Kurt was curled up on his bed. Rather, he was curled up on the bed that had been brought down to the basement-turned-bedroom earlier in the week. It was at least twice as large as the one he’d slept on throughout his teenage years. The pillows were softer. The springs of the mattress didn’t squeak at all. The immaculately clean blankets and sheets were a deep black, so dark that Kurt felt like he could be swallowed up at any moment. In truth, it was more comfortable than his old bed, but while he lay there, Kurt took no real comfort in the soft fabrics. There was only one reason why Kurt would need a bed this large—he wouldn’t be sleeping alone tonight. He didn’t know if he would actually be sleeping at all. He glanced up at the too-sturdy headboard where a series of metal buckles were sticking out of the wood, ready to be locked into place and strong enough to hold an immense weight, no matter how hard they were pulled on. An uncomfortable chill settled over him.

It wasn’t that he was scared. Kurt knew this day would come from the moment his dad had sat him down and explained everything—why he hardly ever went outside, why he didn’t go to school with everyone else his age, why he always felt so unsure and anxious about everything. He was a submissive. Kurt would never forget the first time Burt had used that term to label him. He’d looked it up in the dictionary later that day, skipping over the first definition, (“one who is bonded, or destined to be bonded to a Dominant in lifelong servitude.”) to read the literal meaning of the word: “tending towards, or indicating submission, humility, or servility.”

Burt had explained it all to him. Kurt had spent the majority of his life in this his house and in this very room, only ever venturing out once a month over the past few years to meet in a highly secured facility where other unclaimed subs, usually teens like himself, came to be educated about their role in society. He’d been very privileged to have that education—on the whole, most people found it unnecessary for subs to be aware of the reasons behind it all. It was more important that subs knew their place, not why they were in that place. To most of the world, submissives were seen as barely human, if even that. Kurt didn’t mind being cooped up at home, though. It was all he’d ever known. And it was safe here. The potential danger to an unclaimed sub, especially at his age, wandering around outside was immense. It only took one inhumane Dom to turn a sub’s entire life into a horrible hell of existence. Without the protection of the most fundamental and basic human rights, it was nearly impossible for subs to escape cruelty if they were unlucky enough to be claimed by someone who was heartless. For that reason, Kurt was grateful that the arrangement with the Andersons had been made before he’d been old enough to worry about it. As an unclaimed submissive, every single decision, down to the most trivial thing, was difficult for him to make on his own. Kurt couldn’t imagine how he would have handled the stress of the unknown had he gone all these years without the promise of a Dom his father trusted and had personally arranged to bond with his son. Blaine would not be cruel to him. At least, Kurt hoped he wouldn’t be…

There was a soft knock on his door, followed by the familiar sound of Burt’s footsteps coming down the stairs. Kurt sat up to face him, trying to return the small smile he saw on his father’s face. “He’ll be here in an hour,” Burt said. There was no question of who he was referring to, “Better get ready, kiddo.” Kurt swallowed and climbed off the ridiculously large bed, crossing the room to wrap his arms around his father. He knew how hard this was for Burt, even if they both knew Kurt would be taken care of. Burt had done everything required by the agreement—in arranged bondings like this, it was custom for the caretaker of the sub to provide everything necessary for the ceremony; resulting in the new bed, and the ominous wooden chest in the corner of the room that Kurt hadn’t found the courage to look into.

“Love you, Dad,” Kurt murmured against his shoulder. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to say it. Before the night was over, he would give all of his freedom away (not that he really had any freedom to begin with). His Dom would dictate everything from that point forward, and if he so desired, could take Kurt out of Burt’s life forever.

“I love you too, Kurt.” His father’s arms tightened around him for a brief moment before dropping to his sides. “Now go on and get ready,” he said, voice thick, “You need to look your best.” Kurt nodded and turned toward the bathroom door on the other side of the room. Burt had always been good at that: eliminating his son’s anxiety and indecision by phrasing his words into gentle commands that put Kurt at ease and gave him the guidance he instinctively longed for.

Kurt washed his face first, three times, just to make sure he was thorough. He took a shower, using up twenty minutes of his remaining hour scrubbing down his pale skin and fighting to calm his racing heart. He was so nervous, Kurt could hardly think straight, but there was an air of anticipation beneath it all too. Tonight was the beginning of the rest of his life. He dried himself off with a towel and sat on the tile floor while he rubbed lotion across his body, just enough to soften the skin without leaving it greasy. Kurt ran a comb through his hair and styled it as well as he could without hairspray or gel. When he was satisfied, Kurt quickly pulled his underwear back on and went to his closet. What was he supposed to wear? Something nice enough for a life-changing ceremony. Something that made him look good. Something that was…easy to take off, that wouldn’t be too upsetting to lose on the off chance that it got ruined over the course of the evening ahead. Kurt looked over at the clock on his bedside table. Fifteen minutes. He needed to hurry. Being late for his own ceremony would definitely not be a good first impression.

Finally, Kurt settled on a pair of black jeans—tight enough to accentuate the features he assumed his Dom would be most interested in, but not so tight that removal would be difficult—and a simple button-down navy shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes. He dashed back into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, twice, before he ascended the stairs into the hallway. On his way to the living room, he stopped in the kitchen to take a long drink of water, and with several minutes to spare, Kurt moved to join his dad on the couch. They were both silent, but Burt reached out to take his son’s hand, reassuring him with a firm grip.