaine the effort.

During the day, his husband rode away from him and didn't even look at him. It was frustrating and humiliating, his knees scraped and bruised despite the softness of the beddings and his ass sore and hurting when he rode, and they were riding all the time.

"Everything okay, khalees?" Finn asked, bringing him back to reality.

Kurt didn't hide his sadness; he felt like he could trust this man, and frankly, there was no harm in telling him.

"Will it always be like this?" he asked, his voice broken and almost childish to his ears. He glanced briefly toward the beginning of the line. Finn nodded in understanding and gave him an awkward smile, a way to reassure him, and Kurt felt it did.

"The way to a Dothraki's heart is difficult, khalees, even more if it's a khal. They are proud, stubborn and cruel. Some people say they don't have a heart, so they can't love, but it's a lie. They are men, just like everybody else. It just means you have to try harder to reach it."

"But I don't know how" Kurt said helplessly. Finn shrugged.

"Then figure it out."

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After a whole day spent riding, the mixed stench of horses, dust and sweat was making him feel so sticky and gross that the first thing he did when the slaves set up the tent was to get rid of his clothes – leather vest and trousers like a Dothraki – and get into the bathtub. Rachel and Mercedes filled it with lukewarm water, soaps and oils and began to stroke his body with warm washcloths, the feeling so relieving and relaxing that he couldn't help but throw his head back against the rim of the tub, his eyes closed and a sigh on his lips.

The soreness of his body melted away, leaving him almost boneless and feeling as if he could slip into the water and flow away with it. Just when he felt like he could fall asleep, a thought occurred to him, and he opened his eyes.

"Can I ask you a question?" he said to both Rachel and Mercedes. They stopped cleaning him for a brief second, then started again, answering in unison with their heads bowed and intent on their task.

"Of course, khalees."

Kurt chewed on his lip for a moment.

"How do you get a Dothraki to fall in love with you?"

The slaves lifted their heads in surprise, eyes wide. Kurt knew it was a weird question, but he figured he couldn't ask a Dothraki, it would have been pointless. Maybe they knew, instead. Maybe they had heard stories.

"You can't, khalees" Rachel said in a bright, high-pitched voice, a little smile on her face as if to say How na�ve of you.

"It is known" added Mercedes, nodding solemnly.

"It is known" echoed Rachel.

"Of course you can" another voice chimed in. Kurt's head whipped around, splashing water around the tub.

Santana, the only Dothraki slave Sebastian had given him, was standing past the entryway of the tent, hands on her hips. She didn't behave submissively like all the other slaves, that much was clear.

"How?" Kurt prodded, sitting up inside the bathtub, his attention officially caught. "Tell me!"

Santana shook her head left and right and smirked, walking towards him and leaning over the tub. Kurt was so curious about the answer that he didn't find it in himself to make her act more properly; truth be told, her cockiness amused him.

"But with sex, obviously" she replied, reaching with a single finger inside the bathtub to make little circles in the water, heedless of the fact that he was naked underneath the slightly foamy surface of it. Kurt arched an eyebrow.

"It's not working so far" he said, disappointment clear in his voice. For a moment, he had thought she had the answer.

"Tsk" Santana said mockingly, flicking her other hand vaguely, her hair swaying with the movement. "Not that. I am a Dothraki, but I have been with many men like you, khalees, with fair white skin and fancy clothes. I know their language as well as their manners, and I know that sex is more than what Dothraki men do with us, or with each other."

Kurt stared at her, captivated. He hadn't thought about why she spoke the Common Tongue so well, now that she mentioned.

"Go on" he urged, curious and eager like a child waiting for a praise. Santana smiled, pleased with herself.

"Soon enough, khalees, you'll learn that life is all about power, and those who can't fight, or rule, need to find other ways to have it. The khal will never respect you if you don't show him you have power in your own way. He doesn't see you as an equal. And take no offense, khalees, but it's quite difficult not to see why."

Rachel and Mercedes gasped, taking a step away from her as if she had personally offended them. Kurt remained still, a blank expression on his face; after all, it was true. Still, he felt the need to say something.

"My brother said Khal Blaine liked fragile boys. I thought he wanted me because I'm..." – he searched for the word, weaker? prettier? – "...different."

"That may be..." Santana said, getting her hand out of the bathtub and propping herself up on the rim, holding her chin in her palms. "...physically. Maybe what he needs is more than that, though."

Kurt heaved a sigh. She was right.

"Khalees, the water is getting cold" Rachel said, offering him a hand to help him climb out. Santana stepped away. "Let's get you out."

Mercedes came with new clothes for him – not that different from those he had wore that day, but clean – and together they dressed him, Santana watching silently from a corner of the tent, her arms crossed. When they finished, Kurt straightened his back and turned to look at her.

"Teach me" he commanded, his voice sharper than he'd ever heard it be.

"That's what I'm here for, khalees" she replied, smiling.