It's a strange club that Kurt takes Blaine to, even by BDSM standards. It's almost like a BDSM club meets 80's retro/90's fusion dance club with a touch of blind date hook-up all mixed together. There's a vibe throughout that Kurt doesn't necessarily groove on, but they're not at this club for Kurt.

Tonight is about Blaine.

It surprised Kurt when Blaine asked him to go. It's no secret that Kurt and Blaine, though extremely and enviably in love, shared a committed Dom/sub relationship. This part of Kurt's life first lured Blaine into his bed, after the whole “love at first sight” thing factored in, of course. Being a Dom also helped Kurt launch his insanely popular clothing line, but that's beside the point. Kurt's business image merges his Dom self with a carefully crafted public persona. Mostly, Kurt and Blaine keep their deviant pleasures private. So when Blaine approached Kurt and asked him if they could go to this club that Nick had discovered in Hollywood, Kurt's first instinct was to object, but a part of him was undeniably intrigued.

Kurt had been to BDSM clubs before in San Diego as part of his job, when being a Dom was something he did to pay the bills, but he had happily transitioned into a life of peaceful domesticity with his claimed sub and his motley family.

Kurt didn't Dom for hire anymore, and he didn't need to go clubbing. In the end, he agreed to go out tonight because he would do anything for Blaine.

Blaine had been over-the-top excited when Kurt said yes. He had no idea what to expect, and regardless of the stories Kurt told him, his imagination ran rampant. He asked endless questions. He even wanted to know if Kurt would have to dress him in a leather collar and keep him on the end of a chained leash.

Kurt cocked an eyebrow.

“Do you want to be on a leash?” Kurt had asked, stifling a laugh, charmed by his sub's enthusiasm.

“Uh…” Blaine had rolled his eyes to the ceiling, conjuring up images and fantasizing. Finally, he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“Maybe not for the first time out,” Blaine said. “But, I wouldn't object to a collar…if you don't think it would be too tacky.”

Kurt made Blaine a tasteful black leather collar with a subtle KH embellished on it in petite white rhinestones. He presented it to Blaine during a private ceremony – just the two of them at the Four Seasons, in a penthouse suite where Kurt spent a long, luxurious evening making love to his bound sub while he wore his new collar. It goes well with Blaine's sleekly tailored violet Paul Fredrick dress-shirt and black slacks, and Kurt can't help how incredibly turned on he gets having such a handsome man by his side.

As they walk through the double-doors and into the main lounge, Kurt isn't the only one who notices how desirable his sub is.

“Now remember,” Kurt says, pulling Blaine aside and unbuttoning another button of his shirt to make his collar obvious, “you stay right behind me. You don't talk to anyone without my permission, and you don't leave me for a minute. Do you understand?”

Blaine bites his lower lip and nods, too excited to mirror Kurt's serious mood. Kurt shakes his head at Blaine's adorable smile.

“Why don't we go get a drink?” Kurt suggests, leading his sub further into the club. They head for the wrap-around bar where other Doms sit and chat with their subs in their laps or kneeling on the floor – silent and obedient, waiting for commands. It happens so quickly that Blaine doesn't even know how it happens exactly, but somewhere between the dance floor and the bar, Blaine becomes separated from Kurt. A strong hand takes Blaine by the elbow and drags him away before Blaine thinks to call out for help.

The whole atmosphere of this club has unconsciously changed Blaine's attitude. It makes him feel more like a sub in a strange, mind-altering way. So when the firm hand grabs him and leads him into the corner, Blaine finds himself completely at a loss as to what he should do, but he knows, no matter what, he needs to get back to Kurt.

The man that has taken him – tall, muscular, with rough hands and a thin set mouth – traps Blaine against the wall, blocking his view.

“Wow,” the man mutters gruffly, his whole body reeking of cheap cologne and cheaper Vodka, “look what I managed to snag here, and right out from under the nose of that fairy fuck.” The man sneers, his top lip curling over chemically-whitened teeth, his dull brown eyes roving over Blaine with a dirty, hungry glare.

Blaine starts to sweat, his whole body shaking. He knows that Kurt forbade him from talking to anyone without permission, but he's sure that in this particular instance that rule doesn't apply.

“You can't touch me,” Blaine says, remembering things that Kurt had said and trying to sound more confident than he feels. “I'm a claimed sub. I have a collar.” He stretches out his neck in an attempt to make his collar visible. In the neon lights of the club, the crystal KH sparkles to great effect. Blaine can see it throw colors on to the man's grey shirt.

“I don't see anything,” the man replies slyly, purposefully looking everywhere but Blaine's collar. He moves in closer, a venomous grin splitting his lips, and whispers, “and I didn't give you permission to speak.”

Blaine sees the man's intentions in his eyes as he raises a hand to strike him. Blaine tries to move his own arms, but they feel like lead hanging at his sides. He braces himself for the strike across his face…but it never comes.

Long, pale fingers wrap around the man's raised wrist and yank him roughly away.

“What the fuck!?” the man wails, pulling violently to be free of the hand squeezing his wrist, but to no avail. “Get the fuck off me, you Tinkerbell freak!” he roars, but Kurt refuses to let go. Kurt doesn't even break his stride when he rears around and smacks the man across the face with Blaine's leather riding crop (which he had brought along as a surprise for Blaine and kept hidden beneath his jacket).

“You can't do that to me!” the man hisses through the pain, his lip swelling immediately, followed by his nose. “I'm not a sub!”

“No,” Kurt combats coolly, “you're a bitch. And when I'm done with you, you'll wish you never tried to pass yourself off as a Dom.”

Kurt drags the man through the crowd. Catching him off guard, Kurt cuffs his wrist (the police-grade cuffs were another surprise he had hidden under his jacket), and attaches the other end to a rail along the edge of the bar. Other patrons at the bar move aside, not willing or caring to get involved in another Dom's business. Kurt grabs the man's shirt collar and tears off his Marc Jacobs knock-off button down, exposing his muscular back.

The man peers up through his one non-blackened eye to see Kurt standing over him, steely eyes shining, the leather riding crop in his hands.

“You wouldn't dare,” the man growls, his voice a combination of rage and fear. The slim, delicate-looking man before him is not weak as he first assumed and now, he's not looking forward to what he knows awaits him.

“Then maybe you should learn to keep your fucking hands off!” Kurt growls back. “You want to know what we do to sub predators where I come from?” Kurt asks to no one in particular, but a small group of suddenly interested Doms and subs gather around for the show.

Blaine can't see Kurt beat the other man senseless, but the groans and grunts he hears are enough to tell Blaine that the man is getting what he had coming to him. Blaine's heart speeds, remembering all the nights he spent tied to his bed while Kurt whipped him with a crop. He feels himself grow hard, longing for the night to be over – longing for Kurt to take him home.

The crop sings as it slices through the air, the tethered man struggling and swearing as he tries to squirm away. He nearly passes out by the time Kurt decides he's had enough.

The bartender returns, having stepped away so he wouldn't be called upon to intervene. He looks over the crisscross patterns on the man's back and nods approvingly.

“You're quite the artist,” he says with a wink.

Kurt sighs, exhausted. He's feeling that beating in his upper arm. He's not a young Dom anymore.

“Here,” Kurt says, reaching in his pocket for his wallet. “Let me pay my bill.”

“Oh, no,” the bartender says, waving Kurt's money away. “I'll put it on his tab.”

Kurt nods with a tired smile. He turns and cuts back through the crowd, seeking out Blaine. He finds his sub standing nervously off to the side with a group of other subs, all unclaimed, all women, cooing at him soothingly and hovering around him, keeping him out of sight of other possible predatory Doms. They part, heads bowed, when Kurt appears.

Blaine smiles at Kurt, gazing up at him through long lashes, keeping his head obediently bowed as well. Kurt says nothing, extending a hand to his sub, his face stern, his eyes hard. He doesn't look pleased. Still, it takes all of Blaine's discipline not to make a scene and crush himself against Kurt's body.

“Come on,” Kurt commands, his voice unwavering though he's breathless underneath, “I'm taking you home.”

***

Blaine is taken back by Kurt's silence on the drive home. He barely looked at Blaine when they left the club, didn't really acknowledge him other than to tell him to get into the car. Blaine doesn't understand how his Dom feels. Personally, Blaine feels slightly embarrassed, and he desperately wants to talk to Kurt, but Kurt's body language screams not now. He keeps his eyes glued to the road and his thoughts occupied elsewhere.

Kurt pulls up to Blaine's house and Blaine's heart hurts. It's been a long time since Blaine moved in with Kurt and his family, but Kurt is obviously so disgusted by what happened that he's going to drop Blaine off at his old house to spend the night alone.

Blaine doesn't want to be alone. He never wants to be alone again.

They enter the house in silence and Blaine locks the door behind them without being told. Kurt motions wordlessly to the bedroom. Blaine follows behind his Dom, who walks through the bedroom door and heads straight for the bathroom.

“You know how I want you,” he says without a glance back at Blaine, and even though the command is icy and devoid of emotion, a glimmer of hope flares in Blaine's chest.

 ***

If Blaine has to venture a guess as to how long he's been tied in an iron cross to his bedposts, his cock bound in a brand new and restrictive ring, blindfolded and plugged, he would have to say over an hour. Sweat rolls off his back, his ass, his shoulders, even his scalp. He feels the hard leather of his own personal riding crop - recently disinfected if the strong smell of Lysol is any indicator - come in contact with his skin over and over, welts forming over other welts, cutting through his skin in a way Kurt has never done before.

It's not unbearable, but it's definitely a lesson.

“How are you doing, princess?” Kurt snarls, and Blaine can't help but wonder what Kurt is angrier at – Blaine for asking to go to the club to begin with, the man for trying to steal him away, or himself for not keeping a better eye on Blaine.

Blaine hears a tiny quiver in Kurt's otherwise stony voice when he speaks. Kurt seemed so cool, calm, and collected at the club. Had he actually been scared?

Either way, this hour of punishment has Blaine's body full to bursting, his cock so hard within the confines of its cage that, cock ring or no, Blaine is about to cum. He tries not to pull on the ropes around his wrists, tries not to moan as the leather stings his back, tries to be the picture of absolute and utter discipline.

He wants Kurt. He needs Kurt badly. But the only way he's going to get Kurt is through obedience.

Blaine's mind wanders too far. He doesn't hear Kurt ask him a direct question and give him permission to respond. Kurt grabs a handful of Blaine's curls and tugs, bringing Blaine's ear close to his mouth.

“I'm so sorry, princess,” Kurt grinds out through his teeth. “Am I boring you?”

With that, he hits Blaine across the ass. He hits him hard.

This time Blaine feels pain…pain with an edge. It pushes the metal plug in Blaine's hole further inside his ass – close to where Blaine wants it but not close enough. The sensation explodes within him like a bonfire, raging out of control, consuming every other sensation around it. Kurt's words hang in the air over his head like an anvil, waiting to fall, as his terrible black swan whips him mercilessly.

“Tell me, princess…” Kurt's voice is calm, with a subtle crackle beneath it, building like lightning. It makes Blaine's hair stand on end. “Who do you belong to?”

Kurt waits, anticipating, seeing how Blaine will respond. When he doesn't say a word, doesn't make a sound, Kurt smiles wickedly, but with soft corners.

“Good boy,” Kurt purrs, pleased to see that Blaine remembers his manners. “Now, you may respond.”

“You.” Blaine pants in an effort to control the labored rise and fall of his chest, trying to stave off hyperventilation. “I belong to you. Only to you.”

“Very good,” Kurt says, looking Blaine's body over, appraising the marks.

Kurt steps up behind him. He molds his bare chest to his sub, leaning in to the welts on Blaine's back, knowing they'll sting from the contact. Blaine doesn't hiss. He doesn't cry out. He's a good sub, an obedient sub, deserving of Kurt's love and affection.

He belongs to Kurt.

“You know,” Kurt whispers, “I know this wasn't all your fault.” Kurt threads his arms underneath Blaine's, raking his nails down Blaine's chest, leaving raised tracks in their wake. “I saw the look in his eye. I knew he was after you. You were supposed to stay with me, Blaine. It's my job to take care of you.”

Blaine's head hangs as he absorbs the heat of Kurt's body, seeping straight through his wounds, connecting with his blood, which is where Kurt belongs.

Inside Blaine's blood.

Not just in that animalistic fuck him stupid way or that melancholy I can't live without you way.

But in that sweet you're in my heart and soul way.

And mostly that you're my undeniable everything way.

Here they stay - Blaine hanging by his wrists, poised on the balls of his feet to keep from falling while Kurt holds him, pressing against him in sinful black vinyl pants polished by Blaine's tongue sliding up his leg and Blaine's lips mouthing over Kurt's erection before he was bound to the bed.

“Do you want me, Blaine?” Kurt whispers, his lips moving carefully along Blaine's bruised skin. “Do you want to feel me inside you?”

Blaine wants to answer. He's dying to scream yes, God yes, but until he gets that one little command, everything he wants remains unvoiced.

“You may respond, sweetheart,” Kurt breathes.

“Yes,” Blaine rushes out quickly. “Yes, I want you.”

Kurt's body disappears. He unzips his boots, slipping them off and tossing them to the floor so Blaine can hear them land. Then he peels off his vinyl pants, the material creaking as he rolls them down his legs, and drapes them over the boots. Blaine can't see with the blindfold covering his eyes, but he knows his black swan is naked, and the thought of Kurt's unclothed body behind him nearly tips him over the edge. He feels the plug carefully removed but everything else remains, which is good because one glimpse of Kurt's skin would be Blaine's undoing, as would Kurt's erection pushing into Blaine's body if not for the cage.

Kurt grabs Blaine's hips. Blaine assumes this will be hard and fast, but he'll take it that way.

He'll take whatever Kurt gives him.

Kurt's first push into Blaine's body, smooth and slow, takes Blaine by surprise. Blaine's head rolls back against Kurt's shoulder as Kurt moves, pushing deep into his body, sinking in until they're pressed together, skin to skin, his arms wrapped around Blaine's middle, holding him still.

Blaine gives and Kurt takes, and while he does, he whispers so softly Blaine almost doesn't hear.

“I love you, Blaine. I won't let anyone take you. I can't let anyone else have you. You belong to me, Blaine. You belong with me.”

Blaine wants to agree but his mind slips away. His restless body aches for release - his mind, his body, his soul all burn. Kurt's hips quicken, speeding up the pace, his fingers tightening around Blaine's hips.

“Oh, my Blaine,” he moans, his voice raw and possessive. “My beautiful, beautiful Blaine.”

Steady fingers undo the cage around Blaine's cock and he knows that Kurt has given him permission to cum.

And Blaine does. He cums hard before Kurt's hips begin to stutter. Kurt's forgiveness is like the answer to an unasked question that's been hanging in the air too long. He shows it by burying himself inside Blaine's body and filling him up.

Kurt knows his sub. He doesn't even give himself a moment to bask in the afterglow before he unties Blaine's wrists and lays him down on the bed on his stomach, head raised up on pillows so he doesn't pass out.

Kurt lies down beside him, planning on being there only long enough to make sure Blaine can breathe comfortably again before Kurt starts the process of cleaning Blaine's wounds and rewarding him for his discipline, for his obedience, for his acceptance of punishment. Blaine breathes hard as he stares at his Dom, and Kurt listens, waiting for Blaine to relax.

“You're a good boy, Blaine,” Kurt whispers, brushing sweat-dampened curls off Blaine's forehead. “You're a very good boy.”

Blaine gasps softly, and then he smiles.

That sentiment is all Blaine needed to hear.

Kurt sees a question, a comment, something dancing around his sub's trembling lips, but it's still difficult for him to speak, so Kurt leans in and kisses Blaine's voice steady.

“Tell me,” Kurt whispers.

“I thought…” Blaine swallows. He hadn't wanted to admit to it, but he needs to say it out loud. “I thought you were going to leave me here.”

Kurt's eyes open wide. He kisses Blaine again, but this time it's not the kiss of a Dom for his sub, but of a man for the man he loves.

“I will never leave you, Blaine,” Kurt says, resting their foreheads together, wallowing in the gold of Blaine's eyes. “I will never, ever abandon you. No matter how I feel. You belong with me. Understand?”

Blaine nods, his mouth brushing Kurt's, his skin feather soft and his lips whispering quiet words of love and support.

Kurt promised Blaine a while ago that he would always be there for him.

He refused to be another person in Blaine's life who turned their back on him.

“I want…” Blaine starts, hiccupping the words between breaths. “I want…”

“A picture?” Kurt finishes, smiling as Blaine weakly nods.

Kurt climbs off the bed and locates his jacket, laid carefully over the chair in the corner. He fishes the cell phone out of his pocket and walks back to Blaine. Kurt photographs the marks that cross up and down Blaine's back and over his ass. When he's got them all, he lies back down beside Blaine and shows him the screen.

Blaine raises a shaking hand and swipes through the pictures, looking at the angry red welts that litter his skin. When he reaches the end, he smiles.

“Wow,” Blaine says with a tired chuckle. “That bartender was right. You are quite the artist.”