Kurt Hummel thought he was the only one of his kind. All through high school, all through college, he’d never met someone like him, which might’ve contributed to him being kind of a bitch. Of course, being kind of a bitch had also gotten him to the top. So it was for the best, really.

That was the little speech he gave himself every day when he woke up.

And this day was no different. He sat up in bed, blearily rubbing him eyes, and felt like screaming when his sheets were sticky again.

He remembered shortly after he’d turned twenty five a few months ago, going to his doctor. After all, that was supposed to stop when he was a teenager, right?

His doctor had just fingered his collar curiously.

“I see you still wear a blank collar.”

“Yes.” Kurt had said tersely.

“Does your mother or father ever enforce it? Train you?” The doctor asked, making a frail attempt at keeping his voice clinical.

“God. Of course not. My mother is dead, and she wouldn’t have… just tell me what it is.” He spluttered before feeling resigned.

“You’re repressing your sexuality, Kurt. An unless you give into it, your subconscious is going to express it. I’m not a physiologist and I can figure that much out.”

“Is there anything…?”

“Well, there are a few things I can do…” The doctor pulled the hem of his lab coat down, showing there was no collar there. Kurt had gotten off the lab table, and told him in no uncertain terms that he would sue if the doctor made such an implication again, and left the facility in a huff.

The threat, however, had consequences- very few doctors would see him now, and he only had so many sets of sheets.

He stripped the newly soiled ones off his bed, and bunched them up to throw them in the laundry basket. He took a towel from the hook on the door and wrapped it around his waist, and then walked to the bathroom, making his shower quick but thorough, because if he had a wet dream, he was probably late for work. He dressed with equal efficiency but the usual flair, and caught sight of himself in the mirror before he left the apartment. His hair was perfect, black jeans encasing his long legs, an impeccable heather gray sweater which he wore more than any other because it hid his collar. He wasn’t as flamboyant as he used to be, because he had no one to dress for. And as much as he told himself that he dressed for himself, the opposite opinion voiced itself in an annoying little refrain every time he tried to dress himself like he did in his high school days.

So he didn’t, anymore. He scooped up the laundry basket, holding it hitched on his hip and heading downstairs to the lobby, swinging a left before the front door and speeding to the laundry room, where he opened the door to the first washing machine he set eyes on and trying not to blush as he dumped the contents of his basket into the machine.

“Wet the bed again?”

He jerked up in surprise, hitting his head on the cabinet of laundry detergent above the machines. Rubbing the back of his hair back into place, he glared at the man who was now standing next to him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Maxwell.”

“Yeah, like hell. I could always smell your come, y’know.” Kurt drew himself to his tallest height, and stared at the other man, opening his mouth to tell him to fuck off, making the words with his tongue and lips, but no sound whatsoever coming out. He grabbed at his throat and felt the collar, and so he kicked the washing machine hard to express his annoyance. Max seemed to enjoy this display, and leaned against the door.

“What’samatter, babe? You were going to say something? Maybe admit how much you still need to get on your knees for me?”

“I have to go to work, Maxwell.” He said tightly, bound by the politeness his nature, his linking to this ungodly human being forced. He stepped aside, and Kurt shot out of the room like a flash, trying to keep himself from running down the hall and out the door. As he speed-walked, he heard Max’s voice behind him.

“You’re a sub, Kurt Hummel. Denying it is driving you crazy. Why not come home? You know I’m the only dom around who’d take an ungrateful, disobedient little-”

And then he was outside, and Max’s voice was as far away as it ever was. He groaned.

He blamed him for all of this. He blamed Max for all of it. In freshmen year, it looked like he would never find a dom, would never be able to accept submission. Ever. He was just as cold as he was now- he abhorred having to be claimed by someone because of stupid nature, and stupid genetics, and, as the teenage him had thought adamantly, it was all just so stupid.

His step-mother, Carol, who wore the same collar as he, and who his father lovingly called pet, had tried to reason with him, but it failed. She extolled the virtue of belonging to someone, of being so very wanted, of knowing who you belonged to, knowing your place in the world.

But all he could see was the collar that lay on her chest, a mirror of his exactly, except this one had little inlaid gems that spelled out the word “pet.”

And all he could focus on was how much he did not want to be an animal.

And then Max came along, and he was so sweet, and so kind, and he seemed so perfect. The perfect gentleman. Sure, he wore no collar, but surely someone so loving couldn’t be a dom. Not a real one, anyway. He’d let himself fall for someone who seemed to worship the ground he walked on. And then, finally, Max had asked if Kurt would like to wear his collar. And because that was better than being alone forever, he allowed the collar to be put on. And when Max steered him toward the mirror, the word on his collar had been so much worse than Carol’s.

Cunt.

And as he gasped in horror, he looked into Max’s eyes, hoping they were light, joking.

What he found was darkness.

***

“You look like you’ve had a rough morning.” Tina greeted him, handing him a coffee cup.

“Understatement of the century.” Kurt said, accepting it, and following her to the office they shared.

“He was there again?”

“I don’t know how he keeps finding me, Tee. Why now, after all these years? Why here? I really want to know why he just happened to move into my apartment building. You should’ve seen me the day he moved in.”

“I did see you.” She smiled, pulling some files from her inbox and laying them on her desk “You were on my doorstep, crying. Scared Leon half to death.”

“How’s he doing.”

“He would permit you moving in with us, Kurt. I didn’t even have to ask.” Kurt sat behind his own desk, and made a face at her, already on the dregs of his coffee.

“What, so he can have two subs? I’m surprised you want to share.” Kurt said, clicking a pen and taking out a leather booklet that held his to-do lists.

“It wouldn’t be like that, and you know it, bitch.” Tina said lightly, opening a file, and frowning down at it.

“I can’t run from him, Tee. That would be practically as bad as submitting.” Tina wasn’t listening. She was closing the file, and pulling the post-it off the top, crumpling it in her hand and hiding that hand behind her back as she got up, and crossed the room to Kurt’s desk.

“One of your files got mixed in with mine again. New case, it looks like.” She put the file down, lollygagging at his desk enough to see Kurt open the file, and gasping.

“Oh my god. This guy needs our help?”

“Your help, looks like. I’m guessing what he was wearing there was the work of his last stylist. You have a meeting with him at three.”

“He’s… He’s fucking glorious.” Kurt said, laughing a little in disbelief.

“Yeah.” Tina smiled a bit, and returned to her desk, throwing the crumpled post-it which read “Cohen-Chang” into the wastepaper basket.

***

He was late.

He was supposed to be meeting his new stylist at the coffee shop at three. It was approaching three thirty, and he was just getting out of the cab. He assumed she would be angry, but patient, seeing as he was a client.

So he walked into the coffee shop with his usual confidence, looking around for some clue as to which patron was the stylist. Someone at a table behind him cleared their throat.

Blaine turned, putting on a winning smile, an apology on his lips, when…

Damn.

A tall, fair skinned boy with a chestnut hair and deep eyes, and Jesus Christ, legs to his fucking nose. Which was a damned cute nose, too.

“Blaine Anderson?” He asked, not bothering to get up. “You’re late.” Blaine sat down across from the beautiful man, slightly unable to be his luck that this was his stylist, that this perfection would be dressing and undressing him.

“I’m Kurt Hummel.” Kurt said, looking at his notes, and not at Blaine.

“Kurt Hummel? Wow. Even I’ve heard of you, and you know how fashionably inept I am, I suppose. You’re my stylist?”

“Seems that way.” Kurt said, coldly. Blaine was undeterred.

“So, you have plans for me, I assume?” And then, for the first time, Kurt Hummel looked up at him, into his eyes, an answer on his lips- an answer that was suddenly cut off by what seemed like an entirely different one.

“Plans, Mast-?” Blaine choked on the coffee that Kurt had set out for him.

“Come again?” He asked. Had Kurt just called him…? Kurt looked horrified.

“I… I said… Plans. Ma-Materials. That would suit your body type.” Kurt managed, looking down, avoiding eye-contact.

Blaine bit his lip. Of course that was all he said. He knew for a fact that Kurt Hummel was a dom. He had to be, there was no way a high powered fashion consultant was a sub. Just no way. Which was really, really annoying, because he’d never seen anyone so attractive and intriguing in his life, and honestly, he’d been too long without a lover. Most of the subs he had in the past didn’t really understand his reasons for punishment of giving pleasure- never really under stood his reasoning at all.

“So in my file, it says you’re an actor. Out, single, dom. Very eligible bachelor feel, is w-what I would go for, am I right, s-” he paused, and took a breath. “Am I right?”

“Very, very eligible.” Blaine said, calling again on his winning smile. Even if Kurt was a dom, he was still hot. Perhaps they could just fuck around a little bit?

The iciness of Kurt’s stare made his smile falter a little bit.

“Okay. Stand up.” Kurt said, stumbling uncomfortably over the command. “Please.” He tacked on the end. Blaine got up, and smirked down at Kurt.

“You want me to twirl, too?”

“This is hideous.” Kurt said, ignoring Blaine’s snark.

“Which part?”

“All of it.” Blaine tugged uncomfortably on the hem of his sweater. It was striped cream and bright orange, his tousled curls hanging over the collar. Under it was a pair of plain jeans. Nondescript black sneakers under that. He was comfortable. And he really liked this sweater.

“Wow, your sub must love you.” He joked a little awkwardly.

Kurt’s head shot up, capturing Blaine’s eyes. Anger gave way to confusion which gave way to something unreadable.

“I’m… I’m sorry. That wasn’t cool. I know some people joke about that kind of stuff and I’m not usually one of them, but I just got defen-”

“Mr. Anderson?”

“Yes?”

“Shh.”

“Thanks.” He smiled again at Kurt, and sat down again.

“That wasn’t me forgiving you.”

“Ah, but it was. Just because you’re too stubborn to realize it isn’t my fault.” Blaine said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“Is that your theory?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Mr. Anderson-”

“Call me Blaine. And forgive me.”

“I forgive you. Blaine.” Kurt said, and then he looked scandalized with himself again. Blaine leaned forward a little more.

“My name sounds awfully pretty on your lips, Kurt.” Kurt didn’t trust himself to speak, biting his lips and looking down. Blaine chortled, and leaned back in his chair.

“So what’s next for us?” Kurt cleared his throat a touch awkwardly.

“Well, you seem to be so incapable of dressing yourself for the day to day, on Wednesday I’ll take you shopping for your new every day clothes. Spend Tuesday throwing everything else away. Even the things that another stylist picked for you. I will, of course, be dressing you in things I have on stock for special events.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He said, grinning.

“Do you ever stop smiling?” Kurt asked, feeling more than a little bit disgruntled at how the meeting had gone.

“Don’t think so.” Blaine said, and then he fucking winked.

***

“And then he fucking winked! I’m telling you, Tee, he thinks I’m a dom but he won’t stop flirting anyway. I don’t get it.” Kurt lay on his stomach in bed, carefully buffing his nails so they shone, talking in the general direction of the phone that was on speaker and laying on the pillow next to him.

“He’s sweet on you, honey! He’s a dom, right?”

“Okay, A., Tina, No one says ‘sweet on you’ anymore. B. Of course he’s a dom.” He said, needlessly irritated at his friend.

“Do you want to be his?”

“Tina! No! We’ve talked about this! I don’t want to be anybody’s! I want to be my own! I know you wouldn’t understand, because of perfect Leon…”

“Woah. That was unnecessary.”

“You were unnecessary! I’m not a sub!”

“Kurt, baby. You said that when you got up to leave, you almost got on your knees for him. You are certainly not a dom.”

“I know.” Kurt said, throwing the buffer down dramatically, laying back onto his pillows dejectedly.

“So what are you going to do about the Wednesday appointment?”

“I was hoping you would take it for me.”

“Honey. Remember when you said running from Max would be just as bad as submitting to him?” Kurt didn’t answer, just pressed his palms to his eyes. “It’s the same thing. So all we need to do is to plan on how you aren’t going to be ruled by this on Wednesday.”

“How the hell do I do that?”

“Do you masturbate, Kurt?” Tina waited patiently while Kurt got over his outraged spluttering. “I think it would help.”
“Tina. You are not doing this to me.”
“I’m taking this as you calling in sick so that you can go to town tomorrow. Relieve everything you have pent up. The only way to stop yourself from acting all crazy due to sexually repressing is… not to repress.”

“That is the stupidest, most unfounded, worst idea that I’ve ever he- Tina?”

She’d hung up.

Kurt turned off his phone, and threw it under his bed, and then he got , laying his head on the pillow and turning off the light.

And when he awoke with damp sheets, he growled ‘Fucking Tina’ and rolled over, turning off his alarm that would wake him for work.