The shift from date to session happens in the blink of an eye, seamlessly between the appetizers and the salads, beneath the radar of everybody else dining in the crowded restaurant. There have been hints of it from the beginning, but nothing too out of the ordinary - Kurt makes the executive decision to change out the white rolls in their bread basket for squaw bread without asking for Blaine's preference; he orders Blaine's meal for him; he turns down alcohol on Blaine's behalf when the waiter offers, requesting a freshly washed glass and a bottle of chilled spring water for his sub instead; he answers for Blaine when he's asked if there'll be anything else. When the salad comes, Kurt checks it over first, picking out a few of the onions, which he knows will disagree with Blaine later on, and adding some tomatoes off his own plate.

Aside from that, they seem like any other couple in the restaurant. They talk animatedly back and forth about their day, plans for the rest of the week, a movie Blaine showed interest in seeing, the 2016 Jean Paul Gaultier preview show that Kurt plans on taking Blaine to, until Kurt starts to lead the conversation, and Blaine's side becomes relegated to yes and no answers.

The discussion dies down when something hard enters Kurt's eyes, a glimmer of the authority he possesses where his sub is concerned. That switch in Kurt's gaze flips the mood, and Blaine's brain responds, becoming more aware, more observant, more vigilant.

Kurt drops his fork. It's not an accident. It's about as deliberate as he can make it without attracting the attention of the waiter. He waits for an opportunity, when he and Blaine have locked eyes, then nudges it with his pinkie finger, sending it toppling to the floor. Kurt barely flicks his eyes at it and Blaine rises to his feet.

“Let me get that,” he says, the title Master added sotto voce when Blaine gets close, in a practiced way that no one overhearing their conversation would notice. Blaine sits back down, and Kurt gives Blaine a lingering look. “Here. Take mine,” Blaine offers, giving Kurt his clean, unused fork in place of the one from the floor. When the waiter passes by, Kurt requests a new fork for his sub, as a reward for Blaine acting so quickly.

A few minutes later, Kurt's shoelace comes undone on the opposite side of the table.

“Let me tie that for you,” Blaine says, with another covert Master spoken underneath his breath as he drops to one knee.

When Blaine stands again, the back of Kurt's fingers tap Blaine's crotch. To anyone around who might look their way, Kurt is simply drumming his fingers against the edge of the table, but his knuckles glance Blaine's metal cock cage – a subtle reminder of who Blaine belongs to, who's in control. Blaine nods in acknowledgment, adding a whispered, “Yes, Master,” before he retreats to his seat.

During the course of the meal, Kurt steps up the game.

Kurt orders a raw cayenne pepper as a side to his Fettucine Alfredo. The waiter raised an eyebrow at Kurt's request, not sure why anyone would replace the standard side item of steamed broccoli and grated parm with a single hot pepper, but Blaine knows what it's for, and glimpsing it over his plate makes him shudder.

They're halfway through the main course when Kurt says to Blaine, “I'll give you a bite of mine for a bite of yours.”

Blaine swallows hard. Here's where it begins. Kurt doesn't actually want a bite of Blaine's shrimp scampi. Kurt's comment is a secret code, one Blaine has been mentally preparing himself for.

Blaine knows what's expected, and he doesn't hesitate to smile.

“Of course,” he says, putting down his knife and fork. He watches his Dom cut up pieces of his meal, dividing sections of noodles and sauce for Blaine to sample, with that pepper sitting inches away, untouched for now.

“Close your eyes,” Kurt commands, his tone giving Blaine no room to argue. “We're going to do this in threes.” Blaine shoves down a wave of nerves that try to push their way out of his stomach. He could safeword if it makes him too uncomfortable, if it plays on his anxiety too much. They've done this several times before during other dinner dates, and Blaine hasn't safeworded yet. He doesn't enjoy this exercise, but that's not the point of it. The point is obedience.

Obedience and discipline.

Proving his dedication to service through this one episode of discomfort.

And Blaine wants to be of service. He wants to show his Dom more than anything that he can do as he's told. He craves that more than he despises the pain.

Blaine closes his eyes and opens his mouth, gripping his knees under the table, bracing for the bullet in Kurt's game of Russian Roulette.

The fork enters Blaine's mouth. The metal brushes against his lower lip, and he feels the warmth rising from Kurt's Fettucine Alfredo. Blaine relaxes a bit. Of course, he shouldn't. Kurt could have thrown the pepper in there, tossed him a curve, but his Dom tends to be a purist when it comes to food. The odds are he wouldn't taint a bite of his entrée with that blasted pepper. Blaine chews his food with his eyes closed.

One bite down, two to go.

Blaine swallows, then opens his mouth again, waiting for a second bite. The same brush of metal and the same sensation of warmth means another forkful of Fettucine. Which means the next bite will have to be the pepper. Or maybe it won't. Kurt might do that, too. The anticipation is almost as bad as what's waiting for him on Kurt's plate.

Blaine chews a bit more slowly, then swallows, and opens his mouth for a third time.

Blaine hears the sounds of cutting, a knife and fork clanging against a ceramic plate, and Blaine's leg starts to shake, his heel tapping under the table while he tries to distract himself from what could be coming.

“Relax, love,” Kurt says, offering a forkful of food to his fidgety sub.

The moment Kurt's fork passes over Blaine's lip, Blaine knows for sure.

It's kind of a relief to know. Now he has to deal with the outcome.

A touch of the pepper medallion to Blaine's tongue causes an immediate reaction. His eyes start to water and he sniffles, but he keeps his mouth closed around it, and bears it silently, motionlessly, keeping his face impassive while inside his mouth, his tongue burns.

“Open your eyes, love,” Kurt commands. Kurt could let Blaine suffer in silence, stay shut behind his lids and focus on breathing through the burn, but Kurt needs to see Blaine's eyes. Blaine says so much with his eyes, and keeping them hidden tells Kurt nothing.

When Blaine opens his eyes, Kurt sees exactly what he wants to see. 

Devotion. Love. Endurance. Behind that, Blaine pleads with Kurt for it to be over, for it to end. He knows Kurt has the power, but he waits. He wants Kurt to know that he can handle this if it pleases him. In the past, Blaine may have whimpered, he may have shivered, he may have shed a tear, but Blaine has matured as a submissive. He handles himself differently now. He's growing into his own.

Kurt can't be anything else other than proud.

Staring Blaine down, with this look of desperation in his eyes – desperate to be done but more desperate to do well – is almost as intoxicating as foreplay, as tying him down, binding his wrists and ankles, spanking him, shocking him, edging him until he begs for a mercy he knows he's not going to get, nor that he really wants. Blaine's bound here, too - by rules, by convention. It wouldn't be appropriate for Blaine to make a scene in a five-star restaurant over one tiny bite of pepper.

If he did, Kurt probably wouldn't take him out to dinner again for a long while.

Kurt takes a moment to deliberate over whether he'll have Blaine chew it, swallow it, or spit it out. Since his plans for later would be better served with a hint of capsaicin in his sub's body, he orders Blaine to – “Swallow.”

Swallowing the bite whole is about as painful as letting it sit on his tongue, but Blaine's grateful he doesn't have to chew. He gulps loudly, forcing it down while his body rebels.

“Why don't you take a drink?” Kurt suggests, gesturing to Blaine's water, the glass sweating about as much as he is. It sounds like a reasonable suggestion, but water is just part of the torture. It'll feel better for a second, but the heat will come roaring back. Blaine picks up the glass and drinks while Kurt watches, stopping only when his Dom returns his attention to his meal.

“Nicely done, pet,” Kurt says, and Blaine smiles, biting his lower lip, nearly giddy.

It's worth it, all of it, for that moment of praise.

Kurt trades forks with Blaine and finishes his meal. He wipes his mouth on his napkin and sets it aside.

“Show me,” he commands.

Blaine raises his hands to his tie and loosens the knot. He undoes the first button, then the second, and pulls a corner of the fabric aside. Underneath Kurt can see Blaine's silver collar. Blaine has several of Kurt's collars. This one is designer, more like a thick necklace. It sits flat on Blaine's collarbone instead of up around his neck, with an O-ring hanging from the front.

“Very good, pet,” Kurt says, changing titles, not caring who hears since pet is usually not as reviled a term as Master.

After plates are cleared and coffee served, Kurt says, “Give me. You have five minutes.” He points to his right, over to where the restrooms are, and Blaine excuses himself. Even in a dress suit and wearing Oxfords, Blaine manages to slip out of his underwear in under four minutes, though he cuts it close to the wire returning when he gets caught behind a pack of couples entering the dining room. Blaine makes it to their table, catching Kurt check his watch before he sits down. Kurt reaches out a hand. Without a word, Blaine holds his hand over Kurt's and carefully deposits his underwear in his Dom's hand. He expects Kurt to close his fingers around it and put it in his pocket, but he doesn't. Instead, he keeps his hand flat, fingering the fabric - a fine black mesh - between his thumb and index finger. Blaine's eyes dart left and right, his heart racing as Kurt takes his time, even letting his underwear – no more than a thong - dangle from his finger.

“You see, pet,” Kurt says, “actually, I could do anything I wanted to you” - Kurt holds the thong between two fingers on both hands, stretching it out and making it clear exactly what it is – “and no one would really notice. No one's paying attention. No one knows what's going on over here, that you're wearing your pretty new collar, that you have a plug up your ass with a ruby on the base, that I have your underwear here in my hands. I could probably make you suck me off underneath this table, and no one would care, so involved in their own meals and their own lives. Or I could take you to the bathroom, strip you completely naked, and bend you over the sink…”

Blaine gasps, his cock swelling in its metal prison as he thinks about being stripped naked in a public restroom; cold, conditioned air against his skin; the clink-clink-clink of his cock cage hitting the porcelain sink as his Dom fucks him; biting his already sore tongue to keep from screaming in frustration and ecstasy.

“Heck, I could probably get away with fucking you in the ladies' room,” Kurt remarks, balling up the underwear and shoving it into his inside jacket pocket. “We could sell tickets. Make some money.”

“Will you gentlemen be ordering dessert?” the waiter asks, descending on them from the opposite side of the dining room, but so busy filling water glasses and coffee mugs, he didn't notice a thing.

“No, thank you,” Kurt says, pulling out his wallet from the same pocket and handing over his credit card without asking for the check. “We'll be having dessert at home.”

“Very well,” the waiter says, rushing away with Kurt's credit card, compelled, for some reason, to charge it and bring it back in a hurry.

“What's for dessert, if you don't mind my asking, Master?”

Kurt stands from his chair and rounds the table to Blaine, pulling out his sub's seat so he can stand. Kurt stays behind him to adjust his slackened tie, using the opportunity to press against him, sliding his erection over Blaine's left cheek, the one oversensitive due to an earlier pounding with Kurt's favorite meat tenderizer.

“You are, of course,” Kurt whispers, slipping a finger beneath Blaine's collar and giving it a tug. “You did very well tonight, pet. I think you deserve a little reward.”