It was raining that day, just lightly, and he'd sat through the process of the painless chemical brand without saying a word. He figured if he did speak, he wouldn't be able to control his voice or keep the sheer force of his relief from showing all over his face.

Dom. I'm a Dom. Everything is perfect. Everything is going to be okay.

He couldn't stop himself from pausing at every mirror for the rest of the day to stare at the full dark star behind his jawbone. Any pretence of calm went out the window when his father threw him the car keys and told him to go buy the cuff that he knew he'd always secretly wanted.

Kurt's cuff was perfect.

It was always going to be something simple, that much he'd planned years in advance, even if he never truly told anybody but his father. Simple was the plan, the elaborate would be saved for his some-day Sub. A notion that - back then - left him blushing and smiling dopily at the very thought.

But his cuff was elegant, designed to match any outfit. It had the perfect combination of masculine and feminine; the black leather of the cuff itself paired with the multitude bangle cut, trimmed with silver. Just complicated enough to meet Kurt Hummel's fashion requirements, and just simple enough not to be gaudy.

Instead of wearing his matching Sub's bracelet over his cuff, as most young Doms did, he'd put it into a box and clipped it shut. He kept the box high on his shelf, on display; a quiet reminder that someday, he would have somebody to give it to.

As the years passed, slowly the box began to pave its own little path through his room with every re-adjustment of the decor. First down to a bookcase, then behind his magazines, and finally into the cupboard. Out of sight, out of mind.

When he woke on Monday morning, he climbed out of bed with a sleepy smile and went about his routine, pulling on the outfit he'd laid out the night before. He admired his ensemble in the mirror, reaching up to carefully pluck at the swoop of his hair when a glint of light off his cuff made him blink.

He paused, eyes wandering to his cupboard doors.

Sometimes - very rarely, but just sometimes - he would get out the bracelet and look at it. He'd chosen it so carefully, had known it was the right one the instant he saw it and fell in love with the little meanings he'd found in the design.

It was the perfect opposite to his. Small, where his was large, and detailed where his cuff was simple. More silver than black, the tiny engraved swirl that made up the pattern was intertwined in twos; just like he'd always dreamed he'd be, someday, with someone.

When he pulled the box down from the wardrobe shelf this time and flicked the clasp, he felt a strange sense of peace at the sight of it. Still there, still as stunning as he remembered.

He didn't know what possessed him to take it out, to brush his fingers over it carefully and secure it around his cuff - where it belonged - for the first time. He shrugged it off as indulging a random flight of fancy before he snapped the box shut, and tossed it onto his bed.

By the time he found his way out and made breakfast, his Dad had already left for an early shift at the shop, and Carole was watching him with an amused smile.

He blinked at her when he noticed.

"What?"

"Someone's in dreamland," she mused. "Strange how I don't hear the washing machine going this morning."

Kurt's mouth fell open to defend himself, but no words came past the mortification and the blush creeping right to the roots of his hair.

"Oh, calm down. I raised Finn," she said fondly. "You have nothing be embarrassed about."

He decided focusing on his cereal was an excellent plan. Wow, bran was fascinating. Were those raisins? Wow.

"So who is he?" She prodded at Kurt's side playfully as she passed him to put her bowl in the sink.

Shifting on his feet, he dodged her hand and laughed, unable to tame the beet-red flush to his features. "No - nobody. There's nobody!"

"Uhuh," she said knowingly.

"I …" His voice trailed off and he pushed a spoonful around in the bowl.

He always liked Carole. Something about her sweet and playful Sub nature was unique, utterly genuine and completely endearing.

"I may have…" he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, "made a new friend."

"I knew it!" she said. "Sub?"

"Yes, but-" he stuttered, embarrassed again. "Just a friend. Just - we're friends."

"Wait, is this the boy who presented?" She gasped in delight. "Kurt!"

"No, no, no!" he said, spinning to face her and taking both her hands where they were raised excitedly in the air. "It's not like that. Friends. We - we're just friends!"

She beamed at him, settling and letting her shoulders drop. "If you say so," she said with mock gravity.

He shot her a playful glare, letting go of her wrists and twisting his cuff around absently.

The realisation that it had been over a week since his last uncomfortable, sexually charged dream hit him all at once, and he stepped back to lean against the kitchen counter, stunned.

She eyed him for a moment. "It's normal."

Kurt fixed her with a questioning look.

"Your Sub friend, you touch him a lot - interact, I mean?"

He nodded carefully.

"It's completely normal," she assured him gently. "Your body's just - it's finally getting something it needed very badly. So everything is balancing out."

Considering for a moment, he turned and scooped up his bowl, moving to wash up.

He wondered to himself, if that was true, had Blaine facing the same sudden rush of relief since they became friends? Had he been dealing with the same problems before this? Had he been writhing in bed every morning, lost in fantasy and sweat-soaked sheets, aching for someone under his body, someone to taste and worship and-

Kurt froze, letting his eyes fall shut as he braced himself against the sink. Don't.

"You okay, sweetie?"

"Fine," he said lightly, smiling at Carole over his shoulder. "I have to go pick Blaine up, I'm giving him a lift to school."

"His name is Blaine?" she asked with a teasing smile.

Kurt rolled his yes. "Yes, his name is Blaine."

"Alright, be safe," she said, patting him on the shoulder as she passed. "Have a good day!"

"I will," he said. "You too."

He'd found driving to the Andersons' house to be a strange and calming experience now. It became a new routine, the drive there and back to McKinley, the radio playing in the car while they sat peacefully and let the morning sunshine wash over them. They'd go for coffee, meet again for lunch, and drive home together at the end of each day.

Without realising it, Kurt began to track his school days by the three times he knew he'd see him again.

But the absence of Blaine became a slow and painful crawl of hours, especially when the old familiar punishments resumed. He was riddled with bruises from locker-slams and random dumpster throws by the end of the next week, but privately grateful for it. A few scrapes didn't matter, and the fact that their focus was back on him was almost a comfort.

It was a Tuesday morning, on the roads between the Lima Bean and McKinley, when the radio changed songs and Kurt started singing along. He sang most mornings after the caffeine had kicked in, and the words and lyrics swam around in his head easily with the relaxation of the drive.

Blaine settled back into his seat with a sleepy smile and listened for awhile. His eyes unfocused after the first verse, trailing over the dash, and he didn't seem to register until Kurt was staring at him that he'd been singing along quietly to the chorus.

"What?" Blaine asked, stunned.

"You-" Kurt glanced back to the road, and to Blaine again, and returned his focus to driving. "You were singing."

Blaine smiled. "I like the song."

"You - can sing?"

He shrugged. "I … guess. I just sing at home, mostly."

Kurt wet his lips, still stunned at what he'd just heard. How did he not know Blaine could sing?

"But… you sounded. Really good, Blaine, you … you …" He let out a tiny noise as he tried to get out the words. "You're really good," he insisted breathlessly.

Blaine rocked in his seat, eyelashes fluttering and mouth twitching around a delighted grin. Kurt could feel the strange prickle of a change on the air, the way Blaine seemed to completely open up under the praise; legs shifting, shoulders pressing back, eyes bright and bubbling with something akin to bliss.

His brow lifted. "I … thank you."

"Have you ever thought about joining Glee club?" Kurt asked.

Shaking his head, Blaine laughed. "Oh, no. No. I just sing in the shower, I'm not-"

"Keep going?"

Blaine stared at him. "What?"

They pulled to a stop at a red light, and Kurt's huge blue eyes locked on him, eager and illuminated with a strange sense of comfortable power. "Sing for me."

Straightening in his seat, Blaine seized a sharp breath, shivering under the command. He listened at the pause, waiting for the next song and smiling when the soft prickle of the guitar came through the car speakers. His gaze drifted out to the passing sidewalk as the car rolled on again at the change of lights.

Kurt listened, using any stretch of straight road to look at Blaine while he sang.

Love me tender, love me sweet,
Never let me go.

It was a cover version; some gentle female tone that didn't matter at all, lost under the steady, warm current of Blaine's voice. He was stronger this time, deliberate and sure of himself like Kurt had never seen him before. The song seemed to sink into him, to light him up from the inside, and the love of it resonated in every note.

They stopped in the McKinley car park as the song faded out, and Kurt cut the engine, drawing a deep breath.

"That was -"

Blaine was silent in the passenger seat, watching him carefully.

"You have a wonderful voice," Kurt said, shifting to face him and reaching out to hold his shoulder. "You should."

"Should?"

"Join Glee."

"I- couldn't, I mean," Blaine shook his head, "I don't have the kind of … I mean-"

"You can see it, when you sing," Kurt told him. "How much you love it."

Blaine laughed softly, ducking his head. "I do."

"Why are you swimming, Blaine? Why aren't you pursuing this?" Kurt asked.

"I just feel… like I'm me. When I sing. Not … a Sub. Or a jock. Or another … scared gay teenager. I'm just," he shrugged, "me."

Kurt rubbed at his shoulder affectionately before sliding a hand up to his hair, threading fingers through the curls at the back of his neck. He leaned in with a smile.

"Join Glee, then," he insisted. "People like you are why we even have Glee club."

Blaine smiled weakly, swaying against Kurt's hand for more contact.

"I can't." He sighed, "I wish I could. But you know I have swim practice Tuesdays - today - same time as Glee. And it would mean… It'd mean putting myself out there. Even more than I already have."

Trying not to let his disappointment show on his features, Kurt nodded in understanding.

"I want to," Blaine insisted, meeting his gaze with bright, sincere eyes. "I'm just not ready yet."

"That's okay, too," Kurt told him, nodding to the school before he rocked back and reached for his door handle. "Come on."

It didn't take long for the day to wind down to the usual pitiful crawl, one class after another leaving Kurt staring at the clock, waiting for lunch. Even when it finally came around it felt too short, seemingly lasting mere moments before Blaine was squeezing his arm goodbye and disappearing again.

At least they'd have the afternoon, after practice and Glee club. He'd convinced Blaine to come over for dinner, something he'd been looking forward to since the weekend.

He loved Glee, he always had, but Blaine's admission from the morning was still lingering in his thoughts. With the awareness of the strength it took for them to stand up and be seen, he'd found a renewed respect for the Subs of New Directions, and all they went through just to do what they loved.

So when Mr Schuester scribbled "strong" on the board and began waxing poetic about fortitude, Kurt couldn't help but bristle in irritation.

"You guys need to be able to feel like you can be yourselves out there, but take it to the next level! Tina, Sam, Quinn," he waved an arm at them expectantly, "guys, you've gotta step up. As much as Rachel does for all of us, I need you to stop hiding behind her and come out into the spotlight."

"Said the Dom," Kurt muttered to himself bitterly, and earned a tiny appreciative look from Tina for it.

By the time the meeting had ended, he'd spent half of it leaning against his hand, elbow perched on the back of his seat, trying not to openly glare. At their dismissal he gathered his bag quickly, darting out the door and making his way through the halls to the pool.

The reflection of lights off the water sent glowing patterns dancing across the concrete walls, and he watched them flicker past as he wandered down to the locker room where he usually found Blaine after practice.

When he was met with an empty change room, he stopped in his tracks, glancing around in confusion.

"Blaine?"

The showers weren't running, there was no lingering steam.

It wasn't like him to be late.

"Blaine?" he called again, poking his head around each corner as he searched.

Panic seized his lungs when he caught sight of Blaine's bag, slumped on the floor by his locker.

"Blaine?" This time he heard the unmistakable fear in his own voice.

There was a peal of heavy, distant laughter, followed by a chorus of voices jeering. The sound sent red hot sparks of anger up his spine, coiling and fusing somewhere in his chest.

He snatched up the bag quickly, pulling it over his shoulder and racing out the side door towards the bleachers.

No. NO.

"Come on, now, be a good little doggy and come here."

Kurt's jaw locked. That was Carter's voice.

They waited for this. They waited to get him alone.

When he reached the sidelines he caught the outline of Blaine past the clump of red and yellow. He was on his hands and knees, hair still wet from the pool, and his jacket was half-off his shoulders as he trembled on the ground.

"Come HERE!" Carter demanded again as the others laughed.

"Get away from him!" Kurt shouted angrily, casting his bags to the ground.

They turned as a pack at the sound of his voice, and Carter smirked, throwing his hands up. "Looks like we've got a party now!"

Kurt ignored him, pushing in and trying to get to Blaine, only to be shoved backwards. He stumbled, barely keeping his balance as he shifted and craned his neck to see past them.

Blaine's head was bowed, his expression set and unreadable as he blinked down at the grass. His body was locked and rigid, like he was fighting a heavier force pressing down on him, and Kurt realised what it was as Carter's words finally made sense; the repeated instruction of come here.

They were giving him orders. And he was using every ounce of strength in his body to resist.

"We've been having fun with the doggy," Carter said, reaching out and pushing at Blaine with his foot, trying to to tip him over.

Blaine's muscles locked down again as he rocked with the force, but kept himself upright.

"He's been a bad dog, haven't you boy? Going around wearing a jacket that doesn't belong to you."

Blaine flinched bodily, mouth twisting at the words.

Kurt felt his stomach curl with nausea when he realised they probably made him put himself in that position.

"Blaine," he called out.

Blaine's gaze flicked up at the sound of his voice.

When he met those huge, terrified eyes, it only took a moment for Kurt to feel it tearing through his chest, coiling tight in his veins; pure, unfiltered rage, and power.

Protect.

"Get away from him," Kurt told them calmly.

He was met with a round of laughter and a few exchanged glances, but it barely registered past the demands that burned in his blood. Claim. Defend. Protect.

"Or what, fag?" another one of them asked.

Kurt fixed him with a cold stare.

"What exactly are you all accomplishing? You're so strong, beating down a Sub," he said darkly, and privately enjoyed the ripple of shame that showed on at least two or three of them when the words landed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Carter said lightly, stepping around Blaine. "We were just having fun, weren't we doggy?"

Blaine seized a breath, shoulders rising defiantly. "Fuck you," he said, and spat onto the grass.

A proud smile lit up Kurt's features at the display of strength, and he focused on Carter.

"I promise you," he said, "that if you touch him again, I will make sure everybody hears about it. I will make sure that everybody knows exactly what you are."

There was a murmur of shock amongst the pack, and a few worried glances flickered between them.

Everybody knew what it meant, if you were outed as a violent Dom. Schoolyard bullying was one thing, but to be labelled a Sub-beater meant the end of every relationship for the rest of your life. The accusation was huge - and in this case, just big enough to make them move away slowly.

"You wouldn't," Carter said as he stepped back, but Kurt caught the exquisite note of doubt in his tone.

"You can't even begin to imagine what I'm capable of right now," he insisted, reaching out both hands.

He let his eyes drop to Blaine for a moment, and nodded at him once.

Blaine pushed up onto his feet with a pained grunt, stumbling into Kurt's arms and slipping behind him, shielded by his body. He buried his face against Kurt's shoulder, clinging to his waist as he tried to breathe.

"You can call it whatever you want," Carter shot back. "You're gonna threaten me? We'll see about that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You can't watch your little bitch forever," he sneered. "You've got no hold on him. He owes us for every day he wears that jacket - his ass is ours, the second you're not looking."

Kurt stiffened at the threat, chest swelling. "I'll-"

"And you can't prove a thing," Carter cut him off. "You want to call me a beater? We'll see how fast that turns on you. Then you'll just look like a faggy little liar."

His heart was pounding too loudly in his ears, hot and painful, drowning everything out. Carter was right. Even if Kurt did label him or call him out, nobody would believe him - Carter had an endless supply of red-jacket jocks to back him up.

When the idea finally struck him, it swept through his body like a flood, like nothing he'd ever felt before. The decision was already made, really. He twisted the bracelet on his cuff with absent fingers.

After a moment, he tilted his head back.

"Blaine?" he whispered.

"Hmh?" Blaine grunted in reply.

"I need you to trust me."

"I do," he said instantly, voice still cracked and shaking.

It happened too fast for him to second guess himself, to reconsider. He turned and caught both of Blaine's wrists, pulling him down to his knees as he dropped onto the sidelines bench.

Kurt locked eyes with him quickly, pleading, hoping he understood.

Blaine held his breath, numb and reeling as his hands lifted to rest open on Kurt's knees.

His body coiled tight and froze as Kurt slipped both hands into his.

To accept a presentation, take both hands of your Sub.

Kurt shivered at the surge of electricity that rode up his spine on contact.

It was done. Blaine was his. And there was nothing they could do about it.

Carter's mouth was hanging open, but it soon snapped shut as his brow dropped into an angry sneer. "What the-"

"Now you don't get to touch him," Kurt said evenly, meeting Carter's stare. "Ever."

Blaine finally let his breath punch out after holding it too long, and he dropped his head onto Kurt's legs, arms folding around them protectively. "Kurt-"

He was silenced by a gentle hand in his still-damp hair.

"You know the law, you know the penalties for touching another Dom's Sub." Kurt lifted his chin at them defiantly. "You want to test me again?"

Speechless and grinding on barely-checked anger, Carter lashed out, kicking at the bench and making it shudder with a loud crack! before he turned and pushed past his startled peers. "This isn't over, Hummel!"

He waited for the last of them to stumble after their leader, practically limping away like bruised sheep.

With an uneven breath, Kurt let his shoulders relax, let his eyes fall closed and tried to rein in the rush of emotions he'd forced down to maintain his calm exterior.

"Kurt," Blaine mumbled against his thigh.

"Are you alright? Let me see you," Kurt instructed quickly, fingers sliding over Blaine's jaw to lift his head.

There was a tell-tale swell at the corner of his eye that would bloom into purple by the morning, and Kurt traced soothing fingers around it, worrying his lower lip absently. "I'm so sorry, Blaine- I should've been-"

"Kurt," Blaine cut him off. His eyes were so dark, and so warm it made Kurt's stomach flip violently. "You- wh-"

Kurt's gaze fell to his wrist, and he unclipped the bracelet quickly, reaching out for Blaine's hand and pressing the metal to skin.

"Here," he said softly, "Please-just-"

He clipped the metal together.

It felt like the hanging pause before an explosion, the pull of silence before the deafening boom. Everything drowned out under the wave of it, crashing like a tidal, lighting up every nerve in his body.

Blaine shuddered against him, eyes rolling back into his head for a split second before they flickered closed. He swayed on his knees with the force, and Kurt moved into the motion, cradling Blaine's head gently to his chest as he curled around his body, keeping him steady and safe.

He'd heard about how intense it could be to be claimed, to claim someone, but he never could have imagined how it would feel.

"I'm so sorry, Blaine, I had to," he whispered, pressing his lips to dark curls. "If there had been any other way-"

Blaine sobbed softly against him, and Kurt felt his heart clench tightly in his chest.

"Shh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

But Blaine just kept saying his name, kept whispering Kurt, over and over again like it was the only word he knew.

"Shh," Kurt hushed him again, stroking his back soothingly, rocking him gently in his arms.

After everything, after fighting so hard against their commands, shaking under all that fear and adrenaline, the intensity of being claimed must have all but ripped him apart.

"It's over. They're gone. They can't touch you, they can't make you do anything," Kurt said in a rush, clutching Blaine tighter to his chest. "Never again. I promise."

It took a few moments for Blaine to fall silent, for his body to loosen and rest against Kurt's chest, head still tucked under his chin.

"You didn't want- you-" he tried to get out, wetting dry lips between words. "Kurt, I'm-"

"I know," Kurt said softly, brushing his thumb over Blaine's jaw and kissing his hair. "It's okay."

"You're mine."