Kurt wasn't where he was supposed to be.

He was supposed to be at Blaine's apartment, meeting him there so they could go out for a special birthday dinner at La Frite, a French bistro two towns over that Blaine had been dying to try. He'd practically wet himself with excitement when Kurt told him he'd gotten a reservation.

Except Kurt had never made a reservation at La Frite. And now, instead of driving to Blaine's, he was pacing his bedroom like a leopard in a cage (and in fact, he was wearing his leopard cardigan so the comparison was apropos), pausing now and then by the mirror to stare in his own eyes and try to reassure himself that what he actually had planned would be so much better. And that he was going to be able to pull it off. Although the butterflies in his stomach were making some very eloquent arguments to the contrary.

But he'd prepared everything perfectly. He'd gone over and over every detail in his own head, and out loud with Thomas and Mira, who had become his own personal how-to-dominate mentors since dom class had ended a few weeks before. They both assured him that Blaine would love every second of it. Even the loss of La Frite. Thomas had said that if Blaine was disappointed, that would only make everything better. Kurt knew every moment of the upcoming hours by heart, every word and action. And he didn't need to fear any unexpected outcomes because the whole point was that he was in complete control.

On his next trip past the mirror he stopped and stared himself down, straightening his sweater (which was completely inappropriate for an August afternoon, but he needed a little predator energy). “Cock!” he told the mirror emphatically, just to remind himself of how much he'd been afraid of in those early days, and how far he'd come, and how wonderful that journey had been. His reflection grinned back at him.

He wasn't grinning as much when he thumbed his phone on to look at the time. Five forty. With a sigh he grabbed The Great Gatsby – his summer reading assignment – from his nightstand and settled on his bed to wait. He hated waiting.

�

Blaine loved waiting.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. He'd never really thought of himself as an especially patient person, under normal circumstances. But waiting like this, his knees pressing into the bare floorboards, his naked skin shivering in odd places despite the August warmth, his shoulders twitching under the stretch of his formal position, hands cupping elbows behind his back, waiting for Kurt, being made to wait by Kurt, this he adored.

Although he had to admit he'd been a little annoyed to find the curb in front of his building not occupied by Kurt's Navigator when he'd pulled into his driveway earlier that evening. Okay, more than a little. He'd had very specific plans for his birthday. He was going to sleep late, wake up snuggling naked with Kurt, and pretty much spend the rest of the day the same way. Then they were going to go out to an amazing dinner and come home to amazing sex afterward, which he very much hoped included an orgasm for him (he couldn't imagine what else Kurt might have been building up to with the recent record-breaking twenty-three days of denial) and if he was very, very lucky a nice birthday spanking over Kurt's perfect lap.

But it hadn't happened that way at all. Kurt had disappeared early with excuses about some life-shattering project Carole needed him for (on Blaine's birthday!), and then Cooper – who'd come into town with Lauren to celebrate the big day and meet Kurt for the first time – had called and insisted he come out to lunch with them. He would have suspected some kind of surprise party in the offing if he hadn't made Kurt swear by his favorite Marc Jacobs sweater that they could spend the evening together, just the two of them. He'd even put off his own family birthday dinner until the next day just so tonight could be all about them. But nothing had gone right and he'd barely seen his boyfriend since breakfast and all he wanted as he climbed out of his car into the crushing August heat was Kurt, a shower, Kurt, dinner, and Kurt.

But Kurt wasn't there.

Instead, he'd found a note, tacked to his apartment door, that had made everything alright again.

It sat on his coffee table now, carefully flattened out next to his phone. If he turned his head he'd see it, but of course he wasn't going to turn his head. That was okay, he'd stared at it long enough, there on his doorstep, while trying futilely to reassemble the scrambled Rubik's cube of his brain, that he'd committed it to memory.

Boy, it began, in Kurt's familiar script.

Boy,

We're not going out to dinner.

When you get inside you are to strip, take a shower, and eat what I left for you. By 7:00 you will be on your knees in the living room in formal position, wearing nothing but your cuff. You will kneel on the bare floor. You will not move until I get there.

You are not to go into the bedroom for any reason.

And tonight you may call me master.

Blaine was nothing if not obedient. So promptly at seven, stripped, fed and cleaned, he had fallen to his knees and arranged himself so that he would be the first thing Kurt saw when he opened the door, displayed there for his master's pleasure. And the waiting had begun.

His cock had risen in anticipation before Blaine had even finished folding his arms behind his back, then flagged when it became apparent Kurt wasn't coming through the door right at seven, then risen again when Blaine realized Kurt was doing it on purpose. Making him wait. Leaving him there all stretched and posed with no one to appreciate him. And the more his body ached under the strain of the position the more that thought wriggled into his brain, burrowing into the places where his deepest fantasies lived. He didn't matter. Kurt would do as he liked, go where he liked, come home when he liked. And Blaine would stay, perfectly still in the advancing gloom, no matter how his muscles protested, ready to serve his master when his master chose to be served. The thought made Blaine shudder before he caught himself and forced his body still again. And as the minutes ticked away he filled his head with just one thought – Kurt.

A year ago – exactly – on his last birthday, he'd only just moved into this apartment. He'd given up everything he'd ever worked for and come back here, Ohio, a place he'd thought he'd put behind him for good. He'd come home to lick his wounds and find a way to make himself believe that he could live a happy life without a soulmate. And Kurt, Kurt hadn't even been marked yet, he didn't know his soulmate's name or even his own designation. He'd never touched another person, never even kissed another boy.

Boy. Master. Those words in Kurt's script rose before Blaine's eyes. They were Blaine's words, not Kurt's. They were Kurt's first present to him, a signal of sorts. Because Kurt knew that Blaine had been obsessing over the end of their summer, and that he was terrified of the moment – now barely a week away – when they had to go back to a weekends-only existence. Kurt, beautiful Kurt, was giving Blaine permission to let go completely. To not worry about keeping one eye open to make sure Kurt was okay. That's what the words were for, short, terse words that were both Kurt and yet not Kurt. Tonight all the things he had to be in his real life were gone. Tonight he was nothing but his master's boy.

Kneeling there, twisted and contorted and held by the bonds of his obedience to Kurt, he couldn't remember ever feeling so free.

�

Kurt had to take a minute before he pushed his keys into Blaine's front door. His note was gone, and he hadn't received a texted safeword, so he knew what he would find when he walked into the apartment. Blaine would be obediently kneeling there, naked, still except for the tiny involuntary twitches from over-stressed muscles that he could never quite control no matter how hard he tried. His head would be up, his eyes down, in perfect form as he waited. Waited for Kurt to come and rock his birthday world.

But no pressure.

He took a deep, deliberate breath, the kind he always took when he was standing on a dark stage before the curtain went up. Rachel said dominating was a performance like any other, “You have to prepare, Kurt,” and although the more experience of his own he got the less he tended to agree with Rachel about matters of sex, he had to admit that in this she was right. He wouldn't be acting, no matter how much he'd rehearsed it in his head. And maybe on paper. With diagrams. He knew as soon as he looked into Blaine's open, vulnerable gaze it would all fall into place perfectly. No performing, just being. With Blaine.

But the pre-curtain jitters were exactly the same.

At moments like these Kurt liked to recall what he'd told his dad the day he'd introduced Blaine to his family. That fate had given him Blaine at that exact moment because Blaine was what he needed. He wasn't above preening a little at that idea. After all, the strictest doms New York had to offer hadn't been enough to satisfy Blaine. No. Only he could do that. Kurt Hummel.

That made him smile, but he erased it quickly, just in case Blaine was peeking (although of course he never would), and turned the keys in the lock.

The picture inside the living room was exactly as Kurt had expected, Blaine's sculpted body twisted into his difficult formal position, perfectly still and so obedient that his eyes didn't even glance in Kurt's direction. Only a tiny, stuttering inhale gave away the fact that he even knew Kurt was in the room. Normally Kurt would take a good long minute to let the image of his kneeling, naked submissive knock his socks off, and then hurry to touch him, hold him, smile into his eyes, but that wasn't on the menu tonight. He had a plan. It was a good plan. He liked the plan. And Blaine was going to love the plan. So Instead he closed and locked the door and went to the closet to hang up his jacket. He took his time, drawing it out; behind him he could feel the anticipation radiating from Blaine's body. When he finally turned to face Blaine he didn't speak or acknowledge him in any way. He counted slowly to three inside his head . . . then walked right past him and into the kitchen.

As soon as he was behind Blaine he was free to look, of course, and he turned around just in time to catch a shudder rippling down the muscles of Blaine's gently arched back. He had to press his lips together to control the force of the grin that threatened to break into a full-blown laugh. Thomas had said that being ignored would turn Blaine on, but this was even better than Kurt had expected. Blaine was visibly trembling, and his fingers twitched and flexed where they gripped his elbows behind his back.

“Be still,” Kurt commanded, loud enough in the quiet room that Blaine startled, but his hands went lax against his arms.

Kurt indulged in the view for another moment, drawing this out for himself as much as for Blaine. His boy was just as beautiful from the back as he was from the front, with his broad shoulders tapering down to his narrow waist, and the delectable swell of his ass just below, resting against his calves. Even in the deepening evening shadow, Kurt could see his ribs expand and contract with long, slow inhales and exhales. They were smoother now; as excited as he was, Blaine was keeping himself calm and focused, and Kurt's heart swelled with pride. The whole point of this, of course, was to keep Blaine off-center and guessing, to pull the rug out from under him, in a sense, and Blaine was reacting just as he should, staying in the moment and ready to do whatever Kurt commanded.

Slowly and deliberately, Kurt went to the cabinet, got a glass, and filled it with cold water from the pitcher he kept in the refrigerator. Then finally he walked back to Blaine, stood close behind him, just to watch him start to tremble again, then walked around his kneeling form to take in the best view of all.

Blaine's head was up, just as Kurt liked it, with his eyes were lowered to the floor so Kurt couldn't make out his expression at all. But the gentle flush that colored his chest and cheeks spoke for itself. His chest rose and fell faster as control became more difficult. And of course his cock, his poor, denied, beautiful cock, twisted upright and eager as if it was anxious to prove that it knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that its master was here. And below it, between Blaine's spread thighs, his balls hung heavy and oh so full. Kurt had made Blaine wait longer than ever before, in preparation for this night, and had been merciless in his teasing. He didn't need Thomas or Mira to tell him that the more desperate Blaine was, the better everything would be for him. And for Kurt too. He couldn't wait to get his hands on that body, feel as well as see the trembling that Blaine was less and less able to control as he knelt under Kurt's silent scrutiny. His whole body was drawn tight as a bowstring, ready to loose, ready to fly to accomplish any order Kurt gave him.

But Kurt gave no order. Instead he took a long, slow sip of the cool water, then silently offered Blaine his left arm.

Blaine's eyes rose to Kurt's cuff, but no farther, and for the first time Kurt felt his own body begin to stir in response. Perfect, perfect Blaine. Still so controlled. Tonight Kurt was going to destroy that control. But he would let Blaine believe, first, that this might be as easy as kneeling, waiting and serving.

Blaine moved immediately; his fingers didn't fumble even a little, despite the stiffness he must have been feeling after so long in a difficult position. He unbuckled Kurt's cuff, slipped it from his wrist, then lowered his eyes again to the floor as he held up the cuff for Kurt to take. As soon as Blaine's hands were empty they folded again against his back, returning to their proper position as if they'd never moved. Kurt set the cuff on the table next to Blaine's phone and his own note, picked up a magazine from the small stack Blaine kept there, and sat on the sofa, far enough behind Blaine to be completely out of his peripheral vision, to read.

Well, to pretend to read. What he really did was watch Blaine, although he carefully and noisily turned a page every few minutes just to keep up appearances. He watched Blaine twitch and tremble, watched his breathing speed up and slow down, watched from behind as his submissive struggled to understand what was happening. He watched and waited. He wasn't waiting for anything in particular. Kurt had learned to trust his instincts where these things were concerned. He'd know when it was time. So he watched and flipped and fidgeted (silently, of course, he had to keep up the image) until finally Blaine's shoulders relaxed again – as much as they could in that position – and the rise and fall of his breath slowed and evened.

“How long has it been,” Kurt asked as casually as if he was inquiring about the weather, “since you came?”

It wasn't a disingenuous question. Kurt honestly never kept track. He knew Blaine always knew, almost to the hour, so he didn't really bother with exact times. When he felt like it was time to let Blaine come, he did. Instinct.

“Twenty-three days, master,” Blaine said, speaking for the first time since Kurt had come into the apartment. Kurt didn't actually care how many days it had been, he only wanted to hear Blaine's voice, and in its loose and gentle tone he found what he was looking for. Blaine was ready.

“Go kneel on the floor next to the bed and wait for me.”

If Kurt's order surprised Blaine, or indeed affected him in any way, he didn't show it. He was exactly where Kurt wanted him. Living in the moment, not anticipating whatever might be coming next. “Yes, master,” he said, still calm, even, and he rose in one loose, fluid movement and left the room. Kurt watched him go until his perfect ass was out of sight, then abandoned his magazine and took another sip of water. More waiting. God, he hated waiting.

�

Blaine was in heaven. Better than heaven, he was balanced like a virtuoso tight-rope walker between his two favorite states of existence. The way Kurt had made him wait, and then ignored and objectified him so deliberately, had started his slide into the place where nothing in the world but his master and his master's orders existed, but he wasn't sliding so fast that he forgot to wiggle his ass just a little as he left the room. Just in case Kurt was watching.

The trembling that had quieted during the long kneeling wait in the living room came back, though, as he faced the heretofore forbidden bedroom door. There was something in there, he knew, or Kurt wouldn't have declared it off-limits before. He'd been so anxious to know what it was, before, his cock had given a little hopeful surge every time he'd walked past it while he was preparing. But now that the moment of truth had arrived, he hesitated, resting his palm flat against the wood. He was, after all, all about the buildup.

But orders must be obeyed and so he slid his hand down to the knob, closed his eyes, and turned.

He didn't peek until he was inside, with the door closed behind him again. He leaned against its firm support and opened his eyes.

It was darker here than in the living room – this window faced east – but there was still plenty of light to see the bed, stripped of duvet and top sheets, covered only with the fitted one from Blaine's old sheet set, the brown and yellow pinstriped one that Kurt had replaced months ago. On top of the bed were two packages wrapped in yellow paisley paper and topped with artful bows. One was somewhat flat and rectangular, the other an almost perfect cube. Birthday presents. Which Blaine was sure must contain some wonderfully kinky things, but was it really necessary to make the whole room off-limits just for them?

It was when he moved to switch on the bedside lamp – so they wouldn't be interrupted as darkness fell, that they wouldn't be interrupted as darkness fell, that Blaine's eyes found the first real change Kurt had made to the room.

Eye bolts, three of them, had been screwed firmly into his wooden headboard. One on each side, a third dead center, and Blaine's heart accelerated from trot to canter because there was only one thing eye bolts like that would be used for. Bondage. Tying someone to the bed. Tying him, obviously, to the bed. Tonight.

He took a few steps closer, forcing himself to breath in the slow, controlled way he'd learned long ago in his sub classes. Which was easier said than done when he'd waited so long for this and it was going to happen, now, tonight, and his cock was throbbing with so much blood that he was pretty sure there wasn't any left for his brain. He turned around, putting his back to the bed and the bondage points to try and regain some control and that was absolutely the wrong thing to do because . . . oh.

It hung from the ceiling near his dresser. He had no idea how he'd managed to miss it when he'd first opened his eyes, but now that he saw it every other thought was wiped from his brain. A pulley. A small, shining metal pulley, firmly attached to the high ceiling, and rope, black nylon rope, running through it, wrapped at one end around a cleat screwed into the wall and at the other, through the pulley and hanging just above Blaine's eye level, tied to a bondage clip that swung gently in the breeze he'd created when he'd opened and shut the door.

There was only one thing you did with an apparatus like that.

The room suddenly went several shades darker. Blaine didn't remember falling to his knees, but when he found himself there he automatically pulled his arms into his master's favorite position behind his back. He should have lowered his eyes as well but he couldn't, he literally couldn't drag his gaze away from the pulley, attached to the ceiling, eight-foot ceilings in this old house, high enough to pull him right up onto his toes, and even higher, and he thought maybe his chest was shrinking because his lungs didn't quite seem to fit anymore and he needed control, control or he was going to come all over himself right here on the floor and then his master would need to punish him and he'd never know how it would feel to dangle helpless from the ceiling and be tormented by those beautiful hands . . .

Blaine didn't hear the door open, but he heard it slam closed and then hands were cool on his face and stormy blue eyes bored into his; he tried to focus on the face in front of him but the edges kept blurring softly and he couldn't quite stretch his chest enough to breathe.

“Blaine? Hey, decrescendo. Decrescendo Blaine,” Kurt said, softly, his voice full of concern.

Blaine didn't care about the concern. His heart plummeted to the floor and he reached for Kurt's shoulders, clinging to them. “No! Please don't stop!” he begged. “I want this so much.”

“I know, I know you do and I'm not stopping, I promise.” Kurt captured Blaine's hands in his own and rubbed them, chafing heat into cold fingers. “But I need you to just slow down, okay. And breathe with me. Because if you hyperventilate we will have to stop, and you'll be spending your birthday in the emergency room. Breathe. Nice and slow.”

Kurt modeled a long, slow inhale and Blaine, eyes locked on Kurt's, forced his body to imitate it. He wasn't sure how long they sat there, just breathing, Blaine drawing strength from Kurt's assurance, but eventually the soft-focus sharpened again and breathing felt natural, instead of something he had to make himself accomplish. Kurt saw the change as soon as it happened; he stopped rubbing Blaine's hands and caressed up his arms to hold him by the shoulders.

“Better now?” he smiled.

Blaine smiled back. “I guess I got a little excited,” he said ruefully.

“Well to be fair, that was the idea.” Kurt rummaged in a bag that Blaine only now noticed on the floor next to them and pulled out a bottle of water and a straw. He twisted the top off, popped in the straw, and held it out. “Here, drink.”

The water seemed to ground him even further; Kurt stared at him as he handed it back, evaluating, and whatever he saw must have satisfied him because he took Blaine's hand again and smiled. “I just need you to remember that this is for you. There's no way you can get it wrong. All you have to do is follow orders.”

“I'm very obedient.”

Kurt's smile widened. “Of course you are. Do you want to start again?”

“So much,” Blaine said, so fervently that Kurt giggled.

“Well,” he said, and Blaine watched, fascinated, as the practiced dom slowly overtook the concerned boyfriend in his expression, “that doesn't look anything like correct kneeling posture, does it?”

“No master,” Blaine said, still smiling at Kurt for just one more moment before he lowered his eyes and began to twist back into position. He dropped his shoulders, consciously, let tension fall away as he inhaled, slowly and deliberately.

Kurt grabbed his bag and the bottle of water and disappeared behind Blaine, toward the bed. When he moved back into Blaine's line of sight he held the cube-shaped present in his hands. “Okay. First birthday present.”

He tossed it in Blaine's lap, not hard, but with unerring aim and since Blaine's hands were twisted behind his back it smacked sharply against his half-hard cock with a shock of pain that made Blaine yelp, then rolled, as much as a cube can roll, onto the floor.

“Go ahead. Open it.”

Blaine was still grappling with what Kurt had done – hurting him, on purpose, on his dick – and found he could only gape at Kurt.

“If you don't open it, I might start thinking you don't want it.”

Still Blaine stared. If this was how they were starting, where the fuck was Kurt planning to end up?

“You can use your hands,” Kurt said, and that must have been the signal Blaine's body was looking for because his arms unfolded and his fingers began to grapple with the package. He tried to be careful, because he knew how much Kurt liked to save nice wrapping paper, but the slippery paper kept avoiding his grasp and when Kurt started tapping his foot pointedly, he gave up and just ripped.

The box inside was brown and unmarked, taped closed, loosely, thank God, or Blaine would never have gotten it open. He pulled the flaps aside and stared, speechless, at the contents.

Cuffs. Two. Beautiful black leather cuffs, not the kind you wore to hide a mark, the kind with straps and D-rings, wide and strong to support – to support a person, a pulling, writhing, hanging person. Cuffs for binding and holding, for attaching him to whatever his master chose to attach him to.

Kurt moved into Blaine's line of sight, kneeling in front of him, and Blaine could see that for Kurt, something had changed. His expression was imperious – the dom was definitely back – but his eyes burned with intensity. Blaine, who hadn't been told to speak, tried to express through his eyes alone what this gift meant to him.

“Give me your arm,” Kurt said, and Blaine knew he meant the right one. He held it out and Kurt nimbly unbuckled the cuff that covered his mark, slipped it off and set it aside. Blaine simply stared as first one new cuff then the other were buckled tightly onto his wrists. They were heavier than his normal cuff; their weight at the end of his arms made him feel bound even before Kurt selected one of the clips that had been under them in the box and used it to attach them, effectively tying Blaine's hands together in his lap.

He was glad Kurt hadn't ordered him to speak. He couldn't have said a word if he'd wanted to.

Kurt moved again, then, standing up and going back to the bed for the second present. Blaine's hands in his lap protected his cock this time when the large, flat box landed there. Blaine wasn't sure whether he was grateful or sorry.

“Open it,” Kurt ordered again.

With his hands cuffed together Blaine didn't even try for neatness this time. The paisley paper fell away to reveal a plain white shirt box, but when he lifted the lid he found about the farthest thing from a shirt he could imagine.

It was a paddle.

His head started to spin again but this time he knew what to do, he raised his eyes to the boy standing over him, tall and strong, one eyebrow lifted in a silent order. Eyes locked on his dom he took three slow breaths before lowering his gaze to the box again.

“Good boy,” Kurt whispered above him, sending a curving wave of desire flowing up Blaine's body. Or it may have been the paddle that caused that particular wave.

It was long-handled, shaped like one of those lady's hand mirrors you see in vintage still-lifes. But instead of silver, it was black, completely covered in leather that was clearly brand-new and tooled with a vaguely celtic design of whorls and lines on the back. It was maybe the most beautiful thing Blaine had ever seen, although his opinion was almost certainly affected by the knowledge of what Kurt was probably going to do with it.

“Pick it up,” Kurt said, his voice deeper now, full of an absolute authority that Blaine had only rarely heard from him before.

It was heavy. Heavier than it looked.

“It's not a birthday without a spanking, is it?”

Blaine raised his eyes back to Kurt. “No master.” He didn't even have to reach for the title. The way Kurt stood there, so still yet so in control above him, demanded it. And he received it without a hint of self-consciousness, in fact it seemed to make him stand even taller. Which made Blaine want to sing.

“Do you like it?”

“It's perfect,” Blaine breathed.

“I'm glad you think so. Because you're going to be getting very well acquainted with it. Twenty-eight, after all.”

Blaine's heart quaked a little at the thought of twenty-eight strokes with what was bound to be a wicked paddle, but his cock bounced its approval, surging so hard that it knocked the empty box off his lap and right onto the floor.

Kurt's laugh rang over his head, musical, and not the slightest bit giggly. And then in the kind of about-face that always made Blaine's head spin he ordered “Stand up,” without a hint of humor.

Blaine stood, only struggling a little with his bound hands. Face to face now, he could feel the intensity radiating off of Kurt. Blue eyes burned into him, leaving him feeling small and a little stunned, hungry for the touch of those long-fingered hands. His balls felt heavy and tight and his ass was practically twitching in anticipation. But Kurt didn't touch him, not yet. He tilted his head in the direction of the dresser, the direction of the pulley hanging from the ceiling. Still holding the paddle, Blaine moved on shaky legs to stand just under it.

Kurt followed him with slow steps, devouring Blaine with his eyes. The pleasure Blaine could see as his master looked at him only aroused him more.

“I'll take that,” Kurt murmured, lifting the paddle from Blaine's hands and setting it on the dresser. “Hands above your head.”

This was it. Blaine had to take another slow breath, and Kurt gave him time for it, before he could raise his arms up toward the pulley. He closed his eyes, wanting to feel every tiny movement, as Kurt reached for the rope over his head and joined its clip to the one holding his wrists together. He heard Kurt move away, and then the rope began to tighten, the pulley squeaked with tiny, metallic sounds, and his arms were stretched, gently at first, then more, and even more until he was pulled just the tiniest bit onto his toes. His feet were still firmly on the floor, but the lift gave the illusion that he was hanging, stretching the muscles in his arms tight.

He'd been afraid he would lose control again, like before, once he was actually hanging from the ceiling. But it was exactly the opposite. He felt . . . safe. Held. Like the constraint on his body created a matching constraint on his emotions. He burned with desire and anticipation, but being bound like this added a layer of calm acceptance to his need. His master was in control now, he had no more choices, and he was safe.

“Open your eyes,” Kurt's voice was close, and Blaine obeyed, focusing on intent blue eyes only inches from his own. Kurt's pink lips curved up gently at the corners. “You look beautiful like this,” he said, reverently, as if Blaine was his own personal idol.

There were galaxies spinning in Kurt's eyes, illuminating the dim room, and Blaine wanted to tell him that he was beautiful too, like this, standing so tall in his own strength and authority, but as Kurt lifted a hand to smooth damp curls off of Blaine's forehead only one word managed to escape Blaine's lips.

“Please.”

“Please what?” Kurt whispered, his lips inches from Blaine's own.

“Everything,” Blaine murmured back, and between them his cock danced its agreement.

Kurt's eyebrows lifted in a thoroughly Kurt-like way that did nothing to diminish his position as master. He picked up the paddle again and held it between their bodies.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” Blaine managed. “Yes, master.”

“Then turn around.”

Putting his back to Kurt, with that paddle, made him feel acutely vulnerable, which only turned him on more. Kurt took a step back, but at the same time he rested his hand on Blaine's shoulder, a reassuring weight keeping him grounded. Then, with a spasm of desire, Blaine felt what had to be the edge of the paddle, so soft for such a wicked tool, trace down his spine, over the crack of his ass, then press flat against one cheek – a warning and a promise.

“You don't need to count,” Kurt said. Blaine could hear a quiver in his voice and wished desperately that he could see Kurt's face. “I'll do it. I just want you to feel.”

The first smack came almost before Kurt finished his sentence, catching Blaine off guard with no time to prepare. The second followed quickly on the opposite cheek, then the flat of the paddle pressed against the first cheek again.

Blaine pressed back into it, wanting Kurt to know that he was good, he could take more. His ass stung, of course, but he knew that paddle could be more punishing. He really hoped Kurt was only warming up.

Three and four fell harder, and Blaine's cock dribbled a little precome in eager anticipation. Two more, harder still, and the pain began to warm and deepen, reaching the muscles under his skin, and Blaine dropped his head forward with a moan of pure pleasure and gave himself over to burning sensation. The blows came faster, then, harder, and the ache broke through the haze of yes please more with explosions of bright, shattering pain. But he knew this. He'd been here a hundred times and he forced his breath deep and slow, moved his body back where Kurt wanted it after it twitched involuntarily away from each blow, let its stress escape in quiet, controlled cries. His skin was hot and getting hotter and he waited for it, as the blows rained down, and Kurt's hand tightened against his shoulder, he waited for that moment of critical mass when the fire of agony transformed into ecstasy.

It came with a blow that caught the underside of his ass and ripped his control away, and for a moment he floundered, lost in the pain with no anchor, but Kurt's hand held firm and blows rained down and he remembered that pain itself was the anchor and then God, it was beautiful, perfect, hot and needy and his cries became moans; behind him he could hear Kurt gasping, moved, his master was moved by his pain and then it was only the pain itself that kept him from coming all over himself. He arched his back as best he could, offering his ass to the blows, for his master's pleasure, begging for more, to be allowed to suffer just that little bit more.

He didn't even realize the spanking was over until Kurt's arm wrapped around his waist and Kurt's voice whispered hot against his ear, “And one to grow on,” and the paddle came down one last time on flesh that felt swollen to twice its normal size, and Blaine's chest contracted around a last sharp cry.

Something thumped to the floor, the paddle, it must have been, because Kurt's empty hand cupped one ass cheek, thumb smoothing over the abused flesh. The lightest touch that was still too much, Blaine moaned and a shudder twisted up his spine.

“Don't move,” Kurt whispered, and then his warmth was gone and Blaine was hanging, alone. He whined a tiny sound at being suddenly bereft of Kurt's support and the hand came back in a brief, reassuring touch. “Don't worry, I'm right here. Just hold on . . .”

Then he was back, pressing against Blaine again, and oh, it was so much better because he was naked and Blaine could feel Kurt's cock pressing against his throbbing ass. Blaine ground back against it, heedless of his pain; the need to please his master was as acute as his own desire, in fact, they were one. For so many weeks Kurt's pleasure, Kurt's release, had been the only release that Blaine had been allowed and it was like an instinct now, a reflex, so seek out Kurt's pleasure when his own need overwhelmed him.

But Kurt had other plans. “Be still,” he whispered, wrapping both his arms around Blaine's waist this time, hugging him from behind. “You were so good,” he said, his lips brushing thrillingly against Blaine's ear. “You took your spanking so well, I think you deserve a reward, don't you?”

Blaine was going to reply in an enthusiastic affirmative, but then Kurt's hand wandered down his belly and circled his throbbing cock and words were no longer an option.

“You know you have to tell me when you're close,” Kurt reminded him.

Blaine just managed to squeak out a “Yes master,” before Kurt stroked his thumb over the head of his cock, slipping wetly through the moisture there. He let his head fall back against Kurt's shoulder and let the sensation overwhelm him. He tried to stay still, he really did, but twenty-three days of teasing and frustration and need were twisting in his balls and his ass ached from his beating and Kurt's light touch was never going to be enough. His body, completely beyond his conscious control, began to thrust into Kurt's hand, mindlessly searching for more, more heat, more friction. His hands flexed against the cuffs that held him, as if there was actually some chance he could free himself and reach down to wrap Kurt's fingers around him in a proper grip.

Kurt didn't scold him for moving, and Blaine's body took that as a signal, apparently, pushing faster through the loose circle of Kurt's fingers. It would be enough, it could be enough, if he could just generate enough heat, move fast enough, he was just that desperate, he could feel the pressure building in his balls and gripping tight in his belly. He knew he didn't have permission to come but he pumped like a madman anyhow, chasing the release that Kurt had been holding just out of reach for weeks, until his orgasm loomed close enough that he had no choice but to murmur, “I'm close master.”

Kurt's hand barely moved, but pain, deep and blinding, ripped through Blaine's body and a cry that was almost a scream tore his throat as Kurt's fingers wrapped around his balls and squeezed.

His legs went limp, but Kurt's arms caught him, freeing his balls and wrapping tight against his chest as Blaine struggled to breathe around the pain curling hot and heavy deep in his belly. But overwhelmed as he was by the unexpected assault, Blaine was also acutely aware of Kurt's cock, surging against his ass. It excited Kurt, hurting him, hurting him so much that he fell limp against Kurt's body.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Kurt asked quietly, in a husky voice.

Blaine could only think of one thing. “Th-thank you, master.”

It must have been the right thing to say because Kurt's hand moved lower again and wrapped around Blaine's cock, tighter this time. Blaine moaned and his head fell again on Kurt's strong shoulder. His feet found purchase on the floor but this time he didn't have to thrust because Kurt stroked, long, proper strokes, and soon the reality of pleasure began to dull the memory of pain, and Blaine thought maybe, maybe this would be it. Bound here, beaten, then made to come at last, stretched and writhing, it was perfect, the perfect birthday present. He was almost one hundred percent sure that that was how Kurt was planning to do it.

But not so sure that he didn't whisper “I'm close master,” before the orgasm Kurt was dragging out of him reached critical peak.

He was only marginally more ready for it this time. Kurt's fingers closed tighter, held longer, Blaine's cry was a scream this time, it was impossible pain, pain beyond anything he'd ever felt, tears filled his eyes before Kurt's hand finally, mercifully loosened and moved back to his chest, leaving Blaine to find his way out of the haze of agony.

“So good, so, so good,” Kurt murmured in Blaine's ear. “See what you do to me?” He pressed his cock hot and hard against Blaine's ass. “You're so beautiful Blaine. So perfect like this.”

Those were Blaine's guides, out of the pain, Kurt' voice and his cock, anchoring him. Until the pain settled deep again, a dark presence, waiting for him, and Kurt's hand crept downward for the third time.

“Please,” Blaine whimpered, and his thighs pulled closed, instinctively protecting his cringing balls.

“Open your legs, boy,” Kurt's voice was hard, sharp as the pain, and Blaine whined again, but he obeyed. There was no other choice, never any choice but to do as his master commanded.

As if in reward, Kurt's hand closed once again around Blaine's cock, only half-hard now thanks to the pain. But Kurt, of course, knew just how to fix that.

“You must have figured out,” he said quietly, his hand moving in a slow, sensuous rhythm along Blaine's cock, “that I didn't do all this handyman stuff by myself. Do you want to know who helped me?”

Blaine moaned and squirmed in Kurt's arms. He didn't want to know. He didn't but he did, and hot humiliation shivered up his body at the thought. His cock began to fill again, and that was all the encouragement Kurt needed.

“It was Puckerman,” the irresistible voice teased at Blaine's ear. “He didn't say anything,” – Kurt's hand picked up speed as Blaine's cock throbbed against it – “but you just know he was imagining it. What I was going to do to you once I had you strung up naked and desperate.”

Blaine's whole body went hot and then cold, and he moaned unreservedly now, thrusting into Kurt's teasing hand.

“Do you think he'll be picturing it, the next time he sees you? Do you think it'll turn him on?”

“Oh God, I'm close!”

He was ready for it this time, but that didn't make it any less agonizing when the fingers closed around his too-full, too-tender balls and delivered gripping pain just as they were expecting ecstatic relief. His cry this time was a wail through gritted teeth, his body went board-stiff in Kurt's arms, but as soon as the fingers loosened their grip his body was wracked with head-to-toe shudders.

Kurt held him tightly, fingers stroking his trembling flesh. “Shhh, shhhh,” he breathed against Blaine's ear. “You're doing so well. You're perfect. So good for me.” He wiggled his hips, so that Blaine could feel his cock slide through its own precome against Blaine's ass.

Conflicting sensations were wreaking havoc with Blaine's brain and body. Pain, need, pleasure, duty – he knew there was no choice for him, no right way to feel, he had to be whatever his master wanted him to be and he wanted that, he did, but when his shudders began to calm and Kurt's hand drifted toward his cock yet again, his legs pressed closed and he shook his head against Kurt's shoulder.

“No, please, it hurts,” he begged, ashamed of himself for his weakness but more terrified of the pain. “Kurt, please, I can't.”

“Just one more,” Kurt's voice was implacable, his words seemed to offer a choice, but his tone belied them.

“Please . . .”

“One more for me. You can do it, baby. Just one.”

It was the baby that did it. The thing that Kurt had only ever called him in his fantasies, and Blaine turned his head and sobbed against his own upraised arm but his thighs inched open, offering his desperate balls up to Kurt's punishment.

“That's it, good boy,” Kurt's words were the only balm Blaine was going to get, and he shuddered again and fought to keep his legs open as Kurt's fingers gently caressed over his throbbing balls before wrapping yet again around his cock, which hadn't gone soft this time. It was quicker than his brain, adjusting to the fact that the pain and pleasure went together now, twin faces of the same sensation. Tears filled Blaine's eyes but his hips began to move in time with Kurt's strokes, a slow rhythm this time, dragging it out, loosening his fist when Blaine's thrusts sped up, then tightening again, forcing Blaine's body to move only in Kurt's own time, until Blaine was so lost in conflicting sensations that he barely knew which way was up. He leaned into Kurt's body, rock solid behind him, and stopped trying, to be, to feel, anything. Fear tightened his belly but legs slid even farther apart, his hips tilted, offering his body to Kurt's hand for whatever use he chose.

“Yes,” Kurt breathed, “Oh, my perfect Blaine.”

Kurt's had sped up, sliding liquidly along Blaine's rigid shaft, detouring every now and then to caress his balls, a teasing threat, and Blaine's breath caught in anticipation every time but his legs stayed open and his body loose against Kurt's. And as his orgasm began to loom yet again, he waited for it, welcomed it, longed for it even though he knew it would end in tearing agony. He shivered and trembled against Kurt's chest, pleasure and fear becoming one, each making the other stronger, more evocative. He waited, he waited until the very last possible moment, hanging on the edge of perfect bliss for what seemed like forever while Kurt's fingers played across the swollen head of his cock, until there was no other choice but to whisper . . .

But Kurt's hand moved before he had a chance to speak, tightening, crushing, merciless, pain blinding sharp as and bright as the sun, and this time when Blaine screamed, he screamed Kurt's name.

�

Kurt held Blaine tight as he shuddered and writhed through his battle with the pain. He rocked his own surging cock gently against Blaine's still-hot ass, partly because it seemed to help Blaine ground himself, and partly because it just felt good, and Kurt was allowed to take pleasure in his submissive's body, and even in his suffering. It had taken him some time to really understand that, but tonight he'd given Blaine an opportunity to safeword at every turn, and even as he was begging for mercy, Blaine had never spoken the words that were guaranteed to bring him relief.

Kurt buried his nose in Blaine's sweat-damp curls and breathed in his lover's scent, musky and dark. One hand snaked down Blaine's torso until it reached the head of Blaine's turgid cock, still upright and hard as Kurt had ever felt it.

Blaine jerked against him. “No more, you said . . .”

“I know,” Kurt reassured. “No more. We're all done with that, I promise.”

Blaine relaxed immediately, melting back into Kurt's arms as much as he could when he was half-hanging from the ceiling. There was no sense of fear as Kurt began to stroke his cock again, he trusted completely that this time there would be no pain. Kurt rewarded his trust with slow, languid slides of his hand, while he gently rutted his own cock against Blaine's perfect ass. Giving and taking pleasure, as was his right. He didn't stop until Blaine was moaning in soft, long exhales and his own orgasm began to loom. It wasn't time for that. Not yet.

Blaine whined when Kurt released his cock, but Kurt ignored it. He stepped back, slowly, carefully shifting Blaine's body until he was holding his own weight, then moved around to face him for the first time since the spanking. He cupped Blaine's face gently, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs until Blaine opened his eyes.

He was far away, Kurt could see, unfocused and fuzzy, but he looked at Kurt with something like awe, as if Kurt was more than his master, a god, maybe, some terrible, wonderful deity come to dole out punishment and reward. Kurt had been afraid of a look like that, afraid of the power it gave him over a Blaine who was too blissed out to do anything but obey. But staring into Blaine's golden, unquestioning eyes, Kurt knew that he had nothing to fear. The more Blaine bent to him the stronger his need to protect and care for him became. Even his own wild arousal had taken second place, tonight, to watching and pushing, calming and challenging the man he loved more than he'd ever imagined possible.

He smiled at Blaine, and when Blaine leaned closer, reaching for a kiss, Kurt gave it to him, brushing their lips together butterfly-light.

“I'm going to let you down now,” he said when they parted. “I'll go slow, and I want you to kneel on the floor, okay?”

Blaine nodded, so Kurt stepped back to where the nylon rope was secured to the cleat on the wall. He took one last look at Blaine, stretched and suspended, his cock hard and his ass cherry-red, perfect in every possible way, before he grabbed the rope and held it tight as he unwound it from the cleat. Blaine was heavy but Kurt was strong; he kept the rope taut and moved close again so he could help support Blaine as he lowered to the floor. Then he unclipped the rope and shoved it away, and Blaine, despite the stress his body had suffered, pulled himself immediately upright into correct posture.

Kurt wanted to wrap his arms around Blaine and tell him he was wonderful and kiss him until they both couldn't stand it anymore, but this wasn't done yet, Kurt still had one more thing to pull off and he was determined to see his plans through to the end. So he stood in front of Blaine, still kneeling with his hands bound together in his lap, and waited until those shining eyes raised to look at him.

“You've been so good tonight,” he said, leaning down a little to caress Blaine's hot cheek. “Just a little more to go.”

“Please . . .”

Blaine let the word trail away, as if he wasn't sure he should be asking for anything.

“What do you want?” Kurt prompted.

In answer Blaine leaned forward just enough to brush his lips against the hard shaft of Kurt's cock. “Please,” he said again, looking up through his lashes in the way that he knew Kurt found irresistible. “I want you. Please?”

What good was being in charge if you couldn't change the plan when you wanted to? Kurt stepped closer, so Blaine didn't have to strain, and dropped a hand on Blaine's head, tugging him forward by curls made wilder than usual from heat and sweat.

Blaine was trembling again. He leaned in under Kurt's guidance, parted his lips and eagerly sucked Kurt's cock deep into his mouth. Kurt may have been shoving his own arousal into the background, but Blaine's hungry suckling immediately made him aware of just how long he'd been hard. He rocked into Blaine's throat and Blaine moaned, wantonly, like he'd been starving for the tasted of Kurt's cock. It was beautiful, hot and tempting and Kurt indulged himself in three or four long strokes before pulling Blaine firmly back and away. Blaine made the same whining protest he had when he was strung from the ceiling – and God knew Kurt was coming to love that sound, but he still had one more point to make before he let Blaine take him over that edge.

“On your back on the bed,” he ordered.

Blaine had recovered enough from his pain haze that he was able to pin Kurt again with that provocative under-the-lashes look. “Yes master,” he said, and deliberately crawled over to the bed. He climbed up, stretched out on his back, and raised his hands over his head, all the while staring at Kurt like a starving man eyeing a lobster dinner. Kurt laughed – he couldn't help himself – and picked up the box the cuffs had been in to fish out another bondage clip. He let it dangle from his fingers for Blaine to see as he walked slowly – he could be provocative too – over to the bed. He didn't touch the body laid out for his enjoyment, no, instead he unclipped Blaine's cuffs then clipped first one wrist, then the other, to the eye bolts on each side of the headboard.

Blaine spread his legs wide in invitation, so Kurt climbed on the bed too, and settled between them, just looking, not touching.

“Please?” Blaine begged again.

Kurt shook his head. “Not yet.” He laid his palm flat on top of Blaine's cock. “We still have this to take care of.”

Blaine moaned, and his eyes dropped closed. His hips pumped in a tiny, slight movement, as if he couldn't quite manage to control himself, but Kurt allowed it. Encouraged it, even, pressing his hand down in a counter-rhythm.

He waited. Absent any admonishment from Kurt, the slight, involuntary movement slowly became more deliberate, until Blaine was pumping against Kurt's palm, slicking it with precome for an even more delicious slide, moaning softly as he ground against the pressure Kurt provided him. Kurt just watched, enjoying the show, until the pitch of Blaine's moans began to climb closer to soprano. Finally, Blaine's eyes opened, and he looked just as far away now as he had before, transported by pleasure this time, instead of pain.

“Please, can I come? I'm so close,” he panted.

“No,” Kurt said gently, taking his hand away and leaving Blaine rutting at nothing.

Blaine moaned and dropped his head back on the bed. His hips stilled and his eyes closed. He believed, Kurt knew, that this was an edging game. Kurt would bring his hand back and they'd go through the cycle a few more times, Blaine getting increasingly and impossibly more desperate, until finally the long-awaited “yes” was spoken.

He waited.

Finally, when his cock continued to flex against the air and no touch came, Blaine opened his eyes again, questioning.

“You don't get to come tonight,” Kurt said, trying to make it sound as casual as telling Blaine they weren't having steak for dinner.

A look that was close to panic filled Blaine's face. “You're not serious?”

“Are you questioning me?” Kurt's tone left no room for misunderstanding.

Blaine's eyes went wide. “But I can't . . . it's been so long and I've been so good . . . I thought . . .”

Kurt smiled gently at Blaine. He stroked two fingers up the shaft of Blaine's cock and back down again. Up and down. Blaine held perfectly still under his hand, as if his obedience might change Kurt's mind.

“You thought,” Kurt said, “that since it was your birthday you deserved to come. But it's not about what you deserve, Blaine. It's about what I want.” He stared deep into Blaine's eyes, where panic was battling with the pleasure his fingers were stirring up. Kurt had thought this would be the hardest part, denying Blaine what he really, desperately needed, but he knew it was right because it was so easy to say. “I don't want you to come yet.”

He could see the defeat in Blaine's face even as he tried to protest. “It's just . . . it's been so long, Kurt, it hurts. I've never been this hard and I need, I need it to be over. I can't do it anymore. Please.”

“I told you I'm going to take care of that for you.”

Blaine watched with wide, careful eyes as Kurt reached over him and into the bag he'd left on the night stand. It took a moment for him to understand what Kurt pulled out of it, but when he did his legs began to move, pushing him upward on the bed as if he could somehow escape what Kurt had planned.

“No, please, no Kurt, I don't need that, I don't . . .”

Kurt knelt quietly between Blaine's legs, holding his homemade ice pack and waiting for Blaine to accept the inevitability. He'd never iced his own dick before, but Thomas had told him it hurt like hell, and the more aroused you were the more it hurt. Blaine must have felt that at some point because he was twisting against the cuffs and pleading for all he was worth.

“I can do it, I promise, I can wait, please don't . . .”

“Be still,” Kurt finally ordered, and Blaine stopped moving, although he kept his knees drawn up like they could protect him.

“Spread your legs.”

“Kurt!”

“Now.”

Slowly, inch by inch, Blaine's legs straightened and spread, giving Kurt full access to his swollen balls and his cock, which was dancing as merrily as if it was about to get everything it had ever wanted.

“I'm going to take care of that,” Kurt gestured casually toward Blaine's cock with the ice bag, and Blaine flinched in anticipation, “and then I'm going to unlock you and you're going to take care of this,” he gestured to his own dick, which throbbed in agreement.

“Please,” Blaine tried again, in a voice that sounded small and far away. “I'll be good. I'll stay hard, anything you want.” His eyes still begged, but Kurt could see they were starting to lose focus again, going soft with submission.

This was the important part. The part Kurt had pored over to find the perfect words. “Oh Blaine, haven't you figured out yet what your real birthday present is?”

He climbed off the bed then, so he could move closer, resting one knee next to Blaine's chest and leaning toward his ear to whisper, “You keep telling me you want know what I fantasize about. You want me to let go and show you how cruel I am to you, in my head.”� He pulled back just far enough to look in Blaine's eyes, kissed him ever so gently, then gave him his very best smile. Then he waited, one more careful pause, just in case. But though Blaine's eyes pleaded, he stayed silent.

“Happy birthday Blaine,” Kurt said at last, pushing the ice against Blaine's nuts and his lips to Blaine's mouth to muffle the scream.

�

Everything was pain, need was pain, pleasure was pain, cold burned through his body and twisted his guts, he was choking on pain, it rang in his ears and burst on his tongue so loud and sharp that he almost didn't hear Kurt clear his throat in pointed command.

His eyes opened, his hands were free, and there was Kurt, his Kurt, sitting at the end of the bed, hard and dark-eyed and the only thing Blaine needed more than his own relief was to feel that cock inside of him, breaching him, splitting him. He turned on Kurt like a wild thing, fell on his cock, sucking it down, dragging it into his throat, too deep, too fast but he needed it. He needed to gag and cough and taste and smell, he needed to give it his very breath, to choke himself with it, to have Kurt as far inside his own body as he possibly could.

It wasn't a very effective blow job. He was too far gone, to wild and desperate, but Kurt came anyhow, and fast, Blaine pulled back when he did so that Kurt's release filled his mouth, overcoming him, even as Kurt's groans in his ears sent him spiraling to new depths or heights, he didn't know which, he didn't know anything but Kurt, his smell, his taste, his flesh warm and soft between Blaine's lips and under his body. But it was too fast, he didn't want to let go, he hadn't had enough. He wouldn't let go, not until he felt Kurt stiffen underneath him. He swallowed, reluctantly, let Kurt's cock slip from his mouth, settled his head in Kurt's lap, the softening cock against his cheek and finally, finally rested.

He didn't know how much time passed.

Eventually something poked at his mouth. A straw, he realized, and he turned away from it and buried his face in Kurt's thigh.

“Drink Blaine,” Kurt's voice was less dom now, and more just Kurt. “You need water.”

“No,” he could hear how petulant he sounded but he didn't care. “Want to taste you.”

Kurt hummed a little, and it didn't sound like approval, but the straw didn't poke him again so he turned his head back so that his nose nestled in Kurt's groin. He felt lighter than air and heavier than lead; Kurt's body was both buoy and anchor. He clung to it, drifting.

More time passed.

Eventually his body began to assert itself. His balls ached, he needed to pee, his ass was burning, his wrists were still heavy with the cuffs and his throat was dry as the desert. No sooner had he had that thought than the straw came back and this time he drank, greedily, the cool water was delicious and soothing to his throat. He realized Kurt was stroking him, up and down his spine oh-so delicately, and that his face was wet.

“When did I start crying?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Right after the ice,” Kurt said softly.

“Hmmm,” was all he could manage.

Kurt started to move, but Blaine wrapped his arms tighter around his waist, keeping him there, he needed him there. Above him Kurt made a noise that sounded like relief, but Blaine was still a little too fuzzy to be sure.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Kurt said fervently. “I'm right here. I just want move a little so we can lie down.”

He began to shift them around toward the head of the bed, laughing a little when Blaine clung stubbornly to his waist.

“You're just lucky we didn't actually make any mess,” Kurt said, reaching with one hand to pull the comforter off the chair and over the two of them, “or you'd have to let go of me.”

Blaine answered him by gripping even tighter. The end of the world could come right now and it wouldn't matter in the slightest. He was never letting go of Kurt.