“Did you want a turkey sandwich on whole wheat for lunch, or a salmon burger on one of those nine grain buns we bought from Whole Foods, pet?” Kurt asks, perusing the contents of their refrigerator, trying to come up with a meal that’s both healthy and light considering his sub’s rigorous evening rehearsal schedule. To calm Blaine’s nerves about starting work with a new choreographer, Kurt has set his pet to a task for the afternoon and decided to take care of lunch duty this time. Yes, cooking is one of Blaine’s chores, and Kurt doesn’t like to divert too much from Blaine’s schedule, but he felt it more important to give Blaine a project to occupy his mind, something off the beaten path that he might enjoy to still his absently fidgeting fingers and silence his constantly tapping feet.

Besides, sometimes Kurt misses cooking for his man.

Kurt doesn’t get a response to his question. In fact, the loft is quiet except for the angry clacking of computer keys coming from the kitchen table, where Kurt’s sub sits, typing on his laptop.

“Pet? Turkey or salmon?” Kurt tries again, but when he doesn’t get a reply a second time, he abandons their lunch choices and, curious, joins Blaine. He sees Blaine – back hunched and spine rigid, face two inches from the screen – pecking away at the keyboard as if each depression of the keys might result in real, physical pain to someone in the Internet-verse.

“What’s up, pet?” Kurt asks, keeping his tone light but firm. “Tidying up the blog not going so well?”

“You can say that, Sir,” Blaine mutters so murderously that Kurt jerks back a bit. He puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder and squeezes – not hard, but with definite purpose, and Blaine stops, his eyes and his hands dropping to his lap.

“Tell me,” Kurt says.

Blaine sighs. “It’s just…this is our space, Sir. This is where we post our thoughts about our journey together, our feelings about our dynamic, and our experiences in our relationship, to chronical our time together. We love each other, we respect each other, we follow the rules of S.S.C. and R.A.C.K. and…”

“…and all the rest…”

“Right. So…” Blaine’s eyes flick back to the screen, to a comment thread regarding one of their newly uploaded photographs – a black and white picture that Kurt had taken of Blaine during a recent Shibari workshop. Most people loved it; one or two people did not, and felt it necessary to make their dislike rudely known “…why the negative comments?”

“Well, for a lot of reasons, pet,” Kurt says, massaging Blaine’s shoulder, tense beneath his hand. “Some people don’t understand everything we do, or how we work together. Maybe they haven’t been in the scene all that long, they don’t have much personal experience, or they haven’t gotten their information from the right people.” Kurt shrugs to himself. “Perhaps they think they’re doing us a service.”

Blaine scoffs under his breath. Kurt shakes his head. That’s a reaction Kurt might normal reprimand Blaine for, but Kurt doesn’t because he knows it’s just Blaine seeing through the bullshit. He’s not going to discipline his submissive for being intelligent.

“But,” Kurt continues, “more often than not, it’s just armchair domly doms trying to prove they’re better than everyone else, showing that they think they know more. They believe that their way is the only way, or they just like the drama of calling people out for no good God dammed reason so they can seem superior. In real life, maybe they’re dynamic doesn’t work as well as they like people to think it does, or they don’t like that someone else’s dynamic works better, or maybe they just don’t feel all that confident about themselves.” Blaine’s muscles relax, and Kurt moves on to the next shoulder, still locked tight and ratcheted up to Blaine’s ear. “Anyway, they jump online, invade people’s spaces, specifically if they know they’re going to see something they don’t agree with or don’t like, and with the safety of anonymity as their shield, they shit on everyone else’s good time. That’s why they call them trolls, pet. They’re ill-tempered and awful…and they live under bridges.”

Blaine peeks up at his Dom, a half-smile on lips that are trying hard to frown, an eyebrow quivering to rise. “Technically, don’t we live under a bridge, Sir?”

“We live in New York, pet. Almost everyone lives under a bridge here. But we live under an overpass.” Kurt pinches Blaine’s cheek, and the other half of Blaine’s smile springs to life. “But that’s not the point. We made the decision to put our story out there, as a way to contribute to the online community, but by doing that, we set ourselves up for both praise and ridicule.” Kurt breathes in deep and exhales long. He doesn’t like it any more than Blaine does, but it’s the nature of the beast. Kurt has never run a blog like this with any of his other subs. It didn’t seem necessary, partially because, in a way, Kurt knew that the journey he was taking with those other men was temporary. He had a good time with them, he even loved a few of them, but there was a limit to his time with them. He felt it almost from the start. But Blaine is special. Kurt is immensely proud of Blaine, proud of what they have together. Kurt wanted to show it off, and by doing so, maybe help other people who might be questioning along their journey. He’d been in the scene for a while now. And as much as he knows he has a lot to learn, he also felt he had much to teach. And their blog has helped many people. He hears it all of the time from their Dom and sub followers. But with the good apples come the sour ones. Kurt wishes it was different, but he can’t change other people; only himself. “You have to expect it, unfortunately, pet. But in the end, we all have our own way of doing things. We all practice D/s using our own methods and by our own rules. If the participants are consenting, aware of the risks they’re taking, and doing everything they can to stay safe, that’s all that really matters. You and I don’t go into other people’s spaces and criticize what they do, even when we don’t agree with it. You’d think others would extend the same courtesy to us. We can tell people ‘don’t like, don’t look’ until we’re blue in the face, but that obviously doesn’t mean anything to some people. It’s like they feel it’s their responsibility to police us.”

“Well, it’s stupid, Sir,” Blaine spits, smile dipping.

“Yes, it is,” Kurt agrees, draping his arms loosely around Blaine’s shoulders, hoping to see some of that smile come back. “But we can’t let it bother us, because we’re not doing anything wrong. They can’t change us, Blaine. I won’t let them,” he whispers into Blaine’s curls. Kurt stares at the photo on the screen of his gorgeous submissive, kneeling on a sleek wood floor, bound in a white rope that glows against Blaine’s skin, his head bowed, eyes down, face relaxed – so still, so serene, so obedient.

So beautiful.

That peaceful beauty is contrasted by two vile comments underneath, both of them unsolicited remarks, one with regard to how amateurly the ropes are tied (even though this particular photograph was taken after the class’s instructor - a Master in the art of shibari for the past four decades, having learned in Japan before moving to New York - had borrowed Blaine for the purpose of demonstration), and another that claimed that Blaine’s posture in the photograph was atrocious, and that if he had a better Dominant to train him up properly, he’d be a better submissive.

Two people with impersonal URLs and generic avatar pictures, both who haven’t made posts of their own, or written anything personal that they could be judged by, making commentary on something that doesn’t concern them simply for the sake of seeing their names show up on a popular blog.

Kurt knows that Blaine is looking at it, too, not just by the reflection of his face in the darker portions of the screen, but from the heavy way he sighs in Kurt’s embrace.

“And you know what, pet,” Kurt decides out of umbrage that some unimportant, nameless peon could make his submissive feel down about himself this way, “we don’t need to keep the blog.”

Blaine’s gaze snaps up. He catches Kurt’s eyes through his reflection in the screen. “But…but we have friends here, Sir. Real friends. And…I enjoy it.”

“I do, too. But if it’s causing you undue stress and frustration, if it’s becoming a toxic space, I won’t keep it in our lives. We have other spaces that aren’t toxic. We have our loft, the club, and the dojo, and our friends in real life. Plus, do you know what the most important space we have is?”

Blaine thinks he knows, but he wants to hear his Dom say it. “What’s that, Sir?”

“You and me.” Kurt rubs a cheek along Blaine’s curls, marveling at their softness against his skin. “Us. That’s our most important space. You’re my comfort space…” Kurt gives Blaine a squeeze.

“…and you’re my safe space.” Blaine puts his arms over Kurt’s and squeezes back.

“That’s right. And that’s all that matters, pet. You and me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. I do.” Blaine melts back against Kurt’s shoulder, his head rolling to the side till his face nuzzles against Kurt’s neck. He breathes in the scent of jasmine and vanilla that always has a way of making Blaine feel safe, making him feel at home as long as it comes from Kurt’s skin.

“Now, about lunch…” Kurt says, eager to take Blaine’s attention away from that stupid blog now that he’s calm and centered again.

“Whichever you think is best, Sir, if that’s alright with you.”

Kurt smiles. There it is. Blaine’s deference, which he gifts Kurt with every day. Blaine loves Kurt. He gives Kurt this power over him, this power to decide what’s best for him because he trusts Kurt. This is them together, their space. It doesn’t need any fancy toys or implements. It doesn’t need to be advertised. It doesn’t require anyone else’s approval. It is what it is, and it works for them.

That’s what’s important.

“It is, pet,” Kurt says, his fond grin for Blaine suddenly turning wicked. “And after we have our salmon, you’re going to get yourself undressed, I’ll have at you with that new dildo we bought, and we’ll take more pictures for the blog. We’ll make them really dirty,” Kurt growls. “Something else for the trolls to spend their night complaining about. What do you say?”

“I say…” Blaine turns his head to meet Kurt’s gaze nose-to-nose, “that sounds like an inspired idea, Sir.”