“How are you doing, pet? Are you green?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you sure? Any chance that you’re yellow and you’re not telling me? Because you need to let me know, pet.”

“No, Sir. I Promise. I’m green. Completely green.”

Kurt smiles, pinching his lip between his teeth in concentration. “Good boy,” he says, in a distracted murmur. “You’re such a good boy, Blaine. Such a patient boy …”

Blaine sighs in relaxation from Kurt’s praise, from the constant muttering of it underneath Kurt’s breath as he works. Good boy, patient boy, handsome boy, on and on and on, each one helping Blaine breathe easier.

Making this more bearable.

Blaine watches Kurt with lowered eyes as, stitch after stitch, the image Kurt’s creating blooms to life, one burst of color at a time. It’s a simple embroidery – a single heart in varying shades of pink, crooked and uneven to give it an arts and crafts-y quality. Set against the canvas of Blaine’s tan skin, the colors pop with an orgasmic vibrancy.

Normally, Blaine loves watching Kurt sew, especially by hand – the intense focus in his cool, blue eyes; his furrowed brow; his nimble fingers; the care he puts into every stitch. But this is markedly different, and Blaine didn’t want to watch. He’s squeamish when it comes to things like this. The first time he ever had to get stitches (to close up a cut in his thigh when four-year-old him fell off his bike and landed in a thicket), he saw the doctor bringing the needle towards him, and he threw up. Then he passed out, which earned him a second cut that needed stitches since he hit his head on the corner of a counter of his way to the ground.

He remembers being unable to sit still at the time, flinching with each stitch so excessively that the doctor recommended sedating him so that he wouldn’t accidentally poke Blaine in the eye. But Blaine barely moves when the needle pierces his skin. He didn’t really at the beginning either, a twitch or two, maybe a lip curl, but he’s motionless now, at one with the chair underneath him – an object, steady and inanimate. It’s good practice for what’s coming next.

For being a doll.

It wasn’t the idea of the pain that bothered Blaine. It was more the process – having something sewn onto his hand for non-medical purposes seemed so Wes Craven. He imagined stinging and blood, like constant razor nicks, Kurt’s needle leaving a series of pricks that would well nonstop. Blaine couldn’t wait for it to be over. But Blaine is oddly okay with this now. Of course, that’s because it’s Kurt. It’s all about Kurt. If this wasn’t Kurt’s idea, if Kurt wasn’t the one doing this, Blaine would feel trapped, like he did that day at the doctor’s office. He’d feel anxious. He’d want to run. He’d feel infringed on. Violated. But that’s the thing about Kurt, about the trust Blaine has in Kurt. As long as Kurt is pulling the strings, so to speak, Blaine is willing to do just about anything. And that’s not only because of his need to serve. It’s the tremendous amount of faith he has in Kurt.

Kurt would never betray his trust. He’d never take advantage. Even when they do things that their vanilla friends would consider insane, Kurt’s main concern at all times is Blaine’s welfare.

Kurt will keep Blaine safe no matter what. Blaine knows this.

This idea came about while Kurt was going over his plans to make Blaine’s second doll costume. Looking at Kurt’s sketches, Blaine wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about being a rag doll. When Kurt had mentioned dress up doll, Blaine had a slightly different image in mind. Then Kurt started explaining his motivations, about wanting something to cuddle, something soft, something comforting, something that reminded him of the dolls his mom would make for him, and it finally started to appeal to Blaine, too. Because he wants to be those things for Kurt. He cherishes being Kurt’s safe space, in all of its forms. If this appeals to Kurt on such an intimate level, then Blaine wants to be this for him.

Kurt’s mom would sew hearts on the hands and feet of the dolls she made, so Kurt decided to add that element. Experimenting with Blaine’s doll makeup, Kurt had drawn the heart on Blaine’s palm using pink and red eyeliners. He had taken his time, the way he is now with the sewing, carefully placing every line, filling it in with different shades. And it looked amazing. Blaine couldn’t believe how authentic it seemed, like felt and floss instead of makeup and skin. Blaine had said, and he meant it, that he wished it could be a more permanent part of his doll persona. Kurt gave it some thought, then he said, “I can do that.”

Originally Kurt had considered making an applique out of fabric and gluing it to Blaine’s skin, but that seemed so artificial. Insincere. Blaine has worked hard to get to this point. He wants to be a doll, inside and out. He wants to be Kurt’s doll.

Sewing the heart onto his hand seems to align with that desire more accurately. It’s a testament to what Blaine is willing to do, one worthy of Blaine’s commitment and dedication.

“There. You’re finished,” Kurt says, cutting the thread as close to Blaine’s palm as he can. “Tell me what you think, pet.”

Blaine takes a deep breath, swallows down just the tiniest bit of nausea, and brings his hand closer to his face to get a better look at his new adornment. Blaine has to give Kurt credit. He was squicked out by this originally, but, as in most everything Kurt does, he did an amazing job. Not just the artistry of the heart, taking such a simple concept and making something so extraordinary. Kurt has the hands of a surgeon. The heart, sewn in shades of pink, mulberry, rose, strawberry, and magenta, barely hurt at all. From what Blaine can tell when he examines it, the stitches don’t sit any farther than the very top layer of his skin, which, at this point, is mostly calloused anyway, regardless of the amount of moisturizer Kurt makes him use.

With this stamp sewn into the heel of Blaine’s hand, he feels like a real doll.

He is marked.

He is owned.

He is loved. Not that he wasn’t always, but he is now in that way that toys are, especially the kinds treasured by children, who write their names on the things they prize the most, play with them the hardest, and leave signs of their affection in the forms of busted seams and missing pieces.

Toys loved by children are usually loved until they fall apart, and then patient hands put them lovingly back together again.

The way Kurt does with Blaine.

His palm is sore in a new way, this pain a symbol of Blaine’s being elevated to a new status.

“Thank you, Sir,” Blaine says. He takes Kurt’s right hand, the hand that held the needle, and presses gentle kisses to the back. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, pet,” Kurt says, running his fingers through Blaine’s curls. “Now, why don’t we get you dressed? Hmm? I think it’s time to play.”