“Who … who are you?” Kurt pulls his hand from the man's grasp and a strange spark of pain arises from letting go. Kurt's hand wants to go back, wants to hold this man's hand. Still, Kurt takes a step back, then another as he thinks of a way to escape. What spell can he use? What incantation will distract this man so he can make a break for it? “Why are you here?”

“Like I said,” the man says, picking debris off the sleeves of his black coat, “my name is Blaine. And I'm here because you summoned me.”

“Th-that's … that's impossible,” Kurt argues, walking backward through the door to his living room. If he can make it to the fire escape, then maybe … “I'm … I'm not strong enough to summon a person.”

“Oh darling” - Blaine smiles, sinister but sensual, dangerous yet dapper - “you have no idea how strong you truly are.”

“It wouldn't matter if I was strong or not,” Kurt says, steadily moving away but finding that he doesn't necessarily want to retreat so badly. The more Blaine talks, the less Kurt wants to be far from him. “You can't possibly exist. I can't conjure flesh and blood from thin air. I can't create a person.”

Blaine pauses his pursuit to adjust his cuffs. “Well, I'm not exactly a person.” He peeks up at Kurt through long lashes, hears Kurt's mind working in the silence.

“Then … then what are you?” Kurt shakes his head to erase a few ideas he knows can't be possible.

“You might call me a demon.” Blaine shrugs. “You might not. The truth is, I have many names, none of which matter because the only name you need to know me by is Blaine, and with any luck” – Blaine takes Kurt's hand again and brings it to his lips, kissing his knuckles at the pause between his words. The touch of Blaine's skin against his makes Kurt feel sublimely whole – “you'll be saying it over … and over … and over.”

“I don't … I don't understand,” Kurt stammers, too baffled to catch on, even with the help of Blaine's suggestive tone and his lust blown eyes. Mesmerizing eyes. Eyes that abandon their golden hue and become almost black, pulsing with a hypnotic blue radiance, a shade that mirrors the color of Kurt's eyes. But before Blaine can explain in more detail, or demonstrate (as he wants to do), his gaze falls on something that makes his brow pinch and his eyes burn with a crimson flame.

“Is this him!?” Blaine growls, dropping Kurt's hand and grabbing a framed picture off the mantel. “Is this the asshole who broke your heart!? I'll tear him to pieces! I'll rip the flesh from his bones and leave him in the desert for the vultures to finish off!”

Kurt watches in horror as the glass in the frame warps beneath the demon's gaze, the corner of the photograph underneath turning black and smoking.

“No!” Kurt snatches the frame back. He blows on the glass to cool the fire, then hugs it to his chest, keeping the image out of Blaine's sight. “No, that's … that's my stepbrother, Finn. And he's a wonderful, amazing person who'd never hurt anyone, so you … you leave him alone!”

“Are you sure, Kurt?” Blaine asks, less skeptical than amused. “Because I can tell if what you say is the truth. I'm a part of you. I know your thoughts. I can feel your desires, your honesty, your lies ...”

Offended, Kurt pulls himself straight. “So, tell me, demon, am I lying?” he asks. He doesn't appreciate being doubted like this, not by a demon, and not in his own home. He stares Blaine down with defiance in his eyes. Kurt knows little about demons, but the ones he's read about tend to play tricks, even on those they claim loyalty to. They cause mischief for the fun of it – mischief that can be deadly. But they also respect power. If this demon says Kurt has power, a power he himself has not realized, then he'll use it.

Blaine quirks a brow, his skepticism turning to anger, but his amusement spreading. “No,” he decides with a nonchalant sniff. “No, you're not.”

“Good.” Kurt's voice shakes even though he prayed it wouldn't. “Then as long as we have that settled ...” Kurt goes to put the frame back in its place on the mantel, then re-thinks himself and stuffs it behind the sofa cushion, out of sight, which then leads Kurt to ask himself how did they make their way to the sofa so quickly?

“Don't you worry, darling …” A seductive smile pulls Blaine's lips, that spellbinding glow returning to his eyes “… I won't harm a single hair on his, or anyone else's head, who hasn't done you wrong. You have my word.”

“And how much is your word worth?” Kurt asks, not seeming to notice that he's being herded, backed over to the sofa and now sitting down. “You're a demon, and demons are evil, aren't they? How do I know I can trust you?”

“It's not so black and white as all that,” Blaine says, maneuvering in front of Kurt, kneeling on the floor between his legs. “Like I said, you summoned me. You created me. I am part of you. So, my word is your word. There is goodness inside of me, just as there is darkness inside of you.”

Kurt shakes his head. He has an answer to that, an argument, but he can't seem to vocalize it. Trying to voice it feels like being drunk and trying to sing the lyrics to “I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General”. This man's voice - this demon's voice - siphons away his will. It makes him compliant. But as Blaine leans over him, toying with his belt buckle, those eyes of his still working their magic with a final vestige of Kurt's common sense howling to be heard, Kurt begins to think why not? Why not have this fantasy? Why not indulge this gorgeous creature? He's there because of Kurt, right? Kurt can feel his own power flowing through him. Kurt's still not entirely clear on what spell he cast that brought this demon to life, but some spells only last 24 hours. What if this demon goes back to whatever realm he came from by the time tomorrow night rolls around? Or what if he turns to dust? After all that Kurt's been through over the past two years with his snake of an ex-boyfriend, doesn't Kurt deserve this?

Doesn't he deserve Blaine?

Kurt's power obviously thought so, because there Kurt was in his kitchen, thinking about someone just like Blaine, and (literally) poof! Here he is.

“I know that you're confused,” Blaine says, inferring Kurt's thoughts. “I know you still have some fight left in you, but you've had a long day, haven't you? So, sit still, pet,” Blaine whispers using a compulsion that Kurt gave him, with Kurt's own power behind it. Kurt may be able to resist the sway of an unrelated witch or wizard, but his own power is a little more difficult to withstand. It's bred from his family line, anchored deep within his soul. His will longs to obey it, no matter who wields it. “Don't move.”

“Y-yes,” Kurt stutters. His body becomes heavy, locked down to the sofa beneath him as if he's been tied there. He feels Blaine, knows he's undoing his belt and unzipping his pants, but he can't lift his head to watch him.

He can't move his hands and arms to stop him.

But why would he want to?

“Of course,” Kurt murmurs. “Whatever you say---ah!”

Kurt feels Blaine's mouth on his body. He feels Blaine suck his flaccid cock, and he becomes instantly hard – inhumanely hard. He feels Blaine doing more than that, as if the tongue stroking his shaft were somehow also making its way inside of him, lapping softly at his rim, opening him up. He's about to convince himself that that's not possible, but, at the moment, anything could be possible, and that excites Kurt.

The combination of Blaine taking control and Kurt feeling unable to move overwhelms Kurt, but in an erotic way. His temperature soars from first day of spring to Long Island summer. He's overcome, helpless against an attack that he surrendered wantonly to.

Surrender. That's the perfect word for it … and Blaine seems to know it, too.

“Yes,” Blaine hums, pulling away to torment the wrecked man sitting above him, writhing into the couch. “Surrender, darling. Surrender to me.”

“Yes,” Kurt gasps. “Surrender … I will … I will surr---oh! Oh … nngh!”

Blaine chuckles once before he pulls Kurt in again, and Kurt feels like he's sinking, drowning. Blaine's lips are like fire, his tongue otherworldly, and his mouth so hot and wet, it doesn't feel like flesh. Kurt squirms at its push and pull, the way it moves not only around him, but through him as well, lighting fires, then putting them out just to reignite them, only hotter.

“Yes …” Kurt chants, over and over till his mouth goes dry. God, he wishes Blaine would kiss him. But then he'd have to stop what he's doing, and Kurt thinks that if he does stop before Kurt gets the chance to finish, he'll up and die. But no sooner does Kurt think of kissing Blaine then there's a mouth on his, the same tongue tracing the veins on his cock licking over the seam of his lips and pushing itself inside. Kurt doesn't know how Blaine does it, ironic since magic brought Blaine here – Kurt's magic. But Kurt has lived in the presence of non-magic people for so long, there's still a bit of the unreal to this experience, a smidgen of this can't be happening. But it is. It is happening. Not five hours after Kurt caught his ex cheating on him again, after coming home alone thinking that he'd never find someone else who'd ever love him and, really, how bad would it be to employ the services of a sex worker anyway?, he's trapped on his couch beneath the sensual, astral projecting mouth(s) of the man of his dreams.

Not too bad for an otherwise average Saturday evening.

“G—god,” Kurt moans, head rolling back and forth, the only thing he can competently seem to do. “J—jesus Christ …”

Blaine pulls off Kurt's cock with a huff and a grimace. “Do you think that you could be so kind as to move away from the religious stuff and start moaning my name, darling? I mean, God and his kid claim to do some miraculous things, but I don't see them down here right now. Do you?”

Kurt swallows. He's tempted to laugh, and if Blaine would go back to blowing him, he would, but the longer Blaine's mouth remains separate from his cock, the more Kurt feels like he's about to explode … and not in the way he was hoping.

“I'm … I'm sorry, Blaine. Please … please, Blaine. Please … don't stop … Blaine …”

Blaine grins, his eyes flashing blue again, then red, his body absorbing more power every time Kurt says please. It's an old-fashioned magic, one that most people tend to overlook, but it's still an effective one.

The power of a polite request.

“Sure,” Blaine says, returning to Kurt's cock with a single suck. “Whatever you want, darling.”

Blaine becomes the devil himself in his efforts to finish Kurt, to bring him to a pinnacle so high that falling from it won't just exhaust him, it'll knock him unconscious. After casting such a strong spell, Kurt will need his rest.

And Blaine needs Kurt passive for a while so that he can move on to the next stage of his plan – keeping Kurt happy.

Because a happy Kurt, the way Blaine wants him happy, may someday bring the world to its knees.

“Oh, Blaine … Blaine, I'm … I'm cumming …” Kurt strains against invisible bonds as his body fights to move – not to get away, but to touch. He wants to run his fingers through Blaine's hair, massage his shoulders, cup his cheek.

“I know, darling,” Blaine whispers into Kurt's mind. “I know you are. Go ahead. Let go.” And for every desire Blaine feels, he plants an impression in Kurt's mind - of Kurt's fingers on Blaine's face or in his hair, Kurt's nails scratching at the shoulders of Blaine's coat, or Kurt's hand on the back of Blaine's head, holding him still with Kurt's cock throbbing down his throat.

“There you go.” Blaine leaves imprints of his words in the folds of Kurt's brain while he swallows down more of Kurt's precious power. He's not draining Kurt dry. Power is like blood – constantly flowing, always replenishing. Kurt conjured Blaine. Blaine will always be lesser. But the more he takes from Kurt, the more Kurt needs to rebuild … the more powerful Kurt becomes.

But Blaine knows what to do with Kurt's power, whereas Kurt hasn't fully tapped his potential. It never interested him. He was more concerned with fitting in, being accepted.

If Kurt had ever embraced his power, the bullies who plagued him throughout high school would have never been an issue.

Kurt could have turned them into human soup with the blink of an eye.

Kurt gasps silently, lips parted, soft pants slowing to even breaths. He doesn't even have energy enough left to say thank you when Blaine's done. He simply turns his head to the side and falls fast asleep.

Blaine looks up from Kurt's lap with a satisfied grin. He carefully tucks Kurt's spent cock back into his pants and zips him up.

“Kurt? Kurt, are you still with me?” Blaine's not really trying to wake Kurt up. He knows the extent to which he's zapped Kurt's energy, but it's for his own good. Kurt needs to recharge if he's ever going to unlock his gifts, be all he can be and all that good stuff.

Blaine lays Kurt down. He slides a pillow underneath Kurt's head and covers his body with the throw from his couch. He brushes the hair from Kurt's forehead and kisses him lightly across the brow, sealing his sleep, making it deep and restful.

“Nighty night, pet,” Blaine says. “Everything will look brighter in the morning, I promise, when we start our new life together.”

Blaine had wanted to put Kurt to bed and lay down beside him, but he decides that since he'll be staying with Kurt for the indefinite future, he should take a look around, acquaint himself with his new domicile. He's tempted to still find the bedroom since it, for certain, will be chock full of incites into Kurt's life – his comings and goings, his job, his day to day activities, his passions and pursuits. But instead, Blaine decides to investigate the source of tonight's conflict. He walks back to the kitchen - the room where he was birthed, so to speak - in search of clues.

“Impressive,” he repeats, chuckling at the extent of the havoc Kurt wreaked in his kitchen. Ash has settled on every surface, painting Kurt's cream-colored kitchen a harsher grey. Broken glass crunches underfoot. The remains of roots and dried flowers disintegrate with wisps of breeze as he passes by. A thick book, pulsing with energy, sits in the corner, unharmed. Blaine knows just by looking at it that he won't be able to touch it. Even with Kurt's power within him, it answers only to Kurt. It has a mind of its own. It can't be conned. It won't be deceived.

Blaine smirks at it.

“We'll see,” he says, moving on as if its existence doesn't intrigue him.

A lick of flame flickers in the center of the floor, eating away what's left of the smoke lingering in the air. Blaine steps on it, smothering it with the sole of his shoe. “Very impressive, my powerful little minx.” Blaine breathes in through his nose, sampling a whiff of the herbs and oils Kurt used in his spell, their intentions unraveling as his brain deciphers each one. “My vengeful little minx.” Blaine crouches in the midst of the mess, his eyes falling on something that Kurt's power has led him to. It's mostly scorched, crinkled at the edges, but the smug face staring at him remained intact. An aura surrounds this picture, a signature – one of hatred and anger and sorrow.

Bingo, Blaine thinks, brushing away the ash coating the image to get a better look at his victim. He can make out eye color, hair color, shape of face … everything he'll need to identify this man, find him on the streets of New York.

“Well, well, well …” Blaine smiles, twice as smug as the asshole staring back at him, completely oblivious to his impending fate. “Look who we have here.”