Possibility.

Blaine loved the cage with a dark and complicated fervor that both reinforced and challenged all the things he thought he knew about himself, his body, and his desire. He embraced its bondage and exulted in the control that it gave Kurt – control of his most primal instincts and urges. The cage shaped and reshaped him, outside and in, to Kurt's specifications, for Kurt's approval. It was the physical manifestation of Kurt's will, wrapped around Blaine's body, holding him in check. Reminding him that his master's pleasure was the true pinnacle of his own desire. Over time, Kurt had taught him to cherish his imprisonment, until just the sight of the cage in Kurt's hand could drop Blaine to his knees in overwhelming and irresistible submission. He loved the cage. But when Kurt pulled the fine gold chain over his head and fitted the key in the tiny lock –

Possibility.

In books and blogs and those kinds of movies, the moment of release from a cock cage was invariably described with appropriately masculine imagery: rising, surging, thrusting. But as Kurt's gentle fingers worked the metal prison away from his cock, Blaine saw himself as a flower unfolding its petals under the burning gaze of the sun. Finally released, his swelling pleasure moved in every direction, in all three dimensions and some that hadn't been discovered yet. Like a flower, he drew Kurt's heat inside himself, igniting fires that flickered warm at first then hotter as Kurt's hands moved over him. He lengthened and stretched under his master's touch, until he was full. Full of fire, full of blood, full of helpless desire.

It was unbearably beautiful, his blossoming, but there was danger in it too. Danger that he would lose himself and miss the moment when he needed to pull back or cry out a warning. In the cage obedience was irrelevant; unyielding steel offered no choices. Being free meant being free to fuck up and Kurt's punishment for that most serious of infractions was too awful to be considered. And yet Blaine exulted in going as far as he possibly could. He offered his straining, yearning body to Kurt's excruciating adoration and he begged for more, for as much as he could possibly bear. Even when his eyes filled with tears and his breath came in gasping sobs, still he rutted against teasing fingers. Still he kept himself a whisper away from sweet and forbidden oblivion, only the iron force of his perfect obedience holding him back from what he craved. Because . . . because . . .

Because there was always the possibility that this time his master would desire Blaine's pleasure. Perhaps today would be the day that his willingness to suffer and ache and beg for more would finally be rewarded with the words he longed to hear and the release only his master could grant him. Perhaps today he would finally be allowed to wring and twist and fracture, his sobs transformed into cries of ecstasy, the inferno burning everything inside of him until he was spent and left to float like petals on the breeze, settling ever so gently back into his master's arms limp with exhaustion and utter relief. Today might be the day and if it was, Blaine would be ready.

Or perhaps he would instead be left to watch as the fire slowly, oh so very painfully slowly, receded, despairing but helpless to change his fate. And when his body had finally given up all hope, his master would slide the cage back in place just as gently as he'd removed it, and Blaine would shudder at the sound of the lock clicking shut, and at the look in his master's eyes as he slipped the key on its chain back over his head. Then Kurt might gather him up in his arms and hold him until he stopped shaking long enough to sleep, or he might straddle Blaine's chest and fuck his mouth, or he might turn him over and take him with greedy abandon until his desire exploded to completion and Blaine was left trembling with need once again.

Possibilities.