Author’s notes: Here it is – the final chapter.

I might have taken the words “the grand finale” a little too literally: this baby is almost 12 000 words long. Make sure to have snacks at the ready. And wine or other celebratory beverage of choice. Because it’s time to celebrate. Yay finished stories! :D

Please take a moment to appreciate Captain Pihkal, who came up with this wonderful story and graciously allowed me to adopt it, and my tireless beta, nachochang, who read through the 55 000 words I’ve written in this fic, whipping it into shape, correcting my misconceptions and being my personal specialist in all things American.

Thank you for reading on and accepting me as the second author, and for every comment, review and word of support. They meant the world <3

EPILOGUE: NEW YORK

YEAR 1

Kurt climbed the last flight of stairs with difficulty and dragged his feet down the interminable corridor of his dorm building, trying to blink the exhaustion out of his eyes. It was barely past eight p.m. and he still had so much to do tonight, but right now, he desperately needed another coffee to keep him going. Finals weren’t over yet, and that, combined with his brand new internship at Vogue, meant that Kurt hadn’t had time to sleep more than four hours a night all week. He’d closed his eyes on the subway just for a couple of minutes, and the exhaustion hit him like a freight train, leaving him cold and shaky. Everything around him had that unnerving air of unreality.

Finally he got to his door – but the key, Kurt realized, was still in his bag where he’d deposited it while rushing out the door that morning, buried somewhere under his books, folders and sketches. Digging it out seemed like such an insurmountable task, he felt like crying. His head thumped heavily against the door. Just for a minute. He’d find that damn key in a minute.

There was a click of the lock and the door opened, making Kurt lose his balance. He fell forward, too slow to react in time, and found himself right in Blaine’s sure, strong arms.

“Kurt! Are you all right?”

“’m so tired,” Kurt mumbled into Blaine’s neck. Already he felt so much better. Safe. Home.

“Of course you are, you’ve barely slept all week. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Blaine was already unzipping Kurt’s parka and unwinding the scarf from his neck. Kurt groaned. Bed sounded like heaven right now. But–

“Can’t. Have to study. I have one last exam tomorrow.”

“Mm, no,” Blaine said with a firmness Kurt rarely – if ever – heard from him. “You’ve studied enough. You won’t pass that exam if you don’t rest, Kurt. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“But–”

“Shh. Let me help.” Blaine’s fingers were already dancing down the front of Kurt’s vest, opening the little buttons one by one. He slid the vest off Kurt’s arms and hung it over the back of a chair, then started on his shirt buttons, his fingertips fleeting points of warmth against Kurt’s chest. “Have you eaten anything?”

Kurt shook his head. “Didn‘t have time.”

“I have pasta from the diner. I’ll heat it up while you take a hot shower. You’re all cold and tense.”

“I can’t take your dinner.”

Blaine shrugged from his knees, where he was just easing Kurt’s skintight pants down his legs. “Marie gave me plenty. We can share.”

All done with the pants, he kissed Kurt’s hip just over the waistband of his boxer-briefs before getting to his feet. It was a testament of just how exhausted Kurt was that he didn’t react to Blaine’s lips on his body in the usual way.

He swayed as soon as Blaine let go of him. Now that he’d accepted that he needed some rest, his body seemed to weigh a ton. Blaine didn’t miss it, his sure hands catching Kurt immediately.

“Or maybe I’ll shower with you.”

He was already leading Kurt to the little bathroom they shared with the boys in the adjoining room, and Kurt went easily, for once content to be steered and directed. It only took a minute for them to find themselves in the shower stall, hot water pouring over Kurt’s back as Blaine lathered him with the ginger and lemon-scented shower gel, kneading his aching muscles as he went. They were naked, wet, skin to skin in the tight space, but it wasn’t sexual in the slightest this time. All Kurt felt was love and gratitude. He closed his eyes and leaned into Blaine who massaged his scalp as he washed his hair and rubbed conditioner through it. It was so good, the warmth and comfort and the familiar scents mingling, that Kurt put his head on Blaine’s shoulder and hummed happily. He lost the train of time a little, and the next thing he knew, Blaine was drying his skin gently with a soft towel, still holding him close and safe. Blaine smiled when he saw Kurt’s eyes open.

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed. I’ll put the pasta in the microwave and be right with you.”

“Mm, no eating in bed,” Kurt mumbled without conviction, crawling under the covers without bothering to put on his pajamas.

“We’ll make an exception tonight. What time is your exam tomorrow?”

“Nine.”

“I’ll wake you up at seven.” The microwave beeped, so Blaine pulled the plastic container out and divided the steaming contents between two bowls. The smell of it made Kurt’s stomach growl. He hadn’t eaten since early lunch. “Here. Eat up.”

They ate in bed, sitting side by side against the headboard, and after a while, Kurt could barely keep his eyes open, the hand holding his fork getting heavy. Blaine laughed softly and took the nearly-empty bowl out of his hands.

Kurt whined, sliding down until he was curled on his side. The bed was so comfortable he never wanted to leave it. “I should go brush my teeth.”

“I think you can skip it just once. Sleep, Kurt.” Blaine switched off the bedside lamp and spooned him from behind, kissing his neck. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Kurt mumbled before sleep claimed him.

YEAR 2

“Are you sure?” Kurt asked for the third or fourth time.

Blaine rolled his eyes and then moaned when Kurt’s fingers twitched deep in him. “Yes. Please.” He paused to catch his breath, and his brows furrowed. “Unless you don’t want to. Is that it? Because if you don’t want this, we don’t have to–”

“No, I do. It’s just…” Kurt slid his fingers free and wiped them discreetly on the sheet. Talking with half his hand up Blaine’s ass felt weird. “I mean, after all your previous owners… I just wonder if this can be even good for you. And I don’t want to hurt you in any way or…”

Blaine reached up and pulled Kurt in for a deep kiss. “You won’t hurt me. I want this because it’s with you,” he said once they parted. “Everything we’ve done, every single thing has been wonderful. Even things that had never been pleasant before. And I want this with you, too. I love being in you, but I want to be fully yours like this, too. Please?”

Kurt let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Maybe you should be on top though, so that you can control how slow you take me in?”

Blaine shook his head. “I don’t need control. I know you’ll take good care of me. Just… like this? I want to see your face.”

Kurt nodded and reached for more lube, kissing Blaine again as he slid his fingers back in, making sure he was perfectly prepared.

Blaine broke away from him after a moment, panting. “Kurt, now. Please, stop teasing and just… Please.”

Kurt wanted to. He really, really did. Rationally, he knew Blaine was willing and eager and more than ready. But as soon as his cock nudged the rim of Blaine’s ass, he hesitated, the doctor’s words from years ago coming back to him – words about scarring and abuse, admonitions to be so, so careful with this beautiful boy.

“Kuuuurt,” Blaine whined.

“I’m sorry, I just. I’m so afraid to hurt you.” Kurt’s breath was coming faster, and Blaine cupped his cheek, forcing him to look into his eyes.

“You won’t hurt me.” He reached between them to steady Kurt’s cock and wound his legs around Kurt’s waist, nudging him gently in. “Come on. I promise to tell you if I’m uncomfortable.”

But he didn’t – Kurt slid in so, so carefully, and Blaine just gasped and arched and urged him on, repeating Kurt’s name like a prayer until he was all in and rocking into Blaine slowly, at which point Blaine seemed to have lost the ability to speak and just moaned helplessly. Kurt paused, unsure. Blaine sounded so raw.

“Okay?” Kurt asked, his nerves still wound tight with worry.

“Yes. It feels so good, please don’t stop.” Blaine’s face was awed, and his hips wouldn’t stop moving. “I didn’t know it can feel so good.”

So Kurt moved; and once he did, he couldn’t stop, spurred on by Blaine’s reactions – his voice curling around yeses and pleases and endearments, his skin glowing, flushed and sweaty, his body rocking into every move with utter abandon. When Kurt reached for his cock, he found it rock hard and wet, dripping precome all over Blaine’s belly. Blaine whimpered and pushed into his hand, then back onto his cock, time and again, as if unable to decide which he wanted more.

Kurt was so busy watching the stunning spectacle underneath him, so focused on taking care and giving Blaine what he needed, that he hardly paid attention to his own reaction. The coil of pleasure tightening in his belly was something distant, unimportant right now. It was only when Blaine tensed and cried his name, pulsing around him that Kurt noticed just how close he was himself. It took just a few more thrusts to fall over the edge.

They lay together, sweaty and sticky in the aftermath, grinning at each other across the pillow. Blaine sighed happily and burrowed closer, his breath tickling Kurt’s collarbone when he spoke.

“Kurt?”

“Hm?”

“Those previous owners that you were worried about? Everything they did? It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m yours and you make me happier than I ever knew I could be. I want everything with you.”

“Everything?” A fleeting vision of tuxes and rings and vows flew through Kurt’s mind, but he pushed it away. They were barely twenty. And that wasn’t even the main reason why it was impossible any time soon.

Blaine kissed his Adam’s apple. “Absolutely everything.”

YEAR 3

Kurt stood by the counter of the Spotlight diner, unable to stop smiling as he watched Blaine in his black and red waiter uniform, singing his heart out to the crowd of enchanted customers. Blaine looked so happy here, content to do his job, to be among people, to sing. Kurt had known how much Blaine loved it here, of course – he’d heard it in the enthusiasm with which Blaine spoke about his job, the eagerness to go every morning, even when he’d just been helping in the kitchen – but actually seeing him in his element drove home just how good a decision it had been to take Blaine to New York. He blossomed here.

“He’s fantastic,” Kurt breathed.

Gunther, Spotlight’s owner, nodded his white head. “I would have promoted him to waiter long ago, had I known he had such a voice. Two weeks and he’s already a customer favorite, has he told you that?”

Kurt raised his eyebrows. “No?”

Gunther hummed. “Mhm. Humble as ever.” He looked at Kurt. “I’m glad you’re establishing the fund for him at last. This kid deserves a full life and all the opportunities he can get. They all do.”

“Well, I promised myself as soon as I could support us both, Blaine’s money would start going towards his freedom. And now I can. My boss at Vogue has just told me they’re hiring me full-time. I may have to cut back on fancy coffee if I am to manage all expenses by myself, but I’ll make do. His future is more important.”

“Good.” Gunther motioned towards Blaine who had finished his song and was skipping back towards one of his tables to take an order, a wide smile on his face. “You can take him home early today, if you want to. Go celebrate.” Kurt nodded his thanks, and Gunther called out, “Hey, Blaine!”

“Yes, boss?” Blaine turned towards them, perky and alert, his eyes widening. “Oh. Kurt?”

“I was just telling Mr. Hummel that you can leave early today to celebrate his promotion,” Gunther said. “Tell Dani to take over your tables.”

Blaine’s smile grew impossibly wider. “You got promoted? Oh my god, congratulations!” He started towards him as if to run into Kurt’s arms, but stopped himself quickly, mindful of where they were, and turned to Gunther. “Thank you, sir. I’ll talk to Dani and then I’ll be ready to go.”

Kurt grinned and sat down to wait, his mind already working on plans for a rare afternoon together.

They would go home and dress up, with a strategically chosen scarf for Blaine to cover his mark. They could go to the movies and eat dinner at some nice, relaxed restaurant, and if they were careful, they should be able to enjoy a date like any other couple. Kurt’s heart sped up happily at the thought of holding hands in public and buying a red rose for Blaine at the first flower stall he saw as they walked.

New York wasn’t necessarily more open-minded towards slave issues than Ohio – not as a whole – but the difference was New Yorkers didn’t usually pry into other people’s business. Kurt and Blaine had tested it already: if they looked and acted like a regular couple, they were perceived as a regular couple. They didn’t dare do it too often, afraid their luck may run out one day, but it felt divine to feel normal every now and then, as if their love wasn’t forbidden; as if they didn’t have to wait years to officially be together.

And now that Blaine’s wages were finally going to be put into his freedom fund every week, they were one step closer to that dream becoming reality.

Blaine came out of the kitchen, already changed out of the uniform except for the thin black collar all slaves had to wear at Spotlight. He smiled at Kurt politely, aware of the customers’ eyes – and ears – around them.

“I’m ready, sir. We can go if it pleases you.”

“Thank you, Blaine. Let’s go, then. I’ve got a lot planned for tonight.”

YEAR 4

Kurt wasn’t sure sure what started it, but he knew it had been building for months.

It was his final year of school, with all the pressure of graduating and starting real life looming on the horizon. His job at Vogue took his every free minute now that he was working full-time, and in the summer, Isabelle had introduced him to a few designers who she thought might help him launch his first small line. There had been a few lunches and a couple of presentations since then, some fashion shows and social gatherings that he’d been invited to, and each was too good an opportunity to miss. Kurt had fallen into the designer crowd like he was born to be there, among talented, ambitious, like-minded people.

He worked his ass off to fit it all into days that were always too short, but he loved every minute of it. Sure, he hardly ever came home to their new apartment before ten anymore. Sure, sometimes he just caught a couple hours of sleep on the sofa in the sewing room Nathaniel, a trendy young designer, let him use in his studio, instead. True, he hadn’t managed to go home for Thanksgiving for the first time ever.

But this was his career he was building, his future. This was important.

The annoying thing was, Blaine didn’t understand. He never said anything, never complained, but Kurt saw him growing sadder and quieter, saw the looks every time Blaine wasn’t asleep when Kurt came home or left early in the morning, and the guilt they evoked was something Kurt really didn’t have time for now. It wasn’t as if he could take Blaine with him to a gala or a fashion show, could he? He was doing his best.

And tonight had just been a breaking point. Kurt had gotten home past eleven, exhausted after classes and work and a business dinner with a potential sponsor for his line, and all he wanted was to drop into bed and catch a few much needed hours of sleep. Except once he opened the door to their tiny apartment, the first thing he saw were flowers and candles – half-melted now – and what looked like a full homemade dinner sitting untouched on their beautifully set dining room table. Blaine sat cross-legged on the sofa, staring through the dark window at the clouded November sky. He didn’t turn until Kurt set his bag on the floor.

“I hoped you would be home earlier tonight,” was all Blaine said, quietly, but that was enough to make the stirring of guilt in Kurt’s chest turn into annoyance. He was just so tired, he didn’t have the energy to deal with this tonight.

“Well if you’d asked, you would have known I couldn’t. And I already had dinner.” It came out harsh, and Blaine just looked at him, and in his glassy, luminous eyes Kurt could see every complaint Blaine never voiced, every disappointment and failure Kurt didn’t want to think about. “What?” he snapped, going on the offensive.

Blaine shook his head and looked down at his knees. “It’s just… you’re never here anymore,” he said so quietly Kurt barely heard.

It would have been easier if he had yelled. Then Kurt could yell back without feeling like the bad guy. Instead, Kurt grabbed his bag and opened the door.

“You know what, I can’t deal with this right now.”

He could hear Blaine call his name as he slammed the door, but he didn’t turn back, his quick strides fueled by righteous anger. He just wanted some rest, dammit, was that too much to ask for? He had a long day tomorrow.

Without thinking, Kurt reached for his work phone. Nathaniel never went to sleep before one; they’d exchanged texts after midnight before. Tonight looked to be no different – he picked up after the first ring.

“Hi Nate, would you mind if I caught a few hours of sleep at the studio? I have to be there first thing in the morning anyway and it’s late and­–”

Nathaniel’s voice in the phone sounded wide awake and energized. “Sure, come right over. I’m still here. Is everything alright? You sound off.”

“Yeah, just a bit of… boyfriend trouble.”

Kurt never talked much about his private life, and Nathaniel didn’t ask. This time he took it in stride, too.

“Wanna talk about it when you get here? I have whiskey, the perfect medicine for boyfriend trouble.”

Kurt hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I’m all ears if you need that. Or, you know… other body parts.” He chuckled and Kurt hummed noncommittally.

“I’m taking a cab. I’ll be there in twenty.”

*

It was entirely too easy to let the story pour out of him once he started, curled on a sofa with Nate with a tumbler of amber liquid in hand – amber like Blaine’s eyes, his traitorous consciousness submitted, and Kurt pushed it away. He didn’t give Nate any details – he was smarter than that, and he didn’t exactly know where Nate stood on the whole slavery business – but he talked about the boyfriend who didn’t understand the reality of being an aspiring fashion designer, didn’t get how much time, effort and dedication it took to break through. Nate hummed and nodded and agreed, answering with his own stories of guys who’d wanted too much, who’d made crazy, impossible demands about his time and attention, and got promptly dumped for it.

“You don’t need an anchor like that,” he said, and Kurt nodded, even though it wasn’t like that with Blaine at all. “You can have a dozen like him, without the outrageous demands.”

What outrageous demands? The reasonable part of Kurt’s brain whispered. That you have dinner with him once in a blue moon? He shook his head, chasing the voice away. He was still annoyed, the feeling heavy and unpleasant in his stomach. He didn’t want to think about it.

He took another long swallow of whiskey, already feeling its effects in the loosening of his tense muscles, easing the tangled knot of emotions in his head. His brain had slowed down.

Which was probably why he didn’t react immediately when Nate put his hand on his thigh, stroking his thumb across the inner seam of his pants in slow little circles. It felt nice, and when Nate’s hand slid slowly higher, Kurt’s cock stirred, interested. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything more than a quick jerk off in the shower. There just wasn’t time for slow, loving sex, and Blaine deserved more than just a quickie to help Kurt relax.

Nate was leaning into his space, his lips an inch away, when Kurt inhaled sharply and jerked back. What was he doing? Yes, Blaine deserved more – and this was what Kurt was doing? Suddenly sobered, he jumped up from the sofa, nearly spilling his drink in a hurry to put it away.

“Sorry, Nate, but I… I can’t. I don’t want to. I love Blaine, and this is not the way to deal with things. Thank you, and I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And for the second time in one night, Kurt grabbed his bag and ran out.

He should go home. He should go home and talk to Blaine, except it was way past midnight and Blaine was probably asleep, and Kurt didn’t really know what to tell him anyway. So he found a 24-hour Starbucks and ordered a mocha. He usually just drank espresso these days, but he was going to be here a while until he figured out what to tell Blaine. What to do. What was wrong, because something obviously was – their relationship, once so dear to him, was turning into not much more than that of roommates. He didn’t want that. He loved Blaine, he didn’t need or want others, but somehow, somewhere they’d let their connection slip – he’d let it slip, and if he didn’t fix it, he may lose Blaine. He could already feel him slipping through his fingers.

The thought made pain flare in his tightening throat.

Maybe he should make a list, write it all down and analyze it like he did with all the problems at work. They were always so much easier to solve when put on paper.

Kurt dug in his spacious bag in search of the little notebook he always carried with him, and among his sketchbooks, samples and keys, he suddenly found a slim blue lunchbox Blaine had bought for him a couple of years ago. Kurt’s hand shook as he pulled out the smooth plastic container with its silly pink heart print. He’d grabbed lunch at the cafeteria again, so he hadn’t even noticed the box that Blaine must have packed for him for the first time in weeks.

Kurt opened it now, revealing a carefully wrapped sandwich, a handful of baby carrots and celery sticks, and one of those little mint chocolates Kurt loved that were so hard to find. Taped to the inside of the cover was a small envelope with a hand-drawn little heart on it. Kurt opened it, his heart suddenly in his throat. Inside was a single sheet of paper filled with Blaine’s round, even handwriting.

Dear Kurt,

Remember when you told me years ago that I should never hesitate to ask you for anything I need? I don’t know if it still applies, but here I am, asking.

I really, really need you here. Even just for a bit. An hour, if you don’t have more, that’s all I ask. Come home early, have dinner with me. Tonight if you can. Or tomorrow. Just let me know, and I will make it work. Please.

It’s just… You’re hardly ever home and I feel like you don’t want me here anymore and… Coop just found out that our father died last year and I know I haven’t seen him in ten years but it still hurts and you’re not here and…

I just feel so alone, Kurt.

I’m sorry.

B.

The writing was smudged by the end, losing its careful neatness, and Kurt’s heart broke as he reread the letter once more, feeling every word like a dagger. He’d done this. He’d caused Blaine to feel like this, to hesitate to ask him for something as simple as a moment of attention, something that should be obvious and natural. And he hadn’t hesitated without reason, as Kurt had just proved to him tonight.

With a bad feeling, he reached to his bag for his private phone. He had it on silent when he worked, and sure enough, there were three texts from Blaine, sent throughout the day, asking whether he would be home in time for dinner, and then letting him know Blaine was going to cook anyway, and wait up for him.

Cursing under his breath, Kurt pushed away the untouched coffee, shoved everything back into his bag and got up. He felt wide awake now, focused and clear-headed, and he was determined to get home as soon as possible, and fix it. He had no delusions it could be mended quickly or easily, not when he’d let it unravel for months, but he had to start, now.

A cab ride and a race up the stairs later – he didn’t have the patience to wait for the elevator – Kurt unlocked the door with trembling fingers and pushed it open.

The apartment was dark, the dining room table empty and clean. Kurt dropped his bag and his coat, kicked off his shoes and rushed to the bedroom, praying for it not to be empty, too. But no – he found Blaine in their bed, curled on his side in the darkness with his eyes closed. He awoke as soon as Kurt climbed onto the bed.

“Kurt?” He sounded nasal, congested, and in the dim light of the moon falling through the window Kurt could see the puffiness around his eyes. He pulled Blaine into his arms, held him close and tight, remembering all those times when he’d promised himself he would never, ever hurt him, when all he ever wanted was to see Blaine happy.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry, and I know it’s not enough, but I promise, I’ll do better. I will work on changing my schedule. I’ll make time for you, for us. It’s our future, after all, and what’s the point of working myself to death to get there if I don’t have you by my side every step of the way?”

Blaine didn’t say anything, just clung to his shirt and sobbed quietly, and Kurt held him until the wee hours of the morning, asking questions about his dad and his life lately, letting him talk and cry and share before they both finally fell asleep, only a breath apart.

At six, Kurt only opened his eyes to send out texts about the untimely stomach bug that forced him to stay home for a day or two, and turned back to Blaine before he could blink himself entirely awake. Gathering his beautiful, precious boyfriend back in his arms, he let himself forget about work and classes and designs for a bit. He had a lot of time to make up for. Starting now.

YEAR 5

UP-AND-COMING FASHION DESIGNER HAS A SLAVE BEAU!

Kurt Hummel, brilliant fashion designer whose new formal menswear line promises to be exclusive and daring, has been hiding a dirty little secret. As revealed by our confidential source, Hummel enjoys his slaves a little too much.

The openly gay, striking 23-year-old can be seen out and about with a handsome dark-haired man sporting a slave brand on his neck. Our sources confirm that the two consider themselves boyfriends.

Looks like Hummel may have great taste when it comes to fashion, but his standards in men are disastrously low. One has to wonder how it will affect his career.

Read on to remember other celebrity scandals involving slaves.

Kurt clicked the browser closed, shaking with cold fury.

They’d been so careful. Over the years, they’d become very good at acting like a master and a slave in public, as well as hiding in plain view on those occasions when they let themselves pretend they weren’t. There were exactly three people in New York who knew that they were actually boyfriends, and Kurt very much doubted Isabelle or Gunther were the anonymous source at that preposterous gossip site. He reached for his phone, ready to give the third person a piece of his mind, when a cool hand touched his wrist.

“What are you going to do?”

Kurt paused and forced himself to breathe, allowing Blaine to take his hand and stroke it in a soothing motion.

“I was going to call Nathaniel and yell at him,” he admitted.

“You think it was him?”

“Yes.”

It must have been. After Kurt had rejected his advances that night nearly two years ago, the relations between the two of them had rapidly cooled, to the point where Kurt had had to urgently search for another sewing space. He’d ended up adapting the second bedroom in their apartment, which served the double purpose of having more time with Blaine, too, so he wasn’t complaining, but it looked like the cocky Brit hadn’t forgiven him. The two of them still met occasionally at fashion events and functions, but they hardly ever talked beyond empty niceties. And just last week Nathaniel had ran into them on Broadway, after Kurt had picked Blaine up from the diner, and expressed unusual eagerness to be introduced.

Blaine squeezed his hand and Kurt finally looked at him over the breakfast table. He saw a worried frown.

“But what are we going to do about this?” He motioned to the closed laptop. Kurt made a face at it, like it was something disgusting. “Isn’t it going to hurt the publicity for your first show?”

Kurt tried to shrug it off. “It’s just one website, and they’re known for preposterous gossip. No one’s going to take it seriously.”

“Are you sure there isn’t more?”

Kurt took a deep breath and forced himself to open the laptop again and google his own name. The first page of results opened with his own professional website, followed by multiple variations of the same story published on various gossip and fashion blogs and portals.

Shit. This wasn’t good.

Kurt’s stomach clenched as he made himself scroll through the articles and the comment sections, Blaine’s face in his peripheral vision paling visibly as he read along. There were a few rational or even positive voices, but for the most part, it was a deluge of filth and hate. On some of the unmoderated sites, it got as bad as threats towards him or “the slave,” or people like him and their slaves in general, with a generous sprinkling of homophobia mixed in. Kurt snapped the laptop closed, more shaken than he wanted to admit, and turned to Blaine, taking both of his hands. The wheels in his head were already turning rapidly, doing crisis management.

“Okay, I think for now, we shouldn’t be seen together in public. I don’t want to risk your safety. They posted my picture, but not yours, so as long as they don’t associate you with me, you should be fine. Tell Gunther what happened as soon as you get to work today, but make sure no one else overhears. I will talk with Isabelle. We’ll be okay.”

“But your show–”

“Let’s not worry about my show yet. We’ll see what happens. For all we know, this may be good. More publicity, right?”

*

It wasn’t good. Within the next three days several of Kurt’s ads got vandalized, and a bunch of influential people from the fashion world who’d already confirmed their interest in the show suddenly informed them they wouldn’t be attending after all. Isabelle warned him that more still may choose to ignore the event without the courtesy of telling them. The industry press, who had called him a young prodigy and New York’s new darling just a month ago, suddenly turned cool and wary.

On the other hand, there were positive voices, voices of support and praise for treating slaves like human beings, for bravery. But these were few and far between compared with the hate.

Isabelle was on his side, at least. She’d met Blaine numerous times and adored him, but by the end of the week, even she seemed worried by the new developments. A few fashion portals and minor magazines had now called to ask Kurt for interviews, so that he could “respond to the latest rumors.”

“Okay, let’s discuss your options,” Isabelle said on Friday evening. It had been five days since the initial article and she was sitting on the couch in their apartment, stocking feet curled under herself and a glass of wine in hand. “I’m not telling you what to do, okay? This is just a list of possible reactions as I see them. One thing is sure: you have to respond somehow. The show is in two weeks. This thing won’t go away by itself like we hoped. If you ignore them, it will only get uglier.”

Kurt nodded, his own glass already drained. “Okay. So what do you propose?”

“Well, it all boils down to what image you want to build. First option, you could deny everything and claim their source was mistaken. From what we know, they don’t have any pictures.”

Kurt frowned. “Wouldn’t that mean I could never be seen with Blaine anymore?”

Isabelle nodded grimly. “Pretty much, yes. What’s worse, they may take to following you to try and verify your words.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I am. You have become New York’s favorite little scandal these last few days. It wouldn’t take much for the press to learn where you live, stake out the building, follow Blaine. Actually, for his safety it might be better if you send him to Ohio for a few months at least, until they forget. Hide him away somewhere. You said he has a brother, right?”

Kurt shook his head vehemently. “No. I’m not sending him anywhere. And I don’t like the idea of denying his existence.”

Isabelle nodded once and sipped her wine. “I thought you’d say that. Well, the next option would be admitting you have a slave, but undermining the source’s words by saying he’s just a pleasure slave you’ve had for a long time and are fond of, but just in a physical sense.”

Kurt felt queasy at the thought. “Absolutely not. He’s so much more than that. I won’t say such a thing about him.”

Isabelle sighed. “So that leaves only one possibility, really.”

“And that is?” Kurt asked, even though he knew already.

“Admit it. Agree to an interview and open up about your views on slavery and your relationship with Blaine. Tell them a captivating story of rescuing a beautiful young slave from imminent death and the long, faithful relationship you two have enjoyed. Give them a love story they can’t resist. Tell them you hope to free him eventually. Hell, for the best effect tell them about your business plans involving slaves. Be bold, draw the whole dream for them to see. Go on the offensive.”

Kurt exhaled harshly. “They’d slay me.”

“Not necessarily. Some will try for sure. In many eyes, you’ll be over before you really began, but for others, it may be just the thing to make you stand out. It’s a risk, but this is New York. There are many progressive voices, including some of those who count in this business.” Isabelle reached out to squeeze Kurt’s hand. “It’s your choice, but if you don’t want to deny who you are, that’s probably the only way.”

Just then, the front door opened and Blaine came in, home from his shift at the diner. He looked tired and drawn, and Kurt knew it wasn’t because of a hard day at work. Blaine worried about this whole situation to the point where he lost sleep and his usual bubbliness, and it pained Kurt to see it. The thought that he could add to it with lies about what Blaine was to him was unbearable.

There wasn’t really much of a choice here.

“Okay. I’ll do it,” he said. “I have to talk to Blaine first, but I’m gonna do it.”

Blaine put away his bag and kissed Kurt’s cheek before perching on the armrest next to him. “Talk to me about what?”

Kurt turned to him. “I want to come out, about us. Admit that the rumor is true.”

Blaine frowned, immediately worried. “That can’t be safe for you or your career.”

“The other options all include pretending you don’t matter to me, and I refuse to do that. We’re together; we’re a team. It’s not like I didn’t know it may come to this one day. I’m ready, unless you really don’t want me doing this.”

Blaine took a steadying breath and interlaced their fingers. “No. I’m with you whatever you decide.”

Kurt nodded and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you,” he whispered. He turned to Isabelle who was watching them with a soft expression. “So who should I talk to, what do you think?”

She thought a moment, absentmindedly tapping her lip with a finger, then her eyes widened. “We’ll take it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Vogue. We’ll print it. If I write it tomorrow, I can still squeeze it in the next issue, so it comes out just before your show.”

Kurt stared at her. “But… Isabelle, it’s Vogue! That’s bound to hurt the magazine’s reputation. Besides, Anna will never allow that.”

“Leave Anna to me. We’ll print it as an opinion piece, not our official stance. And you’re our long-time employee, so it makes perfect sense.”

“But–”

She patted his knee with a wicked little grin. “Shush, let me deal with it. What time are you free tomorrow? And are you open to pictures?”

Kurt hummed, still shell-shocked, but deciding quickly. “Mine yes, Blaine’s no. I don’t want all this to affect him more than it has to. And I can be free any time you need me. Just let me know.”

She was up and putting on her heels already. “Okay. I’ve gotta run, start making phone calls, but I’ll call you tonight. Start planning what you want to say.”

*

KURT HUMMEL BARES IT ALL: “MY PARTNER IS EVERY BIT A HUMAN BEING THAT I AM”
by Isabelle Wright

You might have heard about Kurt Hummel, the fashion ingénue. Or maybe Kurt Hummel, the slave lover. But what you haven’t heard is his story. I had a chance to sit down with Kurt Hummel in his New York apartment. He’s wearing a gorgeous purple silk jacket from his new collection and appears calm and relaxed, considering he is involved in the hottest slave-related scandal New York has seen in months. Kurt, a long-time Vogue employee, agreed to talk to us about the recent rumors concerning his personal life.

You have recently been accused of being in a relationship with a slave.

Yes. And let me just say how wrong it feels that this is where the outrage comes in. If the rumor said I was sleeping with a slave, no one would blink an eye, but treating a slave like the human being is scandalous.

Is the rumor true?

Yes, it is. I have been in a happy, committed relationship with my partner, who is technically a slave, for the last five years.

Technically?

Technically. I’m opposed to slavery, and while our society requires us to play certain roles, my partner is every bit a human being that I am. We’re equals.

And yet, you own him. Why would you purchase a slave at all if you don’t support slavery?

Back in high school, I walked in on a situation where a slave was about to be murdered – or, as it was called, put down. I bought him to save him from certain death, and brought him home to my parents. He was sick, had been beaten and starved. Now, he’s a healthy, beautiful man. He’s smart, kind and talented, and I love him with all my heart.

But you don’t have a real future with him, do you?

Not everyone knows this, but slaves can be freed. I hope to be able to make him a free man in a few years.

A scandal like this could cost you your budding career. Did you consider hiding the truth?

I did. But that wouldn’t be fair to my partner or myself, and considering I intend to openly work with slaves in my growing company, I decided to just come clean.

You oppose slavery. Why would you buy slaves for your company?

For the same reason I bought my partner all those years ago: to help them. They are human beings. They deserve to be treated as such, with respect and care. I intend to create an ethical workplace where slaves can work in good conditions, earn adequate wages with health care and everything a free employee would expect, and where they can be freed after a set amount of time.

Only after a set amount of time?

Our law allows slaves to be freed only after spending at least five years with the same owner, and after they’ve saved a set amount of money to start their free life with. They can earn that money working and being paid like free people are.

Doesn’t it defy the purpose of owning a slave if you pay them?

That’s the point.

Do you believe you will find sponsors and clients for your designs, in spite of your opinions?

I’ll let my designs speak for themselves. I’m creating quality clothes, not selling ideology. But I believe that there are a lot of people in the world who share my opinions, and a lot more who would share it if they knew how dreadful a slave’s life usually is. If I can help even a handful of slaves, it’s worth the risk.

The interview was accompanied by a short note about Kurt’s show and a two-page article Isabelle wrote about the bleak reality of slave model mills. Vogue’s website was already teeming with comments 24 hours after the magazine came out – comments that ranged from outraged to supportive, with quite a lot of surprise where people said the article made them think. That was good. Still, the viciousness of many responses was getting to Kurt, and soon Blaine gently closed the lid of his laptop and led him to bed. The show was two days away and Kurt needed every minute of sleep he could catch in between last-minute preparations.

When the day came, the crowd was thicker than Kurt anticipated. Many of the important people Kurt had hoped to see were missing, but there were others he hadn’t expected. The room was filled with serious and curious and neutral faces, and no matter what brought them here tonight, when the last of the models walked off the runway, it wasn’t Kurt’s private life they were talking about.

Kurt considered taking Blaine’s hand and walking out with him for the final bow, bold and unafraid, but caution won. He wouldn’t risk it, wouldn’t give all the gossip rags Blaine’s face to publish. Not until he was sure he could keep him safe. Not yet.

As he walked into the afterparty, immediately catching everyone’s attention, he didn’t know what to expect. But he knew that whatever was in his future, he was ready to take it.

YEAR 6

The last notes melted away in the sun-filled room as Blaine got up from the piano to take a bow. His smile was shy but bright. The audience, who had arrived at the Spotlight diner specifically for this little concert cheered for him generously. Standing among them, Kurt beamed and clapped till his palms stung, a little choked up with pride over his amazing, talented boyfriend.

It took a while before Blaine was free from the people who praised him on his performance (“Thank you, sir, I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it.”), who told him he should think about recording an album (“Thank you, madam, but I’m just a simple slave.”), or – in one case – inquired whether Blaine’s owner would be inclined to sell him as a high-class entertainment slave (“I don’t think so, sir, but you can ask for yourself. My master is right over there.”). Then it took Kurt another long moment to convince the overenthusiastic retired Broadway actor that Blaine was indeed not for sale, not even for the (frankly staggering) amount of money the man proposed. But finally the crowd thinned, the diner returned to its usual evening buzz, and Blaine was free to leave. Kurt could barely wait to hug him until they were safely away in the empty back room.

“Oh my god, Blaine, that was incredible!” he exclaimed as soon as the door closed behind them. “I had no idea you were going to play too, or that you were so good already! And your voice… I swear, I got chills a couple of times, it was that beautiful.”

Blaine looked up at him from beneath his lowered eyelashes. “I’m glad. Half of the songs were for you.”

Kurt glanced around furtively and, satisfied that they were still alone, pressed a heated kiss to Blaine’s lips.

“Let me take you out for a congratulatory dinner,” he said once they parted.

“At Freestyle?” Blaine asked hopefully. “I don’t want to have to pretend tonight.”

“Freestyle it is.” Kurt beamed at him. “Come on, let’s get a cab.”

*

Twenty minutes later, they entered the elegant lobby of a steel-and-glass skyscraper. The silent man who was more of a bouncer than a doorman checked their customer card. Satisfied, he escorted them to the private elevator that would whisk them up to a rare safe place for couples like them. Freestyle was a classy establishment, accessible only after a thorough background check, introduced to Kurt by one of the photographers he’d been working with last year. The prices were steep, but it was worth it for the freedom this place offered. Here, they could have a meal, drinks or even a dance without fear of hostility or judgment – here, they weren’t owners and slaves, but equals, partners, as close to normal couples as they could ever be.

Kurt and Blaine didn’t come here often – they couldn’t afford to, really, but from what Kurt had seen, the place was never empty. There were always couples of all ages and configurations here, and he’d heard enough to know that for some, it was the only place in public they could ever hope to be together openly. Even in New York, not everyone could afford to free their slaves, even if they wanted to. For many, occasional visits here were the only freedom they had in their future, and it never stopped reminding Kurt how lucky he was to have what he ached for so close.

“I know I told you already, but I’m really proud of how much you’ve improved since I first heard you sing,” Kurt said when they sat in a quiet booth, holding hands under low, warm lighting. “You were really good back then, but now you’re phenomenal. Have you considered focusing fully on music when you leave the diner?”

Blaine frowned minutely, confused. “I’m going to leave the diner?”

“Of course you are. Once you’re free, you can’t really work there anymore. Have you thought about what you want to do then?”

The frown disappeared and Blaine smiled, seemingly amused. “Ah. No, I haven’t. It’s still years away, why would I plan for it already?”

“Oh.” Kurt’s eyes widened. He squeezed Blaine’s hand, barely able to hold his giddy grin in check. “I thought Gunther told you.”

“Told me what?”

“You will have the required amount saved in a year, at most. Probably a few months earlier.”

Blaine sat straighter, his hand tightening its hold on Kurt’s. “But… how? It’s been only what, three years since you set up the fund? And Gunther told me it would take seven when he first hired me.”

“All your tips are put into your account along with your wages, and apparently you’re getting quite a lot of those.” Kurt smiled at him proudly. “Plus, Cooper has been sending you some money every month.”

“Oh,” Blaine said softly. He looked stunned, but before he could say anything else, their food arrived, and the conversation ceased for the moment.

Blaine remained unusually quiet throughout dessert and on their way home, tucked against Kurt’s side in the back of the cab. Kurt assumed he was just tired – nerves about his first concert had kept him tossing and turning long into the night. But when they got home and Kurt reached to take off Blaine’s collar like he did every night, Blaine caught his hand.

“Can I keep it on? For now?”

Kurt frowned. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

Blaine shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “Nothing. I think.” Then he bit his lip and looked up. “Can I talk to you about it when I’m ready?”

“Sure.”

That was something they’d learned two years ago, in the hard, painful months when they worked to rebuild the trust and closeness they’d nearly lost: to try and communicate, even when they weren’t ready to talk about something. To touch base and measure the emotional wellbeing of each other regularly. To pay attention. They’d gotten better at it, but it was still a work in progress. Kurt was relieved now to see Blaine didn’t revert to hiding things that were troubling him.

He watched Blaine, concerned, as he went to make tea for them, as they Skyped with Kurt’s family to tell them all about Blaine’s concert, as Blaine went to take a bubble bath. Kurt asked if he wanted company or help, but Blaine smiled wanly and shook his head. So Kurt settled on the couch with a magazine he couldn’t focus on, and waited.

Finally, after almost an hour, Blaine walked out of the bathroom. He was pink from heat and smelling sweetly, wearing only a pair of black boxer-briefs and the formal black collar that he was required to wear at work. He looked utterly hot, but Kurt was too worried to focus on that. He winced at the sight of the wet leather around Blaine’s neck.

“Sweetie, you’ll get chaffed. Are you sure you don’t want to­ take the collar off?”

Blaine shook his head and walked up to the couch, hovering uncertainly for a moment as Kurt dropped his magazine and patted the space next to him.

“Kurt… May I kneel? I want to talk to you and I feel like– I want to kneel.”

Kurt nodded, the bad feeling in his gut growing. Blaine lowered himself to the floor in front of him, and that, along with his nudity and the dark line of the collar, made Kurt want to cry, half-faded memories resurfacing. He scooted closer to the edge of the couch and cupped Blaine’s cheek, needing a reminder that they were partners, equals. Together. Not seventeen and terribly unsure what’s next.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked softly. “Can you tell me?”

Blaine nodded. He looked calmer now, determined. “I don’t want to be free.” He saw the way Kurt’s eyes widened and spoke faster, a note of pleading bleeding into his tone. “I can keep working at the diner. And we can use the fund for something better, something special for both of us. We could take a long vacation maybe? Somewhere warm and safe?”

His hands were tightening into fists on his thighs, and Kurt swallowed the firm No that was his immediate reaction. Instead, he threaded his fingers through Blaine’s hair in a soothing gesture and took a calming breath.

“Can you tell me why you don’t want to be free?”

Blaine nodded. “I don’t need it. I’m happy where I am – with you, and at my job. I’m a good slave. Why change it?”

Kurt cocked his head, thinking. “I know it’s a big change. Are you… afraid of what it would be like?” he ventured.

“I… yes.”

“What are you afraid of?”

Blaine seemed to deflate, his head dropping. “Everything,” he said quietly. “Kurt, I’ve never been free. All my life, I always had someone tell me what to do, where to go, who to be. I have no idea how to do any of it on my own. I don’t know who I am if I’m not a slave.”

Kurt nodded. It made perfect sense. “I know it must be overwhelming. But there’s no hurry. You will learn. And you’re not alone. Cooper has been through this already, I’m sure he’ll be a great help with anything you need.” He kissed Blaine’s forehead. “And you will always have me.”

“Will I?” Blaine asked softly, hanging his head. He sounded so unsure Kurt’s heart clenched painfully.

“Of course! Have you ever doubted it?”

“I–”

Oh. So that was the problem.

“Blaine, look at me.” Kurt waited until he could see Blaine’s eyes, bright and miserable, before asking, “Do you think your freedom will change something between us?”

“Well…it will. Now I’m yours. Even when things were so bad, even when I thought you didn’t want me anymore, there was still that one bond. When it’s gone… I’ll be alone, untethered.”

Kurt grabbed his hands and squeezed them. “You will never be alone,” he said fiercely. “Even free, you will be mine. And I’ll be yours. And you’re right, our relationship will change, do you know why? Because I’ll be able to take your hand and kiss you and treat you like my boyfriend everywhere we go, always. I’ll be able to take you to my work events and introduce you as the love of my life. I’ll be able to marry you one day.”

Blaine’s jaw dropped. “You want to marry me?”

Kurt grinned. “Of course I do. We’ve been together for six years, do you think I’m just biding my time? I want you forever, I thought you knew that.”

“I… I thought you only meant as your slave.”

“No, silly.” Kurt pulled on Blaine’s hands. “Come on, can you get up here?”

Blaine nodded and climbed onto the couch, and Kurt gathered his chilled body into his arms and pulled a blanket over both of them. Blaine nuzzled into his neck, hiding his face in his favorite spot.

“So are you still sure you don’t want to be free?” Kurt asked after a moment. Blaine hummed against his skin.

“You make it sound less scary, I admit. But it’s still a lot. Finding a new job, deciding what it is I want to do, passing that test… It’s overwhelming.”

Kurt stroked his hand through Blaine’s hair in a soothing motion. “I know. But you’ve raced through all the books years ago, I wouldn’t worry about the test. And you have time to think which way you want to go with your career. With your voice and frankly supernatural speed that you learn to play instruments, I’d suggest something connected with music, but it’s your choice. You can do whatever makes you happy. There are a lot of restaurants in New York, if you’d rather keep doing what you’re doing now. Or you can try something else entirely. Whatever you choose, I’ll support you.”

Blaine nodded. “It just… it seems like a lot of money wasted just to buy something I’m happy without.”

Kurt frowned and raised Blaine’s head to look into his eyes. “Wait, you think the money in your fund is to buy your freedom?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, that’s not how it works. You have to save the required amount, but the money is yours. You keep it. It’s your starting fund, so to speak, so you can rent a place to live if you want to, or get some education, or take your time finding a job you like.”

“Oh. Ooh, really?” Blaine’s eyes sparkled at that bit of knowledge. “I could go to school, too?”

“Yes. There are schools and all kinds of courses for freed slaves that don’t require a high school diploma. I can show you.”

Blaine took a shuddering breath, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh. Okay. Then I think I… I may like the idea.”

YEAR 7

The brand and tattoo parlor was located right along Central Park, its windows facing the lush spring greenery bathed in April sunlight. It was the best place of its kind in New York.

Neither of these facts made walking in any easier. As soon as they opened the door, the sharp stink of burnt skin that couldn’t be fully masked by the scented candles made Kurt’s stomach turn. Blaine’s sweaty hand tightened painfully around his.

All Kurt wanted was to turn back and leave, taking Blaine with him – back to safety, to normalcy, where no one burnt anyone with red-hot irons. It was not too late.

But he knew they couldn’t leave – not if they wanted Blaine to be really free. This was the last terrifying step, after the test and the paperwork; the last fuck-you from the government. A dose of pain to remind the newly-freed slaves who they were.

The reception was nice enough, if one could ignore the smell – comfortable armchairs and tattoo magazines on a glass table, a beautiful Asian receptionist with a colorful mosaic covering her whole right arm and creeping high up her neck. Soft jazz was playing quietly through the speakers installed in the corners of the room.

A high, sharp scream came from behind one of the closed doors, and Blaine froze in his armchair, his face going pale. A few seconds of silence, and then loud, hysterical sobs followed, interrupted by a scolding female voice. Blaine curled up on himself. Kurt squeezed his hand, feeling like he was going to throw up.

The door opened a few minutes later and a woman appeared, blonde and dressed to the nines, pushing a girl in front of her. The child, swaying on her feet to the point where only the woman’s grip on her arm kept her up, couldn’t be older than ten. Her face was shocked, screwed in pain, and she was still crying soundlessly. A large swath of gauze was taped to the right side of her neck.

A man stepped out behind them, tall and tattooed, with several piercings on his face. “Ma’am, you need to let your slave sit down. Branding is a shock to the body, she needs to rest for a bit. We have rooms just for that, if you let me–”

His tone was calm, but firm, but the woman took no notice. “She can rest in the car. I have errands to run.” She turned to the receptionist. “You take credit cards, of course.”

The man sighed and shook his head, then turned to Kurt and Blaine. “Come in.”

The room was tiled and neat, but not clinical, with splashes of color and a gallery of tattoo photographs on the walls. In the middle of the room stood what looked creepily like a dentist chair, with leather straps that made it look even more terrifying. A wheeled stool and a mobile table with steel trays filled with unfamiliar tools was parked nearby. Actually being in here made Kurt’s heart pound almost painfully, as if he was the one about to endure the branding.

No, scratch that. It would be easier to endure it himself than watch Blaine suffer.

The man closed the door and turned to them with his hand extended. “Hi, my name is Elliott.”

Blaine shook his hand. “I’m Blaine, and this is Kurt.”

Elliott looked between them, and focused on Blaine, his tone warm. “I understand you’re in for rebranding, right? Is Kurt your last owner? Do you want him here? Just making sure; as a free man, you don’t have to be accompanied by your owner.”

Blaine shook his head and reached for Kurt’s hand. “He’s my boyfriend, and I definitely want him here.”

Elliott smiled brightly. “Oh, okay. That’s great, I’m glad you have the emotional support. I just need to see the paperwork, and we can get this over with.”

Blaine dug in his bag for the slave release contract, his trembling hands hindering the process.

Kurt bit his lip.

“How can you stand this?” The question sprang out unwelcome, and Elliott looked at him with his piercing grey eyes. “All those slaves, all the pain…”

Elliott nodded, his face earnest. “It’s not my favorite part of the job. But someone has to do it. And the way I see it, better it be me, with skills and care and compassion, than some sadist who will botch the procedure and send them away with complications.” He touched the side of his neck, clear and unmarked. “The skin here is thin, with major blood vessels underneath. It’s too easy to mess it up. Did you know hundreds of slaves die every year because of poorly-done branding and resulting infections?”

Kurt’s heart sped up even farther. “Has that ever happened to you?”

“Twice that I know of there were complications, both because the owners ignored my aftercare directions. But since I offer free help in such cases and have a doctor on call, the owners brought them back and everything ended well.” Elliott sighed. “But yes, I definitely prefer to do tattoos.”

Blaine finally managed to get the sheaf of paper out and Elliott took it from him, looking through the official document carefully. Satisfied that everything was in order, he took out a stamp and pressed it to the last page, where the space for this last step was left open. He dated and signed the rebranding certification before handing the papers back to Blaine.

“Okay, we’re ready. You can put your bag on the table there, and get on the chair.”

Kurt undid Blaine’s collar for him for the last time and slid it into his pocket. He didn’t miss Blaine’s unsteady breathing as he walked over to the chair and perched on the edge.

“Can’t you use any anesthetic?” Kurt asked, hopeful. Elliott shook his head.

“I’m not licensed as a medical practitioner, so I’m not allowed to. Sorry.”

“Can I hold him, at least?”

Shake of his head again. “I need him steady and unmoving for the few seconds when the brand touches the skin, or the burns will end up worse than they have to be. Hence the straps. But you can pull up a chair to the left side of the chair and hold his hand, how about that?” Elliott looked at Blaine as he said that, and Blaine nodded fervently.

“Please.”

Elliott walked around to the tray and took out a few X-shaped steel brands in various sizes. Blaine flinched away when he brought one of them up to his neck.

“Easy,” Elliott said softly. He was fully focused on Blaine now. “I’m not doing anything yet. These are cold. I just need to check what size will cover your old brand best, without scarring too far beyond it. This way, it won’t hurt nearly as much as the initial procedure.”

Blaine let out a shuddering breath. “How so?”

“The nerve endings were already destroyed by the first brand, so it won’t really hurt over your scar. The only places you will feel the pain are where the skin is untouched. I try to choose the size and position of the X brand so that there’s as little of that as possible, since the owner brands come in different shapes and sizes,” Elliott explained, picking the brands and holding them to Blaine’s mark one by one.

“Oh.” Blaine looked marginally relieved.

“It’s still unpleasant, and it’s impossible to eliminate pain entirely because the X needs to be bigger than the initial brand, but I promise I’m doing my best, okay?” Elliott put aside one of the brands and took a blowtorch from a tray. Kurt felt as if his heart was trying to beat out of his chest. It only got worse when Elliott put on a clean face mask and reached for the straps attached to the chair’s headrest.

“Okay, Blaine. Turn your head towards Kurt, and whatever you do, don’t try to move it,” he said, snapping the straps closed and adjusting them. He did the same with the set around Blaine’s chest, immobilizing his arms. “I’m going to tell you just before I touch the brand. It will be over within seconds, and then you can go and start enjoying your free life, okay?” He lit the blowtorch and Blaine closed his eyes at the hissing sound. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

“Okay,” he croaked.

Kurt watched, mortified, as the X grew red-hot in the blue flame. He’d read that the steel was heated to over a thousand degrees for this procedure, and now he wished he didn’t know that.

Blaine’s hand was like a vise around his. 

“Okay, Blaine,” Elliott said, moving the flame over the X once more. “Take a breath. I’m gonna count to three, and then I’ll be done in five seconds, okay? One. Two. Three.”

There was a sharp gasp, a sizzle, the acrid smell of melting skin, and then it was over. Blaine’s hand went limp in Kurt’s. Elliott dropped the brand on the tray with a clang.

“Blaine? You still with me?”

“I’m okay,” Blaine breathed out, and the relief took off in Kurt’s chest like a bird, making him feel lighter than he had all week.

Elliott was already unsnapping the straps. “Good. Great. Don’t move your head yet, I’ll just put some gauze over the burn, and then you can go sit with Kurt for a bit and catch your breath, okay?”

“’Kay.”

Kurt caught a glimpse of the new brand before Elliott covered it, the blackened X over the inflamed red of Blaine’s skin. “So what’s the aftercare? I’ve never done this before,” he said.

“You’ll get a printout with instructions and a little tube of salve from Sophie on your way out. But you should stay in the back room until Blaine feels okay to walk.”

Kurt nodded and caught Blaine who had just tried to get off the chair, his knees wobbling. He looked a little out of it.

“And I pay on our way out?” Kurt made sure.

Elliott shook his head. “No. I don’t charge for rebranding. Consider it my freedom gift.” He smiled at them and walked over to open a side door for them, a small, comfortable room visible beyond it. “If Blaine wants to consider a tattoo to cover the brand after it heals completely, give me a call. Not to blow my own horn, but that’s my specialty.”

Kurt nodded. “Thank you for making it less traumatic than I feared.”

Blaine raised his face from the crook of Kurt’s neck. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

Elliott grinned. “Don’t mention it. Okay guys, leave by the blue door when you’re ready, but no hurry. And Blaine, if you start feeling worse, or dizzy, just press the button by the couch.” With a parting smile, he closed the door, and they were finally alone.

Kurt led Blaine to the large red couch and sunk into its inviting softness. He planned to have Blaine lay down with his head in Kurt’s lap, but that was not what Blaine needed.

“Hold me,” he whispered, pawing weakly at Kurt’s chest, and Kurt listened immediately. Careful of Blaine’s neck, he stretched out on the couch with Blaine in his arms, their whole bodies connected. As soon as Blaine’s head was on his shoulder, Kurt could feel all the tension seep out of Blaine’s muscles.

And then his shoulders began to shake.

Kurt froze. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

Blaine shook his head minutely and looked at him with eyes overflowing like liquid gold. “I’m fine. It’s just… I was so afraid. And the first time, when I was a kid, was so so much worse, and the beginning of all the pain that was yet to come, and now… now it’s really over. I’m no longer a slave.” He laughed through the tears, a little hysterical, and Kurt held him tighter.

“No, you’re not. You’re free. You can do anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

*

Half an hour, one box of juice and a few squares of chocolate later, Blaine felt good enough to leave. Kurt wanted to get a cab, get him home and plant him on the couch for the rest of the day to recuperate from the experience (and, frankly, to pamper him a little), but as they walked out into the April sunshine, Blaine smiled and took his hand.

“Let’s walk a little.”

“But–”

“I’m fine. I feel great, we’re right by the park, and I want to test this whole ‘being boyfriends out in the open’ thing. Pretty please?”

How could Kurt say no?

They walked with their hands swinging between them and Kurt didn’t even pay attention where Blaine led him, immersed in the perfect happiness of the moment. And then they were in a quiet spot by a fountain, Blaine stepping in front of him, and Kurt thought he wanted to kiss him – but no.

Blaine got down on one knee.

“Kurt, the first time I saw you, I was down on my knees, beaten, terrified, and just about to die. And then you came and changed everything,” Blaine said, his voice trembling slightly, but strong and certain. “Now I’m on my knees again, but it’s by my own choice. I am whole, happier than I’ve ever been, and just about to start my life as a free man. And even if I don’t know what this life will bring, what changes are in my future, I am certain of one thing: I want to spend the rest of my life with you – loving you, taking care of you, and hopefully making you as happy as you have made me for years.” He opened a little black box and held it up to Kurt, a simple silver band shining in the sun. “I can’t offer you much – not yet, anyway, but everything I am and everything I have is yours. Kurt, will you marry me?”

Kurt didn’t have to think a second. His heart in a happy gallop, eyes overflowing, he pulled Blaine up and into his arms. “Yes. Yes I will.” 

When they kissed, the band’s weight unfamiliar and perfect around his finger, Kurt didn’t think of that cold November day in Ohio that had changed everything.

He thought of the years to come that he would get to spend with this amazing man, loving and being loved. Coming home from Blaine’s concerts and Kurt’s shows to a house full of sunlight and laughter. Sunday mornings filled with the scent of coffee and sleepy smiles of amber-eyed children.

It felt very much like a perfect life.

THE END