The next morning Kurt woke to sunshine and birdsong and a sense of complete contentment. Laying under his damask comforter with Blaine gently almost-snoring beside him felt like he always did after a night of amazing sex. Wonderful.

Until he tried to move, that his. His attempt to spoon Blaine was aborted halfway when every muscle he owned screamed in post-bondage protest. He must have made a sound, though the pain was too loud in his ears for him to hear it, because Blaine bolted upright, then turned toward him, looking frantic.

“Hey! Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, why?” Kurt gingerly settled himself onto his back again, wincing with every movement.

Blaine's eyes were concerned – and something else that Kurt couldn't pinpoint. “You sounded like something hurt. You look like something hurts.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. “Blaine, you tied me down and tortured me last night. Every time you hit me with wax I played tug-of-war with the bed and lost. Everything hurts.”

Kurt expected to be held, petted, kissed at the very least. Instead Blaine plopped down on his back and pulled his pillow over his face. “Oh God,” he said, muffled by the down, “I'm so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Kurt sighed. He knew Blaine well enough to know exactly where this was going.

“It shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't have . . .” Blaine trailed off like he could bear to finish the sentence.

“Shouldn't have what, Blaine?”

“I was out of control. My mother was . . . my mother, and I was so upset and I started something we'd never talked about and, oh my God, I fucked up, I'm sorry.”

Kurt forced his body into motion. Slow and jerky, like Dorothy's Tin Man running low on oil, he rolled onto his side and pulled the pillow off of Blaine's face. Blaine didn't acknowledge its loss. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling.

“Okay, first, you were not out of control. Whatever might have been going on in your head, you tied me safely and you reassured me and you told me what you were going to do; you did everything right.”

“But I –”

“Second, we did talk about it. Before we did it. You said you wanted to hurt me and I said okay and we had the very important safeword speech and I was fine. I consented. I also had an amazing orgasm that I think I'm still recovering from.”

Blaine looked at him then. At first he just turned his head, but after a moment his body followed. He rolled on his side so they were face to face and now Kurt could easily see the expression in Blaine's eyes that had eluded him before. It was shame.

“I hurt you.” Blaine said simply, like the explained everything.

“Is that really what you're torturing yourself over?” Kurt asked. “That you hurt me? Or that you wanted to hurt me?”

Blaine groaned and rolled onto his stomach, hiding his face in the bed again. Kurt reached out and stroked his back, ignoring his shoulder's eloquently registered protest.

“You must have been thinking about it for a while. You already had that candle. I know you can't do that with just any candle, and even if you could, you wouldn't. If you wanted that why didn't you ever say anything?”

Blaine turned his head out of the mattress. His face was red, but that might have just been from his position. “I guess I – I didn't want to want to hurt you. The idea turned me on so much but it didn't seem right, somehow. Why would I want that? I love you. And I know we play around with dominating and stuff but this seemed like . . . I didn't really understand it. I'm not sure I like it.”

“You seemed to like it,” Kurt pointed out.

“You know what I mean! I'm not sure I like that I like it.”

Kurt tried to stroke Blaine's back, imagining rusty tin noises as his shoulder moved from side to side. At least he hoped he was only imagining them. “Look,” he said, trying to sound supportive and not just impatient. “Plenty of people are into pain. It's just another kind of sex. It doesn't make you a bad person and it doesn't mean you don't love me.”

“I know that! Of course I love you.”

“And in case you can't remember, I was hard the whole time. I mean, it just doesn't seem right to say I liked it, but I was into it. All the sensations and how intense it was, and what it was doing to you. I wouldn't want to do it every day, or even every month, but I wouldn't say no to exploring more of that. Pain. It's just another tool. One more thing we can play with together. And we were together, last night. It wasn't you doing things to me it was us, doing things together. I need to know you know that.”

Blaine was still frowning and there were still lines around his eyes, but he nodded. “I do. I think I do. You know what seeing my mother does to me. I never handle it the way I want to. I feel like I took it out on you.”

“No, you used me to help you feel more in control.”

“That's just it! I used you –”

“With my consent,” Kurt interrupted him emphatically. “You let me help you. That's something we do for each other. Do you think for a minute I wouldn't have safeworded if I'd needed to? Just because you were upset?”

That, at least, pulled the corners of Blaine's mouth more in the right direction. “No. I know you too well to think that.”

“Then you have to accept that I didn't do anything I didn't want to do and that I wasn't okay with. Right?” he asked pointedly, staring at Blaine with obvious expectation.

Blaine nodded.

“Good!” Kurt flopped back on his back and didn't try to suppress the groan the movement caused him. “Now can we please end this self-flagellation? Because I was the one who got tied up and tortured so I think you're the one who should be doing the reassuring and caretaking this morning. Not me.”

Blaine burst up so fast the vibration of it made Kurt's muscles voice a painful complaint. “Oh my God, I'm sor–”

“Don't be sorry. Be making me breakfast in bed.” It was Kurt's turn to stare stonily at the ceiling, making the point that he was done talking. But Blaine's face hovered over his, finally grinning, finally relaxed.

“Your wish is my command,” he said, and pecked Kurt's forehead as he went. A little too forcefully. Kurt's neck sang with pain, but he suppressed that particular groan.

Two hours later, after a leisurely breakfast that Blaine practically fed to him, two cups of coffee that smelled like paradise and tasted like bliss, and the world's slowest, most sensual massage that had worked out almost all the tension in Kurt's body, they lounged together neck-deep in hot water, Kurt cradled in the circle of Blaine's arms.

The claw-foot tub had been one of the main reasons Kurt had insisted on this particular apartment. It was nowhere near long enough for the two of them – they were both bent almost double with knees sticking up into the air – but it was deep and the hot water was covering most of his sore body so Kurt was content. In fact, he was almost drowsy. He closed his eyes and leaned back against Blaine's shoulder. He could absolutely fall asleep like this, he thought, if only Blaine wasn't stroking up and down his torso with soapy hands, sliding back and forth over his nipples in that very enticing way. Not that he ever would have asked Blaine to stop.

“What did she say?” he asked, reaching back to slide a hand around Blaine's neck and tease at the damp curls there.

“Who?”

“Your mother. You never told me what she said that upset you so much.”

Blaine's hands paused very briefly in their journey, just a hitch before he picked up the rhythm again.

“I don't think I want to talk about that just yet.”

“Blaine.”

“I'll tell you at dinner, how about that? I want to go out, someplace really nice. I want to finish this bath, then take a nap with you, then go out. And then I'll tell you all about it. Okay?”

Blaine's soapy hands moved lower and found Kurt's cock, which had been perking up since the nipple work. One hand wrapped around the expanding length, the other reached lower to gently roll Kurt's balls. Kurt was perfectly aware that he was being manipulated, but it was some very enticing manipulation.

“Okay,” he said, and thrust carefully into Blaine's soapy fist.

“No, don't move,” Blaine said against his ear. “Let me.”

Kurt let him. The soapy slide of his long, nimble fingers was too delicious to resist. When he came it was silently, floating in the warm water, shuddering in Blaine's arms.

Blaine helped him out of the tub, dried him off like he was handling a precious treasure, led him to the bedroom and cuddled with him, naked under the comforter, until Kurt drifted off to sleep on the scent of soap and damask and his boyfriend.

It was enough to make Kurt reconsider how soon he'd be willing to repeat the pain play. And that was before the dinner.

“Where are we going?” Kurt called from his closet, much later. “I need to know how to dress.”

“Saville,” Blaine called back from the living room.

Kurt marched out into the living room still naked, holding the shirt he'd been considering. “I'm sorry,” he said, “I thought you said Saville.”

Blaine looked up from the magazine he was reading. “I did say Saville,” he said, so casually, like they went to Saville every night.

“It takes weeks to get a reservation there!”

Blaine shrugged. “I called, they had a cancellation. I wanted to go somewhere special so I thought it was worth a try. And it I was right.”

Kurt stared at him. “You're serious? We're going to Saville. Tonight.”

“Yep,” Blaine said, clearly very pleased with himself.

“This changes everything! I need at least another hour.” Kurt turned on his heel and fled back into the bedroom.

“I already planned for that!” Blaine called after him.

Saville wasn't at the very top tier of sought-after Manhattan restaurants, but it was close. Kurt hadn't been exaggerating about weeks to get a reservation. But his excitement was tempered by nerves. What could he possibly wear that would do it justice?

He figured it out, of course, he was Kurt Hummel, and by the time he and Blaine were going out the door he felt resplendent in his suit and tie, and Blaine looked as amazing as only Blaine could. They would be the handsomest couple there, Kurt was quite sure.

The restaurant was beautiful and they were shown to a quiet corner table by a gratifyingly obsequious host. They ordered drinks and appetizers, and Kurt grabbed Blaine's hand as soon as the waiter turned his back.

“How amazing is this? I think saw Laura Osnes over by the bar!”

Blaine didn't even glance in the direction Kurt indicated. He only had eyes for Kurt. He held tight to Kurt's hand until their drinks were delivered, then he toasted Kurt with his cosmo and took a tiny sip.

“I think I'm ready to tell you about my mom,” he said. His voice shook a little, which wasn't unusual, unfortunately, where Blaine's mother was concerned.

“Okay,” Kurt said, taking a sip from his own drink and setting it down.

“My mom was upset because I told her something. Some news.”

Kurt's stomach twisted. “What news?” he asked.

“Good news! Don't worry. I think it's good. My mom didn't really think so.”

“Which means it's either something to do with music or something to do with me,” Kurt finished for him.

“You know it's not you she has a problem with. Not specifically. It's just the whole . . .”

“Gay thing,” Kurt finished. “So what got her so upset?”

Blaine took another sip of his drink. “She didn't even really get upset. That was the worst part. I mean, I knew she wouldn't be happy. And I guess I should have been relieved that she didn't throw a fit but,” Blaine looked at Kurt with the same pain Kurt had seen last night, under the frantic need, “at least throwing a fit would mean that she cared, one way or the other. But this was just . . . nothing. She was blank. Like it didn't even matter to her. It wasn't worth her emotion either way. I know I should be used to it by now but this was so important to me and she just didn't give a damn.”

Kurt hummed sympathetically. Blaine's mom was a sore subject with him. “So what exactly did you tell her that she didn't react to?” he asked. At this point he was burning with curiosity.

Blaine blinked at him; he seemed almost at a loss for words.

“Well, I told her I love you,” he said.

“She knows that.”

“I told her I'm never going to love anyone like I love you. Really, Kurt. You're the love of my life. That's what I told her.”

“And that's it?” Kurt asked.

“That's not it.” Blaine said, he took a deep shaky breath and slipped his hand from the table, rooting into his jacket pocket.

Kurt's heart stopped beating. In a flash of complete astonishment he knew exactly what was happening.

“I also told her,” Blaine said, slipping out of his chair and onto the floor, “that I was going to ask you to marry me.” He finally pulled a box from his pocket and held it out, fingers shaking as he opened it.

Frozen, Kurt thought he heard gasps. He hoped they weren't homophobic asshole gasps, because he was going to personally beat the living crap out of anyone who ruined this moment for him.

“So?” he whispered to Blaine.

“So . . . what?” Blaine asked.

“If you're going to ask me don't you think you should actually ask me?”

Blaine laughed, a shaky chuckle. He looked up at Kurt like he was staring up at the sun. “Kurt Hummel, will you marry me?”

Kurt's eyes filled with tears. He must have nodded, because around them people clapped, someone whistled. Blaine stood and pulled him up and kissed him but Kurt needed to say it to make it real. He clung to Blaine and pressed his lips to Blaine's ear.

“Okay.”