It always happened faster for Blaine.

Sometimes Kurt envied him that. The slip from Blaine to boy was effortless. One moment he was kissing Kurt, whispering how excited he was that they were doing this again, how long it seemed to have been since the last time, and how grateful he was to Kurt for giving it to him, and the next he was on his knees in the corner, perfectly still, with no thought but to be available to serve. He could kneel there for hours, Kurt knew, never moving – except for the occasional shudder when his arousal momentarily overcame him. He needed nothing, truly, expected nothing. That was the whole point for him. And the longer Kurt left him there and gave the appearance of ignoring him the more turned on he became, until his cock was bouncing and leaking and doing its level best to break the unbreakable bars of its prison.

It was more of a process for Kurt.

He picked up a magazine, as he always did, and pretended to read. His brain had a system it needed to follow, he'd learned, so he stared at random pictures of perfect models while he mulled over various possibilities for the weekend, ultimately tossing each away, because that wasn't the point at all. Any of the variety of possible activities would satisfy Blaine, or none of them. He knew what Blaine wanted from the weekend. He only wanted Kurt to use him, without a single thought for Blaine's own pleasure or need. So he let a weekend's worth of thoughts of Blaine's pleasure and need pass through his head without comment and turned a page to keep up the illusion that he was reading.

Then of course he had to do inventory. One last mental check of supplies, safety measures, and incidentals. He'd already made sure that all the toys and implements he might want were clean and in good repair, and that the apartment was stocked with a weekend's worth of food and drink for Blaine to serve him, and that they had enough clean sheets and towels to protect against or clean up from any activity that might take his fancy. But it helped him to be sure, before he let himself go.

Then he actually read an article. Or at least part of one. To create a space between Kurt and master.

And only after that, still holding the magazine, did he let himself contemplate his boy.

And that was when it happened. Kurt never noticed the exact moment; it was gradual, as he listened to the slow rise and fall of Blaine's breathing, the twitching cock a distraction in the corner of his eye. Carefully but inexorably as glacial drift, his lover, his soulmate, Blaine, began to blur and spread, metamorphosing into his boy, his slave, Blaine, waiting to serve his every whim, existing to fulfill his desires, longing for nothing more than to be allowed to serve, to submit, to offer his body up to his master's pleasure. And somewhere in that process Kurt changed as well, coming out the other side fully formed as master and ready to enjoy his devoted slave in any way he chose.

He put his magazine down then and looked at his boy, kneeling in perfect submission with his eyes downcast and his arms folded behind his back. His struggling cock was angry red and his balls below it pulled tight and hard against the ring of the cage. It had to be excruciating, Kurt thought. Good. He loved the way his boy suffered. It was compelling and erotic and Kurt felt his own dick stir and rise as he watched his boy wait for him.

“Come here, boy,” he finally said.

As smoothly as if he'd been expecting his master to speak at that exact moment, Blaine leaned forward, unfolded his arms, and crawled across the room until he was kneeling at Kurt's feet. He kept his eyes down and recrossed his arms in his formal position.

Kurt nudged at his captured cock with his shoe. Blaine tried so hard to keep still, but his breath caught with an audible hitch.

“So desperate,” Kurt murmured. “That must hurt like hell.”

“It does, master.”

Hearing Blaine name him out loud was the final piece of their complicated puzzle. The picture was complete.

“Perfect. You may serve me.”

“Thank you master.” Blaine spoke it like a vow and had Kurt's cock out in a flash. He folded his arms obediently back again before he leaned forward to take his master into his throat, sucking him down to the root. He moaned around the intrusion, already abandoning himself to the beauty of his master's desire for him, his own need forgotten even as his caged cock resumed its throbbing dance.

Which, his master thought as the dark head bobbed up and down and coaxed the embers of his desire into burning flame, was exactly as it should be.