Chapter 14:

"I will be your sub, Lord Anderson. I will be your sub in public and private if need be......"

Kurt watched Blaine from the threshold of the bathroom, leaning casually against the mahogany frame as his Lord pulled at his cuffs for the seventh time since the sub walked in and smoothing down the already immaculate dinner jacket.

"James Bond called for his suit back." He grinned, his voice light and playful in the gilded bathroom but Blaine only shuffled again and threw a weak smile sideways before his eyes clouded again.

"I'm expected to look a certain way Kurt, and this...." he tugged at the immaculate cuff impatiently, "...this, makes me look like a goddamn penguin." He huffed out a breath and moved to shuck the jacket off, snagging the lapel against his cufflink in the process and emitted a low growl of disgust. Attempting to deflect the ripple of desire that flooded to his groin at the animalistic sound, Kurt leapt forward to stand behind his lord and held his shoulders steady. Stilling instantly at the touch, Blaine sighed and looked up at their reflections in the mirror above the marble sink, taking in his sub's appearance properly for the first time.

Kurt was dressed formally for once; a sleek grey shirt stretched enticingly across his broad shoulders, visible behind Blaine's own, more diminutive form in the glass and the Lord struggled to tear his eyes from the narrow waist and slender white skin of Kurt's neck as he leant his head against the dark, slippery curls and whispered in his ear.

"You look incredible," Kurt breathed seductively, dipping down slightly to lick a slow and deliberate line along the sensitive flesh before adding "My Lord" in a disgustingly low and gravelly tone. Reacting with the dizzying speed Kurt knew he would at the words of submission, Blaine spun around and grabbed his waist, lifting him and shoving him with full force against the sink before crushing his mouth beneath his own in a desperate and filthy kiss. The Sub only had time to grunt out a puff of air, the breath swallowed out of him as he felt the full weight of his lord pressed against his cock, already straining in his suit pants and gripping Kurt's long legs tightly around his waist. Growling possessively against his lips, Blaine moved down to nip at Kurt's jaw, rasping his stubble along the tingling flesh and thrusting powerfully once more. He pulled back, grinning wolfishly at the utterly wonton moan of pleasure that escaped his Sub's mouth and forced his tongue into the wet heat of his open lips again, setting up a relentless rhythm as they rutted against each other. 

"Fuck Kurt ... you're so fucking hot for it, aren't you?" The Lord grunted against his skin as he sucked violently on the fiery flesh of Kurt's neck, struggling to control his own screaming erection from erupting in his tailored pants but completely lost in the utterly abandoned noises his Sub was making. "You can't come, Kurt." He whispered teasingly, smiling against the whine that Kurt whistled out in protest at the words. "You can't because we have to ... ugh ... have to leave ... fuck - in about four minutes." He gasped out, as he continued to thrust, knowing Kurt was desperately close. "If you come in those ... ahh ... pants, you'll have to ... to go without any ... and ..." he punctured each word with yet another forceful thrust, "I'm ... not sure ... the ... opera ... lets its patrons ... ugh ... in without ... pants."

Kurt was completely undone, head thrown back and face utterly wrecked as he tried desperately to stave off the rush of pleasure building painfully in his veins. Blood thumped in his ears as he allowed his Lord's words to consume him, his body given over entirely to the pleasure that was being promised and yet cruelly denied. The anguished scream of frustration that exploded out of him when he found himself rutting against empty air instead of Blaine's achingly hard length reverberated around the polished tiles and shocked them both.

"Fuck you!" Kurt growled, his eyes narrowed as he panted violently, slumping in absolute surrender against the welcome cool feel of the mirror beneath his back. Blaine grinned at the desperation in his voice and Kurt allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he took in his Lord's equally wrecked appearance; the suit now slightly crumpled and his hair no longer quite so slickly-gelled into place betraying his seemingly controlled exterior.

"I'm not sure the opera lets in Lords who look thoroughly fucked either." He said teasingly, enjoying the effect his cursing had on the other man as he watched his cock twitch again and the glimmer of a smirk tug at the corners of his mouth. They regarded each other for a moment through lidded eyes, desire and want and need bubbling just beneath the surface and licking fire over their limbs as they smoothed down their dishevelled outfits and attempted to fix their hair.

"Come here, let me do it." Kurt said, sighing as he watched Blaine struggle to control his unruly hair again. Moving to stand in front of him, but careful not to touch their still throbbing bodies together, the Sub slid his fingers into the softly-gelled curls and smoothed them back into place. Blaine's eyes drifted shut at the gentle administrations of his Sub, feeling a warmth spreading through his limbs that had nothing to do with lust this time, but was something the Lord couldn't quite begin to articulate.

When he was done, Kurt bent his head slightly and pressed a light kiss to the other man's lips, soft but with a lingering promise of more later, being careful to lick gently at Blaine's bottom lip as he drew away. Taking one last look in the mirror and readjusting their pants for a final time, both men moved out of the bathroom, Blaine sliding the gold embossed tickets into his jacket pocket as he went.

He paused in the doorway of the bedroom, one hand wrapping around Kurt's waist from behind and pulling his body flush against him, feeling the curve of his ass against his groin as he held him close. He lent forward, keeping the man tightly in place as he breathed against his ear, voice dangerously low and making Kurt shiver with anticipation, "When we get back here, I'm going to fuck you until you can't stand." The Sub's eyes rolled back into his head as he slammed back against his Lord with a wonton moan at the filthy promise. Blaine chuckled softly against his hair before kissing him gently on his neck and pushing him slightly forward to leave the room. Kurt sighed heavily and took in a lungful of air before standing up straighter and gathering himself for the evening ahead.

"You, my Lord, will be the death of me." He groaned, but with a smile as he listened to Blaine's soft laugh as he followed him out.

************

Gilded angels curved sensuously around cornices and elaborate fleur de lis roamed wildly across the ornate ceiling of the Opera House above Kurt's awed head. He couldn't help but stare at the splendour as Blaine ushered him through the entrance into the open space at the foot of the grand staircase where a plethora of exquisitely dressed Lords and their wives sparkled and shimmered under the twinkling chandelier.

Though his mother had worked here, Kurt had never seen the opening night of a new opera, the rules of the establishment firmly keeping the workers segregated from the upper rungs of society and hiding them away. Instead, he'd been inside the theatre only twice in his life, both times sneaking in the back entrance situated in the dark and crumbling side alley, huddled against the slightly damp material of his mother's old woollen coat. Even then, sneaking around the bowls of the stage and the winding corridors of the grand building, Kurt had been open mouthed in wonder at the fantasy world the opera promised. Rich swaths of taffeta and heavily powdered faces with rouged cheeks like painted dolls twisted and spiralled in the chaos of the backstage preparations and everything was colour and noise and life; at seven years old Kurt had fallen completely in love with the dream-like world his mother inhabited.

Now though, eleven years after his last visit, Kurt was seeing the world from a wholly different perspective and as his eyes swept over the champagne and diamonds decorating the room he couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of disappointment at the sterility of the air. Voices were hushed and controlled, trilling pleasantries and insincere greetings drifted around him and he found himself longing for the unchecked and unrestrained chaos undoubtedly going on beneath his feet.

Blaine was watching him with mild interest, noting the flicker of emotions that he was unable to conceal dance across his Sub's face before he schooled it into some semblance of detached coolness; Kurt's own painted face ready for his performance. The Lord was nervous. He'd stopped fussing with his cuffs in the car when Kurt had laid a reassuring hand on his wrist and steadied his movements. They'd not spoken but the silent change in Kurt's demeanour as they neared the building reminded him that Kurt was very much aware of the expectations placed on him tonight. It was meant to comfort him but instead he felt the cold chill of fear wash over him at the thought of the evening ahead. He longed for the library and its anonymity from society.

Kurt had played his part well though, had dipped his head respectfully when addressed by the more confident of the Lords who had already approached them, mouthing pointless greetings and inane platitudes at the Lord and his sub before strolling away again to attack the next suited penguin. Blaine was relieved that their delay in the bathroom had led to them having little spare time for small talk before the voice bubbled out of the intercom announcing the need to take their seats. Letting out a soft exhale of breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding, he reached for Kurt's arm, steering him pointedly away from the groups still congregated and up the spiralled staircase towards their waiting box.

"Do you know the story of La Traviata?" Blaine whispered against his ear as they took their seats, Kurt wide-eyed at the sheer amount of gold drowning the theatre auditorium. The sub nodded slightly, unable to drag his eyes from the dripping jewels and silks of the dresses that were now positioning themselves below.

"My mother would tell me the stories behind each piece of music she rehearsed" he whispered back, finally settling his eyes back on his Lord. "La Traviata was one of her favourites."

"Violletta and Alfredo are so tragic." Blaine countered, his own eyes drifting out over the railing and towards the heavy red velvet of the curtain concealing the stage.

"It's doomed from the start." Kurt agreed, his voice quiet and low, "They should never have been together in the first place; they inhabited different worlds...." He trailed off at the implication of his words and looked down, feeling Blaine's eyes on him. "You can't escape where you started."

Rousing chords of the preludio interrupted whatever response Blaine was trying to construct and the couple were plunged into darkness as the velvet drapes swept aside and light flooded the stage. Kurt's eyes snapped up in wonder, his previous sentence pushed aside as he leaned forward into the opening bars, allowing the music to transport him far away from the box and the situation and himself.

The Lord tried to watch the scenes as they burst into life across the stage, tried to take in the exquisite power of Violletta's achingly beautiful voice as it wrapped around the auditorium, but every time he wanted to get lost in the music he found himself drawn back to Kurt, back to his Sub, where he became lost in his face; the ever changing expressions of awe and empathy and the heavy intakes of breath when it reached it's tragic conclusion. Kurt's eyes were filled with tears and Blaine couldn't work out if it was for the memories of his mother, the tragedy of Violletta herself or the unnerving parallels to their own lives. He didn't want to ask, couldn't find the words even if he had wanted to, so instead sought out his Sub's hand in the darkness and simply held on. The fingers squeezed back tightly.

Concealed by the dark and caught up in the drama playing out on stage, the couple hadn't noticed they'd been joined in the box until they heard an obvious sneer behind them as the final act drew to a close with Alfredo cradling his lover in his arms. The sound made Blaine flinch slightly and without thinking he yanked his hand away from Kurt's, missing the pain that flitted across his face at the violent dismissal but attempting to mask the movement through his enthusiastic applause. Only after the thunderous clapping died down did Blaine turn to the figure behind him, at last having regained his composure and control. Kurt too had steadied himself, both men knowing instinctually that it was Lord Buckley lurking in the shadows.

He wasn't alone, Kurt noted. He was accompanied this time by a woman in her fifties with tight little spiral curls pinned severely off her overly large face and a gaudy dark blue ensemble heavily adorned with crystals and sequins. She was quite clearly his wife and her possessive hand resting against her husband's sleeve seemed to confirm this. Her lips were pinched and narrow when she attempted a polite smile of greeting at Lord Anderson, but she pointedly ignored the existence of Kurt with an overt turn of her head. Buckley, not sharing his wife's more squeamish temperament, allowed his eyes to run lasciviously and lazily over the curves of Kurt's hips and his defined chest before twisting his mouth into a cruel sneer.

"Did you enjoy the opera?"

His comment was directed towards Blaine but Kurt knew it was meant for him. He looked to Blaine in silent question and raised his eyes to the other Lord when Blaine nodded imperceptibly.

"Very much. La Traviata is one of my favourites." He spoke clearly and with attempted cold courtesy, but Buckley's curled mouth derailed him slightly and he looked down at his feet, irritated at himself.

"And what do you know of opera?"

Feeling a flash or anger at the pompous arrogance of the older man, Kurt snapped his head up defiantly and mimicked the Lord's narrowed eyes. "Posso giacare questa musica nel mio sonno lei arrogante fotte" Despite the insult Kurt plastered a smooth smile across his face and watched the other man struggle to interpret the language he clearly didn't understand. Instead of admitting his ignorance, Buckley smiled tightly back before turning away from him and looking to Blaine again, the younger Lord frantically trying to school his face into some semblance of sincerity and control having understood perfectly what Kurt had said.

He bristled though when the older man switched to cool indifference and raised his voice slightly. "Such a talented sub, Lord Anderson. Not something you'd want to lose, I suppose." He glanced back at Kurt again quickly before smiling broadly at the Lord once more. "That's a nasty scratch you have there on your face." He reached out to indicate the scar with a flick of his wrist, smirking again when Blaine flinched. His eyes narrowed and his voice became more pointed. "You really should be more careful when you're playing the hero next time, Blaine."

Several heads turned to stare at them at the mention of Blaine's first name, the obvious disrespect lost on none of the neighbouring groups and their vulture eyes devouring the new act of the opera playing out in front of them. Not one had missed the gossip of Blaine Anderson's frantic flight into the blizzard to save his wayward Sub, and while few had had the nerve to broach the subject, all were desperate to watch the young Lord squirm at the hands of Lord Buckley.

Kurt watched with mounting horror as a flush of red swept across his Lord's face at the impertinence and the obvious stares, the lack of control over his countenance giving his feelings away entirely and leaving him vulnerable. He wanted to help him, to calm him, but knew that whatever he did or said now would only add fuel to Buckley's already simmering fire. Instead he brushed his arm a tiny fraction against Blaine's, willing him to feel the heat of his body beside him and his reassurance that none of this mattered and that all he had to do was pretend he was utterly unconcerned. He felt Blaine flinch at the tiny movement before taking a steadying breath and bringing his angry eyes to lock with the other Lord's.

"I would have thought it better to play the hero Buckley, than the simpering coward... don't you think?"

He watched the other man blanch slightly and smiled a little at the indignant gasp sputtered out by his wife at his implication. Buckley's own face grew red, his rage seething under the surface of his waxy face. Drawing himself up, appearing instantly larger than his narrow frame truly was, Blaine brushed past the Lord, ignoring the glances of the rest of the room and walked steadily and smoothly down the stairs, throwing an ordered "Kurt, come!" over his shoulder as he went. Obediently Kurt swept out after him, holding his head as high as he could and refusing to look at any of the faces that he passed. They were nearly out of the building when Buckley's voice, talking loudly and pointedly to a group of Lord's that Kurt could see contained Rutherford and several other more prominent figures, echoed down from the floor above.

"... Yes, yes ... it's disgraceful, really. His father would be so ashamed of him."

***

Blaine's profile was rigid and devoid of emotion. Angled slightly away from him, Kurt could see his jaw clench and unclench repeatedly as the limousine drove on towards the mansion in the darkness. They'd not spoken since leaving the opera, Buckley's words following them heavily into the vehicle and pressing down on them until all previous companionship seemed squashed out of them and they sat alone again, shoulders touching but acres of leather seat dividing them. He didn't know what to do - the mention of Blaine's father had sent the man spiralling back into the remote coldness he'd maintained for so long before Kurt had managed to break down a little of the masked exterior, and now he felt the familiar fear twisting his stomach.

It was midnight when they finally pulled into the gritted driveway, and without even looking at his Sub, Lord Anderson yanked open the door and stalked into the house, leaving Kurt staring bleakly after him. The door to the study clicked shut as he entered the hallway and Kurt knew this was a sign that Blaine didn't want to be disturbed, knew that it was a silent warning to leave him alone and that in opening the door he would be greeted with the Lord and not Blaine. He knew the beast that lurked inside him and had momentarily been silenced had once again roared awake - and yet Kurt couldn't stop himself. Something had awakened in him too and while not as angry or bitter as the Lord's, Kurt's beast had its own beauty. Taking a deep and steadying breath, Kurt yanked open the heavy wooden door.

"Leave."

Lord Anderson's voice was ominously low in the darkened room; the only light coming from the small table lamp in the corner of the desk. His back was to Kurt as he stood in front of the painting of his father that hung broodingly above the fireplace, his knuckles clenched against the marbled mantle and his head dipped low. Kurt could just make out the tight muscles of his shoulder blades under the stretched material of his dress shirt and swallowed thickly at the power that the Lord's narrow frame belied. Closing his eyes and levelling his voice, he remained firm. "No." He said quietly.

A dark laugh without humour erupted out of Blaine and Kurt flinched. "And that's what they're talking about, isn't it?" He spat out venomously. "Your fucking disobedience. That's what they're laughing at." He span around and glared at Kurt, a fire behind his eyes that made Kurt edge backwards slightly, shrinking against the door. "I'm a joke, Kurt. You heard them. Pathetic little Blaine. Too young and too naive and can't even control his fucking Sub!" Kurt jumped as the glass paperweight smashed to the floor shattering into thousands of tiny fragments on the cold marble. "And they'd be right, wouldn't they? They'd be fucking right. I am a fucking joke. You're a Sub. A nothing. And I can't even get you to obey me. Look at you. You come marching in here as if you're the one in charge and then have the nerve to say ‘no'. To me!"

He advanced forward then, crowding in on Kurt who was now cowering slightly, back pressed flush against the rough wood of the door. "Blaine, please. D - don't do this. We ... we were OK. They don't matter, Blaine. They don't ..." Kurt felt the breath smacked out of him when the Lord's hands gripped at his shoulders, pushing roughly against him and squeezing painfully into his flesh.

"Don't matter? They don't matter? Kurt, they're the only thing that matters - can't you see that?!" He shook him roughly, flames burning behind his eyes. "They're what I am, Kurt." He spat out again, face inches from Kurt's and fingers searing flashes of pain into the bruised skin of his arms. "I am one of them, Kurt. I'm a Lord and ... and maybe I should just do what is expected of me." Panic gripped Kurt as he watched a darkly brooding determination flash across his Lord's face as the other man crowded in on him even further, smashing him into the doorframe with the full weight of his body and trapping him.

"Blaine, please ... let ... let me go, Blaine." He struggled against the power of the other man, trying desperately to fight against the press of his body and push him off.

"So maybe I should just behave like a Lord should, eh Kurt? Maybe I should just take what belongs to me ..." Kurt motioned to scream but found the sound ripped out of him as he felt the Lord's mouth clamp over his, painfully pushing against his teeth and biting his lower lip roughly into his mouth. Blaine's hands moved aggressively to his waist before sinking lower and pushing harshly against his groin and thrusting his leg up between Kurt's. "Come on, Kurt - I know you like this. You're mine, remember?!" He growled against the other man's lips that were now swollen and bruised.

"Let go of me ... B ... Blaine. Please!" Scrabbling to gain purchase on the Lord's chest, Kurt thrashed around under the other man's weight, pushing with all his might against the tense muscles and pounding his fist violently against his chest. Tears were streaming down his face as he fought against the other man, terror mingling with the fear of his own heart breaking.

"Blaine, this isn't you. You're not them." He screamed against his neck as he was crushed into the sweat soaked skin. Pushing with all his might to free his arms, he managed finally to get some leverage and clawed his hands up to grip the Lord's face, desperate to meet his eyes and find Blaine in there somewhere. His fingers pressed into the burning flesh of his Lord's cheek as he yanked his head up with all the force he could muster and held him firm, shouting forcefully, "Look at me! Look at me, Blaine! This isn't you!"

Breathing heavily and teeth gritted, the Lord finally raised his eyes to lock against Kurt's own terrified blue ones, finally taking in his tear-tracked cheeks and bleeding lip where he'd been bitten. And then suddenly it was as if the sight of Kurt knocked the very air out of his lungs; he let out a terrifyingly pitiful whine like a wounded animal and leapt back away from his sub with a force that sent him tumbling backwards onto the desk, horror etched across his features and his hands covering his mouth in disgust.

"Fuck! Fuck! Oh my god, Kurt - what did I do? What did I do ...?" His voice quivered; a tiny whisper strangled out of his throat. Kurt just watched him, panting to get his breath back and tears still streaming down his cheeks. He was shaking, his legs trembling as he steadied himself against the wall with his hands. Blaine's own eyes filled with tears as he watched him, the full realisation of what he had done finally seeping over him and burrowing down into his skin until he squirmed in revulsion. "I ... I'm so sorry. Kurt? Please ... I'm s-sorry."

Kurt shuffled slightly, feeling the icy shards of glass crush to powder under his feet like his own heart. He wanted to tell him it was OK. He wanted to reassure him that he understood;  that he knew why Blaine had reacted like he did. He wanted to because he did understand. He did get it. He knew Blaine. But he also couldn't do it. Sucking the tender flesh of his bottom lip into his mouth Kurt tasted the fresh blood, metallic on his tongue, and couldn't quite bring himself to absolve the Lord. Not now.

"Kurt?" Blaine's voice was tiny and hesitant and completely broken. Stealing himself against the tears running freely down his cheeks, Kurt turned dead eyes onto him, regarding him coldly. "No, Blaine. No."

A sob escaped the Lord's throat as he saw himself in the glassy eyes of his damaged and battered Sub. A beast stared back at him, drowning in a well of blue. Lowering his eyes from the hideous sight, Blaine slid from the desk, falling to his knees. "I'm sorry," He whispered, head bowed to the floor, unable to meet his Sub's crumpled face. "... I'm so sorry, Kurt."

Staring at his former Lord kneeling at his feet, Kurt felt the thin piece of invisible twine that had held them together spool out away from him further and further. His heart constricted.

"I know." He whispered before turning unsteadily and walking out of the room, closing the door behind him and feeling the painful ache of something snapping.