“What an absolutely exquisite charm!”

Kurt smiles graciously, patting down the ornament dangling from the silver Figaro chain peeking out from behind his bowtie.

“Isn’t it though?” he gushes. “I just can’t get enough of it! My wonderful boyfriend gave it to me.”

This older woman, who had stopped Kurt and Blaine on their way to finding Isabelle, is the freelance editor of a trendy new fashion blog that Vogue is wooing towards the dark side. She was making the rounds, shaking the requisite hands, when she spotted Kurt’s newest bauble and moved in for a closer look. The charm is simple in its spectacle - a thin, plain, silver key, adorned with a delicate, faux porcelain topper, painted in a white and blue English teacup motif.

As pretty as it is, it’s more gorgeous in its symbolism than in its style.

“You’re a very lucky young man,” she remarks, glancing over at Blaine, standing silently beside Kurt, his lips pulled into a polite smile. “The key to his heart, I assume?”

Kurt laughs. Blaine does not. The woman laughs, too, but only because Kurt does. She has no idea what could be so funny.

“No, no, no,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “His dick.”

The woman falls silent, her smile dropping so that her eyes go wide and her jaw slack. But a second later, she laughs again, and Kurt joins in, his put on laugh becoming more genuine when he looks at Blaine and sees the tips of his ears flushing bright red. Of course, they’ve been red for the past hour, but at this point, they’ve become conflagratory.

“You’re pulling my leg!” she says, giving Kurt’s hand a playful slap.

“Absolutely not! I can show you if you’d like.” Kurt reaches for Blaine’s crotch, but the woman grabs Kurt’s arm and tugs him away, only halfheartedly concerned for the dapper young man who has remained unusually quiet throughout this whole exchange. This is how the world of high fashion is, she reminds herself. Full of excess and debauchery. She’s not offended in the slightest. On the contrary. She’d kill to be a younger version of herself celebrating her current success in life with a sexy young thing at her beck and call like Kurt Hummel has.

“No, no, no, you cheeky boy. Making fun of an old woman like that! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Well, the offer still stands,” Kurt says, palming Blaine’s cock before he pulls his hand away. “Whenever you want to see it. Especially if it’ll win you over to our side.”

“I may just take you up on that, Mr. Hummel.” The old woman chuckles lightly and shakes her head, walking away towards the buffet and leaving Kurt to return to his sub. Blaine’s ears are not only glowing red now, but he’s bent slightly at the waist, the attention from Kurt’s hand having caused Blaine’s cock to swell in its smaller than normal cage.

Kurt frowns. “Posture, pet,” he snaps. With the slimmest of grimaces, Blaine pops back upright. Kurt puts his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, turns him around, and leads him into the throng. “Well, pet,” he says, pushing his silent submissive through the crowd – silent as punishment for touching his Master’s cock without permission, “she makes number forty-two out of three hundred and fourteen people who R.S.V.P.’d to this event. And we’re not leaving until every last person knows what this key is for … whether they believe me or not.”