“Now let me see, what do I want?” Kurt hums, perusing the rainbow of sushi laid out before his eyes. It's a bit more than he and his sub could possibly eat, which is considered a sushi sin, but he had it delivered, so no one has to know if some of it gets relegated to leftover status. And besides, an anniversary only comes once a year.

Kurt plucks a California Roll off Blaine's pec with his chopsticks, dips it into a puddle of soy sauce pooled over his sub's belly button, and pops it into his mouth.

“Mmm,” Kurt moans, chewing obscenely. “God, it's so good when it's fresh.”

Kurt catches Blaine shiver, a few pieces of tekkamaki tipping, almost rolling off Blaine's ribcage.

“Now, now, pet,” Kurt scolds, smacking Blaine on the bridge of the nose with his chopsticks. “You're wearing over a hundred dollars in sushi. I don't want any of it ruined.”

“I…I'm sorry, Sir,” Blaine says, as clearly as he can without moving a muscle. He struggles not to shift on the hard, wood table beneath him, his shoulders aching from staying squared, a muscle in his right ass cheek twitching with the strain of keeping his abs still so as not to upset the condiments. Kurt already warned him what would happen if the soy sauce, wasabi, and ginger mixed.

Locked in Kurt's cock cage lined on the inside with silicone spikes is not how Blaine wants to spend this evening.

“Hmm” – Kurt picks up a piece of futomaki and feeds it to his sub. “Tell me, how good is that?”

Blaine chews, his enjoyment of his meal lessened slightly by his attempts to keep perfectly still. Blaine never realized how much actual movement goes into chewing a single bite of food. He concentrates so hard on what his stomach and chest are doing that he almost doesn't taste it.

“Well, pet?” Kurt asks. “I'm waiting.”

“It's good, Sir,” Blaine replies in a shuddering voice, ignoring the cramp forming in his right hip. “Excellent.”

“You know, I'm getting the feeling that you're not quite enjoying this as much as I am,” Kurt teases, choosing a piece of unagi and dropping it on his tongue. The comment's a lure. Blaine knows it. It wasn't a question, per se, but there's a question definitely implied. Blaine keeps his mouth shut, lips tight, and waits for permission to speak, clearing his mind in the hopes his body will relax.

Kurt eats a few more pieces of sushi, feeds a few to Blaine, but otherwise doesn't speak, doesn't acknowledge Blaine at all except for the food he presses to his sub's lips.

“Tell me, pet,” Kurt says when half the sushi is gone, “what's on your mind?”

Blaine licks his lips, dry from the soy sauce and the sticky rice.

“May I be honest, Sir?” Blaine asks, staring at the ceiling, at the beams over his head, most of them lined with metal hooks and pulleys, any one of which he longs to be strung up to.

“Always,” Kurt says.

“I…this wasn't what I was expecting, Sir.”

“Well, you said for our anniversary that you wanted me to use you, any way that I wanted to, so I made you into a serving platter.”

Blaine feels a chuckle tickle his throat, but he swallows it quickly.

“This wasn't exactly what I had in mind, Sir,” he says.

“I know.” Kurt stands, walks around the table, gets a look at his sub from all angles. “I know what you had in mind – whipped, spanked, on your knees, choking down my cock while I fuck you with the handle of my flogger, something along those lines. But you belong to me, Blaine. That means I get to use you in whatever capacity I see fit.” Kurt starts rearranging the remaining pieces of sushi, clustering them over areas Kurt knows are sensitive to touch – some over Blaine's nipples, the delicate skin of his flank, down his thighs. “And I don't just mean that in the tie down, beat you, and fuck you sense.” Kurt can see the sigh in Blaine's eyes, the one he doesn't dare let pass his lips. He moves in closer, speaks softer. “I love you, Blaine. You're everything to me. You're the air I breathe, the water I drink, the food I eat. You're what I need most in my life right now to keep me sane. Having you here, it's the ultimate gift to me.” He pecks a light kiss to Blaine's temple, then returns to his sorting, grabbing a paper towel and sopping up the rest of the soy sauce. “Now, I'm going to do something for you. I'm going to give you the chance to be more useful, and to show how obedient and disciplined you can be.” Kurt puts his hands on his hips and checks his handiwork. “This is where things get a bit more difficult. This is the part where I shelve the chopsticks, and finish the rest of my dinner using only my mouth.”

Blaine swallows. That sounds heavenly, actually. Extremely decadent, lying on this table while his Dom eats off of him, lips grazing his nipples, tongue curling up and down his legs, so close to his groin but nowhere near his cock. But there has to be a catch.

With Kurt, there's always a catch.

“Then,” Kurt says, “when I'm done, I'll finish with dessert.”

Blaine doesn't turn his head to watch his Dom head for the kitchen, opening the door to the refrigerator and grabbing a few bottles and jars. Blaine can't see all of them, but he knows from the red cap peeking over Kurt's elbow that one of them is whipped cream. Kurt puts the items on the table, pressing their chilly exteriors up against Blaine's warm skin. He opens the can of whipped cream first, shakes it, and sprays it on Blaine's crotch, spiraling around his mostly flaccid cock, shocking it with the cold. Then he follows with a generous dollop of what looks like chocolate syrup, but from the corner of Blaine's eye he can see the telltale label of a bottle of Magic Shell. The heavy chocolate syrup weighs down the cold cream, causing it to drip and slide, adding a touch of heat as it solidifies. Kurt adds the final touch – a single Maraschino cherry – on the very tip of Blaine's cock, holding it in place for a few seconds until the shell forms.

“Now,” Kurt says, “keep still. You look perfect, and remember, presentation is everything.”

Blaine feels the cold cream sliding down his cock in the most sinful and erotic way, dripping between his legs, over his balls, between his crack, some of it starting to dry and itch. Blaine can't scratch, can't squirm, can't move, and though he resigns himself to it, he can't help his choked whimper.

“Crack my Magic Shell,” Kurt whispers in his ear, “or dislodge my cherry, and you'll be locked up in my cage of spikes for a month.” Kurt licks a trail around Blaine's ear, blowing gently, dragging his tongue along the skin of Blaine's cheek, then claiming Blaine's mouth, tender and slow, taking his time tasting him, doing his best to cull an erection out of him. He feels Blaine's lower lip tremble against his mouth, and he knows Blaine's fighting, thinking of anything he can to keep that cherry from moving an inch.

This is about to be the longest second course of Blaine's life.

Kurt pulls away from Blaine's lips, licking them over and over until a silent moan forms in his mouth, and Kurt smiles.

“Happy anniversary, pet.”