The next several weeks flew by. Exercising left Blaine exhausted, but exhilarated as well. He stayed as close as he could to the food schedule Sam had given him and found that no one minded how much he ate. If anything, it was the opposite.  Things with Kurt were going really smoothly. Blaine didnt try offering anything sexually and Kurt gradually started back with the familial touches that had disappeared after the disastrous blowjob incident.  Blaine was fairly certain that Kurt didnt realize he was doing it, or that hed stopped in the first place.  Either way, he was relieved he hadnt permanantly messed that up between them.  Desiring contact from someone was foreign to him, and he found hed keenly felt its absence.  

Blaine had a recheck appointment at the medical clinic and had a a repeat STD test. He clung to Kurt the whole time, but managed to stay moderately calm throughout.  Nurse Rebecca was pleased with his physical exam and encouraged Kurt to keep feeding him as much as he could tolerate.  When his second test came back negative a week later, Blaine felt the relief down to his bones.

Kurt took him shopping for basic clothes at a local mall. Blaine made sure to stay close, feeling eyes watching him when he wasnt next to his owner. Unmarked slaves didnt really belong in department stores.

It was well after the first month of belonging to Kurt when Blaine finally decided he had to have the talk with his owner. After a night of nightmares (fortunately, he hadnt screamed or Kurt wouldve woken and gotten out of bed to check on him), Blaine looked out his window to a gorgeous morning.  It was bright and brisk with a slight breeze, and Blaine wanted nothing more to go out on the trail for a quick jog. But there would be hell to pay if he tried to wake Sam early to escort him. Enough of this; he needed to be marked.

Blaine made his way to the kitchen. Rachel had already been there and the coffee pot was full. He poured Kurts cup and headed to his owners room.  Blaine leaned against the doorway, waiting until a few minutes before the alarm would go off to enter. He preemptively turned the machine off and shook Kurts shoulder gently.

"Hey, time to get up. Good morning."  Kurt burrowed further into the blankets, cursing the sky, the world, and Blaine in a heavily muffled voice. The first time hed woken his master this way, the words had alarmed Blaine but hed quickly discovered that Kurt didnt mean anything by it. He just really hated waking up. 

"Kurrttt, I have coffee," Blaine encouraged.

That did it. Like a bottle nosed dolphin popping its face out of the water, Kurt surfaced from the sea of bedding.  He reluctantly pulled himself upright and reached blindly for the cup, his eyes screwed shut. Blaine carefully set the mug in his grip, trying and failing to contain his chuckle.

"Thank you," Kurt croaked. After a few minutes he was able to offer Blaine a good morning. Blaine sat at the edge of the bed, wondering how he was going to do this.

"Can we talk about something, Kurt?"

"Of course, anything. Are you okay?" Kurt asked, instantly coming out of his sleep stupor.

"Yes, Im fine. Thank you. I just...its a beautiful day and I really want to go outside for a run," Blaine blurted out.

"So go. You have plenty of time while I make breakfast for the masses and get ready."

"I cant. Sam is asleep and Rachel is gone. I dont have anyone to act as escort."

"You dont need an escort, Blaine. Just take your cell with you."  Kurt had given him a smart phone loaded with everyones numbers Blaines third day at the house and taught him how to use it. Blaine loved it, making frequent use of the music apps.

"Its not that. I know you dont mind. But its not safe for me to go alone. Id risk getting beat up or even stolen." 

Kurt lowered the coffee cup and stared at him in confusion.  "What on earth are you talking about?"

Blaine sighed, staring at the sheets between them. "Im a slave, Kurt. Your slave. You had to have noticed that most slaves wear collars."  He paused, really not wanting to discuss this.  "At first I thought you hadnt put one on me because you werent sure you were keeping me, but Sam said that wasnt the case. Then I waited, wanting to show you how much I could do for you, that I was worth marking. But you say that youre proud of me all the time, and youve sunk several grand into clothes for the show that are specifically tailored to my size, so Im fairly confident at this point that you have no intention of getting rid of me."

"What? Of course Im keeping you. And I am proud of you. Everyone here adores you. Why would you think youd be going anywhere and what does this have to do with a collar?"

"Kurt," Blaine rubbed his eyes. "Sam said I would have to explain this to you, but I really hoped to avoid it. Slaves are property. You mark the property you own. Cars have license plates, clothes get labels, slaves wear collars."

"Collars are for pets. You arent a pet, Blaine. You know where home is and if someone wants to know where you belong, you can just tell them."

"They wont ask, Kurt. And they may not allow me to volunteer the information. Generally, slaves lack collars for two reasons. One, they have no owner. Theyre either run aways or have been thrown out. Either way they dont last long and are frequently beaten to death for fun or euthanized by the city as litter. The second reason is that they do have a owner, but they arent considered valuable enough to bother with. Usually because theyre still being tried out, or the cheap one they were bought with broke and they werent valuable enough to bother with getting a replacement for."

Kurt stared at him, speechless. Blaine hunched in on himself, hating the horrified expression on Kurts face. He shouldnt have said anything; he could live without a damn collar.

"Im so sorry, Blaine. I had no idea you felt like you werent valued or were afraid to go outside by yourself. And Id never risk your safety if I knew there were things I could do to help. I just wish youd told me sooner."

Blaine nodded, his eyes downcast. "I dont really feel unvalued here. Everyones really kind to me and you make me feel special all the time. I just didnt want to have to talk about this. You didnt understand the significance, and I knew it would upset you to talk about it. But...I do need one. Im sorry, Kurt.  But if you want people to leave me alone, a decent collar is kinda vital."  Blaine leaned forward to place a kiss to Kurts cheek, the gesture having become fairly commonplace between the two of them. Feeling awful for smacking Kurt across the face with reality, he quietly left the room so Kurt could get ready.

Kurt was supposed to make breakfast that morning, but begged off. Instead he sent the lot of them to Panera Bread Co with a company credit card. Without really discussing the matter, they ordered the food to go and ate at a park picnic-style.  Sam said it was a great day to eat outside, but Blaine knew it was really so that the staff wouldnt protest his presence in the restaurant. His assurance that it wasnt necessary, he could wait outside, had been ignored. Rachel had gone as far as to huff and Finn just rolled his eyes affectionately.

This wasnt a Sam/Blaine day in the office with Kurt, Rachel and Quinn were scheduled. When they came down barely an hour later, having been released for the day Blaine became concerned. He wanted to check on Kurt but he didnt know if hed be welcome.  He worried that Kurt was mad at him. 

Kurt took off on errands during lunch, and no one saw him return, though they heard foot steps upstairs. Blaine stayed up late into the night, sitting on the couch and worrying. He finally switched off whatever movie he hadnt been watching and headed for his room.  Blaine froze at the door.  A jewerly-type white box rested in the center of his bed with a note tucked beneath it.  After a minute, Blaine sat down on the bed and slowly opened the lid.

The collar was stunning. He reached into the box with shaky fingers to pick it up. It was feather light and the expensive dark leather felt butter soft against his fingertips. Gold thread intricately bordered either side of the slim strap. Blaine recognized hand stitching now, and realized that Kurt had most likely made this. It explained what hed been doing with his day. The trademark styalized KH of Kurt Hummel Designs, also hand stitched, was perfectly centered in the same gold thread. There was an indent on the inner side with a property of with Kurts name and cell number stamped into the leather. The snap buckle was a dark brass colored, lightweight metal that accented the gold thread and dark leather perfectly. The clasp was under laced with more leather so that the metal never actually contacted Blaines skin. A narrow but thick D-ring was pressed laterally and held with a snapped strap so it couldnt accidentally catch on anything or mar the collars symmetry.

Blaine slid it around his neck and sealed the clasp. He wasnt the least bit surprised to find it was a perfect fit: not so tight as to be uncomfortable, not so loose that it would slide and cause skin irritation.

He reached for the note:

Blaine-
I would have given this to you the first day I brought you home if I had any inkling that it would make you feel more secure or provide safety. I should have thought it through more carefully. Im sorry. As you probably guessed, this is a Kurt Hummel Original. If it doesnt fit right or theres something youd like changed, let me know and I can make you another. The clasp is a break-away, so you dont need to worry if someone ever puts you in slave-lock. Just tense your neck and tug hard and the buckle should pop right open. Feel free to try it out, it wont cause any damage. You said a collar represented value. I designed this to scream tastefully expensive so loudly that people would know at a glance that youre treasured.

-Kurt

The tears Blaine had been holding back as he examined the leather strap were flowing freely by the time he finished reading the note.  He took the collar off his neck, dropping it onto his nightstand. Hed definitely test the break away feature in the morning.  Blaine turned off his light and headed for Kurts darkened room at the end of the hallway. He didnt hesitate to climb under the sheets, crowding close to Kurts unconscious form.

"Wha..Blaine? You okay, honey? Bad dreams again?"  Kurt asked groggily, reaching to pull Blaine in for a cuddle.

"No. No nightmares. I just went to my room for the first time today a few minutes ago,"  Blaine replied, placing his head against Kurts chest to snuggle in.

Kurt stilled a moment as his brain woke enough to remember why that mattered.  "Oh." His hand moved up to stroke Blaines neck.

"Ill try not to wear it in the house,"  Blaine softly answered the surprised noise Kurt made when he felt only skin.  "But it is beautiful, and perfect," he kept the just like you part of that sentence to himself. "Thank you, Kurt." 

Kurt hummed in response, his thumb gently stroking along Blaines neck, clearly enjoying feeling the skin unobstructed by leather. "Youre welcome. Good night, Blaine."

Wrapped securely in Kurts arms, Blaine sighed in contentment. "Good night, Kurt."
_____________________________________________________________

"Well, look who finally grew a pair," Sam said cheerfully as a sweaty, gross Blaine came in the house, fresh from a fantastic morning run. Dressed in expensive running gear, wearing his perfect new collar, Blaine had confidently taken off on the running path at dawn.

Blaine touched the soft leather encircling his neck absently. Finally having a collar was a relief, and having one so obviously high quality still amazed him. Blaine was mostly touched though, with the thoughtful addition that blocked a slave lock. Slave-lock was a common way to contain slaves and the method most frequently used to hold them at sales and auctions. The slaves hands were zip-tied behind their back and a collar and leash, often a cheap-one piece about the same type as disposable dog leashes, was attached to the slaves neck. The hook on the other end of the leash was a simple thumb latch. It didnt require any kind of lock or key, making the set up quite convenient. As long as the handle was hooked above the level of their hands, the slave had no way of removing the simple device. It was quick, dirt cheap, and typically quite effective. He had always hated being helplessly hooked to a wall like that.

Blaine shrugged at Sams words. "Had to be done. Kurt didnt love the conversation, but he made me this right after we talked." 

Quinn was demurely perched on the arm of the chair Sam was siting in. Posed together like that, it was obvious why they were so often called the Barbie Twins. Though hopefully, genuine twins never made the sounds those two did at night.

"Its a lovely collar, Blaine. Kurt should consider adding them to his line."

"You can suggest it, but Im pretty sure it wont happen. I dont think he intends to make them for anyone but me."  The lovely blonde shrugged, sipping from her glass.

"Anyway, Blaine. Go shower ASAP and put on something form fitting.  Meet us in the back yard in an hour," Sam told him.

"Uhm. Yes, of course. Am I in trouble?" Hed been scheduled to work with Kurt.

"Nope. But Kurts got plenty up there to occupy his time and Ive claimed you for the day. You, my friend, need to learn to strut."
------------------------------------------------------

Showering quickly, Blaine threw on a black tank top and black stretch pants. A quick glance in the mirror on his way out froze him stiff. The slave boy from the hotel stared back at him.  Blaine hadnt realized when getting dressed that hed inadvertently put on the same uniform hed worn every day of his previous life. Blaine heart started pounding; he sensed eyes scanning him, evaluating his body, deciding just how they wanted to use him. He flinched, feeling the phantom hands of strangers on his skin, holding him down, having him.  He couldnt breathe. 

He started tugging frantically on the shirt, trying to yank it off and getting tangled in the straps.  He was trapped.  No! Realizing he could feel a panic attack setting in, Blaine forced himself to still his actions.  Breathing slow and deep to calm and reorient himself, Blaine straightened his back, slowly untangled himself.  After a few minutes of calming breaths, Blaine looked deliberately back into the mirror. The man staring back had lines of muscle on his arms. His face no longer looked gaunt, hed fleshed out a bit with unlimited to access to food. He stood tall, not hunched in submission, and looked at ease in a way Blaine had never been able to afford in the past. He wore a beautiful, expensive, hand-crafted leather collar.  Blaine knew that if he wanted to, he could trot up the stairs, joke with, tease, even flirt a little with his owner until the beautiful man broke out in that light, warm laughter that Blaine adored.

He could slip into bed with that same man any evening (and frequently did). Blaine would be held close all night, safe from nightmares. Or maybe hed do the holding, pulling Kurts firm, silky body against his, hearing the purr of contentment Kurt let out when he was too sleepy and comfortable to notice the sound. Blaine was nothing like the abused, barely tolerated boy hed been. He tucked his shirt back down, aborting his plans to put on a different color. He looked good in black.

His aborted panic attack had him running late so he made a brief pit stop at the kitchen, grabbing a protein bar and an apple on his way to the back yard. The blondes were already out there. Sam was fiddling with an IPOD speaker while Quinn stretched out elegantly in a long lawn chair. A length of red carpet spanned the length of the yard.

"There you are," Sam began, grinning excitedly. "Take a seat.  Walking Like Youre the Hottest Shit on the Planet 101 will begin shortly."  Blaine took a spot on one of the chairs.

"Okay, so theres an art to the runway swagger. Its not just stand, strike a pose and leave. There will be a sea of people, bright lights, tons of flash photography and super loud, usually awful, music. From the moment you set foot out there until youre back in the wings, you need to own that stage. All those people, all that stuff, is there for you. They all want to look at you and thats exactly how it should be. Youre are sexy as fuck and deserve to be adored."

"Its not that simple, of course," Quinn added. "But thats a healthy mindset. Thinking, knowing, youre gorgeous is a very important part of being attractive.  Confidence is one of the greatest aphrodisiacs in the world. If you know everyone wants you, theyll sense that and respond."  She smiled innocently, a look Blaine had learned concealed a devious and intelligent mind.

"Next, you need to know how to move.  Graceful, fluid, like your joints are made of water. Sharp, jerky movements arent nearly as pretty as flowing, artful poses. Let me show you what I mean."  She rose from her spot on her chair and walked over to the far end of the carpet. "Hit it," she called to Sam, arching her chin imperiously.

The radio burst to life. Im too sexy for my love...too sexy for my love loves going to leaavee.  As the cheesy pop music kicked on, Blaine started to laugh.

At the other end of the lawn, Quinn yelled "Really?!" at Sam who only laughed back.

He plopped down next to Blaine with a wink. "Work it gurl, you got this!!" He hollered encouragingly.

Quinn paused for a moment in consideration, then smiled sweetly, delicately flipping Sam the bird.  And she stepped onto the carpet. Her posture changed, becoming haughty, arrogant...and sexy. She strolled down the carpet, managing to move quickly but still appear unhurried. She stopped mid way, turning sideways for invisible cameras to admire.   She kept her arms away from her body, first on a popped hip, them one over the shoulder, then smoothly oozed back into motion, each step slinky. She froze at the end, her gaze locked on Sam, the cold stare she gave him screamed she was too good for him and knew it. She held the pose a second before spinning and walked back, swaying her hips rhythmically with each step. Her movements declared that if her ass wasnt being stared at, it should be.

As she reached the far end Sam whooped, standing and clapping. "Ohh, Ice-princess. Me-love-you-long-time."

Quinn laughed, curtseying gracefully. "Now, reset the song," she called down. Sam hit reset and the masculine voice again began cataloging things he was too sexy for. When Quinn walked this time, it was like a different girl was on the carpet. Her motions were similar, but she didnt slink and they were rougher. Her smile was vacant, and she wasnt taking in the audience. She did the same pause, but twisted hard and froze. When she popped a hip it wasnt a smooth motion and looked almost robotic. She was still stunning, but this girl didnt command the audiences attention like the one whod walked before her. Blaine had the feeling that this second walk could be done half naked and wouldnt be as compelling as that first time. Quinn made her way to them, looking over their heads, taking the same position she had previously. Blaine suddenly understood the difference between striking a pose and owning it.  As Quinn turned to walk back, her steps were less graceful, still pretty but not as dynamic as her hip sway from earlier. Quinn could probably make sweat pants look sexy when she moved like that.

She returned, settling back into her chair. Sam turned off the radio, joining them.  "And that, right there, is everything you need to know about the runway walk," Sam told him in obvious admiration. "That second walk was pretty standard for a beginner. Youll see a lot of that. People that think being pretty is enough. Its not. It takes practice and hard work to make being sexy look so effortless."

"How do I learn to move like that?" Blaine asked, awed and charmed.

Quinn smiled, accepting the praise as her due. "Honestly? Practicing with Sam and myself will get you where you need to be, but if you want be really good, Ive always found the best way is to dance. Nothing teaches you how to use your body better than dancing. Its also fun and great cardio. You dont have to do ballroom. Actually, something freeing like salsa, swing, or even unchoreographed club-style dancing is really good. You get used to feeling the beat and how to move your body."

She leaned forward, "Thats actually my own personal method. I play a melody in my head as I walk and move in time to my own music. That way it doesnt look like Im stuck on whatevers playing out loud and helps keep my movements consistent and even."

Sam was up next. Blaine sat back, excited to see what the muscular model could do.  Quinn messed with the radio a bit before making her selection. Apparently picking songs for the other person was part of the game. A scratchy record mix started up followed by a background voice repeatedly declaring that funk will get ya. 

Sam crowed at the far end in approval. He rolled his hips a bit as the melody built. Then he set foot on the carpet and Blaine was stunned.

Dont be shocked, by the tone of my voice, check out my new weapon, weapon of choice...

While Quinn was a Disney Princess made flesh, Sam was SEX. He strode down the carpet, managing to slightly sway his hips in a way that was still masculine, just enough to make his stride fluid. He struck a pose in the exact same place Quinn had.   Instead of popping a hip, he slid his arms behind his back, causing his chest to pop forward and his wide shoulders to straighten. His mouth wore a casual grin that made it clear he knew just how good he looked but there was a very definite chance he might be into you. His stage persona was very real, a contrast to Quinns beauty from afar. Sams steps were wide but straight and he moved in time with the music. His gestures were sharper then Quinns but they worked for him. He posed when he reached the end, warm eyes locking with Blaines, a smoky intensity that seethed with heat and left the slave nearly panting. Sam relaxed his posture, hands casually sliding into his pocket, one leg slightly forward and smiled enticingly.  Clearly the man-about-town was prowling. He turned after the pause, walking back like he owned the place, unhurried and smooth.

"What do you think?" an amused voice murmured in Blaines ear, causing him to leap half out of his chair. A familiar hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "If we jump him at the same time can we can bring him to the ground? Either way, wrestling against that body is a win." 

"I was thinking more along the lines of taking the hose to him," Blaine whispered back in amusement. "For his own good. He clearly needs to be cooled down before he bursts into flame.  And that white tee hes wearing would get tragically soaked and stick to his abs."  Blaine curled his fingers around Kurts on his shoulder, leaning back slightly.

Sam might be hotter than the sun, but Blaine would choose the trim waist, long legs, and flawless skin of his owner any day. Kurt was warm and likeable and didnt scream Player like the blonde model.  Kurts sweetness and regard, added to a gentle beauty all his own, made him more attractive than all of Sams muscle. It was like Quinns displays, Blaine realized. Kurt was her first walk, desirable and beautiful and perfect, while Sam was the second, still amazing, definitely hot, but not quite right. And Kurt was just as unavailable to him as the Disney Ice Princess.
______________________________________________

Walk practice was added to Blaines standard routine. Sometimes it was Quinn, sometimes Sam, or both. Rachel took a few turns as well, schooling Blaine in poses, explaining how to hold an arm or leg the exact right angle to best showcase what he was wearing. She was all about technique, and it clearly worked for her. Rachels walks were serene and silk, proud with just enough arrogance to pull attention. She was her own brand of striking, different than the Barbie twins, a little more raw and less polished, but no less amazing for the difference.

He also danced. Blaine had long ago forgotten how much he used to love to dance. Now that he was reacquainting himself with the activity, he never wanted to stop. He would turn the music on in his room and just move, letting go of self awareness or agenda, losing himself to fun and rhythm. The first time Kurt had caught him in the act hed turned beet red, horribly embarrassed. Kurt had just laughed, told him he was adorable beyond words and kissed his cheek.

Sometimes Kurt would even dance with him, rocking out and swaying his hips to Beyonce or Lady Gaga. To make up for embarrassing him, Kurt once trotted out in a glitzy unitard and showed Blaine his patented coming-out-to-Dad dance. As he strutted his stuff, swaying his hips so hard Blaine worried about damage, he theatrically mimicked a ringless finger in time to the lyrics. Blaine laughed so hard he was crying by the time Kurt was done. He plopped next to Blaine on the bed, elbowing him and mock scowling at his laughter. Blaine couldnt help but hug him tight while he continued to chuckle, relishing the sweaty body hugging him back. "I loved it," he told Kurt honestly. Blaine turned his head away when he realized what he really meant was I love you.

Blaine didnt worry overly much about his newfound discovery that he was hopelessly in love with his owner.  By necessity, he had become very self aware and honestly, it didnt really surprise him. It was practically inevitable, given their relationship. And Kurt was extremely loveable. Blaine was actually surprised it had taken as long as it did for him to fall for the beautiful, amazing designer.  Of course, it didnt change anything.

He spent as much time as he could with Kurt. And if he occasionally mourned the future when someone else would realize how perfect Kurt was and take his breath away, he wanted happiness for his friend. Blaine braced himself for the inevitable heart-break of watching Kurt be with someone else, picturing it in his head frequently so he could get used to the idea. It really was the only way it could be. Even if Kurt for some inexplicable reason might some day reciprocate Blaines feelings, what could the slave offer? He couldnt take Kurt anywhere, buy him presents, treat him like he deserved. There was no hope for his infatuation and Blaine made his peace with that, choosing to treasure as much of Kurt as he could have. It was already so much more then hed dared to hope for.