Blaine held his breath and sucked in his stomach, straining to keep perfectly still. He stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles so he wouldn't have to watch Kurt's sickle-shaped needle stab into the smooth, luxe material currently stuck to his legs like a second skin. Even as he sucked in further and tried to elongate his body, creeping his farther and farther away from the bitter point, Blaine could feel the cold metal brush against his thigh in rhythmic swipes. It sent cold chills circulating all over; put vivid images in his head, especially as it inched closer to his junk; and made him rubbery in the knees.

It was slightly unnerving, to say the least.

But Kurt was quick with his needlework, and if there was anyone on earth that Blaine trusted with a thick, sharp needle millimeters from his most sensitive body part, it was his Dom. Blaine focused on not shaking and not sweating, since sweat and leather didn't go too well together. His abs cramped, and he was starting to become ridiculously light-headed when he felt Kurt tie off the threads and heard him snip the ends.

“There,” Kurt said, double checking the visibility of his stitches while kneeling barely a breath away from Blaine's finer assets wrapped in supple, black, calfskin leather. “I can't believe you actually wanted pants so tight I had to sew you into them.” Kurt stood, brushing off the knees of his own leg-hugging purple velvet pants (Blaine's favorite), then stepping back to get the full effect of Blaine's muscular lower half clad in leather.

“Well, it's for the act,” Blaine said, explaining his fashion choice away with a hot blush tinting his cheeks. His eyes flicked up to meet Kurt's gaze, searching for approval, but his blush deepened when he caught Kurt hungrily licking his lips. Blaine would do anything, wear anything, to have his Dom look at him that way – like he wanted to rip Blaine's clothes off his body with his teeth, tie him to a chair and do whatever to him, however he wanted, with as much pain and pleasure as he could provide.

That was the black swan that Blaine fell in love with. No matter how long they'd been together, his swan never faded an inch, never slipped away.

“Holy damn,” Kurt growled, admiring Blaine's body trapped in feloniously tight leather.

“What?” Blaine looked nervously down his legs, bending his knees and jumping a few times experimentally to ensure that none of the seams would split while he danced on stage.

“You can pretty much have sex through these pants.” Kurt walked over to his sub, hands caressing the air an inch or so around Blaine's legs. Blaine could see Kurt's hands shake, his fingers flexing, itching to touch him, and it filled Blaine with a unique feeling of power.

His Dom could look, but with a call time of less than ten minutes, he couldn't touch.

“Well, I have to find a way to keep up with the younger guys,” Blaine said, not allowing that power to go to his head. The only power he had over his Dom was the power that Kurt allowed him to have. Blaine savored it, but he never abused it. It was part of the balance that kept their relationship alive – an exchange that was bred from love and inspired by passion.

It reminded Blaine how much Kurt truly cared about him.

“What makes you think that you can't, Blaine? You don't need anything but your voice and your charm to keep up. Your talent - that's what's going to put you on top. Not these pants.”

Blaine sighed, dropping his head and losing his smile to the anxiety building up within him. “I know,” he said, his voice timid, the way it became when he gave into fear, “it's just … I'm starting a little late in the game, that's all. Even with the name that I've made for myself on TV, I'll still have to prove myself. Maybe because of that name, I'll have to prove myself more.”

“Blaine ...” Kurt held his sub's shoulders, tried to catch his eyes “... that theater is filled from wall to wall with your fans. Fans who believe in you. Fans who already know how insanely talented you are. Fans that wouldn't care if you went out there in a pair of Gucci jeans or a burlap sack.” Kurt's hand left Blaine's shoulder to cup his chin and pull his hazel eyes up to meet his. “They see in you all the wonderful, amazing things I see in you. So go out there and sing for them. That's all they want.”

Blaine smiled – a shy little smile that tried to grow in confidence but didn't quite make it. “I---I'm still really nervous.”

“You know,” Kurt said, the smile on his lips quirking up at the corners in a mischievous way, “my father used to say that if you're nervous, find someone to punch you in the gut really hard. Then you'll be in agony, but you won't be thinking about your nerves anymore.”

Blaine's smile disappeared and he looked immediately green. “You're … you're not going to punch me, are you?”

“No.” Kurt chuckled, amused by Blaine's assumption. He slipped into a lower, sultrier register – a register he not only reserved for the bedroom, but for his playroom as well. “But maybe I can think of some other ways to take your mind off your nerves.”

“Yeah?” Blaine watched Kurt's lips close in on his, his eyes dark and lustful. “What did you have in mi---“

Blaine's question cut off when Kurt's lips touched his, his silky tongue sliding between – not shy, not apprehensive, not asking for permission, but taking what he knew belonged to him and only him. Kurt's hands hovered over Blaine's skin so that Blaine could feel his heat, but Kurt did not touch his sub.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt whispered, the words tickling Blaine's lips as they entered his mouth along with Kurt's talented tongue. “What I wouldn't do to you if I had you alone. If I had all the time in the world to devour you. I wouldn't even need to take these pants off you …”

Blaine moaned, and Kurt stopped talking to catch it, covering Blaine's mouth with his and kissing him again, deeper this time, teasing Blaine's tongue with delicate swipes from his own. Kurt kept his lips against Blaine's as he spoke so Blaine could feel Kurt's words buzz against his mouth.

“I know you, Blaine …” Kurt snaked an arm around Blaine's waist and dipped him low. “I know everywhere you like to be kissed …” Kurt proved his point by licking the hollow of Blaine's throat, tracing a letter ‘s' in the center with the tip of his tongue. He delighted in the way Blaine's body trembled against him, his cock hardening in the confines of his sewed-on leather pants. “I know how to make you cum over and over with just my breath on your skin … I know how to make you wait … how long you can go before you start to beg … how much longer after that before you start to break …”

Blaine whimpered, hands coming up to grab Kurt's arms, hips searching out Kurt's body, wanting Kurt's hard cock to slide against his own. Kurt looked into his sub's face, deep into Blaine's eyes with a smile that was both promising and cruel.

“There is no end,” Kurt whispered, staring at his sub, pliant in his arms, so desperate to be owned that his entire body yearned for it, “to the depths in which I want to have you, Blaine Devon Anderson.”

Blaine's subsequent whine was muffled by Kurt's mouth back over his, teeth biting Blaine's lower lip until Blaine cried out, the sting of it nothing compared to the sinful way Kurt's body met Blaine's, sliding over him, making him harder, uncomfortably harder, but needing his Dom so much that minor pain or a smidge of discomfort meant nothing. It didn't even exist.

“I love you, Kurt,” Blaine stammered, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“I love you, Blaine,” Kurt mumbled into Blaine's skin, over and over so he'd feel it tingling against his cheeks and down his chin. He bit the words into Blaine's lips, licked them down his neck, moving farther until he started to undo the buttons of Blaine's shirt with his teeth. “And I always …”

Knock-knock-knock

The door to the dressing room shook with the pounding of a fist, the spell inside the room shattering with its unwelcome intrusion.

“Five minutes, Mr. Anderson,” an equally unwelcome voice called through the door.

Kurt smiled and stood Blaine upright, departing from the temptation of Blaine's flushed skin and his swollen lips, holding his hips as his sub swayed on his feet.

“Now don't be nervous,” Kurt said, backing away, glancing down one last time to admire his handiwork – not the pants this time – before he slipped out the dressing room door. He blew Blaine a kiss and disappeared down the hall, heading to the theater to claim his seat.

Blaine's head spun from lack of blood, stuck in a cloud of confusion as his body slowly acknowledged the absence of sensation. He blinked a couple of times before he realized that Kurt was gone, but that wasn't the most pressing of his problems.

The one tormenting him currently was engorged, and trying to break free of its leather enclosure.

It wasn't a punch in the stomach, but it was doing the same job.

“Uh ...” Blaine scratched at the seams to his pants. “No, wait.” He searched the waist band with his fingers, trying to find a gap, any opening to stick his hand into to relieve him of his problem, but there was nothing - no way to reach his aching cock or tend to his swelling need. “I need a zipper or something. Kurt?” Blaine waddled to the dressing room door and opened it. He stuck just his head out (he didn't want anyone else seeing him in the condition he was in), and looked up and down the hall. “Kurt? Kurt, please … help … Kurt!”