Kurt walks through the door of the bar where Blaine told him over the phone to meet him, icy blue eyes peering through the dark, smoky haze for any sign of his sub.

Kurt can still hear the sound of panic in the poor man's voice. That's why Kurt made it from his place to downtown – normally a forty-five minute drive during rush hour traffic - in record time.

Kurt does a sweep of the faces gathered around tables and seated at the bar, and shakes his head. He's been in some funky ass dives in his lifetime, but this…he can't picture his sweet, soft-spoken, slightly neurotic sub spending any kind of time in a place like this. From what he read on Google when he was trying to find the best route to get here, this used to be a decent piano bar once. Kurt looks around again and spots a narrow stage with a tiny electric keyboard in place of an actual piano, set to the side like an afterthought, and tries to imagine what happened to it. He takes a breath and crinkles his nose at all the smells that scream health code violation. He wonders how quickly he could get a health inspector here if he called and told them he saw a bloody thumb in the bowl of peanuts he's staring at on the bar.

To be fair, he can't say with any certainty that it's not a bloody thumb he's looking at.

He'll see how things go while he's here and then decide.

Blaine had told Kurt about this place during a few of their sessions together. It's one of the issues that Blaine has been trying to tackle – not dealing with this place, but leaving it.

Blaine had started subbing for their regular piano player way back when apparently, and since the bar is managed by a friend of a friend of Blaine's brother in L. A., Blaine has a hard time saying no to them when they call looking for someone to cover.

Not because he needs the money. Nope, far from it. But because Blaine has a problem saying no, especially to friends, relations, and acquaintances.

Kurt feels eyes on him and he hates it. He has a pet peeve about people who stare when they want something but don't talk or do anything else to get his attention. Normally, Kurt would just let the fat fuck stare, but Kurt needs to get Blaine, and this asshole in the ill-fitting t-shirt seems to be the only sober person here.

Kurt looks at the people slumped over the bar and rolls his eyes. Drunk as skunks and barely after five o'clock.

Kurt usually tries not to judge, but he's judging, and he's not at all sorry. Kurt approaches the man behind the bar, fixes him with his unwavering blue-eyed glare, and says clearly so there are no mistakes, “I'm here to pick up Blaine Anderson.”

The man leans against the bar, giving Kurt a vulgar once over along with a distasteful leer, and Kurt knows he'll be bathing for at least an hour at the end of the night.

“Who are you?” the man asks around a mouthful of chewed peanuts, and all Kurt can think when he catches a peek of the grossly masticated pieces is bloody thumb, bloody thumb, bloody thumb…

“I'm his brother,” Kurt says without missing a beat, even when a piece of peanut falls from the man's lip.

The bartender chuckles, certain this man in the expensive coat with the torn up Guns N Roses t-shirt underneath is of no relation to that simpering musician Blaine Anderson.

“He only has the one brother,” the man says, speaking with his mouth still full and Kurt thinks, God! Doesn't this man ever swallow? “I've seen a picture of him. He isn't you.”

“I'm the brother no one talks about,” Kurt says. “Besides, what the fuck do you care? He called me for a ride, so I'm here to give him a ride.”

“And where will you be giving him that ride?” the man asks, his smile becoming sickening with the thoughts culminating in his head. “In the bathroom or in the alleyway behind the bar?”

“Funny,” Kurt says with a nod. “Look, I'm bored now, so why don't you be a good little mouth-breather and just tell me where I can find Blaine Anderson. Otherwise, I can call 9-1-1 and tell them you're keeping my brother against his will. Then they can come down here and help me look for him. Probably tear this place all to shit in the process, though…” Kurt steps back from the bar and glances around, “they wouldn't have far to go.”

The bartender's smile goes hard and his eyes become cold.

“He's in the employee wash room,” the man says, standing straighter and motioning with a nod of his head. “Locked his fool ass in over an hour ago. I think he's crying.” The man sneers when he says it in a way that makes Kurt want to grab the back of his head and slam his face into the bar until he hears his nose crack. But Kurt's already fighting to maintain his self-control as it is. He doesn't need to get into a fight with this guy.

“Was that so hard?” Kurt asks, brushing his hands together after he realizes he actually touched something. Where is Purell when he needs it? “You fat fuck,” he mutters under his breath as he heads off in the direction the man had indicated.

There was a time when Kurt was a younger Dom, when he would make house calls and rescue the odd anxiety ridden sub from situations like this. Working primarily out of the club now, Kurt rarely does, though Kurt finds he does a lot of things for Blaine that he wouldn't normally do anymore. As Kurt walks away from the bar, feeling that arrogant ass still staring him up and down, he laughs to himself and thinks for a second that Blaine is lucky he can afford him. But it's not even the fact that Blaine has an open tab for Kurt so that Kurt can come whenever Blaine needs him.

Blaine is the client that Kurt would love to collar.

That makes him dangerous.

Kurt swore off having a personal sub a long time ago, along with the idea of having someone that he cared about in his life in general.

So these feelings he's developing for Blaine are kind of inconvenient.

They threaten to overwhelm him when he walks to the bathroom door and hears whimpering coming from the other side. Kurt can't afford to let that affect him, not when Blaine needs him. He takes a quick breath and knocks sharply.

Knock knock knock

“Blaine?” Kurt calls through the door.

At the sound of Kurt's voice calling Blaine's name, the whimpering stops. Blaine doesn't say a word – he hasn't been given permission - but Kurt knows that he's listening. Seeing Blaine follow orders fills Kurt with relief. He might be having an anxiety attack, but at least he can still focus.

“Blaine, it's Kurt,” he says. “I want you to listen to me and open the door. I'm taking you back to your house. Knock if you understand.”

Kurt waits for Blaine to comply, and before he knows he's doing it, he finds himself pleading silently in his head for Blaine to knock.

Please, Blaine. Please, knock. Let me know you're…

It takes longer than Kurt likes, but Blaine knocks on the door.

“Good, baby boy,” Kurt says, using his chosen term of endearment for this sub to give him praise. “Now I want you to open the door so we can go home.”

Shit! He wanted to say ‘take you back to your house' like he had before…a nice, neutral statement…but he made it personal. Fuck…

Whether because of his faux pas or despite it, Kurt hears the door unlock and sees the doorknob turn. The door swings in and the man that steps out from behind it nearly crumbles Kurt's heart. Blaine looks rumpled, dressed in grey slacks and a long-sleeved violet button down shirt – Kurt's favorite shirt on Blaine if he's going to be completely honest – that are wrinkled beyond repair, as if he had spent the last few hours sleeping in them…or curled up on a bathroom floor. He has a crease on his cheek where he had rested it on his arm, and his eyes – his gorgeous honey-gold eyes, with their subtle flecks of green close to the pupil…if Kurt had ever noticed, which he wasn't admitting that he had – are red from crying and from pushing the heel of his palm against them, which is a habit that Blaine had when he was truly distressed. Red splotches mark his face and his lower lip looks swollen, bitten until it almost bled, probably in his attempts to stop crying.

Kurt has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his own distress over Blaine's appearance from showing on his face.

Blaine's lower lip trembles, relieved at seeing his Dom standing before him, ready to whisk him away. He looks up at Kurt through his lashes, caught between obeying and his need to say Kurt's name, but Kurt doesn't give Blaine the chance to decide.

“Here's what we're going to do,” Kurt says, removing his coat and throwing it around Blaine's shoulders, “we're going to walk out of here, and no matter what I say, you are not going to speak. Do you understand? Nod if you do.”

Blaine blinks in surprise but he nods quickly, standing obediently still and letting Kurt pull the Burberry coat, that has Kurt's warmth and his scent of vanilla attached to it, tighter around him. Kurt bends a hair to look into Blaine's bloodshot eyes and says firmly, “You are not coming back here. Do you understand me? Nod if you do.”

Blaine doesn't have to think about answering before he nods. He had been looking for an out for a long time - a way to defeat his own need to cave to responsibility. He hadn't been able to find one. Kurt just gave him one. His sub side would obey where his rational side had failed him.

Kurt puts an arm around Blaine and pulls him along, walking with him protectively under his arm.

“Keep your head bowed,” Kurt commands, taking the pressure of confronting the bastard at the bar off Blaine's shoulders. Kurt had been working with Blaine on being more assertive and standing up for himself, but now was not the time.

“So, Blainers,” the man jeers as Kurt walks Blaine toward the door, “you'll be back tonight?”

“No,” Kurt announces, not slowing his stride, “he's never coming back, so I recommend not calling him again.”

“Of course, he's coming back,” the man laughs, “he always comes back. And besides, he owes me 50% of last night's house.”

Kurt stops short. This seems to be a running theme in Blaine's life - people that he does favors for scamming him out of money. Through working with Kurt, by adding humiliation to their sessions, Blaine had been starting to steel himself against these people, but this one place – a constant thorn in Kurt's side where his working with Blaine was concerned – had a hold over him because of its connection to his brother.

Well, not any more. Not if Kurt has something to say about it.

He leaves Blaine's side and walks up to the man, who anticipates an argument – a proposition that seems to amuse him – and props an elbow on the bar, resting his chin in his hand, leering at Kurt the way he had before but this time with the addition of his meaty tongue licking over his thin, chapped lips. Without a word, Kurt shoves hard at his elbow, catching the man off guard. His head falls and he slams his face into the bar, rewarding Kurt with that cracking noise he had been hoping for.

“Owww, fuck!” the man squeals, scrambling to stand and grabbing for his bleeding face. He probably didn't actually break the man's nose, Kurt knows, but it'll be swollen to three times its normal size in an hour.

“Call him if you want,” Kurt says, returning to his sub, taking him by the shoulders and walking him away, “but if he comes down here, I come with him.” They walk out the door, and underneath his arm, Kurt thinks he might feel Blaine's shoulders shake with a tremor of laughter.

Kurt pulls his keys out of his pocket and opens the passenger door to his Navigator. He sits Blaine down carefully, buckling his sub in and adjusting the seat belt to fit it comfortably over his body, still wrapped in Kurt's coat, without Kurt giving a thought to the wrinkles that will be set in the fabric after this is done.

Kurt locks the passenger door before rounding the SUV to the driver's side, to ensure that no one rushes out of the bar and tries to mess with him. But no one comes. No one does a blessed thing. Kurt gets into his vehicle, puts on his own seatbelt, and then glances at Blaine, whose head is bowed and hands folded neatly in his lap. Kurt puts this key in the ignition and fires the engine.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kurt asks, taking the Navigator out of park and pulling out of the asphalt lot into traffic.

“Not…not right now,” Blaine says in a voice that's starting to sound more tired than anxious, “if that's okay, sir.”

“It is,” Kurt says, sneaking one more peek at Blaine before he gets to the onramp, “though I think we should discuss it later.”

“Yes, sir,” Blaine says, blinking down at his folded hands. “I'm sorry to put you out like this, sir.”

“It's no problem,” Kurt says, pulling onto the highway, trying to sound detached while his heart sinks a little. “You pay me to take care of you when you need me and that's what I'm doing. Besides, Tuesdays are light. You're not interrupting anything important.”

That isn't entirely true, but if Kurt admits to Blaine just how many things he had to juggle around to get down there at the last minute, he'd have to admit to himself that Blaine's importance in his life went well beyond a paycheck.

“Yes, sir,” Blaine says softly. The SUV falls quiet, with Blaine staring at his hands and Kurt focusing on the road, but from time to time, Kurt can feel Blaine looking at him. When he darts his eyes to look back, it's in enough time to see Blaine look away.

Kurt sighs, changing lanes and heading toward the exit that will put them in Blaine's neighborhood.

“I can see you want to ask me something, baby boy,” Kurt says. “Out with it.”

Kurt hears Blaine make a soft resigned sound, but he doesn't look up, which is reassuring. Blaine keeping his focus is a positive step.

“How will you punish me, sir?” Blaine asks, and he actually sounds afraid. Kurt has never given Blaine reason to fear him, so he's curious where this fear comes from. It sprouts up from time to time, and Kurt has always tried to address it, but he can't force secrets out of Blaine.

Blaine will have to come to him with them in his own time.

“I'm not going to punish you,” Kurt says, offhanded but sincere. “Why do you think that I would punish you?”

“Because…I had this set back…all our hard work…” Blaine mutters, shaking, on the verge of tears.

“Blaine, you're human. Setbacks happen,” Kurt consoles him. “You don't get punished for having setbacks.”

Blaine nods. He doesn't say anything else but Kurt can see the start of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Kurt doesn't mention it, deciding he likes it there.

Kurt pulls into Blaine's driveway and parks his Navigator, putting up a hand to signal for Blaine to stay seated while he exits the vehicle. He walks to Blaine's side and opens his door, unbuckling his seatbelt and helping him out of the SUV.

“Don't need you tripping on my coat and falling on your face,” Kurt murmurs as he puts an arm around Blaine's shoulders, closes and locks the door, and leads Blaine to his house. Kurt uses the key that Blaine had made for him to unlock the front door to Blaine's house, and helps him inside.

“So, how do you want to be, baby boy?” Kurt asks, letting Blaine go and locking up behind them. “Do you want to stay dressed, or would you be more comfortable naked?”

Blaine considers for a second before he says, “Naked, sir.”

“Then go ahead and undress,” Kurt commands. He watches Blaine take the coat off his shoulders and hang it in the hall closet where Blaine always puts Kurt's coat when he comes over. Blaine returns to his spot in front of Kurt to take off the rest his clothes. Blaine has a ritual of removing each piece in a certain order and in a specific way - loosening his bow tie and letting it hang around his neck while he unbuttons his shirt, then pulling them off together before laying them over the back of a chair. His shoes go next, then his grey slacks along with his boxer briefs until he has completely shed his clothes and stands before Kurt naked.

Kurt lets him stand there a moment - head bowed, eyes down, arms hanging at his sides. Blaine seems to relax under Kurt's scrutiny where before it seemed to make him nervous.

Kurt loves to see Blaine's progress.

He loves how much Blaine has grown to trust him.

He shouldn't love it this much, but he does.

“Did you want to watch a movie?” Kurt asks, knowing from experience, after night after night of aftercare, that the answer is yes.

“Yes, sir,” Blaine responds.

“Okay,” Kurt says, knowing that he's in for a few hours of mind-numbing Disney movies, but he can't seem to care. “Why don't you put one on and I'll get your blanket. Or did you want to be tied up?”

Kurt sees Blaine swallow – something Blaine does when he thinks what he's about to ask for is too much.

“Can I have…maybe…both, sir?” Blaine asks with a hopeful lilt to his voice. “My blanket…and my wrists tied…sir?”

Blaine's hesitance appeals to Kurt. He finds it kind of adorable.

“Sure,” Kurt agrees. “You start the movie, I'll go get the blanket.”

Kurt doesn't always feel as comfortable in his sub's houses the way he does in Blaine's. There's so much about Blaine's home that Kurt can appreciate – the fact that Blaine has so much money but he doesn't feel the need to flaunt it, how Blaine's minimalist style reflects his own, how Blaine values the arts and passionately supports the work of new and up-and-coming artists, choosing to surround himself, Kurt found out, with sculptures and photographs by local unknowns instead of by the masters.

In some ways, Kurt wishes he had met Blaine ten years ago. Maybe both of their lives might have turned out differently.

Kurt returns from Blaine's bedroom closet with his favorite red tartan flannel blanket and a red cashmere scarf that Blaine bought for the particular purpose of tying up his wrists.

There's a story about that, too. Kurt saw it in Blaine's eyes the first time he came over with zip-ties in his gear bag.

The anxiety attack those caused was epic.

Kurt never brought them over again.

He ties Blaine's wrists in front of him first, wrapping the soft scarf around and in between before making a knot and checking to see if it's secure. Then he wraps Blaine's naked body in the blanket, swaddling him tight until his legs and arms can't move. Kurt never liked to be swaddled this tight personally, but Blaine prefers it. Kurt sits on the sofa, pulling Blaine down to sit beside him, cuddled under one arm. He reaches for the remote with his free hand and switches the television on, the previews that come before The Little Mermaid already playing on the screen.

Blaine sighs deeply, a sound that's contented, but Kurt can tell there's another question lingering, waiting to be asked,

“What is it, Blaine?” he asks in that singsong and mocking frustrated way that makes Blaine smile in secret.

“How long will you stay with me, sir?”

Kurt doesn't take his eyes away from the screen to answer Blaine's question. He doesn't need the look in Blaine's puppy dog eyes to derail him any further. His knee-jerk reaction is to offer to stay the night. When he had cleared his schedule earlier to pick up Blaine, he cleared it completely on the off-chance Blaine might need a session to calm down. Kurt clamps his jaw tight to keep from saying something stupid and giving himself away.

“How long did you want me to stay?” Kurt asks, evading the subject of how much he actually wants to stay, sitting on the sofa, holding Blaine, watching whatever stupid Disney movie Blaine wants as long as he stays wrapped up in Kurt's arms.

“Would you maybe…spend the night, sir?” Blaine ventures, trying to ask the question without his confidence giving out on him. “I won't make a habit of it, sir, I promise,” he amends. “I know you're a busy man. It's just that…”

“Shhh,” Kurt says, holding Blaine's body against his tighter, “it's fine. Don't worry about it. And yes, I'll stay the night.”

He feels Blaine move his head lightly, in what Kurt assumes is a nod. He feels his sub's entire body melt under his arm, and as the asinine movie that Blaine chose to watch (not particularly to Kurt's taste, but it wasn't on for Kurt) drones on the flat-screen, Kurt lets his own sensibility slip away. He runs his fingers lightly through Blaine's curls, enjoying Blaine's light hums as his fingers brush over his sub's scalp. This wouldn't be the first time that Kurt could picture this being a permanent part of his day – sitting with Blaine in his arms and letting the world drift away around them.

Why not? Kurt gets to take care of himself, too.