“Kurt? Kurt Hummel? Is that you?”

Kurt glances over his shoulder, searching for the voice calling his name. A waiter walks by, and a couple passes. Finally, the woman who owns it makes her way through the tables, approaching with arms open wide.

Kurt puts down his fork and rises from his seat. “Delilah Stevens!” he says, embracing her. “Oh my God! How long has it been?”

“Too long, darling. Too long,” she replies, kissing Kurt on both cheeks.

“Are you back in the city?”

“Only for the week. Are you still working at Vogue?” She says the name with a hint of sour in her tone, as if whatever she does for a living, Vogue is somehow beneath her.

“I am,” Kurt admits sheepishly. “I’ve been there for a while now.”

“Bah!” she exclaims, and mock spits on the floor. “Your talent is wasted at that rag sheet that passes itself off as a magazine! You should be working for me, mon cher! At my New York office. Or better yet! At my Paris office! You would love it out there – the culture, the glamour, the food …” She gestures around them at the dining room of Le Bernadin which, judging by the twist of her mouth, she also sees as beneath her “… the men. Eh?” She elbows him lightly in the ribs, and Kurt laughs.

“I have to admit, that is tempting, but I’m still chasing that dream of performing on Broadway someday. And as for men …” Kurt leans back, moving out of Delilah’s field of vision, to reveal Blaine, sitting politely at the table, hands folded in his lap, eyes focused on his half-eaten plate of Caesar salad.

Delilah looks at the dapper young man sitting quietly out of the way, and whistles appreciatively.

“Now, now, now, Kurt. You’ve been holding out on me, as usual.”

“You might be more in the know if you visited more often,” Kurt teases.

“Oh, hush, you, and introduce me to your man.”

“Of course.” Kurt takes a step back so Delilah can get closer. “Blaine Anderson, this is Delilah Stevens, one of the biggest names in haute couture in all of Europe. Delilah Stevens, this is Blaine Anderson, rising Broadway star.”

“Broadway?” she says, impressed.

“Yup. He just finished a run in the musical Kinky Boots, and now he’s starring in Hedwig.”

“Well well, then” - Delilah reaches out a hand to Blaine, a new appreciation lighting her eyes - “it’s nice to meet you, Blaine Anderson. Always a thrill to meet a star on the rise.”

Blaine’s eyes dart to Kurt’s face and Kurt nods. He rises from his chair. His facial features shift - jaw moves, smile widens, eyes shimmer. He extends his hand to the woman across the table and says, “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Stevens.”

Blaine takes her hand and squeezes gently, and the woman purrs. “Ooo, the pleasure is all mine,” she says, slow to pull her hand away. “He has a nice, firm handshake. You’re a very lucky man, Kurt.”

“Oh, stop it.” Kurt chuckles. If Blaine didn’t know better, he’d say his Dom is blushing. “You’re still as dirty an old lady as you’ve ever been.”

“Meh. I’ve never had a filter, and I’m far too old to start developing one now.”

“Delilah!” A woman’s voice calls from across the sea of tables. “Delilah! We’re over here.”

“Op,” Delilah yelps. “They’ve caught me. I’ve got to go. It was nice seeing you again, Kurt.”

“It was nice seeing you,” Kurt says, giving the woman one last hug.

“And it was nice meeting you, Blaine.” She gives him a quick once over, unconcerned with whether or not Kurt sees … which Kurt does. He responds by fondly roll his eyes. “We should all three of us get together for lunch while I’m here.”

“I’d like that,” Kurt answers for them. “I’ll have my secretary call your New York office tomorrow.”

“See that you do,” she says, jabbing him in the shoulder with her finger, “or I’ll send my assistant down to Vogue …” (spoken with a curled lip sneer) “… to fetch you.”

She walks off with a wave as she makes her way through the diners toward the other side of the room, where a table full of people, who have been watching their exchange with interest (and envy), stand waiting to receive their guest of honor.

“Oh!” Kurt sighs, retaking his seat. Only when he’s sitting with his chair pulled in does Blaine follow suit. “We’ve been friends since the dawn of time. What can you do?”

Kurt waits until a few curious diners return to their meals before he turns to Blaine.

“You’re a good boy,” Kurt says. “You did incredibly well. I am very proud of you. That interruption came out of nowhere, but you handled it beautifully.”

Blaine, who had gone back to looking obediently at his plate, smiles. “Thank you, S-sir.” He inhales in, and hiccups unexpectedly. Then he coughs, hacking into his closed fist.

“Ooo, careful now,” Kurt says, handing Blaine a glass of ice water, which Blaine takes with a grimace. “No choking on me, pet.”

Blaine takes a long sip, shuddering as he swallows. “I’m … sorry … Sir,” he says, trying his best to sound calm between coughs.

Kurt puts a hand out in front of Blaine’s mouth.

“Come on, pet. For being such a good boy, I won’t make you swallow it.” He makes a motion with his hand. “Give.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Blaine discreetly spits into his Master’s hand a carefully skinned segment of jalapeno pepper, the second of two that he’d had sitting under his tongue through most of dinner. He’d had to relocate it between his teeth and cheek in order to speak clearly. The green pepper has been almost completely digested. What little is left of it is a testament to Blaine’s obedience, and to his loyalty.

Kurt looks at it and grins. He wipes his hand with a napkin. Then he leans forward so only Blaine can hear. “I’ll just have to find some other way to wreck your ass tonight.”