Author's Notes: He watched them from the far corner of the food court, hidden between a support pillar painted the ugliest shade of orange anyone had ever seen and the always insanely long line at the Panda Express counter. The pizza he’d bought when he’d been hungry, before he spotted them, sat untouched, marking the plate underneath it with a grease stain that had darkened the paper almost all the way to its fluted edges.

He’d noticed them as soon as he’d settled at the tiny table. It was obvious, even with their backs to him. There was no mistaking the way Hummel moved, swishing through the maze of tables like he was in the middle of goddamned San Francisco or something, like there was absolutely nothing to fear from acting like that, here. His belly twisted with the usual tangle of emotions that any glimpse of Kurt brought, especially now that they’d both gotten their marks. But he was used to that. If it had just been Kurt he could have settled back, forced his eyes to focus somewhere else, and eaten his pizza in peace.

But trailing along after him, balancing two trays of food as he dodged around tables in Kurt’s wake, was Mr. Anderson.

When Kurt had finally picked a table Mr. Anderson managed to set both trays down and pull out a chair for Kurt with perfect ease and grace, as if he’d been doing this stuff all his life. Which he probably had, since he was old and hardly a blushing virgin. And now they sat there, nibbling food, talking, sometimes laughing. From where he sat he could see both their faces in profile; he had a perfect view of every time Kurt smiled at something Mr. Anderson said, or brushed his fingers over the black leather on his sub’s wrist, or touched his hand, completely oblivious, it seemed, to the fact that they were in public. In a mall in Lima where anyone and everyone could see just what was going on between them.

But that had always been Hummel’s problem. He never seemed to understand how very much there was to fear.

********************

The biggest secret in Dave Karofsky’s life wasn’t the fact that the name burned into his skin under the cuff he wore cinched extra tight around his right wrist belonged to a boy. It wasn’t even the things that had happened to him on the day that name had appeared on his body, marking him forever in more ways than the obvious. No, the very biggest secret Dave was keeping was that his mom and dad weren’t soulmates.

The didn’t know he knew. His mom wore a black cuff like any other claimed sub; she had for as long as Dave could remember. As far as Dave knew all of their friends believed they were soulmates. They put on a perfect show in public, that was for sure. They could out-soulmate Azimio’s parents, and that was saying something. And when he was little Dave didn’t question the occasional strained silences and slammed doors. He’d kind of figured that was how things were; that when he left his friends’ houses their parents sometimes retreated to opposite sides of their houses too, one leaving a room as soon as the other entered it. It was their life, and Dave didn’t know any different. But the older he got the more the cracks started to show. He had watched, not understanding, as normal displays of affection, love, even dominance became fewer. As years went by they both filled their time with anything but each other.

For his mother it was religion. She found some strange apocalyptic church and went twice a week, bringing home tracts for him to read on the evils of a wide variety of things including, Dave could never let himself forget, homosexuality. Once she’d forced him to go with her and it had horrified him to watch her, almost unrecognizable, transported with some fierce emotion he didn’t understand as the preacher filled the high-ceilinged sanctuary with echoing visions of joyous reunions with dead loved ones and reveling in the cries of the damned as they received their well-deserved eternal tortures.

Afterward there were refreshments in the church basement and his mother had pulled him around the room introducing him with pride to old ladies nibbling pound cake and sipping punch and smiling sweetly at him as if they hadn’t just been amen-ing the idea of anyone not exactly like them suffering the pastor’s excruciatingly detailed fates.

Sometimes at night, though, the light of religious fervor behind his mom’s eyes would go out and on those nights she’d lock herself in the guest room for hours. He could hear her, when he passed on his way to bed, rooting through the boxes they kept in the closet, sometimes crying, and once he’d found a half-empty bottle of rum on the closet floor that she must have forgotten to put away before she stumbled to her own bed.

Dave’s dad never acknowledged any of this, which confused Dave. Even as a kid he’d known that submissives needed to feel safe and cared for and as far as he could see his dad didn’t really try to care for his mom in any of the ways that people on TV talked about. But (and this would bother him when he was older, looking back) he didn’t really dwell too much on his dad’s shortcomings because while his mother lost herself in God, his dad lost himself in Dave. And like any little boy, Dave had loved the attention and never questioned the reason for it. They would spend hours throwing the football in the backyard, watching games on television, working shoulder-to-shoulder on school projects and stopping for ice cream after Little League practice. He hadn’t ever thought about how this must look to his mom, when he was a kid, and now that he was old enough to understand he mostly tried not to think about how the impenetrable wall of their relationship might have added to her withdrawal from the world.

But really, even with the slamming doors and long silences across their beautifully set dining room table, Dave would have told anyone that he’d had a completely normal, happy childhood. Nobody’s family was perfect, obviously, but on the whole, he would have said, his parents’ problems hadn’t affected him in any way that mattered.

Then Azimio’s oldest brother Donathon had gotten his mark. He’d been the first, of any kids they knew, and the first time Dave saw him with the shiny cuff wrapped around his left wrist the strangest feeling had settled heavy and cold in his belly. It was part dread, part fear, but there was something else, something he’d never felt before that made him want to crawl right out of his skin and find someone else to be. He practically ran out of Azimio’s house, shouting apologies and something about feeling sick, and pedaled his bike home as hard as he could, as if he could outrun the feeling, or sweat it out of his pores. But there was no way to escape, he lay panting on his bed feeling it roll through his body - he couldn't have said if it was physical or emotional he just desperately wanted it to give up its hold and let him go back to being the clueless, happy kid he’d been before.

The Feeling - he eventually came to think of it that way, like a title, the name of an alien creature that lay dormant between his muscles and his skin waiting for some stray word or thought to wake it up, roaring - eventually went away. But it would come back, over and over, blindsiding him with its own special combination of vertigo and revulsion, any time Dave was reminded that his fate wasn’t in his own hands at all. That some day his body would betray him, mark him with the name of a person, one person who would hold his only chance at happiness in her hands. Or his hands, he’d admitted to himself, after his body betrayed him in another, completely unexpected way. One shot. One person who was supposed to be his everything in a way no one else could be. And if it didn’t quite work out that way, well then he’d be as fucked as his parents because no one better was ever going to come along.

It was his Nana who finally spilled the beans.

“I told your father right to his face, it was too soon. But nobody wanted to listen to me and now look how it all turned out.”

They were eating dinner at her country club, the summer before his junior year, just months before his mark appeared, although he didn’t know that at the time, of course. Dave was picking at his lamb and staring at the old couples shuffling across the dance floor to the standards the piano player was cranking out, waiting out his Nana’s annual raking over of all his mother’s faults. Dave loved his Nana, more than anyone else except maybe his dad; he loved how sharp and funny and critical she could be. His mother always said there were only three things his Nana cared about: herself, her only son, and her only grandson. But as one of those three, Dave was inside the golden circle, sharing her privileged vantage point. He always looked forward to the summer weeks he’d spent with her in Tampa ever since he’d been old enough to fly down by himself, and he was always happy to join in the attack on whatever target crossed her sights, whether it was lamenting Aunt Pauline and her ten cats - “David, I honest to God thought someone had died and been left to rot, the smell was that bad” - or debating with herself whether Anderson Cooper was still a reliable source of hard news now that it had become clear he was “one of the boys.”

The price Dave paid for all the things he loved about his Nana was having to sit through at least one conversation about his mother. LIke most self-absorbed people, Nana always assumed that her opinions were shared by everyone and so it never seemed to occur to her that going on at length about all of his mother’s “mental problems” might make Dave just a little uncomfortable. He’d learned years ago that the best way to deal with it was with nods and grunts and a quick grab at any more mutual target that might present itself. So he watched the dancing couples and nodded and waited and almost missed it when Nana said, “I’m his mother, of course I wanted him to be happy. And poor Miranda hadn’t been dead a year. I’m sorry, but you don’t get over losing a soulmate that fast. I don’t care who you are, you just don’t.”

Dave’s eyes flew back to her and he didn’t quite manage to hide his surprise, but she chose that moment to drain her Canadian Club, giving him time to knock his fork onto the floor and dive under the table before she noticed his reaction.

“Just leave it, the girl’ll get it,” she commanded and by the time he righted himself she was snapping to get the waitress’ attention and he had his face under control again.

“Miranda was such a lovely girl,” she kept on, as the waitress collected her empty glass and replaced his fallen fork. “Has your dad ever shown you pictures of her?”

She thought he knew. That his parents would have been honest with him. She assumed they’d told him that they weren’t soulmates.

He cut a piece of lamb into a perfect square with surgical precision and murmured, just before he shoved it into his mouth, “He doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

And that was all it took. His Nana loved telling people things they didn’t know, and the entire story spilled out of her interrupted only by the occasional busboy, waitress, and eventually their dessert.

His father had found Miranda when he was nineteen. They’d gotten engaged at 21. And at 22 Miranda got cancer. “The same kind that actor had,” Nana said solemnly, as if that made it all more impressive. His father had been a saint, according to his grandmother, going to every appointment, holding Miranda’s hand through surgeries and treatments, bringing her home to die in his arms in her own bed instead of in a cold, sterile hospital. Of course he had. She was his soulmate.

His parents had met, from what he could gather, at some kind of soulmate loss support group. Nana was much less clear on what had happened to his mother’s soulmate, being naturally completely uninterested. She did know he died young, before they’d even had a chance to meet. “It was a drunk driver, I think. Or maybe he was the drunk driver. In any case, someone was drunk. I’ll never understand people who can’t control themselves,” she said, downing another Canadian Club in two long swallows. “The boy’s parent’s tracked her down. They gave her a picture or something. I can’t imagine why she was going to a support group. She never even knew him. How traumatic could it have possibly been? Now your poor father, on the other hand . . .”

But Dave had heard enough. He watched yet another elderly couple spinning on the dance floor to some old song about smiling shadows, fighting against The Feeling while he waited for her to drift onto some other topic.

Much later, as he lay in his bed in Nana’s guest room and stared at the dark ceiling, he made a promise to himself. He wasn’t going to do it. He couldn’t stop his mark from appearing, but he could certainly control himself. Fate could go fuck itself. He wasn’t going to be its bitch like his parents were. Dom or sub, straight or gay, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to love anyone. Ever.

********************

He wanted to get up and leave. Just toss his pizza and walk away. It was a miracle they hadn’t spotted him and if any of his friends found him skulking behind a pillar staring at Hummel and his boyfriend, well, that was exactly the kind of exposure he spent his life trying to avoid. But every time he told himself he was out of there, every time he reached for his cold pizza fully intending to chuck it and leave, Kurt would move or smile or Mr. Anderson would duck his head so submissively, and he’d find himself rooted to his chair, pizza forgotten again. They screamed soulmates. Anyone could see what they were, sitting there touching and smiling and apparently not giving a rat’s ass that people were looking. Judging. He couldn’t understand how they could sit there, wrapped up in nothing but each other. He couldn’t understand why they weren’t afraid.

Maybe it was the sub hormones he was now living with, but Dave really believed he hadn’t ever meant to be the kind of bully he’d become with Kurt. He was an alpha jock, no doubt, and he was always going to claim the kind of privilege being in that position brought. High school had a social order and he was happy to stay in his place as long as everyone else stayed in theirs. A few threats on his part, a little cowering on his victims’, and everyone knew where they stood.

And looking back now from this new perspective that he was still trying to get used to, he could see that that had been the problem all along. Kurt didn’t cower. If Kurt had ever been afraid, properly afraid of what he was and what that meant, like any normal person would be, then maybe everything would have been different. But none of his usual moves ever worked with Hummel. Even after months of threats, locker slams, the occasional fist in the face, Dave had never seen fear in Kurt’s eyes. Anger, humiliation, pain, sadness, even pleading on occasion, but not fear. All the things that Dave himself knew it was necessary to fear, the things you could lose, the things that could be done to you, the things that just the thought of could give The Feeling free rein of Dave’s body until he dug his fingernails into his skin just to try and distract himself from the sensation; Kurt didn’t seem to be scared of those things at all. And that was unacceptable. There was no way in this or any other universe that Kurt Hummel was stronger and braver than David Karofsky.

But it seemed the more Dave made it his mission to show Kurt what he had to fear, the gayer Kurt got, dressing up in those crazy outfits, being “out” (God, Dave hated that word), flaunting himself, really, and his ridiculous confidence right in Dave’s and everyone else’s faces. And the stronger Kurt seemed, the more the need grew, dark and powerful inside Dave’s head, to make him fear. They way any person in his position should. The way Dave did every fucking day. If he hadn’t been marked when he was, Dave really didn’t know what he might have been capable of. It only gave him another thing to fear, but at least his submissive hormones had changed someone’s life for the better.

He was staring so hard at the micro-movements of their hands, just barely touching where they rested on the table, Kurt’s pale fingers standing out stark against Mr. Anderson’s darker ones, that it startled him badly when they both pushed away from the table and stood up. His heart hammered and he was sure he’d been caught, but Mr. Anderson began to clear their table and Dave realized they were moving on. He grabbed his cold pizza slid from his chair, tossing it in the trash can behind his pillar, keeping it carefully between himself and them as he pretended to check his phone and waited to see what direction they walked in.

They moved away from him, heading down the mall toward Macy’s, and that was definitely his cue to retreat the opposite way. But his feet didn’t seem to be getting the message. He found himself walking along behind them, using a big group of giggling teenage girls as a shield. He watched from around and between their bouncing heads as Kurt and Mr. Anderson walked, not holding hands but close enough that Dave could see the backs of their fingers brush against each other from time to time. When Kurt stopped to check out something in a shop window he had to duck into the only available cover - the tiny alcove around an employee service door - and he was sure he’d be seen, but after only a moment Mr. Anderson leaned up and whispered something in Kurt’s ear, making Kurt giggle and blush a little, and they moved on.

His group of girls had passed them by then and he had to hang back further; if either one of them turned around he’d be screwed. But they didn’t and he sighed with relief when they reached the department store with all of its racks of clothing and display cases to hide behind. Dave didn’t even know why he was still following them. He figured they’d just wander around until Kurt found something ridiculous to buy, but they made a beeline for the accessories department, Dave still trailing along.

Cuffs. As they got close Mr. Anderson actually took Kurt’s hand and pulled him along and Kurt laughed - Dave was now close enough that he could hear the high-pitched ring of it - and let himself be led toward the shelves of shining leather in various shades of brown and black. Dave slipped in behind the wallet display and tried to crush The Feeling, but attempts to fight it off with slow, deep breaths only filled his lungs with the smell of leather, which made everything worse. He needed to leave, just get the hell away from leather and Hummel and his stupid soulmate, but he realized that he’d trapped himself in a corner - the only way out was past, and Kurt and Mr. Anderson were facing out now, there was no way they wouldn’t see him.

So he did the only thing he could, he waited, digging his nails into his arm to try and distract himself, and watched as Mr. Anderson, whose face he could see from where he was hiding, picked up cuff after cuff and handed them to Kurt like offerings, with the strangest smile on his face. Kurt dutifully held each one up against his white skin, even the neon green neoprene swimming cuff Mr. Anderson handed him with a laugh. Eventually Mr. Anderson picked one final cuff and handed it to Kurt, saying something that Dave couldn’t hear, and then he forgot all about The Feeling as he watched Kurt’s long fingers reach to cup Mr. Anderson’s cheek, and stroke slowly down along his jaw and over the point of his chin, just brushing the curve of his bottom lip.

********************

In the dream he’s screaming. Loud, blood-curdling screams as he’s forced onto his back on a table, encased from neck to ankle in tight, lung-compressing rubber, blindfolded, and fighting for his life. Hands are on him, only one pair but they’re strong, superhuman, and seem to be everywhere, trapping his limbs against the hard metal surface and strapping them tightly down, one by one, despite his frantic struggles. He’s never been so terrified, screaming for his life, sometimes “No,” sometimes without words at all, but the other person never speaks. He moves calmly, Dave’s struggles don’t seem to perturb him in the slightest, and soon he’s completely immobile, bound painfully tightly to the table, only able to move his head.

He screams his frustration, his fear, his humiliation, keeps screaming even as a rubber ball is forced into his mouth and straps are buckled tightly at the back of his head. He screams through the gag, screams as the hands disappear and his sudden aloneness is even more frightening than whatever they had planned for him, screams until the rubber suit constricts tighter around his struggling torso and his head starts to swim, until the sound of his own blood rushes through his ears and he has to stop or he’s going to pass out.

The second he stops, the second his body collapses lax on the table, all the fight driven out by the simple need for air, the hands are back, one pressing flat against his chest like reassurance, the other stroking warm bare fingers along his jaw, light as a feather around the curve of his ear, then back to cup his cheek in the gentlest of caresses. And he hates it, loathes that implacable hand, but God help him, he leans into its softness, tries to give it what it wants, makes the tiniest begging noise in the back of his throat.

“Shhhh.”

The whisper is barely audible against his ear, he feels it more than hears it, and then the hands are gone but he stays still, anchored by the phantom sensations on chest and cheek.

And then the pain begins.

He screams again, he can’t help it, screams and keeps screaming as electrodes attached to all his most sensitive places under the tight suit send God knows how many volts of bright fiery agony through his balls, his feet, his nipples and the head of his cock, which pushes, hard despite his pain and fear, or maybe because of it, against the encasing rubber. His body struggles against the bonds that hold it, beyond his control now, fighting like a panicked animal to escape the torture.

No sound comes from his tormentor. No touch. No sign that his pain serves any purpose at all.

He screams until his voice breaks, until he can't breathe again, until his strength is gone and his body falls limp for a second time against the metal table. And still it continues, unendurable, until all he can do is sob, tears pooling around his eyes and trickling down under the blindfold, and take it.

Then the hand comes back. It presses hard against his cock, through the rubber, squeezes and pulls and pinches and it's not pleasure, it's really only more pain, but he can feel his balls pulling up tight as a new kind of intensity starts to compete with the pain for his attention. He's going to come, it's right there and he hates it, he doesn't want any of this, he's too terrified to be so turned on but the hand is rubbing hard and fast, jostling the electrode that’s tormenting his cock, and he's thrusting against it, fighting the straps that hold him for a new reason, because it hurts so much and nothing has ever felt so good.

And then, when he's seconds from exploding in the most intense orgasm he's ever had, it all stops. The hand disappears. The electricity is gone, aftershocks shiver through his muscles, and his cock is left trapped, still so hard, and he doesn't know if his tears are from relief or desperation.

"Shhh."

The not-really-a-voice breathes in his ear again and his body responds to it like a command, all the fight and need and pushing for more disappears and he collapses for a third time, still, waiting to be whatever his master wants him to be next.

Then the hand comes back, cradling his cheek, thumb caressing the length of his jaw, around the point of his chin, and he nuzzles into it without reservation, desperate to feel his touch.

The other hand presses against his cock, rubbing hard like before, sharp friction that’s just this side of painful. And then, as his pleasure builds again toward that irresistible peak, for the first time his master speaks and it’s the voice that sends him over the edge into ecstatic oblivion - a gentle voice pitched so high that it might be a girl’s, although Dave knows it’s not.

“Good boy.”

********************

It only took a moment, that tiny caress; Kurt and Mr. Anderson moved on to the cashier desk and had almost completed their transaction before Dave realized that The Feeling was gone. He didn’t notice whether anyone else reacted to such an open display of affection between two guys. He didn’t even notice whether the saleslady reacted at all to the two of them buying a cuff. He almost missed it when Mr. Anderson took the bag from her and they headed deeper into the store. He had to scramble to keep them in sight, but he did it, hovering again just far enough back, shivering a little when Kurt turned Mr. Anderson toward the men’s shoe department with a casual hand on his back.

********************

It was a clich�, of course, that everyone said their lives changed on the day they got their mark, but in Dave’s case it was true in ways that still left him feeling unsettled and confused when he thought about them too closely.

It was a Sunday, thank God, late last October, and the weather was warm enough that he had his bedroom window open to let in the breeze that smelled of dying leaves, watching some football game that had seemed really important to him at the time, at least until he realized that he’d been scratching the same itch on his wrist for the since half time and they were now deep into the third quarter.

His right wrist.

Heat surged under his skin with sudden and overwhelming force, and he rushed to lock his bedroom door but threw the window wider; he felt like without the cooling fall breeze he might go right up in flames. He cranked the volume on the TV and fell onto his bed, staring at his wrist as if it could tell him this was just a false alarm. But even as badly as he was shaking he could see the tiny, disconnected welts starting to raise under his skin.

It was happening.

He was submissive.

It was the one thing he’d never thought to fear. Not the he’d automatically assumed he’d be dominant; he’d been far too busy trying to avoid the knowledge that someday he’d be marked at all to give much thought to his actual designation. And it wasn’t even that big a deal, he told himself, hell, Finn was submissive and he was captain of the football team. Being submissive was normal, no one would give him crap and if they did he’d kick their ass. Simple as that. He wasn’t going to participate in any of this anyhow, he’d decided that long ago. It really didn’t matter if he was a dom or a sub.

So why couldn’t he stop shaking?

The thing was, he was pretty sure Finn had a girl’s name under his cuff, a girl who’d be small and soft and would control him with words and looks and Dave knew himself well enough by this point to know that the name on his wrist would belong to a boy - a man - someone who could match him in size and strength, who could make him do God knows what, hold him down, overpower him, and even though he was never, ever going to be in any relationship with any man, ever, he gasped for air at the thought, feeling as trapped as if he was even now bound by strong, unyielding hands.

He lay as still as he could, listening to the announcers’ voices droning on over the game and trying to keep his breathing under control. Everything he’d feared for so long was coming together in physical form on his own body in the shape of red lines inching toward each other where they’d inevitably spell out the name of the thing he feared the most.

And then, after some period of time that could have been seconds or hours, time he spent flat on his back, deep breathing and telling himself that having a name didn’t mean anything, not at all, no name, male or female, could change everything he knew about himself, three of those little welts finally lined up to form a perfect capital letter K.

He stared at it, stared and knew, as surely as he knew that the sky was blue and grass was green and that smacking into some hulking defensive lineman would hurt like hell but make him feel powerful in a way that was worth every bit of the pain, he knew.

Kurt Hummel was his soulmate.

For twelve long minutes - he was suddenly very specifically aware of the passing of time - he believed it.

His first reaction was panic. Because there was no way, not even his life could be so cruel that he’d end up spending it on his knees (never mind that he didn’t plan to spend it with anyone - that thought went right out the window into the autumn afternoon) to the boy he’d spent the past year and change doing everything he could to humiliate and terrorize. A boy he wasn’t even attracted to (no matter what his dick happened to be doing now), a boy who would have every reason in the world to want to take revenge and make Dave pay in every conceivable way (and why did his stupid dick keep doing that?!) for the many, many things he’d done to hurt him.

His fists clenched, his head spun, raucous cheers from the television filled the room but he couldn’t make sense of any of them. All he could see was himself, kneeling, pleading, totally at the mercy of the one person he’d feared more than any other. Sure, Hummel wasn’t huge and muscle-bound, he wasn’t ever going to be able to wrestle Dave’s body into any position it didn’t want to be in, but no one knew better than Dave how strong Kurt really was. He’d never had the upper hand with him. Never. Even without submissive hormones (and were they starting to flow already - he was so fucking hard) Kurt had always come out on top, even bruised and on the ground. He always got up. Always went on. Everything Dave had tried and Kurt still stood strong, untouched. Untouchable. No one got to touch Kurt. No one. His hands balled into fists, clutching at his comforter. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter who it was.

But it was so fucking obvious now. Of course he’d never had a chance. Of course he’d always failed when it came to Kurt. Of course his soulmate was the person who’d shown him that there was a power much stronger than physical force. Who else could he ever be expected to submit to? At who else’s feet could he ever kneel? How could anyone else be worthy?

No. No. He grabbed the remote and cranked the TV’s volume up even higher, trying to drown that particular voice out of his head. Worthy didn’t matter. Strong didn’t matter. He’d opted out. No soulmate. Especially not the one person who had every reason to want him at their mercy. Every reason to punish him over and over for the months of pain he’d inflicted. He had so much to atone for. He’d have to work so hard, prove himself again and again. Suffer without complaint while Kurt vented all his anger and pain (and God his cock was aching) on Dave’s body. But what if he could do it? What if he could be perfect, never misstep, never give Kurt any new reason to distrust him?

After punishment came . . . forgiveness.

Six minutes in he started to cry.

That was how it worked, right? Punishment wiped away mistakes and disobedience. That was the whole point. He could suffer. He could suffer because Kurt needed him to and in the end Kurt would forgive him because that’s what doms did and a weight he didn’t even know floated off his chest and he was still crying but kind of laughing too because if Kurt, of all people, could stop hating him then it suddenly seemed possible that he could finally stop hating himself.

He stared at that letter, his K, and he could see it. Beyond the horror he knew Kurt would feel at first, beyond whatever pain Kurt might put him through as penance, to the day when Kurt would be able to look at him - they way he’d looked at Finn last year when it had been obvious to everyone that he’d been half in love with him. Except with them it would be real. Kurt would love him and forgive him and show him how to be strong like he was, how to stand up in the face of assholes who wanted to tear him down. Kurt would save him. God, it seemed so obvious. He should have realized ages ago that Kurt was the only one who could.

He’d had four whole minutes to bask in that fantasy before more of the marks under his skin coalesced into a perfect, tiny s.

There was no s in Kurt Hummel.

And the real world slammed back into Dave’s chest with a weight that seemed twice as heavy as it had been before.

Kyle Mason. After another hour and a half the name was finished and Dave stared at his wrist, feeling once again like his own body had turned against him. Kyle Mason. God knew what Kyle would be like, big or small, loud and authoritarian or gentle and coaxing, it didn’t seem to matter any more and Dave’s earlier panic seemed laughable to him now. Kyle might be the future love of his life. Dave couldn’t really bring himself to care.

Kurt was never going to forgive him.

********************

It was stupid to just stand there behind a rack of hats and watch Hummel browsing through a selection of boots, but this whole thing had been stupid, really. He had no idea why he’d even started following them in the first place. Who cared, really, what Kurt did with the soulmate that Dave usually tried very hard not to think about?

But still he stood and watched as Kurt picked out a lace-up boot in a funny dark green color and handed it to the salesman. When he disappeared into the back Kurt seated himself on one of the plush chairs but Mr. Anderson stayed on his feet, glanced around the shoe department as if he was trying to make some kind of decision, then finally bent and whispered again in Kurt’s ear. Dave could only see the back of Kurt’s head, but he nodded after a second and Mr. Anderson smiled and slowly, gracefully, dropped to his knees at Kurt’s feet.

Dave couldn’t move. He couldn’t believe they were doing this, here, in the middle of Macy’s in Lima. Kurt’s body was in the way, but he could see Mr. Anderson’s face in a mirror attached at knee level to one of the display stands. He never took his eyes off of Kurt’s face, even as he reached for one of his feet and began to unlace his black tennis shoe. He removed one shoe, then the other, and Dave held his breath, forgetting even to try to hide. He was captivated by the look on Mr. Anderson’s face. He couldn’t have looked away if he’d tried.

When both shoes were off Mr. Anderson just stayed there, staring up at Kurt, and maybe Kurt said something because at one point he smiled a little, almost shyly, and lowered his eyes to the floor, and Dave had to hold on to the hat rack to keep himself upright. When the salesclerk came back with two oversize boxes he didn’t hesitate at all, just handed them both to Mr. Anderson, who smiled his thanks, opened them, and slipped the boots onto Kurt’s feet, one then the other, pulling the laces carefully tight and tying them in perfect bows at the top.

It was beautiful.

Then Kurt stood up and turned a little, so Dave could see his profile, and offered a hand to Mr. Anderson, who took it and let himself be helped up from the floor. When he was on his feet Kurt touched him again, just a quick stroke of his cheek, and then turned to the mirror to check out the boots, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all. As if what they’d done had been just a perfectly normal part of their perfectly normal lives.

Which, Dave finally understood, was exactly what it was.

********************

“I hate Sunday.”

Blaine’s voice was muffled from where his face was pressed into Kurt’s groin, and Kurt squirmed as the movement rubbed Blaine’s afternoon stubble against his dick, which was still a little sensitive from the orgasm Blaine had just sucked out of it.

“Come here.” Kurt tugged gently at Blaine’s curls.

Blaine shook his head, making Kurt squirm again. “I’m trying to memorize this,” he said, slipping his hands under Kurt’s thighs to push them further apart. “It’s going to be five whole days before I get to be here again.”

He buried his nose even deeper into Kurt’s balls and inhaled so heavily that Kurt could feel the suction of it against his skin.

“Oh my God!” Kurt tugged at Blaine’s hair again, harder this time, forcing him to lift his head. “Are you smelling me?!”

Blaine’s eyebrows came together a little and if Kurt wasn’t so busy being horrified he’d have laughed at how obviously it was that Blaine was trying to decide which answer Kurt really wanted to hear. “Maybe?” he finally tried, smiling hopefully.

“Blaine!”

“I like it! The sense of smell is the most primitive sense we have, you know. Your smell -”

“I do not smell, let’s get that straight right now.” Kurt pulled Blaine’s hair again, just to emphasize his point.

“Your scent then,” Blaine said. “It makes me feel good. Right. Safe. And I’m not going to have it all week.” He gave Kurt his very best sad puppy dog face, the one Kurt hadn’t quite figured out how to resist, and Kurt reluctantly let him go. Blaine grinned and snuggled up to Kurt’s dick again, inhaling long and deep.

“Oh God, stop!” Kurt tugged at Blaine’s hair again and he looked up with a sigh, and more pleading eyes, but Kurt kept pulling. “I’m sorry. It’s weird. Come up here and cuddle like a normal person.”

Blaine stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout - it really wasn’t fair that even his attempts to be goofy were sexy - but crawled up the bed and settled obediently against Kurt’s chest.

“We didn’t have to go to the mall today, you know,” Kurt said as he stroked across Blaine’s shoulders and down his back. “We could have just stayed here naked all day.”

“We can’t hide away every weekend. We have to do things, like normal people.” Blaine wiggled his eyebrows at Kurt, who retaliated by poking him in the ribs. “Besides, I really wanted to get you this.” He stretched across Kurt and picked up the new cuff from where it sat gleaming mahogany brown on the nightstand.

“It’s beautiful,” Kurt said.

“I don’t expect you to wear it all the time. I know your dad got you the other one and you had to wait so long before you could wear it. I just wanted you to have one from me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Kurt took the cuff from Blaine and ran his thumb over the stitching before placing it back on the table and then shifting around so that they were lying side by side, smiling into each other’s eyes. “Of course I’m going to wear it. The last thing I want to be thinking about when you’re naked on your knees putting it on or taking it off is my dad! We’ll save my old one. And maybe someday we’ll have someone we can pass it on to.”

Blaine smiled at that and slipped his hand around Kurt’s neck to pull him closer. His lips parted, offering a kiss but leaving it up to Kurt to decide whether to take it.

This, Kurt thought as he moved his mouth gently against Blaine’s and teased him with little flicks of his tongue, must be his dominant version of the smelling thing. What got him through the week was remembering the feeling of rolling on top of Blaine, holding him down and losing himself in the taste of that perfect mouth, the feeling of Blaine’s still-hard cock pressing into his groin and the gorgeous pleading sounds that escaped Blaine’s throat without fail, no matter how hard he tried to hold them back. But he wasn’t quite ready yet to give Blaine his last orgasm of the weekend, so when Blaine started to rut against him in earnest he backed off and rolled just far enough away that their bodies were no longer touching.

Blaine pouted again, but this time Kurt just laughed. “Maybe later. I’m still punishing you for that stunt you pulled with the shoes.”

“You loved that.”

“I loved it too much. I wanted to ravish you right there in the store. Which would have been a disaster. We’re lucky we got away with what we did.”

“The salesman was okay with it.”

“The salesman wasn’t the only person in the store. We have to be careful. You’re not in New York anymore, Dorothy. This is Ohio. And you never know who might be watching you.”

Something strange passed over Blaine’s face then. It was gone as quickly as it came, but not quickly enough to escape Kurt’s notice.

“What?”

Blaine shook his head. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Blaine.”

He sighed. “There’s just something I should probably tell you, but I don’t want to freak you out.”

Kurt pushed himself up on his elbow and stared down at Blaine, more than a little alarmed. “And you don’t think telling me you’re trying not to freak me out is going to freak me out?”

Blaine just stared at him, silent.

“Now, Blaine.” Kurt commanded.

Blaine squirmed a little on the bed. “The thing is, someone was following us at the mall today.”

Kurt’s heart sped up and he felt a familiar tightening in his chest. “What does that mean?”

“Following us. Like, trailing around after us. Watching what we were doing.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to tell me this? Oh my God, what if they were - casing us? Planning to jump us in the parking lot and rob us or something?”

Blaine reached for Kurt’s hand. “It wasn’t like that,” he confessed. “It wasn’t a stranger.”

“What are you talking about? Who was it?”

Blaine took a deep breath. “It was that kid, from Figgins’ office. The one who outed us.”

“Karofsky?!” Kurt practically shouted. He snatched his hand back from Blaine and jumped out of the bed, rummaging through their discarded clothes for his underwear and pants. “Crap, Blaine! How could you not tell me?” He jerked his briefs up; he needed to cover himself; he was too vulnerable like this. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening again. I thought it was over. I thought -”

“No, Kurt, calm down. I don’t think it was like that. I didn’t -”

Kurt paused halfway through wriggling into his tight jeans to glare at Blaine. “You don’t think? You don’t think? Were you there? Do you have any idea what he put me through? Were you even listening when I told you?”

“I was, I promise, I just -”

“You let him follow us -” Kurt couldn’t even look at Blaine. He turned away and dragged his pants over his hips with one last forceful tug. “Oh God, was he watching us when you bought the cuff?”

Blaine was silent long enough that Kurt finally had to turn back to him. He looked completely miserable, shocked and miserable, sitting small and naked on the bed. But Kurt wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Blaine?”

“I think so,” he said, so low that Kurt barely heard him.

“You think so?! Blaine -”

“Well I didn’t actually see him until we were trying on shoes.”

Kurt was breathing, he could feel his lungs expanding and contracting but it felt like he wasn’t getting any oxygen at all. Karofsky following him around the mall, watching him with Blaine. And then it hit him. “The kneeling. Was that some kind of showing off? For him?”

Blaine flinched as if he’d been struck. “No! No, Kurt, that’s when I saw him. When I was on the floor taking off your shoes. I could see his reflection in one of the mirrors. He was sort of hiding behind a rack of hats.”

Kurt stared at Blaine, incredulous, unable to understand how he could be so calm about this. “Hiding. He was hiding and watching us. And that didn’t set off any alarms for you at all?”

“And then when I recognized him I realized I’d seen him before,” Blaine kept going, as if Kurt hadn’t spoken. “In the food court. And I think one time when you stopped to check something out in one of the shop windows.”

“We could have called security. We could have -” Why couldn’t he breathe? His head was starting to spin. “I can’t do this. I can’t start this all over again, not now -”

“Please, Kurt, just sit down for a second. Breathe.”

But Kurt was in full panic mode now, pacing from the bed to the window and back again. “I thought it was over. I actually thought it was over. How could I have been so stupid?”

“I don’t think that’s what it was about. I didn’t get a sense that he was . . . threatening.”

“And you know that because of your vast experience of Karofsky and what he’s capable of.”

“Kurt!” Blaine grabbed his hand on his next pass near the bed and forced him to stop. “Would you please just look at me?”

Kurt turned his head to meet Blaine’s eyes, but kept his body twisted away toward the window.

“Okay, I know you hate it when I play the age card, but I am older than you. And more experienced. Bullies put me in the hospital, Kurt. I live with that threat the same as you. And for a lot longer. I’m telling you, he was just watching.”

“Just?!”

“It was, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m a sub too, but it felt like he needed to. Like seeing us together was doing something to him. Something important.”

Kurt turned all the way around then, turned and almost leapt toward the bed and whatever Blaine saw on his face made him drop Kurt’s hand and shove himself back further across the mattress. “I don’t care. I don’t care, Blaine. He made my life hell. He hurt me. He did everything he could to tear me down and make me hate myself and I don’t give a shit what’s important to him! I don’t want him anywhere near me. I don’t want anything about me to matter to him, how could you not know that? How could you -”

But then it hit him, and he really needed to stop being surprised by it. “But this is what you do. Oh my God, you always do this. You choose other people over me, you obey them -”

“What? Kurt!” Blaine gaped at him and it would have been funny if it wasn't so frightening.

“You do, Mr. Schue and that asshole Kev and now Karofsky?!”

Blaine surged forward and grabbed both of Kurt’s hands, pulled him closer until his knees hit the side of the mattress. “No, Kurt, stop, please for God’s sake. Just listen to me, okay?” He was pleading, his eyes wide with alarm. “Don’t do this. Please.”

Kurt didn’t acknowledge Blaine’s begging, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away. Apparently Blaine took that for assent because he kept talking. “You’re absolutely right about Kev. Kev was a mistake, we both know that, we were in a crazy place and there were so many things I didn’t understand yet but I do now. And I’m yours and I am always going to obey you and put you first, I promised you that and I meant it.”

“Then why do you keep -”

“Kurt, just because you’re a dom doesn’t mean you’re always going to be right. And the fact that I’m your sub doesn’t mean I suddenly stop thinking for myself. I still live in the world. I meet people and talk to them and make choices that sometimes you’re not going to like. I didn’t disobey you, I made a judgment call. The wrong one, obviously, because I didn’t really think through how it might affect you and I’m so sorry for that. If you want to punish me I’ll take it, I made a mistake, a big one, I deserve it. But I saw him standing there and I just - I saw me. Me back when I was alone and confused and longing for things that I didn’t even really have a name for yet. And I wanted to help him.

“Well that’s because he’s never screamed faggot at you while he smacked your head into a locker,” Kurt spat, but he didn’t pull his hands away.

Blaine inched closer. “I didn’t think it all the way through. I just, followed my instincts, which is something I tend to do, and I was wrong. But that doesn’t mean that I’m choosing him - or anyone - over you. Nobody could ever - you are the most important thing in my life, Kurt.” He loosened his grip just enough to slide his hands up Kurt’s arms, grasping at his elbows and tugging him closer. “God, I can barely manage to get from first period to lunch without seeing you. And the thought of not having you here all week kills me. You are so strong, and I didn’t consider how much what he did must still affect you. I fucked up. I’m so sorry. I never, ever want you to feel like anyone’s more important than you.”

Kurt believed him, he did. And it was entirely possible that not even Blaine could have anticipated the size of his blind stop when it came to Karofsky. But that didn’t make it any easier. “All my life I’ve had to scream just to be heard, he said, still letting Blaine hold him there by the bed. “I’ve had to fight every day to get people to take me seriously. You are older. And more experienced. So I expected you to understand that. I expected you to do better.”

At that Blaine finally let go of Kurt’s arms; his bottom lip trembled a little, and a new kind of understanding dawned in his eyes. “You’re disappointed in me,” he said.

Kurt was silent.

Blaine moved back then and folded himself down to kneel on the bed, his hands settling on top of his thighs, his eyes lowered to stare at the blanket. “I’m sorry,” he said without looking up. And Kurt could finally hear in his voice that he understood exactly what he had to be sorry for.

He let him hang for just a moment, partly because Blaine deserved it, and partly because his inner injured dom really, really liked the picture he made, so contrite and submissive there on his knees. Finally, he said, just a little sharply, “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t apologize?” Blaine asked, his eyes still trained on the comforter.

“Don’t kneel like that.”

Blaine looked up then, and Kurt could see that his eyes were damp, but he smiled a little and said, “This kind of seems like a totally appropriate time to be kneeling.”

“Well it’s unfairly hot and makes it very hard to stay mad at you.” He expected Blaine to laugh at that, but instead a couple of tears spilled over and Kurt wondered if he’d ever get used to the fact that his words and his emotions could have this kind of impact on another person. He sat down on the bed and pulled Blaine into his arms, reclining against the headboard and not even minding how unyielding it was against his back or that Blaine was drying his tears on his bare chest.

After they’d been quiet for a while, after the tension in Blaine’s body finally started to melt away, Kurt ran his fingers gently through Blaine’s hair and said, “ I really should punish you, you know.”

Blaine tipped his head up and smiled and his eyes were clear and tear-free. “My ass is ready.” He wiggled it a little, to make his point.

“Your ass would love it. And that’s not what a punishment is supposed to be about.” But since it was right there he grabbed a handful anyhow and squeezed.

But Blaine just kept staring at him. “Seriously, though,” he said quietly. “Anything. You’re good at this, Kurt. It comes so naturally to you that it’s easy to forget that you have insecurities like anyone else. It’s a compliment, really, that I don’t go around thinking of ways to shore you up or reinforce your dominance. I trust you to be in control. You have no idea how incredible it feels to be able to do that.”

“But sometimes I need you to shore me up. It’s my job to take care of you but it’s also your job to take care of me.” Kurt kissed him then, hard and swift, just to show him that everything was okay.

“I promise,” Blaine said. And Kurt believed him.

“Well then, I guess I can let you off with a warning. Just this once. Since you were so good with my friends yesterday.”

Blaine grinned at that. “I had fun. But I am a little worried that Noah’s going to start calling me your boy at school now.”

“No. I don’t really understand it, because I’ve always thought he had the emotional maturity of the number two pencil, but Puck gets it. And Finn always does better when he’s following somebody’s lead so I think he’ll be okay too.”

“Sam seemed to really like me. I think he’s smarter than people give him credit for.”

“You’re only saying that because he likes you,” Kurt teased as he lifted them up just enough to shove a pillow between his back and the headboard. “God,” he said when they were settled again, “we survived a whole week.”

“And they said it wouldn’t last.”

“I’m serious. Everybody knows and the world hasn’t ended. I mean, I know it’s not perfect, but nobody’s stockpiling torches and pitchforks.”

“That we know of.”

“And in just a couple of months school’ll be out and God, think about how much time we’ll have. No work, no homework, no curfews. All those days and nights just for us.”

Blaine wriggled against Kurt’s side. “Don’t say things like that. You’re making me hard again.”

Kurt ran a hand down his body, just to check. “Well then all’s right with the world,” he said, wrapping his fingers around Blaine’s dick so he could feel it thickening against them.

Blaine just snuggled against Kurt’s chest, his stubble tickling Kurt’s nipple. “You’re here. All’s right with the whole fucking universe.”