Just like that. Thirteen years and countless parties, clubs and one-night stands, a dramatic retreat, months of soul-searching, finally coming to terms with this new soulmate-less reality, and a boy – a beautiful boy with eyes the color of the sky after the rain stops but before the sun comes out – a boy stood up from a gaggle of pimply-faced teenagers on an ordinary March morning and stopped time.

And Blaine, after one look in the eyes of his long-awaited soulmate, had run away.

Even now, huddled in the tiny, windowless office that was obviously a converted janitor’s closet, he was running. He had sleepwalked through the rest of his classes, torn between the need to find Kurt and fall down at his feet and the desire to hide under the desk until everyone went home and he could make his getaway. Hiding had won, and now he sat behind his locked door and struggled just to breathe normally. His brain seemed to be broken in half and he couldn’t figure out how to get the pieces back together.

It was a joke, really. It had to be. A huge cosmic joke that the universe was playing on him. How else could he explain the fact that the destined love of his life, his soulmate and dom, was a junior in high school who looked like he couldn’t dominate a fly?

The idea of touching Kurt, of wanting Kurt to touch him (and God, he did) should feel creepy. The kid couldn’t be more than seventeen. The idea of submitting to him was ludicrous. Blaine couldn’t reconcile the real Kurt with the fantasy Kurt who had lived in his head for so long. His Kurt, the Kurt he needed, with his broad shoulders and arms strong enough to catch and hold Blaine when his legs gave out from an overload of pain or pleasure. This Kurt, long and lean, was beautiful but not strong in the way Blaine dreamt of. Although he was young; he probably still had some growing to do. And Jesus Christ, that was not the thought you wanted to be having about the person who was supposed to help you find new depths of obedience and sexual submission. Maybe he’ll be buff when he grows up.

Blaine sagged in the chair behind his little desk and stared at the books lined up on the tiny bookshelf, left behind by the room’s previous occupant. What the hell was he supposed to do now? For years he’d worked to shape himself into the perfect submissive. He’d played with strict, aggressive doms and pushed himself in any way he could think of. He’d practiced half his life so that he would be everything his Kurt deserved from a sub. He knew his desire for submission was deeper than he’d even really admitted to himself – certainly deeper than he’d shown any of the doms he’d played with. No one had ever been able to completely fulfill him, but he’d always believed that was because no one was Kurt Hummel. His soulmate would be the one person who would understand his darkest desires, push him far enough, take him apart and break him down and then piece him back together better than before.

There was simply no way Kurt Hummel, for all his long-limbed, stormy-eyed beauty, was the man (boy – the boy) who could do those things. All of Blaine’s work and self-training and still the universe apparently didn’t think he deserved a real dom. Maybe it wasn’t even worth it. Maybe he’d be happier with his fantasies.

But there had been nights, there still were, during his long wait, when Blaine would wake up shivering, aching with his longing for Kurt. The real Kurt. For real arms to hold him and a real voice to tell him how perfect he was. He would cry, sometimes, with how desperately he wanted to find that one man his heart would recognize as its destined mate. He’d known then, as he knew now, that he needed Kurt. That he wouldn’t be whole until he found him. And Kurt was here, and real and absolutely nothing Blaine had expected. But no matter how much his mind rebelled Blaine could feel his body’s pull toward the boy. His body wanted its master. It wanted to kneel and submit and obey.

So, stuck between the fear in his brain and the need in his body, Blaine waited - hid, he told himself, at least be honest about what you’re doing – in the tiny office until he was sure that Kurt would have left campus. Then he started to gather up his things and put his bag in order. He was just picking up his phone when four sharp raps on the door split the silence and startled him so badly that the phone slipped from his fingers and clattered back onto the desk.

He knew it would be Kurt. And when he wrenched the door open, a little too hard thanks to nerves and maybe some attempt at bravado, Kurt indeed stood there, tall, beautiful, looking determined and maybe a little scared, holding up his very bare left arm so that Blaine came face to face with the name traced out in red welts on Kurt’s wrist.

Blaine Anderson.

Just being so close to Kurt, so suddenly, was overwhelming, but to see those letters, bright red and obviously recent, spelling out the inevitability of his situation; Blaine couldn’t move. He couldn’t find the voice to say any of the words that custom or courtesy demanded. He just stood in silence, looking from Kurt’s eyes to his bare wrist. It was shockingly intimate, seeing his name there. In his whole life Blaine had never seen anyone’s mark but his own. It made Kurt seem so exposed and that, added to the natural submission he felt being near his soulmate, threatened to make him forget every objection his brain had raised and just fall to his knees at Kurt’s feet.

Instead, he stepped back so that Kurt could come into the office. But he couldn’t help lowering his eyes to the floor. He watched Kurt’s feet, in black tennis shoes below artfully distressed denim, as he moved into the room, then turned and closed the door. The sound of the lock clicking into place seemed to slam into his body. Kurt’s feet turned back, his messenger bag dropped to the floor by the door, and then Blaine could feel those eyes on him again. For a long time he was silent.

“Look at me, Blaine,” Kurt said finally, in his high, soft voice.

Blaine raised his eyes to meet Kurt’s intense blue gaze.

“Take off your cuff,” Kurt ordered. It was the traditional command from a dom to a sub he suspected was his soulmate. Blaine had dreamed of the moment a dom would look at him with this kind of intensity and make that demand. Somehow, perhaps because Kurt had ordered him to look up, he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away so his fingers fumbled at the clasp blindly. He managed to loosen it without any help from his eyes and slid the cuff off his arm. Then he held it up as Kurt had done, so the boy could read his own name on Blaine’s wrist, in letters that had long since faded to silvery scars.

For a very long moment Kurt couldn’t move – couldn’t think, really. He could only stare at the name, his name, etched in scarred lines below Blaine’s open, slightly trembling, palm. He’d been sure since that first moment in history class, but now, seeing the mark, the full force of it hit him square in the chest. Like someone had reached right into his body and wrapped a fist around his heart.

He’d had a plan. After his excruciatingly embarrassing conversation with Mrs. Jenkins in the library, which had somehow resulted in a copy of “Domming for Dummies,” of all things, in his bag, he’d tried to at least glean a little wisdom from the book. His surreptitious glances during afternoon classes had left him more confused than anything. If he’d hoped to get any step-by-step claiming instructions he was sorely disappointed. It apparently wasn’t one-size-fits-all, but seemed to be anything from a formal dinner date to outright, up-against-a-wall sex. The only thing that had really stood out to him were three items from a list of qualities subs needed from their doms: a strong, controlled presence, open, honest communication, and lots of physical affection. So that was his big plan. Strong and controlled, honest communication, affection.

Now, standing inches from his newfound sub in the tiny office, Kurt really, really hoped honest communication would be enough. Because strong and controlled had left the moment Blaine had opened the door and physical affection, no matter how enticing those curls were, seemed about as likely as Coach Sylvester taking a vow of chastity and joining a convent.

When the silence between them had dragged on far too long and Kurt was just starting to accept that he was supposed to speak first, Blaine surprised him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as if it should be obvious what he was sorry for. “I know I should have come to you. I was going to. I just needed some time to get used to the idea.”

The hand on Kurt’s heart tightened, and not in a good way. “The idea of having me for your soulmate?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“The idea of having a seventeen-year-old student for my dom,” Blaine said, again as if it should have been completely obvious.

Even hope was failing Kurt now. Honesty was the only ally he had.

“Sixteen.”

“What?”

It wasn’t quite clear if Blaine’s question was from shock or because he actually hadn’t heard. “I’m sixteen,” Kurt repeated.

“Oh my God.” Blaine ran a hand through his hair, clutching at it like it was some sort of lifeline.

“I’ll be seventeen in May,” Kurt offered.

Blaine was doing his best to pace now, but in the tiny space it ended up being more like very jerky twirling. “This is a nightmare,” he said in a soft voice. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying any of this to you.”

Kurt leapt at the opportunity to get back to his plan. “No,” he said firmly. “I want you to be honest with me. I get that this is weird and if we can’t be honest with each other we don’t stand a chance. I want you to tell me what you’re thinking and feeling.”

Blaine stopped and stared at Kurt. “Really?”

Strong. Controlling. Honest. “Absolutely.”

It was like someone flipped a switch on Blaine. All his fidgeting stopped. He planted his feet, arms going still at his sides, and looked Kurt straight in the eye. It must have been the command, Kurt figured. He was actually feeling a little proud of himself for finding a way to calm Blaine down. Until Blaine spoke.

“Honestly?” He skewered Kurt with his golden-brown eyes. “I’m pissed off. I am so fucking angry – you have no idea.”

Kurt fumbled for a response. “This . . . was a surprise to me too.”

“Really? How long have you had that mark? A few months?”

“Three weeks, actually.”

“Three wee . . .” Blaine turned his back on Kurt completely, like he couldn’t bear to look at him, and clutched at the edge of the little desk. “Of course. Have you even taken a dom class?”

“I start next Wednesday.”

“Of course you do,” Blaine said with a laugh that cut like broken glass.

Kurt knew this was all wrong. He was losing even his illusion of control of the situation. Blaine’s whole demeanor had changed. He turned to Kurt so swiftly that it almost felt like an attack. He held up his marked wrist; waved it in Kurt’s face. “I got this when I was thirteen. For almost fourteen years I’ve been staring at that name.” He punctuated his words with little thrusts of his wrist. “Waiting for him. Wondering about him. Fucking fantasizing about him.”

“About me.” Kurt tried to speak with authority but it came out as little more than a squeak.

“No. Him.” Blaine shoved his wrist closer to Kurt’s face. “Because when I was jerking off pretending he was telling me what to do and when to come, you were probably still in diapers!”

Oh God. Blaine was losing control and it was all Kurt’s fault. He’d commanded Blaine to be honest, to say what was on his mind, and now like the sorcerer’s apprentice he was drowning in the emotions that he’d accidentally set free. He had to find a way to help Blaine get back under control. It was his job. If only he had any clue how to do it.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he attempted.

“No! You don’t get it. You can’t. Have you even had sex?!” Blaine’s voice was now loud enough that Kurt could only hope everyone had already vacated the halls outside the door.

“No . . .”

“Every man I’ve ever been with I pretended was him. All those years, I practiced. I practiced for him. So I could be everything he deserved.”

“Blaine . . .” Kurt tried so hard to sound commanding.

“I called them all Master – not because it was hot but so I didn’t have to be reminded that they weren’t him. But after all that I still for some reason don’t deserve a real dom.” Blaine’s voice was shaking now, his whole body was shaking.

“Okay, you need to calm down.” Would it sound more like an order if he pretended very hard to himself that it was one?

“No, you told me to be honest and I am nothing if not obedient. What I need is to give up these stupid ideas about soulmates and perfect doms and start living in the real world. Which is what I thought I was doing until you showed up.”

“Blaine!” Maybe if he shouted too . . .

“So why don't you just run home and tell your mommy how awful your sub turned out to be and she can . . .”

Kurt didn’t even think. His hand shot out, lightning fast, and grabbed Blaine by the jaw, forcing him to look directly into Kurt’s eyes.

“On your knees. Now.”

He didn’t shout. He didn’t even really think of it as a command. But when he loosened his grip Blaine couldn’t have hit the floor faster if gravity had suddenly tripled.

Falling to his knees was pure instinct. Blaine was on the floor before he even fully registered Kurt’s order. His body was still trembling with the emotion of his outburst, but it all felt restrained, strangely anchored by the phantom sensation of Kurt’s hand gripping his jaw and the implacability of the command ringing in his ears.

Kurt stood straight and tall above him and Blaine could tell he was angry. Maybe even furious.

“Show me your arm.” Kurt had been all hesitation before, trying to placate Blaine, but now that was gone. He was taking control and disobedience wasn’t even an option. Blaine held out his right wrist.

Kurt leaned down a little to place his own left wrist next to Blaine’s. “Look at them,” he ordered, and Blaine raised his eyes to look at their two arms side by side, one darker, one fair, with their names written in flesh.

“What do they mean?” Kurt asked.

“That we’re soulmates.” Blaine hated how unsteady his voice sounded. Kurt’s breathing and his own heartbeat pounding seemed unnaturally loud in the tiny room.

The pale arm was snatched away and Blaine lowered his eyes to the floor once more. Anger was still radiating off Kurt, even with his back turned, and curious as he was, Blaine didn’t quite dare look up to see what he was doing. He jumped and had to bite back a yelp when a huge book slammed to the floor just in front of his knees. Blaine read the cover without really understanding it. Merriam-Webster Dictionary of the English Language.

“Look it up,” came the command, and Blaine didn’t have to ask what. He rifled to the S section, spread the book open, and waited for the next order.

“Read it out loud.”

It should have felt humiliating. His teenaged, student dom was making him define words like a disobedient seven-year-old. But this was familiar - knowing that all he had to do was follow instructions. Blaine’s breathing was calming and his voice no longer shook as he started.

“Soulmate. Noun. Singular. From the Latin . . .”

“Just the definition.”

He bit back an impulse to apologize. “1. A given person’s perfect emotional, physical and intellectual match, as signified by the appearance of a name on the skin of one’s wrist, usually some time during the adolescent phase. 2. The love of one’s life.”

“Again.”

Blaine’s chest tightened with some emotion he couldn’t name, and his voice trembled again just a bit as he read, “1. A given person’s perfect emotional, physical and intellectual match, as signified by the appearance of a name on the skin of one’s wrist, usually some time during the adolescent phase. 2. The love of one’s life.”

And suddenly, a sweep of his foot sending the book across the floor, Kurt was there, on the floor with him, closer than he’d been yet, gripping Blaine’s jaw again and forcing his gaze back up. And while Kurt’s voice had been cold and distant, his eyes were open, concerned, questioning.

“Are you really willing to give all that up just because I’m younger than you?”

He was so close. Blaine could smell the warmth of his skin, with some lingering scent of – body wash? Cologne? The room suddenly seemed bigger, walls receding away from him, and the face in front of him was starting to feel like the only real thing in the world. He had to swallow past a lump forming in his throat before he could speak. “I just . . .”

“My mother died when I was eight.”

Shit. “Oh my God, I’m so . . .”

“And ever since it became clear that I wasn’t going to swing the same way as the other boys, I’ve been pretty much tortured every single day. And you know what got me through? This.” He held up his wrist again so Blaine could read his name. “Even before the mark came, knowing that it would. That there was someone out there, my perfect match. That someday someone would come along who would just get me. Who would love all the things about me that everyone else was trying to tell me I should be ashamed of.”

Kurt’s hand dropped from his jaw, but Blaine kept his head up, staring into blue eyes that radiated sincerity and sadness.

“You aren’t what I expected either, Blaine. I expected someone like me. I expected coffee dates and Glee Club duets, and someone who could share all his firsts with me. The way you look at me – the things you want from me – they terrify me. But I believe that I can give them to you, as impossible as that seems, because this,” he grabbed Blaine’s arm and lifted it against his own so their marks were side-by-side again, “this says I can. This says I’m the only one who can. And I trust that.”

Blaine sat in silence for a long time, looking from Kurt’s eyes to their marks and back again. He suddenly wanted so much to make Kurt happy. To give him the answer he was asking for. But Kurt had told him to be honest and Blaine found that now, with Kurt so close, long fingers wrapped around Blaine’s wrist, he wanted to be honest too. Kurt had said it was their only chance.

“I don’t know if I can.”

Kurt didn’t even look disappointed. He actually smiled a little, lopsided smile.

“Trust fate?” he asked. “Or me?”

“Both.”

And like a little miracle, Kurt’s fingers came back to Blaine’s face, but this time they were gentle, his thumb tracing a caress from the point of Blaine’s chin back along his jaw line. Maybe it was the closeness or the release of kneeling so quietly after his outburst, but the thumb seemed to be drawing a line of pure desire along Blaine’s cheek. Worry and fear faded and he felt like he could be happy kneeling there forever, as long as Kurt kept touching him.

But then Kurt’s eyes darkened and he leaned even closer and almost before Blaine could register what was happening he pressed his lips to Blaine’s in a soft, gentle kiss.

Everyone said it was different with your soulmate, and they were right. The simple, light pressure of Kurt’s lips seemed to pin Blaine to the floor. His eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted – an invitation to deepen the kiss – but Kurt wouldn’t be led. Instead he slowly caressed first Blaine’s top lip then his bottom with his own, and then pulled back with a soft sigh. When Blaine opened his eyes he found Kurt’s, so close, but completely unreadable.

“What was that for?” he couldn’t help asking.

“For honesty. And for being so obedient.”

Blaine felt his eyebrows go up in surprise, which made Kurt smile.

“That was my first kiss, by the way. First real kiss, anyway.” He pulled back a little further and Blaine began to feel like he could breathe again. “We’re both going to sleep on this tonight and I’ll meet you back here before school tomorrow. We’ll keep this to ourselves for now. Until we figure things out. Okay?”

Blaine nodded. Kurt didn’t get up from the floor, though. For a long moment he just stared at Blaine. Finally, the lopsided smile came back.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

It struck Blaine that this was the first unselfconscious order Kurt had given him. When he’d first come into the room he’d been playing at commanding. Then when he was angry he’d been acting on instinct. But this time Kurt had looked at him, considered what he wanted, and ordered Blaine to do it, without even questioning if he’d be obeyed. His hands were clasped behind his back before he finished the thought.

Kurt leaned forward again. This time their lips barely touched, but Kurt’s tongue slipped past Blaine’s parted lips and brushed fleetingly against the tip of his, once, twice, it was subtly coffee-flavored and achingly sweet, and then Kurt was moving away again and a tiny whimper escaped Blaine’s throat as he leaned forward, chasing the taste. Begging for more.

He could have sworn Kurt giggled just a little, but he got up and moved past Blaine to the desk. Blaine didn’t open his eyes, but he could hear Kurt fiddle with something, and then a tiny trill of harp strings came from somewhere – Kurt’s bag? He felt a hand drop softly onto his head and long fingers caress though his hair.

“Goodnight Blaine.”

Blaine kept his eyes closed, trying to hold on to the feeling of simple contentment Kurt's kiss and touch had brought him. He didn't open them again until he heard the door open and close and he was alone once more.