Kurt couldn't believe it had been a year. A year since their wedding day. A year since they signed an official contract.

It was always so overwhelming, when Kurt took a moment to reflect back on their relationship and how far they had come. They'd been through so much together: as friends, as partners, as lovers, as Dom and sub, as husbands. Their relationship certainly hadn't always been easy—at times, it had even been devastating—but from the very first day they met, Blaine had always been a steady presence in Kurt's life, his love unwavering, Kurt suspected, long before Blaine himself had even seen it for what it was.

If someone would have told Kurt in his early teens that he would someday have a relationship like this, he would have laughed or maybe even cried. He would have argued that such a thing couldn't exist, that the world was too imperfect—that Kurt himself was too imperfect and didn't deserve such a thing. Now, he spent each day feeling like the most cherished person on Earth.

Blaine pushed him when he was too afraid to move. Blaine calmed him, grounded him, when the world or his own drive for perfection became too much. Blaine covered him, marked him, punished him, made Kurt feel protected and owned and safe.

Blaine saw Kurt, every part of him, and Blaine loved him unconditionally. Kurt knew that it would never stop feeling like a miracle.

They had shared an amazing day of celebrating—cuddling into the late morning, eating lunch out and then hitting a matinee, followed by a commemorative trip to the zoo where they overloaded on greasy street food and giant ice cream cones. Kurt was happy and giggly, on cloud nine the entire time, but deep down he was waiting. Waiting for the moment they would finally return home, when Blaine would fasten his new collar around his neck before they played.

Blaine had "surprised" him with it this morning (okay, so Kurt kind of suspected, but he wasn't about to let on. He wasn't an actor of off-Broadway fame for nothing!) What was truly a shock—the kind of shock that meant breathless, speechless awe—was how utterly perfect the collar was. Kurt didn't know what he had expected—black leather, maybe, or silk if Blaine was smart. This was something else entirely. This was special.

It was satin on the outside, lined on the inside with a soft grey suede. The color was light, muted but pretty—the exact shade of Kurt's eyes when they were at their bluest. Tiny diamond hearts studded around it, and a heart-shaped plate hung daintily from the middle that read simply "Precious One." On the inside, engraved in delicate cursive where it would sit directly over Kurt's pulse, was Blaine's name.

Kurt's heart had melted when he first saw it, even as it sped with the promise of all that was to come. He was so close to begging Blaine to put it on him now, now! But Blaine already had plans for the evening, had whispered them temptingly into Kurt's ear. And now the evening was finally here.

Their living room set had been a wedding gift from Blaine's parents. Kurt had initially been wary of it—fully prepared for a return if he hated the furniture or it clashed with the new house, and damn their feelings—but to his surprise he fell in love with the set almost immediately. It was comfortable and stylish, subdued enough to work into his own vision but fashionable enough to make a statement. Most importantly, it had been easy to modify to suit their more... unique needs.

Kurt's mind was racing as Blaine laid him out on the couch, removed his clothing and lavished him in kisses; he wondered where this might be going. Blaine's whispers this morning had been enticing but vague. Soon, though—soon he would feel Blaine's collar around his throat, and Blaine would take him under, and it wouldn't matter to Kurt what Blaine had planned. Kurt wouldn't need to think anymore, only obey.

"Blaine, my collar," Kurt breathed sharply as Blaine's mouth worked its way between his legs. "Please..."

Blaine lifted his head to look at him, eyes feral and sparkling, and nodded. Kurt watched, heart racing, as he lifted the collar from its box on the side table. The sight stirred something within him and he rose unprompted, sinking to his knees on the soft carpet, head tilted up as instinct screamed at him to bare his throat.

When Blaine saw him he smiled, dropping to the floor himself and greedily attacking Kurt's neck with lips, teeth, tongue. There would be marks, Kurt thought. Normally Blaine wasn't allowed to leave marks because they were a pain to cover and wouldn't due for Kurt's career, but for tonight he would happily make an exception.

Satisfied, Blaine pulled away after one last affectionate nuzzle. The anticipation was heavy between them, and Blaine's fingers fumbled as he finally brought the material up and fastened it snug around Kurt's skin, checking the fit before leaning back and staring.

"Wow, Kurt," Blaine said, and Kurt couldn't help but preen. "Does it feel okay?"

"It's perfect," Kurt assured him, struggling not to get lost in the dizzy rush of ownership the collar had ignited—not too soon.

"You're beautiful, baby," Kurt could see the darkening of Blaine's eyes, minute cues he'd learned to read well over the past few years. "I wish I could take a picture."

"Another time," Kurt said, feeling himself sinking. "I can't wait right now."

"You'll wait if I tell you to." Blaine's voice, quiet and steady and sure, commanding but forever laced with affection. Kurt's world was narrowing now, bare but for the voice and the body before him.

He felt arms lifting him, wound his own around Blaine's neck. Then the soft material of the chair was beneath him, up against his back. His legs were being bound, and he moved his arms in line with those of the chair automatically.

"No, sweetheart," the voice said. "Not this time." Kurt let them relax at his sides.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes."

"Good," hands on his face, stroking gently. He turned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed, but was firmly redirected, a grip on his chin facing him forward. "Open your eyes, Precious One. I want you to watch me."

Kurt's eyes blinked open and there was Blaine, only Blaine, his hands teasing his own body as he slowly stripped out of his clothing. The sight immediately captured all of Kurt's attention—it would have even without the order—though he was grateful that Blaine had encouraged him to become more alert. Kurt had put on this kind of show for Blaine a thousand times, but Blaine, for all his sexual confidence, had never once done the same. Until now.

No matter how many years they spent together, no matter how old they got, Kurt would never grow tired of his husband's body—he knew this like he knew his own name. Blaine had an organic sensuality about him that Kurt could never hope to copy. It was obvious in his every move, but Kurt cherished most of all that he was the only one that got to experience Blaine at full force—golden, naked skin, smooth-muscled and adorned with an enticing smattering of dark hair. His weight fluctuated often, but not a lot. Kurt loved Blaine with a gentle hint of abs, loved him with the softest round of tummy. Kurt loved Blaine.

And god, the way the man moved! Blaine was down to almost nothing now, and Kurt was painfully and helplessly aware of his own arousal in a way that he almost never was—by now used to ignoring his own body's needs until Blaine decided they were a priority.

Finally, Blaine was naked and coming towards him, climbing over Kurt's lap and settling on his knees. "Don't move," Blaine told him, reaching over to grab a bottle of lube that Kurt had neglected to notice from beside the table lamp.

Blaine slicked his fingers slowly, deliberately, and Kurt was completely mesmerized. He was unprepared for Blaine's lips against his, not quite sure how they got there, but kissed him back with every bit of pent-up passion he was feeling. Then as suddenly as they came they were gone, and Blaine was pivoting in Kurt's lap, turning completely around and leaning over and reaching back and...

Kurt looked on eagerly as Blaine spread his cheeks and began fingering his ass. His own hands tensed, relaxed. Kurt had never before had so much trouble following an order; right now he wanted so badly to touch he could scream.

"Maître!" he called out, voice broken. "Maître, please..."

But Blaine merely worked in a second finger, looked back over his shoulder and smirked. "So warm and tight in here baby. Gonna feel so good around your cock..." he broke off with a groan, Kurt watching powerlessly as he twisted his fingers.

Kurt continued begging, even knowing it was hopeless, his words often breaking off into whines and whimpers that might have embarrassed him were he not so far gone. Finally, three fingers in, Blaine pulled his hand away and grappled for Kurt's cock, slicking it before straightening himself and sinking down onto Kurt in one fluid motion.

They cried out as one, the sudden heat and pressure so overwhelming Kurt nearly came on the spot.

"Touch me," Blaine ground out, an order and a plea. Kurt's hands were on him in an instant, moving desperately over Blaine's sweat-slick thighs, stomach, and chest, thankful at least for this small mercy. Blaine's own hands were holding fast to the chair arms, his body propelling up and down at a pace Kurt could barely tolerate, but Kurt's hips thrust up into him as much as they could all the same.

Blaine was loud, so loud—grunts and groans and moans and whines, and Kurt loved every minute of it. It wasn't often Blaine wanted this, wanted Kurt inside, but when he did he was so powerfully animalistic that Kurt didn't know what he desired more—to consume Blaine, or to grovel at his feet.

Kurt lost himself in it readily, easily—sounds and sweat and rhythm all melding together into the singular experience of being. He didn't register on a conscious level when it began to be too much, his body already accustomed to begging. He needed to come, needed to come, needed to come... but one thing always overpowered that.

"No," Blaine told him, and Kurt somehow found the strength to carry on.

It jarred him when Blaine suddenly stopped, pulled away. Kurt clawed and whined his protest, but Blaine shushed him, turned around and kissed Kurt and shifted Kurt's body and then he was back again, tight and perfect. The angle was more awkward like this, but Kurt hardly noticed.

"Sorry babe," Blaine whispered against his skin, wouldn't stop kissing Kurt's face. "I had to see you. Don't stop touching me."

Kurt's hands settled around Blaine's hips, aiding his movement now that Blaine's own hands were otherwise occupied—one wound into Kurt's hair and the other stroking at his collar. Everything slowed and built again, and Kurt followed along gladly, his eyes open and fixed on Blaine's, Blaine's love in his eyes and his body and his hands and his movement, in Kurt's collar, squeezing tight at Kurt's heart.

Eventually Blaine's hand left his hair, grabbed Kurt's own and fisted it tight around Blaine's cock, stroking together, inching closer. Kurt wanted it—wanted to see his Maître's head thrown back, hear him cry louder still as he fell apart. Unbidden, his remaining hand left Blaine's hip, trailed up his body and tangled in his curls, pulling Blaine's head back so Kurt could lick at his throat. His hips moved faster, and some distant part of his mind worried for a moment if this was okay.

But Maître wasn't protesting, so Kurt knew that it was.

Blaine's hand guided his a little quicker, his body tensing, and Kurt wished he could freeze this moment, stay here with Blaine and be owned and loved and safe forever, never leave home again. Blaine was everything to him—husband and lover and Maître, soulmate and best friend. Blaine.

Blaine was coming, and it was beautiful like it was every time. His come streaked everywhere—on the chair and on Blaine and on Kurt, on his collar; Kurt loved it when he got this, got marked and owned and used like this.

Eventually it stopped and Blaine slumped down against him, his weight a welcome, familiar burden. Kurt wanted more than anything to relax and enjoy, let Blaine take care of him like he always did. But first he wanted to orgasm.

He wasn't quite willing to disturb Blaine with begging, so he whined, thrusting up fruitlessly a few times until Blaine lifted his head and looked at him. Kurt watched as Blaine's eyes zeroed in on his collar, right where he could feel a splatter of drying come, and he groaned as Blaine smiled possessively and reached up to run his fingers over the spot.

"That was so good, baby," Blaine told him, meeting his eyes once more. Kurt couldn't help but smile at the praise, happily accepting Blaine's kiss while his hips continued their feeble attempt to grind upward.

Eyes still fixed on Kurt's, Blaine got up, the teasing slide of him lifting off just as much a shock to Kurt as the sudden rush of air.

"Maître, please," Kurt whined, thrusting into nothing. It was unusual for Blaine to leave him like this, but Kurt had to trust. If he begged more, if he was good...

"Quiet, sweetheart," Blaine said with a playful smile, bending down to untie Kurt's legs. This was not a good sign.

Blaine took a moment to massage each calf, pressing a kiss to both of Kurt's knees before taking his hands and pulling him to his feet.

What Blaine did next was completely unexpected.

Gracefully, Blaine lowered himself to the floor, lying flat on his back. He spread his legs too wide to be anything but an invitation, then looked back up at Kurt.

"Come down here, baby. I want you to fuck me until you come."

Kurt needed no further bidding—he was on his knees then on Blaine then inside, fucking him the best he knew how.

It was strange to be on top of Blaine, but certainly not unwelcome. Blaine's arms wound around his back and held tight, one hand fisting in his hair, his voice in Kurt's ear.

"You're so good for me, sweetheart. So good. I want your come in me; I want to feel it dripping down my thighs. Fuck me so good. So perfect."

If Kurt had been thinking at the moment, it might have occurred to him how oversensitive Blaine probably was. But the best part was that he didn't have to. Maître asked to be fucked, so Kurt fucked him.

It didn't last long—Kurt had been on the edge for what seemed like hours now and Blaine's body felt so good, so right, wrapped completely around his. Blaine's mouth smothered his cry at the last moment and Kurt's pleasure seemed to go on forever, his entire body alight with surrender.

When he came to again Blaine had rolled them over, and Kurt could feel the imprint of the carpet against his back and Blaine's soft, warm lips as they showered kisses all over his face and neck. There was wetness, too—more wetness than usual, and Kurt couldn't figure out which one of them was crying, didn't really want to try to know anything but the comforting press of Blaine's body and the sated heaviness of his every limb.

Slowly the voice returned—Kurt could make out words like "perfect" and "beautiful" and "precious", all the things Blaine knew he loved to hear. He opened his eyes.

It was Blaine. Blaine was crying.

"Hey," Kurt said, smiling weakly and reaching up to cup his husband's face.

"Hi," Blaine answered back.

"Is something wrong?"

Blaine laughed and sniffled. "Of course not, Precious One. Everything's perfect. I'm just having a moment, that's all."

"We have a lot of moments. A lot of good moments," Kurt agreed.

Blaine nodded. "Yeah, that's what I was just thinking. How grateful I am to have you, to have everything we've built. You're kind of everything. I'd do anything for you, I hope you know that, Kurt. I just... I love you so much."

Kurt beamed. "I love you too, Blaine. It goes both ways. Can I get away with a ditto?"

"I suppose I can allow a ditto," Blaine conceded graciously, his smile lighting up his face even through his tears. "So long as you know how I feel."

"I know," Kurt said, fingering his collar, pressing Blaine's hand against his heart, then covering Blaine's heart with his own. "It's all right here."

With all the feelings that had passed between them, there was nothing Kurt had ever felt as strongly, nothing that had ever felt so sure: Blaine's love.

"Happy Anniversary, Blaine," he offered, hoping his simple words might convey so much more.

Blaine's nose nuzzled down into his, an Eskimo kiss. "Happy Anniversary, my Precious One."