“So, this is a New York public school,” Kurt says with a derisive sniff as Blaine leads him into the office/utility closet where he normally eats his lunch. Since most of Blaine’s lunch hours are spent in conference with parents or grading papers, the school graciously allowed him this hovel to work in on his own time. Blaine had mentioned to Kurt that he doesn’t think he’s spent more than four days eating lunch with the other faculty since he started working there. Blaine doesn’t really care. He doesn’t get along with most of them anyway. He doesn’t appreciate having to work over lunch, but he prefers talking to people one-on-one as opposed to trying to keep up with a conversation as part of a loud group.

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine says, dropping the volume of his voice until he closes the door, securely shutting two nosy receptionists and the vice principal outside. Blaine may be one of a dozen part time teachers, and therefore utterly unforgettable, but anyone who’s ever read an issue of Vogue in the last five years has seen Kurt Hummel’s face.

And those three women outside definitely read Vogue.

“Well, I don’t know what I expected, but this is…upsetting,” Kurt remarks as Blaine pulls out his chair.

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir,” Blaine replies, with shame and a bowed head, as if Kurt’s judgment wasn’t just a slight against the school where Blaine works, but against him as well.

Kurt doesn’t necessarily mean to sound snobbish. After all, Kurt attended public schools for the majority of his life.

An image of McKinley High School flashes through his mind – the small metal lockers; the outdated books; the French teacher who didn’t actually know a word of French; the underfunded arts program in contrast to the consistently spoiled jocks – and Kurt amends that thought.

Yes. Yes, he does mean to be a snob. Public schools sucked back in Ohio, and apparently they suck in New York, too. So, fucks to you, New York City School District! But he regrets making Blaine feel ashamed of where he works when the state of his place of employment is nowhere near his fault. Besides, regardless of how Blaine is treated here, he seems to enjoy parts of his job. He feels it’s a calling, and Kurt can respect that. But Kurt feels that Blaine was meant for something more, which is why Kurt constantly reminds him that this role he earned in Kinky Boots needs to be his priority. Getting his star on Broadway is his priority, even if it means that Blaine quits his job and, for a while, Kurt flips the bills.

Blaine says he doesn’t feel right with Kurt supporting him, and as much as Kurt objects, he respects that, too. So often Kurt comes across submissives who are looking for a Dominant to take care of their everything, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Many Dominants prefer it. It comes as part of the 1950s aesthetic that a lot of male Dominant/female submissive pairs subscribe to, and if that dynamic works for them, then power to them. There’s much of it that Kurt finds desirable; some that he’s incorporated into his dynamic with Blaine. But it’s nice to see Blaine have such an admirable work ethic, nice to know that Blaine wants to make his mark in the world, and teaching is definitely a noble place to make that mark.

But at some point Blaine has to realize that Kurt paying the bills while Blaine gets his footing in the theater world isn’t Kurt supporting him. Blaine provides Kurt with things in his life that no amount of money can buy. Blaine gives Kurt love, loyalty, obedience, and domain over his body. Blaine gives Kurt his deference, he gives Kurt someone to care for. They support each other. Blaine supports Kurt with every rule he follows, every chore he completes, every command he obeys, and that doesn’t have anything to do with money.

“I’m sorry I’m not a little more prepared, Sir,” Blaine apologizes, scurrying to get the table clean and their lunch set up. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have…figured something out.”

“But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” Kurt teases, trying to lighten Blaine’s mood. Kurt knows what that pause in Blaine’s sentence meant. Had he known that Kurt was coming, he would have bent over backward to find a way to make this small room presentable, but the truth is he wouldn’t have known where to find the time. This school runs Blaine around like a chicken with its head cut off. It took an insane amount of convincing on Kurt’s part, and eventually a considerable amount of name dropping for him to get whoever-never at the front desk to clear Blaine’s lunch schedule for this one hour so that Kurt could share a meal with him.

That’s a lot of strings to pull and tape to cut through to get one hour’s audience with a man who works part time for minimum wage.

Kurt grimaces after a third Lysol cleaning wipe that Blaine runs over the tabletop comes up filthy and he fishes into the container for a fourth. Kurt’s poor, overworked pet eats his lunch in this detestable, windowless, hole-in-the-wall almost every single afternoon. Kurt sucks a subconscious breath in, but stops halfway when the scent of must and mildew invades his nose. The very air they’re breathing right now must be filled with dust and Lord-only-knows-what other disease causing particulates. Seeing as this lousy school is constantly on Blaine’s case over every blessed thing, Kurt would expect them to hold themselves to a higher standard. Too bad he can’t swoop Blaine up in a cab and take him to his office at Vogue for lunch. Or The Four Seasons. But they don’t have the time. And Kurt can’t just leave, even if it is for the sake of his own health. Blaine had looked so excited (albeit terrified) when Kurt surprised him at work. It would be cruel to cut their lunch date short.

Blaine doesn’t deserve to be here anymore than Kurt does. Walking down here, looking around the brown building, with its brown hallways, and this little brown excuse for an office, Kurt has never been more convinced that the New York Department of Education does not deserve to have a gem like his pet languishing in their employ.

“So, how’s your day been so far?” Kurt asks.

Blaine gives up on the cleaning and lays out several large strips of butcher paper from a nearby roll.

“It’s been…well, you know…it’s been alright, Sir,” Blaine stutters, sitting in the seat across from Kurt when Kurt nods for him to do so.

“Has it really?”

Blaine sighs, eyes shifting uneasily left and right as he unpacks their lunch from a foil container that Kurt brought with him. “No, Sir. But, you know, the walls have ears.”

Emphasizing that point, they hear a smattering of laughter from the other side of the door (a door that, Kurt couldn’t help but notice, doesn’t have a lock), as well as bits of conversation coming through a vent overhead, which probably feeds in from faculty lounge, since a gruff voice (that reminds Kurt of his dad) is jawing loudly about the upcoming presidential primaries.

“Ah” – Kurt winks – “I understand.”

Despite the gritty atmosphere and the despicable accommodations that have thoroughly offended Kurt’s senses, the thought of taking Blaine here - with someone possibly listening, maybe accidentally walking in – excites Kurt.

It would be nice if it excited Blaine, too. Maybe give him something to think about when he’s stuck in this stuffy room, being complained at by irate parents, or lectured to by some self-important office clerk over Blaine’s supposed overindulgent photocopier usage.

“You know” - Kurt moves his chair closer to Blaine’s as Blaine prepares Kurt’s ahi and watercress salad, tearing the top from its take-out container and setting the bottom on an offset stack of napkins - “I could bend you over this table and take you from behind…tie your arms behind your back with your slacks, stuff your underwear in your mouth so you won’t make a sound, with the receptionists sitting right outside, their ears pressed against the door. You’d be a good boy, wouldn’t you? A quiet boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” Blaine says, swallowing heavily. “I would, Sir.” He stops serving, going painfully still. “B-but…w-would you do that…Sir?”

Kurt pauses before he answers to see what more Blaine might do or say, but he simply waits, hands in stasis above a cluster of Grenache grapes, for a response, or a command, from his Dom. As cruel as it may seem, Blaine’s obvious fear over this situation is sublime to Kurt. Blaine’s muscles tensing in his struggle for restraint, praying silently in his head that they wouldn’t get caught, would be like a flambé beneath Kurt’s tongue – too fucking hot to handle. Fucking in a public place, possibly getting caught is one of Kurt’s favorite taboos. And besides, what would Kurt care if they did get caught? What’s the worse Blaine’s boss could do? Fire Blaine?

Then let them fire him. At least Kurt would have finally gotten a chance to show these asshats that Blaine belongs to him, not them. It would so neatly solve Kurt’s problem for him. Blaine would be away from this job and all the bullshit stress that comes with it.

But even though Blaine’s trembling hands make Kurt salivate, Kurt can’t do that to him. Kurt can tell by the way Blaine’s lips have become tight and thin, the thought is triggering for him.

“I could, pet,” Kurt says darkly, enjoying the sadism of this moment a second longer. “You know I could.” He sees Blaine hold his breath, but he no longer looks afraid. He looks defeated, as if his Dom, who Blaine knows loves him above all things, commanding him to do that here, would be but one of a dozen nails in a coffin that’s being repeatedly pounded shut day after day after week after month. Kurt can’t let Blaine think that he could be one of the people in line to swing the hammer. “But, no, baby. I wouldn’t do that to you here. My office, definitely. The subway, maybe. The restroom at The Four Seasons, possibly. But not here.” Kurt puts a hand to Blaine’s cheek and caresses it gently. “I know you’d do it. You’re such a good boy. But I also know this isn’t a healthy place for you. I don’t need you to prove your loyalty here. I have no wish to make your day any more stressful than it’s already been. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Blaine exhales, and after that tension leaves his body, his whole demeanor changes. He’s more relaxed, lighter, and Kurt can’t help feeling proud. Sure, Kurt could assert himself. Blaine has given him that power. But having that power doesn’t mean that Kurt gets to exercise it blithely. It’s a gift, and it’s been given to him because Blaine trusts Kurt to use it wisely, and carefully. If Kurt takes what he wants now, he’ll be satisfied, but his submissive will be miserable. That’s not the way their dynamic works. Kurt doesn’t take just for the sake of taking. Taking, in Kurt’s mind, should leave Blaine with the satisfaction that he served his Dominant, even if the circumstances are less than comfortable for Blaine. They’ve overcome that obstacle at home with rousing success. And maybe Blaine could find it in himself to feel that satisfaction if Kurt took him here. But it would also come on the back of a host of other overwhelmingly negative emotions that Blaine doesn’t need.

One of them being humiliation in front of people who don’t deserve the honor of seeing Blaine humiliated.

“But…you’re making it up to me when we get home,” Kurt says, grinning ear to ear with a slew of ideas as to how.

Eyes dipped down, shy smile spreading, Blaine pulls a grape from the bunch, the plumpest he can find, and reaches across the table to drop it into his Dom’s waiting mouth. “Of course, Sir. I look forward to it.”