To Kurt’s recollection, it had only ever happened to him two times before, but not yet with Blaine. Kurt always felt that those other times were flukes – a combination of atmosphere (he had been at a club both times), overexertion, exhaustion, adrenaline, and low blood sugar causing him to drop. Kurt didn’t love the guys he was dominating. They weren’t even his submissives - just a couple of guys offering themselves up as entertainment. Kurt hadn’t really been in the mood during one of those sessions, but the guy had traveled to New York all the way from San Francisco just to get disciplined by him. Kurt couldn’t say no.

Everybody teased Kurt about it, but that was to help him get over it. They didn’t mean anything by it. It passed fairly quickly, with a lot of laughs and drinks before Kurt called it a night.

Whether he thought it was a fluke or not, Kurt knows that it’s a more common phenomenon than most people in the community talk about. Some people see it is a weakness, domly doms who want to be seen as large and in charge with no emotional connection to the act of domination other than feeling “all powerful” (which is both dangerous and sick), but Kurt knows it for what it is – biology. It’s a physical and emotional response to an intense situation. Simply put – sometimes it just happens.

It occurs more often to Dominants in committed unions, invested in the love and care of their significant other. But as much as Kurt loves Blaine, he didn’t think it would happen to him. Kurt is so in control of his emotions and his body. He’s had to be. That control started back in high school, and has been a constant in his life. And it’s essential in the protection of his sub. Taking care of Blaine 24/7 is not a task that Kurt takes lightly. Blaine’s submission is a gift that requires constant tending, and Kurt is determined not to fail him in any way.

Kurt didn’t rule it out, he just didn’t expect it.

It’s weird that it would happen right then, when he and Blaine are in the zone, so to speak, alone in their loft, their scene going so fucking well.

It’s kind of an impromptu session, but that doesn’t mean Kurt hadn’t planned it out in his head, outlined every detail. And it all comes together beautifully – Blaine on his hands and knees on their bed; a red ball gag in his mouth, secured with a hook in the outer center and tied to the frame of the bed to keep his head tilted up; a heavy silver hook in his hole, rigged to the ceiling to keep his ass in the air; his cock buckled in leather straps to his abdomen, straining and purple till it’s almost black; sandpaper beneath his knees so he’ll think twice about shifting his weight; and his hands cuffed inside fingerless mitts so he can’t claw the sheets.

Even the moonlight streaming in from outside, filtered through their sheer curtains, seems ideal.

The claw crop Kurt is using was recommended by a friend. Blaine has proven to be such the little pain slut, Kurt felt he needed to up his game. Blaine’s eyes went wide and bright as search lights when he saw it, welling with fear at the stiff leather crop and its metal barbs…but with that sublime anticipation, too, that makes it all worthwhile. Blaine wanted it. Kurt saw that he did, even if, admittedly, the instrument in his hands made Kurt cringe the first time he Googled it. But it wouldn’t be the first time Kurt second-guessed a toy, and probably not the last. This is for Blaine, his Blaine, the Blaine who has become so fond of things like staple removers and meat tenderizers driving into his ass cheeks. And Kurt loves Blaine. He wants to open his vistas, push his boundaries.

Each new toy Kurt introduces Blaine to is a learning experience. They discussed this one at length, talked about Blaine using his safeword the second things become too much for him. But understanding Blaine’s stubbornness, his reluctance to safeword, Kurt has to be careful. Multiple check-ins would be required to assess Blaine’s physical and mental state, and Kurt would have to pull his blows so he didn’t shred Blaine’s ass cheeks to pieces.

That crop turns out to be just as savage as Kurt assumed it would be, and Blaine’s ass wells up good. His squeals aside, which sound disturbingly like the cries of a wounded lamb, Kurt is actually proud of the marks he’s made.

And maybe that’s it.

Watching the crop bite Blaine’s skin, the barbs raking across his flesh, stained with blood, and being proud of it, combined with the sounds Blaine makes - brand new, never before heard whimpers that Kurt is able to drag out of him with each hit, and those noises filling Kurt with a sensation of ownership, primal, powerful…they build up, and finally, they get to him. Kurt sees the angry welts, he hears Blaine’s tortured noises, the grinding teeth, the high pitched wails, and yet, Kurt continues to hit Blaine.

Because Blaine wants it.

Because he hasn’t used his safeword.

Because Kurt has checked-in with Blaine over and over to make certain he’s still okay, and every time, Blaine nods, a smile touching his quivering lips, and that beaming glow in his tearing eyes.

Kurt puts the crop down, purposefully avoiding the blood spatter on the sheets, for another check-in.

“Pet?” Kurt says in his low, commanding voice. He massages Blaine’s shoulders, that feeling of I own you. You’re mine. surging up through his arms when his hands come in contact with Blaine’s sweaty skin. “How are you doing? Are we still green?”

Blaine can barely open his eyes. His lips work around the ball gag, trying to come up with words. He sniffs in through his nose, but it’s not strong enough to clear the mucous running down his face. He tries to nod, but all he can manage with his head craned up is a stunted jerk.

“Come on, pet,” Kurt says, hands kneading down his back, “I need to hear some words. Something that sounds like a Yes, Sir before I can continue.”

For the purpose of their scene, Kurt’s stalling is two-fold. First, he has a strict rule that if Blaine can’t speak, he can’t consent. No consent, no play. Second, this break in the impact give Blaine’s body a chance to rest and his mind a chance to relax, which isn’t just necessary for his endurance, but in leading his body to believe that it’s over…when it might be far from over.

Every hit after this pause will smart more. Kurt might as well set that crop on fire before he strikes Blaine again. It’s going to be that bad.

Blaine takes another sniffle in, a stronger one. His eyelids flutter open, heavy and damp with perspiration and fatigue. He lifts up higher on his hands and knees, hissing when his shins rubbed raw slide against the blood soaked sandpaper. He repositions his bowing back, his asshole gaining a considerable gape from the amount he’s sagged against the hook, and God, Kurt wants to fuck him. Staring at that glorious opening this whole time, probably pliant enough now to stick his fist into – that would be the pinnacle. The cherry on the sundae, having his full hand inside his pet, feeling those sphincter muscles clench around his wrist.

“Ye-th…Th-ir,” Blaine slobbers around the ball gag, a single string of saliva dripping from his lower lip and hitting the sheets.

Kurt runs a hand through Blaine’s hair, grabbing a handful and tugging hard. Kurt leans in, tracing the seam of Blaine’s chapped lips with the tip of his tongue, knowing they must be cracked and stinging by now, and yet, instead of Blaine’s body retreating from the sensation of pain, Blaine’s lips move toward it, hoping for a kiss on the mouth from his Master.

Kurt smiles against Blaine’s mouth, against the ball gag and his chapped skin.

“Good, pet,” Kurt purrs. “Since all is well, let’s continue, shall we?”

“Ye-th, Th-ir,” Blaine is quick to answer, but somewhere inside that plea to continue, Kurt hears his exhaustion. He sees it in his legs trembling with excitement. Blaine’s face is the picture of strength and discipline…but his ass looks like hamburger, excruciating to touch.

And still, Kurt climbs up on the bed and prepares to strike Blaine again with hard leather and metal barbs.

Kurt decides to change gears for a moment to reset his compass and spank Blaine this time, get his hands on him, bring back that swell of ownership that he’d felt when he massaged Blaine’s shoulders.

He slaps Blaine’s right cheek with the flat of his palm, pressing into the wounds with his salty flesh. Blaine’s back goes rigid, his pitchy groans soar an octave, and a thread of confliction pulls at Kurt’s brain. It feels good. Actually, it feels amazing to have this man at his disposal, to ply his darkest whims on him (within reason), to know that somewhere deep inside Blaine’s mind, he finds release in this, a path to nirvana. The whimper that follows sounds like surrender, but not surrender into sub space.

It sounds like a repressed, “Please…please, make it stop,”

Kurt thinks about the times he’s held Blaine in his arms, made love to him soft and slow, told Blaine that he loved him. When was the last time they’d done that? Why weren’t they doing that now instead of this? Was this actually better than that? Kurt loves what he’s doing with Blaine now, loves pushing and bending Blaine to his will, coloring within the lines that Blaine gives him to color. But Kurt loves the vanilla stuff, too. Kurt has always told Blaine not to be ashamed of what he enjoys. Kurt isn’t ashamed. He finds pleasure in pain, too. He understands how that feels, the exhilaration that comes with shouldering past your comfort zone, getting to your breaking point and taking a step further. He loves that he can do that for Blaine. He considers it an honor.

But sometimes he wonders if he’s going too far.

Like now, when Blaine’s legs are beginning to slip out from under him, leaving a trail of blood on the sheets, his arms shaking so hard his shoulders won’t keep still, and the only thing keeping his head aloft is the ball gag in his mouth.

Kurt makes the decision to call it without needing to hear Blaine’s safeword. He puts the crop aside and says, “Red. I’m going to unhook you now.” He unfastens the rig and lowers the hook, removing the end from Blaine’s ass in case he passes out. That dealt with, he hurries to Blaine’s front and unbuckles the leather straps of the ball gag to ensure Blaine can breathe.

“Pet? How are we doing, pet?” Kurt asks as he removes the red rubber ball. Blaine sighs, which is a relief, but it’s still not an answer. “Pet? Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Do you have any numbness? Any sharp tingling in your arms and legs? How about your back?” Kurt holds Blaine’s shoulders and stares into his face, waiting for an answer. He watches Blaine breathe, shuddery but even, but so far, that’s all he’s gotten. “Blaine?” Kurt’s confident streak wanes with every second that passes and Blaine doesn’t speak. “Blaine…are you…are you alright?”

Blaine hums, but he doesn’t open his eyes to look at Kurt. He hangs slightly - a limp, used thing, fighting to stay upright. He’s failing steadily, but as long as those muscles are still trying, Kurt can find a tiny measure of comfort.

“Okay, pet,” Kurt says. “I need to hear actual words from you.”

Blaine murmurs vaguely, lips barely moving. It’s got more voice to it, but it’s still not a sentence, and Kurt doesn’t like that. He wants to hear his pet speak. It’s not like Kurt hasn’t brought Blaine to this point before, but this time, something’s different. But it’s not different with Blaine, who smiles weakly with his head hanging on his shoulders, blissful and relaxed despite the swelling bruises on his ass. It’s different with Kurt. Something inside Kurt has gone…off. He doesn’t know. He can’t explain it. That expression of serenity on Blaine’s face, which goes hand in hand with the amount of trust Blaine has in Kurt, an almost child-like trust, hits Kurt in the heart, makes it hurt. Kurt gets back on the bed with Blaine. He rolls Blaine carefully onto his side, kicking the sandpaper beneath Blaine’s knees onto the floor. He can’t look at it. He doesn’t want to see it. It’s bad enough that the sheets are soaked red, but that sandpaper…that’s a step too far.

Kurt draws Blaine into his embrace. Cradled in his arms, he unlocks Blaine’s hands from the mitts and tosses them aside. Eager to shield his sub, protect him, Kurt wraps Blaine in a clean, dry blanket, one that Kurt had prepared, folded on the table beside the bed as part of their aftercare kit, along with bandages and antiseptic, Blaine’s boxes of juice, and his bag of Goldfish crackers. Kurt wraps a shivering Blaine up like a burrito and holds him, burying his nose into his hair to plant kisses on his scalp.

“You were a good boy,” Kurt mutters, rocking Blaine gently. Blaine is still hovering in that special place where everything is fuzzy and warm, and nothing hurts, and Kurt wants to let him stay there for as long as possible. “Such a good boy. You just…you just took that like a champ.” Kurt chokes picturing it – the hits, the bruises, the blood welling on impact, the way Blaine’s back went rigid, every nob of his spine showing through his skin with the strain. Kurt grabs the hem of the sheet to wrap Blaine tighter, to cocoon him, when he notices how red is seeping into the fibers of this sheet, too. Kurt feels a tear roll down his cheek. “And…and I’m sorry, Blaine. I’m so so sorry. I promise, I’m never going to do that again. I’m never going to use that thing, or hit you that hard. I…”

Blaine begins to stir, but Kurt doesn’t notice, rocking him back and forth, and focusing on the future – changing things for Blaine, even though he doesn’t know how. Their dynamic had been perfect up till this moment. At least, Kurt had thought it was. How did it go so wrong? Kurt wishes he had put aside a blanket for himself. He feels so cold all of a sudden, his lips pressed together, his tongue numb. His cheek and his ears, down his back to his legs feel frozen. How can he give Blaine comfort when he feels so damn cold?

“Sir?” Blaine murmurs, the fog in his head clearing as Kurt continues to ramble apologies. “Sir?” And when Kurt doesn’t respond, “Kurt? Honey?”

Kurt hears his name. He hears Blaine’s voice call him by name, and he sobs.

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine says, looking up at his Dom, “are you crying?”

“Wha---? No.” It’s Kurt’s first reaction – not to lie, but to protect Blaine. Kurt doesn’t want Blaine to see him weak. Kurt doesn’t want Blaine to think he can’t rely on him. Kurt runs fingers across his cheek and tries to sit up straight, but that weird sensation of cold has him hunched over and shaking. “No, I…”

“Kurt,” Blaine says with surprising authority, “do you want me to hold you?”

Kurt nods. It’s not even a question. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Blaine turns in Kurt’s lap, in the blanket cocoon, and wraps his arms around him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…I don’t know. I…”

“Take your time,” Blaine says, gently kissing Kurt’s neck. “Take a deep breath. I’m here. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Kurt takes in a breath, and lets it out, trying to rearrange his pile of thoughts until they form coherent sentences. He has all of these emotions bouncing around, so sharp inside his brain, and yet everything else feels dull and numb. He’s crashing, becoming detached from his body. Blaine somehow knows that. Maybe he recognizes it from the dozens of times it’s happened to him.

“Here…wait a moment, Sir,” Blaine says, crawling out of Kurt’s arms. Kurt’s arms tighten around him, but they’re not strong enough to keep him from going. “I’m not going far. I’ll just be a second.”

Kurt lets him go, because he knows if there’s one person who will be able to help, make all of this wrong feel right again, it’s Blaine. And Blaine doesn’t go far, just to the table with the juice boxes and the crackers to grab two boxes of juice.

“Here, Sir…” Blaine pokes the pointed tip of the plastic straw through the foil seal. “You get grape, and I get apple.” Kurt smiles at how sweetly Blaine says it, how “take control” he’s behaving while still being Kurt’s adorable pet. Kurt takes a few sips of his juice, feeling ridiculous sucking Welch’s grape juice (which he hasn’t had since he was twelve) through this teeny ass straw, but two mouthfuls later, life starts to return to normal. The cold and the shaky go away. Rational, un-muddied thought returns. He sees the situation clearer now, the way things were before. But the heavy in his heart remains. No amount of grape juice or Blaine’s puppy dog face seems to make it go away.

“Do you feel any better, Sir?” Blaine asks as Kurt reaches the bitter end of his juice box.

“Yes, pet,” Kurt says, putting the empty box on the floor. “I do. Much. Thank you.”

“Did you…want to talk about it, Sir?” Blaine asks, taking small sips from his own juice box. Kurt watches the way Blaine’s lips purse around the end of his straw, his cheeks dimpling as he sips. Kurt can’t help noticing how young and wide-eyed and beautiful Blaine is. There’s no need to burden him with this, Kurt decides. No reason to put this on his shoulders. Kurt becomes comfortable with the idea of blowing it off…until Blaine sits cross-legged, and winces in pain.

Then the hurt in Kurt’s heart engulfs his entire chest. If he doesn’t release it, it’s going to carry him back under.

“I…I know we’ve talked about this,” Kurt starts, even before he knows where he’s going to finish. “I’ve mentioned that there are things that you like that I don’t understand, and there are things that I like that you don’t understand. And I respect you and I love you so much…and sometimes…” Kurt shakes his head. Or his whole body shakes. He doesn’t know which, but Blaine nods in understanding as he waits for Kurt to continue. “I feel like I’m going too hard, that I’m really going to hurt you. And then…”

Kurt’s sentence drops off, but Blaine being Blaine, knowing Kurt so well, picks up where Kurt leaves off.

“…you think I’m going to leave you?”

Kurt’s mouth closes. No longer trusting his voice to answer, he nods. Kurt has never had that fear before. Relationships end – vanilla relationships, D/s relationships, platonic relationships. People in Kurt’s life have come and gone, people he’s been lukewarm about, and people he’s really cared about, but he’s been able to move past it. But Blaine is not like any one of those people. Blaine is special. Blaine is Kurt’s sub, his lover, his best friend, his rock. Losing Blaine wouldn’t just leave a hole in Kurt’s heart; it would carve out a crater. Kurt has come to the realization in a relatively short amount of time that Blaine is it. He’s the one. And Kurt, as independent a man as he’s had to be his entire life, has now been split in two – the man who can make it on his own, and the man who needs Blaine in order to breathe.

If Blaine left, maybe the remaining half of Kurt would eventually fill in the hole, but it would be a long time before Kurt could remember how to breathe again.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, “I’m alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re a good man. You take care of me, remember? I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Kurt says. “I know you love me. I know you trust me. And that’s why, sometimes I think…this dynamic isn’t the best for you. That we should be different. I should be different.”

“But then we wouldn’t be us.” Blaine puts a hand on Kurt’s hand. “Think about our entire time together, from the first time you met me till now. What were you thinking back then? What do you think now? Would you change any of it?”

The day they met is the easiest thing in the world for Kurt to recall. Watching Blaine audition on stage in front of Broadway producers with no fear; that huge, stadium voice coming out of that compact body, effortlessly; Blaine was simply captivating. Watching Blaine perform on stage, field questions, take comments and criticism, Kurt didn’t think for one second that this man was a submissive, but Kurt was willing to make a play for him, to try his hand at a vanilla relationship if he had to just to have a chance with him. But once Kurt started to see Blaine’s submissive tendencies shine through, because they are so much a natural part of him, everything between them seemed to fall into place. Sure it was rocky at first; all relationships are. But they eventually found their groove, and now, Kurt can’t see himself without it - without his pet to come home to, without the obstacles they’ve overcome, without what they do together.

But mostly, Kurt can’t see himself without Blaine.

“No,” Kurt says. “I like our dynamic. I’ve come to depend on it. It’s what I’ve dreamed about…and you. You’re the ideal.”

Blaine bites his lip and drops his eyes, the pink rising to his cheeks classic Blaine. “That’s how I feel about you, Sir. You are my ideal.”

“But not just you as a submissive, Blaine. You. Blaine Devon Anderson is my ideal match in every possible way. And if you ever wanted to change anything, or…or stop something…”

“I’ll come to you,” Blaine finishes. “But you have to come to me, too. You have to tell me how you’re feeling. Tell me that you’re unhappy, and we’ll work through things together. There’s nothing in our relationship that’s make-or-break for me. I’m willing to compromise.”

“I will, too.”

Blaine sneaks back into his Dom’s lap, the blanket around him nothing more than a sloppy toga, and pecks a kiss to Kurt’s jaw. Kurt closes his eyes to really feel it, to feel everything – Blaine’s body in his arms and their closeness, his incredible body heat, and even that vile wetness on the sheets. Kurt wants to feel it all, and to remember it, this moment, for the next time doubt rises up this intensely within him again.

Because Kurt loves Blaine, so there will most likely be other times.

“Do you want me to clean up for you, Sir?” Blaine offers. “Put the toys away? Put new sheets on the bed?”

Kurt looks at Blaine - his strong, beautiful, caring pet - and smiles.

“Yes,” Kurt says, “but I want us to do it together. We’ll take care of your bruises, get you all washed up, and remake the bed. Then maybe we can read together, if you’d like that.”

“I’d like that, Sir.” Blaine gives his Dom one last hug before they get started. “And then…ice cream?” Blaine bounces on his sore ass cheeks, hopeful eyes fixed on Kurt’s face, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Yes,” Kurt says. “I could definitely go for some ice cream.”