
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/812949.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Sam_Evans/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Sam_Evans, Kurt_Hummel, Quinn_Fabray, Mary_Evans, Jacob_Ben_Israel, Holly
      Holliday
  Additional Tags:
      Sequel, Dom/sub, Pet_Names, AU, D/s_AU
  Series:
      Part 2 of The_Cherish_'Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-01 Words: 17452
****** Can't Hide My Need ******
by Edwardina
Summary
     Sequel to Cherish Is the Word I'd Use. Collared, Sam tells his
     parents about his new Dom, and stumbles through his first school day
     in his cuffs totally subbed out. Quinn comes back into the picture.
Notes
     A continuation of Cherish_is_the_Word_I'd_Use, which is a D/s AU kink
     meme fill; please read that first. I really wanted some Sam
     perspective. Title from "Cherish" by Madonna. Takes place circa
     episode 217.
On the bus, Sam sat crammed up against the window and drifted.
He might as well have been on a space shuttle or something. His mind just felt
like it was floating somewhere beyond the reaches of the galaxy like a
satellite getting farther and farther away from Earth, every now and then
sending grainy pictures of nebulas back to HQ. His thoughts were snapshots of
what had happened, and what was ahead of him – what was on his wrists right
then, peeking out from the stretched cuffs of his shirt – but he could only
regard them for a moment before losing his will to concentrate. He longed to be
back in Kurt's bathtub, or in his bed. Even if he was just waiting on his
knees...
He was going to miss his stop if he didn't try and pay some attention. But it
was so difficult. So he let himself tune out, knowing factually that it was
weird for him to be sitting on the bus, all subbed out in front of some a few
random strangers. Once he was off the bus, Sam would be officially back to
juggling a billion things.
Eventually the bus pulled to a stop by a pitiful cluster of fast food places,
and Sam managed to disembark without forgetting his backpack.
He trudged slowly across a bridge, making his way to the American Family Motel.
Even from the bridge, he could see that their van wasn't in the parking space
in front of their room. So it was just his mom at home with his younger
siblings right then.
He wondered if he should wait.
Their door wasn't locked. It wasn't a nice enough motel for key cards. This one
required normal keys. When he opened the door, Stacey leapt up from her spread
of coloring books on the bed, probably happier for the minor commotion of Sam
coming home than to actually see Sam himself, but he snagged her up and
smooched her cheek, making a big fuss for her benefit. Stevie just idly
continued to fill in Spider-Man with green and purple crayons. That was his
thing lately: seeing what super-heroes looked like colored in totally
differently. He was on his fourth of the exact same dollar store Justice League
coloring book.
"You're a little late, honey," Sam's mom commented. She was leaning over the
want ads, motel pen in hand.
"I know. I'm sorry. Something, uh, kind of important came up," Sam said,
letting Stacey hang upside-down from his arms. He swung her to and fro a bit,
making her giggle loudly, and Sam's mom smiled.
"Was it something for that glee club again?"
"No, not that. Something else."
Sam hesitated. He knew once Stacey was out of his arms, his mom would probably
notice the cuffs on his wrists anyway, and he didn't want to hide them. It was
the weirdest mixed feeling; he was fit to burst, and he wanted to tell her
because he was so happy, but he couldn't help the nervous twisting in his
belly.
He remembered being back in their old house, talking to his mom and dad before
even officially accepting Quinn's promise ring. They'd met her at church
several times and he'd told them all about how she was so popular and had been
head Cheerio, but he wanted them to know that she'd gotten pregnant last year
and had a baby that she'd bravely given up for adoption. He'd wanted their
approval, which he guessed was just the sub in him. He'd been fully aware that
a teen mom might not be what they were expecting for his first Domme. But
they'd assured Sam it was his choice and said Quinn seemed like a strong,
motherly girl who now understood her actions had consequences. They liked that
she was in church every Sunday. They liked that she always wore dresses and had
good manners and a soft voice and a queenly demeanor. They'd even asked her to
baby-sit for Stevie and Stacey many times while Sam had been her sub, which was
kind of the ultimate stamp of approval, and Stevie and Stacey loved her and
asked about her all the time.
When he'd asked Quinn to let him go and to forget about him, the Evans family
been at the motel for two nights, and Sam hadn't wanted to pile his abrupt loss
onto his struggling family. They'd only found out when Sam had stopped sitting
with Quinn at church, and he hadn't told them he'd been the one to cut the tie
or why. He figured they'd understand, but he just hadn't been able to say it
out loud. It was bad enough that kids at school still gossiped about it and
that he hadn't been the first to know Quinn had cheated on him. The last and
only thing he'd told them was not to worry – someone else was considering him.
But they also hadn't had real time to ask about Santana. He was somehow
strangely grateful they hadn't, because he would have lied to them and said she
was better for him than Quinn and the one he wanted to belong to, and he was a
really bad liar. And he was so ashamed of himself for the whole situation. He
really was a terrible sub for not trying so much harder to make Quinn see that
he was the best option, and for giving up. For being so prideful when it wasn't
his prerogative to be that way. For being so misguided and needy that he'd
accepted Santana's manipulative offer like a quick fix to his problems.
But things had taken a turn for him. A sharp one.
After what seemed like a tiny eternity, struggling to keep Stacey from simply
back-flipping out of his arms, Sam asked, "Can we talk outside for a sec?"
Sam's mom, accustomed to private conversations taking place across the parking
lot at a lopsided picnic table, simply said, "We can," and set down the pen
with which she was circling want ads.
"Can I come?" Stacey asked. He carried her to the bed, plopping her on it, and
gave Stevie an absent little push on the side of his blond head, earning
himself an annoyed "Heeey!" in the process.
"No, honey. I'm just going to lecture your brother for being late," his mom
told her, pulling her woefully thin tan cardigan tighter around her.
"I'll color with you when I get back," said Sam. "If I'm not in too big of
trouble. If Mom'll let me."
"Mama, let Sammy color!"
"We'll see!" she said as he opened the door for her.
Sam wasn't beyond the feeling that it was slightly wrong to tell his mom
something like this in a motel parking lot, but as soon as they were stepping
over the oil spot their van left, it became too difficult to keep it in any
longer.
"Uh – I got claimed," he blurted without any cushioning lead, and gulped,
watching her brow pull and the late winter breeze tug at her hair.
"Claimed? Are you back with Quinn?"
He shoved his hands anxiously into both pockets. "No. Uh... someone else."
After a pause, his mom smiled, shaking her head.
"Sam! That's... wonderful. I'm sorry, I forgot you had your eye on a different
Domme. Things are just such a mess lately, I haven't been able to keep tabs on
you. You're so busy with school and glee club and working your tail off at the
pizza place. I didn't even get to ask you about this girl – you know, what
she's like, and if you're ready to go through this again. But I guess it's too
late for that. And you're looking like a squirmy puppy," she commented. Her
eyes crinkled at the corners. "I know that face. That's a happy face."
"Yeah," Sam said, mouth twisting all around uncontrollably. "I'm, uh. It wasn't
like this with Quinn. I think this is different."
His mom reached up and stroked Sam's hair with a soft hand, and he bowed his
head for her, comforted. "Do you?"
"Well, yeah. It's... actually totally different," said Sam, glancing up through
his lashes at his mother's distracted face.
"Is she pretty?"
Sam paused. His heart was beating pretty hard. But in comparison to his whole
afternoon, this seemed to just be the aftershock to the main quake. "I really
don't know how to say this... so. I'll just say it. You'll think I'm weird,
but. It's a guy. A guy claimed me."
"A guy," she repeated. Her expression was a lot like the one she'd made when
Sam told her that he'd gotten groped by one of the guys at boarding school.
"Well, honey, did you tell him no, or did he just decide he'd to try and
dominate you no matter what you had to say about it? Because I will call his
parents."
"I didn't say no," Sam said, closing his eyes. Almost every fiber of his being
was concentrating on the reassuring grip of his cuffs around his wrists. "It's
not like that. I'm happy about it."
"Sam," uttered his mom, confused.
"I – I still like girls," Sam said, aiming for reassuring.
"Is he on the football team?" she demanded.
"No, he's not. He's not bigger than me or stronger than me or pushing me around
or offering me some kind of protection. And he's not making me drop the soap."
"Don't even joke about that," she told him, an index finger coming up.
"Sorry," Sam said quickly.
"I know that stuff happens, and thanks to that stunt at Brookside, I know how
enticing a pretty face like yours is to older boys. Is that what this is about?
One boy tries something with you and now you think you need to submit to boys?"
"Mom," muttered Sam, embarrassed.
"That instinct to possess really flares up at your age, and sometimes, with
unattached Doms, all that energy –"
"That wasn't like this – and I didn't even know I wasn't a Dom then! You
remember I knocked that guy on his ass, right?"
She looked somewhat annoyed at the language, but nodded. "Yes, I remember. I
know you can defend yourself."
"This is just different. I, I – wanted him to take me on, okay? I asked him
to."
"Okay," she said blankly. "Well. You have been on the phone a lot the past
month. I thought it was with a girl. I heard you talking about collars. So this
is serious, huh?"
Sam's exhale took on a great weight, equal parts guilt and relief and lingering
exhilaration, coming out of him long and apologetic as he shook his head.
"I didn't mean to hide it," he murmured. "I just didn't want to worry you or
Dad. I know you don't need any extra crap. I didn't want to jinx it, either. I
didn't know what was going to happen at all and I didn't want to get my own
hopes up. He talked to me about collars but I didn't know if he was for real or
if I was just some kind of joke, or something. I thought maybe he'd get sick of
me, like whatever's wrong with me that made Quinn... that made that not work...
might happen again."
"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you," said his mom fiercely. Some part
of him was relieved to hear something like that, but it still took everything
Sam had to not let an avalanche of insecurities tumble out of his mouth. He bit
down on the inside of his lip punitively.
"Okay," she repeated, breaking the relative silence of wind blowing and cars
passing. She crossed her arms and gazed out at the highway. "Okay. ... All
right. This is good, right? It's good?"
Sam nodded.
"Okay. If this makes you happy, Sam, that's all I want for you. You're my son
and I love you and I want you to be happy with your Dom, whoever that is. I
wish you'd told me sooner you were thinking about boys as an option. That's
all. I don't think you're weird. It's just not what I was expecting to hear,
that you've been claimed and that it's by a boy. It's a lot to hear at once."
"I know. I'm sorry. I should've told you when it started to happen. But I mean,
I don't even know if I like guys. Besides him. Other dudes." Sam felt his brain
tangle and had to let the whole line of thought go. "Whatever, it's not
important. I don't care about anyone else like that, guy or girl. Just, I know
that... I can't help the way I respond to him, and I don't want to help it."
"I know how that is," she said, giving him a pinched little smile. Sam could
tell she wasn't angry with him, or bluffing, or on the verge of trying to talk
him out of the arrangement again – just that it was new, and she was still
processing it. And he knew how that was.
"He collared me," he told her, huffing sheepishly. "After school."
Sam wasn't sure how he wasn't face-down in the parking lot just saying so.
Actually talking about it like this was so powerful. He saw his mom's gaze drop
to his neck and tugged his hands out of his pockets for her, pushing his
sleeves up one after the other and displaying his wrists. Sense memory whammied
him, and again, he didn't know how he didn't fold instantly. The urge was
slamming down on him like actual gravitational pressure on his shoulders,
heavying his head. And of course, since she was his mom, she noticed.
"You can get on your knees if you want to, honey. I get it."
The cold gravelly parking lot was almost orgasmic on his knees, but Sam just
flattened his lips together and rode out the shock of happy sensation, and then
stared up at his mom, who had taken his hands in hers just like Kurt had
earlier. She was looking at his cuffs with that thin smile.
"Well, they're perfect for you," she told him.
"You think?" he asked, dizzily pleased.
"Yep. Far more obtrusive than a ring, but that just means there's no mistaking
these for anything other than a mark of ownership. This guy means business,
huh?"
Sam took a deep breath, not entirely unfamiliar with having to deal with hard-
ons with his family right up in his personal space, but, uh – he'd never
exactly gotten aroused by his mom before, even on accident. He had to shove the
swell of feeling down forcibly.
"Is he in the army?"
"No," laughed Sam, nearly wheezing.
"JROTC?"
"No."
"And he's not on the football team."
"No."
"It's not that Puckerman kid, is it."
Sam flinched. "No. God. It's not Puck."
"Wheelchair kid?"
"No! I'll tell you who it is! You don't have to guess random guys."
"I'm just trying to think who you've been hanging out with," she said, eyeing
him.
"Uh, I don't think you've ever met him, but I think I probably mentioned him.
Remember when I first joined glee club and we were assigned duets? I was
listening to music in my room really loud and you came up and told me to turn
it down and asked who I was listening to so loud and I said Faith Hill? Well,
it was actually him. And remember when glee club had to do that wedding? That
was his parents' wedding."
"Are you talking about what's-his-name? The guy who replaced you as
quarterback? The tall one?"
"No! I swear, he's not on the football team. It's his step-brother. Kurt."
"Oh. No, I don't know him," she said, disappointed.
"No, I know. You haven't met him. But he sings like Faith Hill and he planned
that whole wedding, I guess. He's, uh, kinda... I don't know the word, but..."
"Well, honey, just based on context clues, I'm guessing the word you're looking
for might be 'gay.'"
"Uh... yeah, I guess," said Sam. He was floundering for how to describe Kurt to
his mom without just dissolving into incoherent blather about his beautiful
cock and how he'd allowed Sam to suck it. His mom might've been a sub, too, but
she really didn't need to hear about that. "I mean. He is. And he doesn't try
to hide it. But I mean... he's just... I guess he's..."
"Is he handsome?" his mom wondered, narrowing her eyes quizzically.
"God, I really don't know how to talk about him like that," Sam said, flushing.
"Right. Okay. I'm your mom and he's your Dom. I got it. I'll just have to meet
him," she said, and gave his hands a tug.
He got the cue, pushing a knee up and raising himself from the uneven concrete,
embarrassed that he'd actually fallen to his knees in front of his mom. It
wasn't that he was ashamed of being submissive, even if he'd somehow gotten the
idea growing up that if he knew what was good for him, he'd be a Dom. He just
hadn't ever made it so obvious to his parents, even though they had commented
about how it made sense when he'd woken up to the fact back at boarding school.
She gave his face a once-over, then turned back towards the room.
"Come on, now. Don't want to leave Stacey alone with crayons for too long. With
her raging cabin fever, we might find her drawing all over the room. Remember
when she did that in our house in Tennessee? Drew us a nice family portrait on
the wall?"
"Yeah. And she made herself the tallest."
Sam took his mom's arm as they walked back across the little parking lot; they
hadn't ever reached the picnic table.
Just being next to her, he could feel a raw sensitivity between them right
then, but their family had survived so much in the past couple of months that
he could also tell that this wasn't going to be a big deal in the long run.
This was just a twist in the road, which was bumpy enough already. He stopped
them suddenly and wrapped his arms around her in a clumsy hug.
"Oh. You're still my strong little man, Sammy," she whispered. "No matter whose
collar you're wearing."
He let himself cling on for another second before letting her go. "I know. I'm
still me."
"We'll tell your father tonight, okay?"
"Okay," agreed Sam. "I'm kinda nervous."
She stroked his hair. "Don't be. I know he just wants you to be happy, just
like me. You kids are everything to us. The important thing is that we have a
roof over our heads and dinner to make. And Sam, you do so much for us. I'll
help you if you need, but. What your happy, smiling face doesn't say, those
cuffs do. For what it's worth, I think your dad will really like 'em. You know
how he loves his Army Surplus."
 
*
 
That evening, Sam stole outside with his lame pay-as-you-go cell phone to use
some of his precious minutes talking to Kurt.
Most of his phone conversations took place outside, even if it was chilly or
late, just because Sam wanted both privacy and to be able to concentrate fully,
instead of having to block out the TV and censor his replies. He had to
remember to keep it down so he wouldn't disturb anyone in the next room, and
sometimes it was weird to catch himself sitting with his back against a
dumpster with his dick hard, but it was still worth it times, like, a billion.
Sometimes he had to stay in, though, like if he was sitting Stevie and Stacey,
or if it was raining. But tonight, he definitely wanted to be totally alone
with his Dom.
"Hi, there, cutie," Kurt purred. "I was hoping you'd call."
"Hey," said Sam shyly, even more vulnerable than usual to the casual pet name.
"How's it going?"
"Hm, my day was exceptional," Kurt said. "How 'bout you? Still feeling like my
good boy?"
"Yeah..." He slid past the plastic chairs sitting in front of their room and
slid down the wall under the far window, curling up as far as he could from his
family's door and drawing his knees up to rest his elbows on. Every time he was
on the phone with Kurt, he was about one mild breeze away from getting hard, so
it didn't take very much. Even though he'd actually been allowed to come
several times that afternoon – a fact that he almost couldn't comprehend even
though he knew it had happened – he felt as hair-triggered as ever.
"Still wearing your cuffs?"
"Yeah. I'm never gonna take them off, except for when I swim or I'm in the
shower."
He heard Kurt hum delightedly. "Well, you are my good boy."
"I wanted to tell you something," Sam said, before Kurt could get him much more
worked up and he forgot.
"You have my complete attention."
"I told my parents. About us."
"You did."
"Yeah. I mean, there was no way they would miss these cuffs on me, and like I
said, I'm not taking them off."
"What did they say?" Kurt asked lightly. Sam could tell he was really curious,
but trying not to expect anything.
"They were pretty surprised, but. It's fine. They're fine. My mom really wants
to meet you."
"Oh! Well, that's a relief. What about your dad? Is he pissed?"
"No, don't worry. He's, uh." Sam lowered his voice, just in case. "I think
it'll take a few days for it to really sink in with them. I just sprung it on
them. But it's not like he's mad. He knows I've dealt with guys before, a
little bit."
"Oh? Does he know about your boarding school sub?" teased Kurt.
"There were a couple of different incidents at boarding school. But he doesn't
know that one. He just knows what's up. He's a Dom, so."
"One day you'll have to tell me about those incidents and we'll have to have a
more in-depth discussion about what your parents know," said Kurt. "But for now
I just want to know how you're doing. Are you okay and everything?"
"I'm okay. It's been an epic day," admitted Sam.
"I know..." Sam deeply suspected Kurt either had no idea how teasing and flirty
and superior he sounded or that he couldn't help the beckoning curl of his
voice. Or, hell, maybe he was in total control of it, just like he was of
everything else. Either way, Sam exhaled in a soft shudder, and Kurt went on
knowingly. "You didn't know when you woke up this morning that by the end of
the day, you'd be a collared, fully claimed little sub. And I mean fully
claimed."
"Mn," Sam agreed, biting his lip.
"Are you sore?"
"Kinda, I guess. It's not bad. Sitting feels kinda weird."
Kurt chuckled, warm but dark and kind of devious. "Sorry. I didn't plan on any
of that happening. In fact, I naively thought I'd collar you and then take you
by the hand to glee, where we'd be the envy of all. Me with my sweet little
sub, both wrists locked up in those thick cuffs. I confess I had visions of you
putting your head on my shoulder while Rachel sang 'Justify My Love' as a piano
ballad in honor of the occasion. I had no idea what collaring you would do to
me."
Sam squeaked helplessly. It was kind of all he could manage.
"I meant what I said, you know," Kurt continued, not sensing the need for
mercy. "If you didn't want me, physically, I'd still want you as my sub. Even
if it meant never doing anything but feeding you at lunch and helping you at
school. But when you said you'd been dreaming about touching me, I could hardly
believe it. I was worried you were confused."
"No, Kurt, I wanted to – I really wanted to," Sam whispered.
"I know, honey. You won me over, asking me if you could suck my dick. You even
swallowed my come, didn't you?"
"Mm," moaned Sam, unbelievably riled. With the memory called up in his head, he
felt like he was right back in the passenger seat, close to having the hot
rigid curve of Kurt's dick in his mouth. More than anything, he wished that
Kurt was there with him right then, unzipping his jeans and taking out his cock
so Sam could suck it right then and there. It was kind of a weird fantasy,
thinking about sucking Kurt off while curled in the corner of the porch in
front of his family's motel room, but he would've done it, so eagerly and
gratefully. But it reminded him for the umpteenth time that Kurt had no idea
that he lived here, and he felt the familiar tinge of guilt and unworthiness
that often followed his dreams and fixations. It felt sort of like he was dirty
and needed a decontamination shower and to go through finishing school before
he should be allowed to suck Kurt's dick again, but worse.
"Then I totally lost it," sighed Kurt, before Sam could spin out. "I just meant
to inspect you. Give you a little reward 'cause you were so good, trying so
hard to be such a perfect sub for me. But I just lost my mind when you let me
see your little hole. I can't believe I wound up fucking you. Hm, Sam. I
couldn't resist my sub, could I?"
"Sorry," Sam got out, voice caught high up in his throat. "I'm sorry, Kurt."
"No, you don't have to apologize. All of that was under my control, Sam. I
wouldn't have let any of it happen if I thought you were just trying to be good
and nothing else."
"I – I was trying to be good."
"Do you feel like you can talk about what it was like for you to do all that
with me?"
"I'll try... I mean, I'll do whatever you want," Sam said through a lump in his
throat.
"I know you will," Kurt told him. "But I want your real feelings. I won't be
happy or satisfied unless you are being totally truthful with me and are
telling me things straight from the heart. Do you understand that, Sam?"
"Yes. I know what you're talking about," Sam said. His ears were buzzing. He
couldn't pinpoint the sensation exactly as either distress or arousal. He was
just somehow psychologically twisted up. Every fold in his brain was Kurt's.
"You don't want me to lie or put on an act."
"Exactly," said Kurt, sounding pleased. "That's good, Sam. I'm glad you get
that."
For some reason, that loosened the knot of tension pounding in Sam's head and
chest, and he took a deep breath.
"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie," said Kurt, after Sam's breath invaded the receiver
and probably came out on his end like a staticy mess. "Did you think I was
getting my discipline on? I'm not trying to do that. I'm just kind of reeling.
Being with you like that was unbelievable, and you are extremely pleasing to
me, Sam. But I'm going to be honest with you, too. I did not expect it, and I
have no idea if I should expect it to happen again. And I want to know what you
want so I can be the best master for you. I'm happy with you no matter what."
"I can be totally honest?" Sam asked, eyes closed.
"Yes. That is the only thing I absolutely must have from you."
"I think I get what you want – or, what you don't want," reported Sam, letting
thoughts spill out of him. "You don't want it to be a gray area, you want it to
be black and white. Like straight or not straight, and you think of me as
straight. And just, I don't know, you're afraid I'm just putting out because I
think I have to if I want to please you. And I get it, like, just as a person –
like, I would've done anything for Quinn, but knowing she didn't really want me
and wasn't being honest with me about it, I couldn't handle it. I get how if
you thought I wasn't interested, you wouldn't be happy with me and you'd want
something else. No matter what you say, I think you want me to want you, too,
or else you – you wouldn't be worried about having sex with me. You wouldn't
think twice if I was just full-on gay."
After a momentary pause, Kurt said, "You're right. You're right, Sam. I guess I
do need this to be black or white, at least in terms of whether or not we have
sex. I don't think I could be happy just taking it from you whenever I want
without regards to your feelings, or using it on you strictly as a training
method. Although, I have to admit, even as I tell you that, the idea of taking
you at my leisure or at least disciplining you physically with you having no
say in the matter is still somehow appealing to me."
Sam felt his breath catch.
"But emotionally, I'm not one of those Doms," Kurt continued, leaving Sam with
a raw, confused feeling he didn't really understand in his chest. "I don't
think I could do it long-term, thinking you're wistful for something else.
"That being said, I actually do mean that I could be very happy with you in,
uh... a completely platonic capacity. I know that sounds weird and old-
fashioned. I don't know if you can see eye-to-eye with me on this one, but it's
more than enough for me. It's extremely gratifying for me to be your Dom even
without sex. But I need to make sure you're taken care of, or I shouldn't have
a sub. So while it's a little unusual for someone our age to have multiple
submissives, if you think you'd prefer to have sex with girls, I'd find and
take on a girl sub for you, Sam, and train her along with you, or – there's all
kinds of arrangements we can make. So it's either/or, is what I'm saying.
Either we have sex because you want to have that physical connection with me,
or we don't have sex because we can make each other happy without it. I know I
can take better care of you than any girl in every other way. The gray area is
that I still have the need to exercise dominion over you in a physical way. ...
Does that make sense?"
"To keep being honest, I haven't thought about girls at all since I was with
Santana," said Sam. His mind was officially blown. "You're, like, more obsessed
with me being with girls than I've ever been, and I don't really get why. Yeah,
I do like girls. But I don't need them. I don't need to have sex with them.
I've never even actually had full-on sex with one. I'm – I'm trying so hard not
to just beg you to tell me what to say to make you happy. I promise, I'm trying
to be honest with you."
"I can tell," said Kurt. "And I appreciate it. Just as a person, like you
said."
"Did I do something wrong?" Sam asked, clueless.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Kurt told him firmly. "This was my overly-
complicated way of trying to find out if you want to have sex with me, given
all the possible options."
"Yeah... of course I do, if – if it's okay with you," said Sam, putting his
head down on his forearm to cradle the phone in secret.
"Right. If it's okay with me," Kurt laughed.
"I don't know if things are okay unless you tell me they're okay. I abide by
your wishes."
"You need my permission to want me? Or my instruction?"
"I want you anyway," Sam said to his knees. "You're my Dom!"
"But you don't know if that's okay?"
"I'm confused. It's not my place to decide what's okay with you and me," Sam
whispered insistently. "I don't know anything. I didn't know if you would ever
want to use me."
"How could I not."
Sam stayed quiet. There were a metric ton of reasons that popped up in his
mind, but he was really trying not to say bad things about himself; Kurt didn't
like it, and he was actually kind of scared that if he pointed them out, Kurt
would realize Sam was right and didn't deserve him and would ask him if he
wanted to go back to being friends. The clunking of the ice machine nearby just
served to underscore the whole situation.
Over the phone, Kurt sighed softly.
"Can I tuck you in tonight, cutie?"
"Please?"
"Yeah? Would that make you a happy boy?"
Sam closed his eyes again, trying to block out where he was. "Yeah. Please tuck
me in, Kurt."
"What do you want right now? What sounds cozy to you?"
Curling up tighter, aware of the buckle of his cuff against his knee, he said,
"I want to go to sleep feeling like... a good sub. Get in my sleeping bag with
my cuffs on and think about how you collared me in front of everyone and took
me to your room and made me... Just think about you till I fall asleep."
"Is that what you'd think about, cutie-pie?" Kurt asked softly.
"Yes," Sam admitted pathetically, and snuffled, feeling tears well up from the
sheer intensity of it all. Why didn't Kurt understand? "I think about you all
the time. You'd be mad if you knew how much."
"Mad? More like mad flattered. Tell me more about this, um, sleeping bag
situation."
"– Uh," uttered Sam, something in his ragged, needy soul coming to crooked
attention. His brain refused to budge once he realized what he'd said.
"Do you sleep in a sleeping bag?" asked Kurt, as if this was adorable.
Sam sniffed awkwardly. He had to be honest. That was more important than
anything else. "Yeah."
"Ohh. Okay, then. So when you go to bed, you're gonna snuggle down in your
sleeping bag, cuffs on your wrists. What do you wear to bed?"
"Um... a t-shirt or wifebeater. Sweatpants. Socks. It's kinda cold out, still."
"Very good. I'm getting a mental image of you going to sleep in your cuffs and
everything..."
"Is it okay if I sleep in them?"
"Definitely. I'd love it if you slept in them."
Sam felt heartened; Kurt really had him on a string, which was not altogether
new, but it was extreme now that these cuffs were on his wrists. That weird
invaded, vaguely sore feeling of having been full of Kurt's dick had become
impossible to repress since Kurt had asked him about it. He had yet to even
start to really think in his own private time about actually having been
touched and allowed to come by his Dom, let alone fucked, and yet he knew he
wanted anything and everything his Dom would consider him worthy of.
"Are you gonna touch them?" Kurt asked him, catching his wandering thoughts.
"Yes," said Sam openly. "A lot."
"Do they feel good on? Not too heavy or bulky?"
"They're heavy. I like that they're heavy. I can't stop feeling them on me. I
can't forget they're there."
"Hmm," Kurt let out in satisfaction. "I love thinking about this. I think about
you all the time, too, you know."
"You think about me?" whispered Sam, floating on the words.
"Mm-hmm. What else?"
"You... collared me."
"That's right, I did," said Kurt affectionately.
"I know you don't want me to say this, but – I don't deserve you, Kurt."
"Sam..."
"No other Dom would take on another sub just for me. A sub they couldn't even
use. Please don't hate me, but that's insane."
"Mm, well."
"Please don't get someone else," Sam said fervently. "Smack me down if you
want, punish me. I deserve it. It's not my place to ask anything of you and you
can do whatever you want. I'm being totally selfish. I don't want to share you.
You just claimed me. I promise I'm – I can be a good boy for you."
"I like that you're being honest with me," Kurt told him. "And hearing you put
it like that makes me realize how it must've sounded to you. Let me clarify. I
definitely am not in the market for another sub. This is not a Quinn situation.
You are all I want. I just need to dominate you, Sam. I need to. Believe me, I
wouldn't have thought that taking on two subs was anything other than
incredibly unrealistic and laughably assuming before today. But now that you're
wearing my collar and things have taken this turn and I am up here on Cloud
Nine, I realize I would do anything to make sure you're taken care of."
Sam just shook his head, two tears escaping simultaneously down his cheeks.
Again, he couldn't have described the feeling as being upset – just worked up
and full of feelings, so full he couldn't hold all the feelings in him without
a tinge of pain. It was ridiculous to be crying, but it was all so much.
"'Kay. Thanks," he choked awkwardly, inadequately.
"I'll let you go here in a second so you can crawl into your sleeping bag and
get some rest after the day you've had. I just want to tell you before I go
that I'm really happy and touched you told your parents about us."
"Really?" Picking his head up again, Sam felt his mouth pulling this way and
that, like his tear-streaked cheeks were fighting for possession of his smile.
"Yeah. It's major, Sam. Huge. I'm proud."
"It took me forever," Sam admitted, pushing his cheek into his shoulder to try
and dry his tears. More rolled down and soaked his shirt. The surge of
happiness he'd felt carried another wash of guilt in with it. He was so
unworthy, keeping all these secrets.
"I'd like to meet your mom, too. Both your parents, I mean. Maybe when the dust
settles for them?"
"That'd be good," Sam breathed.
"We can talk more about it in a few days. For now, I think you should get
yourself comfy-cozy for me, bundled up in your sweatpants and socks and
sleeping bag, and dream some sweet dreams. Wear a hoodie tomorrow, okay? Or
anything else with sleeves you can have pushed up. I intend to show you off to
the entire school."
Sam hummed, his body bursting with frantic arousal like he was an engine Kurt
had just revved, and became incapable of speech.
Kurt sang, "Sleep tight, happy camper."
 
*
 
The next morning, Sam stood at Kurt's locker with a barely quelled sense of
urgency, wearing his dark green hoodie over a plain gray McKinley Athletics t-
shirt, fingers locked around his notebook and wrists on stark display with his
sleeves pushed up his forearms.
Some people slowed their journeys to their homerooms as they passed him by,
eyes obviously caught on his wrists. Sometimes it incited a flurry of hushed
conversation after they passed him. Sam could think of a lot of collarings that
had happened since the beginning of his year at McKinley – including his own.
The head cheerleader picking the new kid for a sub had been as big a deal as
you'd expect. But Kurt was the only gay kid at McKinley, and Sam was now
officially attached to him. Even if Sam had been at Kurt's side for weeks, to
the eyes of others clearly out of the closet and in consideration, it was
obviously still whisper-worthy.
Speaking of worthy.
Kurt was the only thing Sam could even see in the mornings, and today was no
exception. He came in through the door from the student parking lot with that
sway in his walk, his bookbag on one shoulder like a purse, and his black boots
laced up to his knees and a black vest with about a hundred tiny buttons
fastened all the way up to his throat, and Sam couldn't breathe. He
straightened his posture, winding up pushing up onto his toes in his Converse,
hoping Kurt would see him through the throng of students.
He did, of course, and smiled at Sam with hot eyes before turning his gaze to
the lucky floor.
Internally in a tizzy, Sam reached for Kurt's combination lock, his focus
pulsing laser-sharp so he could get the combination right on the first try.
Twenty-four. Six. Nineteen. He opened Kurt's locker for him just as Kurt
reached it.
"Morning, sunshine."
"Hi," said Sam, on pins and needles.
Kurt looked him up and down, then said, "Love your outfit."
Sam tried not to drop his notebook from hands that felt suddenly weak. He
couldn't help looking down at his cuffs again, and tried to tug up one slipping
sleeve, but it proved to be too great a feat just then. Kurt smiled, smug, and
proceeded to unload one book and exchange it for another, then reached up to
tuck a lock of hair behind Sam's ear.
"You haven't taken them off at all, have you?"
Sam shook his head. The cuffs had been on him since Kurt had fastened them
yesterday afternoon, and he had a legitimately hard time fathoming removing
them. While drifting off on the floor, safe in his sleeping bag, he'd halfway
convinced himself he could get by on baths at Kurt's and asking his mom to wash
his hair in the sink, just so he wouldn't have to ever take them off.
Unrealistic and dumb and kinda gross, yes, but most of his fantasies were.
Kurt shut his locker and tilted his head, looking at him. Maybe, like Sam, he
was thinking about Sam's arms propped up on the sides of his tub, and his own
sleeve rolled up to reveal pale skin and dark but fine hair on his arm, and his
hand sliding across Sam's skin under the layer of bubbles, touching him in all
kinds of places. He asked, "Have you been to your locker already?"
"No. I just had to have something to hold in front of me," said Sam, flushing.
"Ah, I see. Well, let's get your books, then, cutie."
Kurt took him by the elbow, drawing him down the bustling hall. Sam's locker
was around a corner and near the end, just enough of a walk to feel like he
really was being publicly escorted whenever Kurt took him there.
They passed Dave Karofsky, who just gave them a disgusted sneer, but Kurt paid
him no mind, and Sam was too distracted by the utter realness of the fact that
he needed to keep his lap area covered to stare him down – or to see Jacob Ben
Israel coming.
"Kurt Hummel," the guy said stoutly, in his allergic-to-everything voice, and
thrust a small tape recorder in their faces, stopping them in their tracks.
"How does it feel to be McKinley's first ever gay Dom?"
"None of your business," Kurt said immediately. He couldn't seem to resist
adding, "And I'm hardly the first."
He pushed on, and Sam came with, but Jacob followed them so closely that the
tape recorder bumped Sam's ear.
"How does it feel to be out and about with your newly-minted submissive,
notorious ex-hunk, ex-quarterback and and ex-slave to the hottest girls in
school –"
"Leave us alone, Jacob," said Kurt.
"– and how long do you think it will be before he begs to be released?"
"I'm not doing that!" Sam snapped, offended down to his last particle.
"Sam Evans, is there any truth to the rumor that you were paid in boxes of
Clairol by Quinn Fabray for five months of docile servitude? What do you have
to say in response to Santana Lopez's claim that you're one-quarter dead fish?"
"That's ridiculous," Kurt interjected, "and Sam has nothing to say to you and
your gossip blog's pathetic readership of cyber bullies."
"Gossip? Oh, no. This is hard-boiled journalism," claimed Jacob. "So, Sam: When
can we expect to see you in a buzz cut and fatigues? How are you going to
celebrate setting the school record for Most Doms Attained In One Semester? Is
it true that you were kicked out of the prestigious Brookside Academy For Boys
due to your insatiable hunger for man-flesh?"
"Can I shove him?" Sam asked, hot-faced.
"Ignore him," advised Kurt. "No comment, Jacob."
"Go ahead, maintain your silence. Everyone knows 'no comment' always means
'yes.'"
"My dad got a new job," Sam growled, batting Jacob's recorder away from his
face. "I wasn't expelled. We moved. And fish-people aren't real! Look it up!"
Huffing, Kurt tugged Sam away, glaring over his shoulder at Jacob, who was
clutching the tape recorder like it was a kitten Sam had just tried to choke.
Sam managed to hold in his irritation until they were around the corner.
"How did he find out my school?" Sam burst.
"I doubt he did anything but Facebook-creep," said Kurt, arm sliding around
Sam's. "Don't pay any attention to him. And don't give him any information.
Hard-boiled journalism, my butt. He's just scrounging for dirt and trying to
get a rise out of you because his entire sense of self-worth comes from how
many page hits he can get from the Old Maids Club."
It took Sam another minute or so to shake himself out of his distracted anger.
He realized he and Kurt were simply standing at his locker, and reached for his
lock with a blush.
"Geometry today, right?" Kurt asked.
"Yeah."
"You finished that in study hall yesterday."
"Mm."
"Look at me, Sam."
Sam, who could not remember his combination for the life of him, dropped his
hand and looked at Kurt, embarrassed. Kurt looked expectant to him, with his
eyes keen on Sam's face, but he just gave him a little smile and reached up
with both hands to caress Sam's overly-warm cheeks.
"Are you okay?"
Sam's jaw flexed as he clenched it and nodded, giving into the sweet pull of
being centered and steadied there in the hallway. He felt his head bowing, even
though Kurt was holding his face; it really didn't matter to him if students
and teachers were passing by.
"You don't have to be at school today, if you think it'll be hard to sweat the
haters," Kurt told him.
"No, I don't care about them. I wanna be here," Sam murmured apologetically,
ashamed of his short fuse. "Sorry. You said to ignore him and I didn't. I'm
really sorry."
Kurt's thumbs stroked Sam's cheeks; he wasn't freshly-shaven and could feel the
fine grit of his stubble in his skin under Kurt's touch. For a long moment he
let Sam dangle, so long that Sam was sure he was going to be disciplined, then
said, "It's fine. I like that you don't let people push you around. You don't
roll over for just anyone."
"Just you," Sam said.
"That's exactly right." Kurt caressed Sam's shoulders, mouth and eyebrow both
quirked. "Now open your lock. Eleven..."
"Eleven, twenty, eight," Sam said gratefully, the numbers popping back into his
head, and obediently twisted his lock open.
"Show me your homework," Kurt instructed, taking Sam's notebook out from under
his arm. Sam pulled his geometry book out, showed the papers tucked inside it
to Kurt even though Kurt had helped him finish it yesterday and already knew it
was done, and slid the papers into the front pocket of his trapper. He did the
same for his sloppy Spanish definitions and geography worksheet, perking when
Kurt declared, "Good! You're all set. Walk me to French?"
Sam did. Normally he would have taken Kurt's books, even if they were in his
bag and Sam wound up with it on his shoulder, but Kurt took his arm like
before, then slid his hand down to hold Sam's wrist. The warm pressure right
over his cuff resulted in Sam having to shift his notebook over his lap again,
and a total daze that Kurt just smirked at. When they got to the French room,
Sam's fingers got a squeeze, then Kurt said, "Don't be late," and strutted off.
Mind kind of a jumble between the instructions, shielding his arousal that was
so constant and so close to the surface, and the stinging insinuation that he
would dare ever give up on literally the best thing in his life, Sam hurried up
to the second floor for geometry.
He only just made it. The bell rang about five seconds after he eased himself
into his chair at the table he shared with a Cheerio who had literally refused
to speak to him since he'd broken up with Quinn. It was awkward, since they
sometimes had to grade each other's papers. She marked down little red frowny-
faces every time he messed up a proof. And she ignored him as he rocked on the
spot, trying to be subtle about the momentary discomfort. He'd discovered
sitting was something he could do casually enough, but he still felt it this
morning – the fact that Kurt had fucked him.
From the table behind him and over one, Puck spoke up.
"Badass cuffs, dude. Heard tell in glee club that Hummel put you on lockdown.
About time."
Sam ducked his head with pride, grinning, and pushed his slouching sleeve back
up so both cuffs were fully visible. Puck nodded in approval. The Cheerio in
the seat next to him eyed his wrists dubiously, but when it came time to grade
homework, Sam drew a smiley face on her paper anyway. And when he got his
homework back, he was shocked to see a red 95% on the top of the page and the
words good job! in bouncy writing. He should've guessed she was a Domme.
Ecstatic to have something to show Kurt later, Sam stared at the words. Kurt
had, after all, helped him do a good job.
 
*
 
All morning long, Sam collected odd congrats. From Puck in geometry, from Mike
and Tina in the hallway before second hour, from the astronomy teacher Ms.
Castle (who seemed like she was kinda drunk, or just really, really into army
men). He got a jumbled catcall from Becky Jackson, and girls who had never
talked to him before said stuff like, "Did you have those on yesterday?" and
"Oh, your cuffs are so cute! You wear them on both wrists? Wow." A guy in his
English class said, "Fly, dawg! Where you get those bracelets?" Sam was able to
say, "My Dom got them for me," and got a "Cool, man. Those things is tight. You
a sub, huh? That's cool, that's cool," in response.
All morning, people looked at him.
All morning, the cuffs held his wrists. When he wrote things, the thick bands
pressed between his wrist and the paper. When he raised his hand, he was
holding his collar up to the entire room. When he crossed his arms in his lap,
the cuffs added a bulk he couldn't ignore.
By lunch, he was edging into blue-balling it, he'd gotten wood so many times.
It had to be some kind of record. He sat with Kurt, Artie, and Mercedes in
near-silence, sure he might spontaneously cream himself if he didn't try his
best to have some mental self-discipline. The Cheerio from his geometry class
was sitting with a gaggle nearby, and all eyes were on them. But when asked how
his morning classes went, Sam showed Kurt his 95%, and then got fed a cookie
piece by piece, which was weirdly, like... hot... so then he couldn't help his
hard-on.
"Tone it down, Kurt," Mercedes said dryly.
Kurt said, "This is toned down."
"What, you don't think this is a riveting art film playing out before our very
eyes?" Artie asked Mercedes.
"Uh, no. I think it's like watching a golden retriever mack on a dog biscuit,"
said Mercedes. "No offense, Sam."
"Well, I think it's great," said Artie. "I'd shoot it in black and white. Lots
of close-ups of Kurt's fingers brushing the crumbs off Sam's chin. No dialogue,
no soundtrack, just a portrayal of unlikely domination. Very artistic. Just a
light NC-17."
"Oh, ha ha," said Kurt. "You two can do whatever you want with your subs, and
so can I. Sam got an A-plus. Now he gets a cookie."
Artie and Mercedes shared a bemused look.
Afterwards, Sam had geography and Kurt had history. Sam colored in a map while
Mrs. Hagberg showed them an outdated documentary on a gigantic CD. They met
back up after that for study hall.
Kurt had not been in his study hall until he'd engaged Sam as a sub. Apparently
he did some finagling with Ms. Pillsbury to get into it, flipping a couple of
his classes and dropping another entirely, but since Kurt was a junior and in
A.P. classes to boot, it was the only kind-of-class they had together. None of
their sciences or electives overlapped, so really, the only other time they
were in a classroom together, it was the choir room. Sam was dead sure he
didn't deserve the fuss, but besides glee, study hall was usually the best part
of Sam's school day. It wasn't an actual class to pass or fail, and provided an
uninterrupted fifty minutes with Kurt. And today they had Miss Holliday, who
was one of those teachers who clearly didn't care if they actually studied in
study hall or not, and suggested they answer her casual roll call with "Who
dat!"
Unfortunately, Jacob Ben Israel was also in their study hall; he was listening
to his stupid tape recorder with ear buds, and when he saw Sam and Kurt, he
shoved it into his zippered vest like they might try to take it from him. Kurt
iced him right out, and Sam did his best to ignore the guy entirely.
"Glee guys!" greeted Miss Holliday, after telling the class to do some homework
or whatever. "How's it goin'? What's up with you two?"
"Oh, nothing much, really," said Kurt modestly, hand sliding over the pulled-up
sleeve on Sam's forearm.
"Like I can't see those rad military cuffs," she said, grinning. "Congrats!"
"Why, thank you," Kurt said, in that utterly curling way that made Sam weak
inside.
"Thanks," he echoed quietly, head bowed.
"You two are the talk of the school," Miss Holliday informed them. "Way to get
some spirited debate going. Hey, Brett. 'Sup, brah."
"I love you being collared," Kurt whispered excitedly, chuckling. Sam put his
heavy head right down on one bicep, beaming into the scribbled-on table, and
basked with his arms stretched out as Kurt pet his hair back out of his eyes.
"I love people knowing you belong to me with just one glance."
Sam considered telling Kurt about what his mom had taken away from the sight of
them: this guy means business. Instead, he asked shyly, "Do you want me to
study?"
"Not today. Today I'm just going to study you, cutie. How 'bout that?"
Sam nodded, ankles crossing under his chair.
"I'm so proud of your near-perfect grade on your geometry," Kurt told him,
fingers sliding through Sam's hair slowly. "You worked so diligently yesterday.
You deserve that A."
Dizzy, Sam closed his eyes, his mouth perking. He felt Kurt lean, chest warm,
and felt his nose brush the back of his neck, and the hot trace of breath as he
spoke for Sam only.
"Don't move. Jacob Ben Israel is watching me pet you."
Something about that made Sam's pulse spike; he was still irritated from the
barrage of questions that morning, but more than that, Kurt had effortlessly
taken a grip on his internal workings and pulled them taut. He exhaled against
the table, his own breath loud in his ears, and his Dom rested his chin on
Sam's shoulder.
"He's not going to stop me," Kurt whispered indulgently. "I'm going to touch
you all I want, Sam."
Sam shivered, the skin on the back of his neck prickling over harsh with goose
bumps.
"I can do that, can't I. Especially now."
Even though he sensed it was a rhetorical question, Sam still nodded, brows
knotting, and felt Kurt's hand slide right over his neck and fiddle with the
collar of his t-shirt. It took Sam a second to realize he was just tucking the
tag in, and his belly clenched with nonsensical disappointment.
Kurt's hand rested gracefully between his shoulder blades, giving him a
perfectly innocent little rub. Sam tried not to clench his fingers or arch his
back for more; Kurt had told him not to move. The delicate weight of Kurt's
chin disappeared from his shoulder, just to be replaced a second later with a
press that Sam only worked out as a kiss when he heard Kurt's lips part gently
from the fabric of his hoodie with that tell-tale smooch noise.
Study hall evaporated completely. Sam's heart thunked loudly in his ears for a
minute, then softened, and his breaths went shallow and almost unnecessary-
feeling, like he didn't really need to take in any air to exist, small and
contained. His senses tuned themselves to Kurt and held there, keeping him
hanging calmly between casually proprietary strokes over his spine and what he
thought was maybe Kurt's cheek resting on him. His brain felt kind of like when
he'd laid in Kurt's backseat after Rachel's weird party, only then he'd been
drunk, heavy; he'd only stopped wishing the seats were really a Jim Henson
creature that would just swallow him and take him away to some other world
because Kurt had told him he would take care of him. This was a little
different. This was light and there was hardly any thought, like on the bus.
Kurt's hand relocated to Sam's thigh, caressing the muscle of it casually, an
anchor keeping Sam from floating away totally.
Before he knew it, the bell was ringing, and he moaned softly, resenting the
disruption.
"Did you fall asleep, sub?" Kurt asked quietly, only barely audible through the
scrape of chairs against the floor and students making their way out of the
classroom, chatting, and Miss Holliday's voice. The short but totally direct
word – not even a pet name, but exactly what he was – hit Sam like an arrow to
the gut, jerking him up hard out of the calm. Arousal flooded the empty space
in him violently.
"No," he gasped. "Just being pet."
Kurt giggled. "Not the most productive study hall of all time, but I did pore
over my favorite subject."
"...I don't want to go to Spanish," Sam groaned.
"Mm, I don't want to go to home ec, either," said Kurt, patting him. "But we
should get moving."
For the first time since he'd put his head down, Sam moved, thoughtlessly
pulling his arm off the table and reaching for Kurt. So far all he'd earned
(and just barely, at that) was the right to touch Kurt's sleeve, or maybe just
the edge of his shirt; in glee club, Sam sat with his arm on the back of Kurt's
chair, fingers sometimes brushing over Kurt's bicep, and sometimes Kurt settled
in under him, making Sam the happiest person in the room. But right then Kurt's
arm was still around him, so Sam touched his side tentatively instead,
fingertips grazing the silky-feeling back of a vest.
"Hm?" Kurt responded, used to the way Sam asked for his attention. His head
tilted down with mindful curiosity, his face coming close to Sam's.
Sam didn't actually have anything to say; he knew he couldn't seriously ask
Kurt if he could just skip Spanish and stay in here with him instead. He shook
his head, temple mushed into the table, and Kurt exhaled in a little puff and
pecked the corner of Sam's mouth.
"Come on, sweetie, wake up," Kurt whispered, lifting Sam's head with the words.
But he hung there, eyes shut, and Kurt's nose brushed his, and Sam was kissing
him – kissing him like he'd kissed Quinn and Santana, on the mouth – for a few
mysterious heartbeats before Miss Holliday busted them.
"Glee guys. Really?"
"Sorry," Kurt responded; Sam could hear the insincerity in his voice. He
glanced up, but all he really took in was Miss Holliday's hands on her skinny
hips before turning his face into the table, skin fiery and throbbing.
"You may notice, now that you're not sucking face, that the entire class has
left and the room is now empty."
"Yes, we see," Kurt said, panting. "Why so empty?"
"This is my free period," said Miss Holliday, pushing in a chair left askew.
"But as down as I am with PDD, you both probably have a class to get to, si?"
"Si, si, profesora," replied Kurt, sitting back and tugging on the slouch of
Sam's hood. "This one has Spanish, actually."
"Ooh, say hola to Mr. Schuester for me."
"I'm sorry, Miss Holliday, but would you give us a minute? We need to gather
our stuff, so to speak."
"Sure, but that had better not be a double entendre," she said cheerily, and
walked off towards the back of the classroom, the light scuffle of chairs
sliding on linoleum following her.
Kurt waited a moment before leaning forward to talk to him again. "Are you
there, Sam?"
"Yeah," Sam whuffled.
"You're kind of spacey. You sure I didn't put you to sleep?"
"No. I'm awake, I'm just... can we wait here for a second." In case Miss
Holliday was closer than it sounded, he added in a whisper, "I'm super hard."
Kurt's hand came to the back of his neck. "Oh?"
Sam couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing, but he wanted to squirm.
"All day, I keep..." he muttered, a vague flush of shame pulling through him.
Maybe Kurt was right; maybe he should've gone home. He was used to getting hard
when he was on the phone with Kurt and, yeah, he'd left study hall with a boner
before. They happened. They happened to Kurt, too, if he started being really
Dommy and all about calling Sam his good boy. But today Sam was a hot mess.
"Sorry..."
He felt a hand casually moving one side of his open hoodie and got the idea
Kurt was seeing how bad it was, a sensation that was simultaneously mortifying
and everything Sam wanted. In his mind, he almost felt like he was propped up
on Kurt's bed, getting inspected and wanting to shake and shudder. He didn't
get the mixed feeling, or why it was so big and confusing. Obviously he wanted
Kurt to look at him, and to like what he saw, but it was laced with a fear that
he wouldn't.
"All day?" Kurt asked him. His voice was solicitous, nice. Too nice.
"Please don't be mad," Sam pleaded, his left arm curling self-consciously. The
weight of his cuff seemed more of a threat than a comfort as he clutched at the
back of his head. The bell rang, then, marking the end of the passing period.
The five minutes afforded to students to get from class to class had blinked by
without Sam being able to get up.
"Not that it isn't adorable when you cower before me," laughed Kurt, "but I'm
not mad. Just thinking about taking you to the nurse. Poor thing."
Sam flushed past red into what felt like purple with horrified shame.
His Dom leaned back again, and Sam quickly drew his arm away and tucked it over
his lap, fingers tugging the other side of his hoodie over the bulge in his
jeans.
"Miss Holliday?"
His mind had gone slippery, too hot to keep ahold of. The nurse? The nurse? He
was so pathetic he had to go to the nurse? Sam twitched in his jeans as Kurt
asked for a hall pass. He could hear Miss Holliday reply, and had no idea what
she was saying, but they were talking. He snapped into automatic, unquestioning
obedience when Kurt grabbed him by the back of his collar.
"Stand."
Sam blindly unfolded and almost pushed his chair right over with the backs of
his knees. Deftly, Kurt caught it and scooted it back, then handed Sam his
notebook and hauled him out.
It wasn't until they were out in the empty hallways, where there was a quiet
underlaid with the white noise of teachers calling roll in each classroom they
passed by, that Sam thought to beg.
"Please don't make me go to the nurse."
"No?" Kurt asked. "You look feverish to me."
"I'm not..."
"Well, I think you'll benefit greatly from a little check-up," purred Kurt. "So
I want you to let me take you there."
Sam didn't follow, but Kurt let his hood go and grasped for his wrist, and all
the protests that were making noise in Sam retreated, silenced.
 
*
 
Sam had only been to the nurse once, after his brush with Karofsky, and Mike
had come with him. He'd kind of been in trouble, then, and the nurse had shined
a light in his eye, asked him if he could read the eye chart, and given him a
hard ice pack. Then she'd called his mom and sent Mike on his way. Beiste had
come in a few minutes later and given him a lecture, and with his eye throbbing
and his head ringing, Sam had privately angsted, afraid his mom was going to
assume Karofsky had tried something funny.
But the shiner had been worth it. Mike had sent Quinn, who took his ice pack
from him and fussed about men and testosterone and told him she hadn't asked
him to be part of that on purpose, since they weren't dating and she had no
control over Sam and his actions... but that she was glad he'd stood up for
Kurt. It had gotten him points, though, Sam remembered, and after the wedding,
Quinn had said, Does your offer to serve me still stand? You've proved to me
that chivalry isn't dead, and I could use a knight in shining armor.
Some courtly gentleman he was now. Kurt opened the door for him, rather than
vice versa, and brandished the pink pass at the woman behind the desk
importantly.
The nurse took it. Then she snorted.
"Sub problem. Uh-huh. I remember you, pouty. In the back. I find anything on
the walls, you will be having a different problem altogether. Get my drift?"
"Gotcha," said Kurt. "Thank you."
"They do not pay me enough," she grumped, penciling in their names from the
pass. "I am not a janitor."
Yielding utterly to Kurt's steering, Sam followed in silence into the infirmary
area, meek and alarmed and aching. Sub problem. He was a problem. What if the
nurse called his mother again. What if she said, Mm-hmm, Mrs. Evans, we're
having a problem with your son. He's having some issues with his behavior. He's
a horrible sub! We're going to have to ask you to come pick him up...
Kurt led him past a small row of beds. Only one of them was occupied by a
Cheerio in a neck brace, and she had a pink sleeping mask over her eyes.
Seeming to know what he was doing, Kurt walked right up to a pale blue curtain
and drew it aside. Behind it was simply wood paneling – the wall. However, Kurt
quickly located a groove and parted the wall, sliding a section of it aside
smoothly.
Sam barely had the brainpower to think of anything other than Batman; he was
kind of expecting to wind up sliding down a pole when Kurt urged him forward
into the opening.
But it wasn't the Batcave. It was a small, dark room. A slim, short rectangular
window up near the ceiling tried to let in some light through its completely
mottled glass, but it had been papered over, so it was super dim, but still
allowed light enough for Sam's eyes to see that the back wall was just cinder
blocks that had been painted a dull blue. The others were wood, giving Sam the
impression that they were in a disused storage closet. But instead of brooms or
desks stacked upside-down, there was an infirmary bed with a teal blue vinyl
cushion devoid of sheets butted into the corner. A red plastic chair like the
ones in the choir room only just fit in there beside it. Under the window there
hung a plain old metal paper towel dispenser like in all the restrooms.
Kurt ducked under the curtain that hid the door from view entirely and slid in
too, letting the curtain fall, then drawing the door closed behind them with a
quiet roll and snick.
"What is this?" Sam asked him. It smelled a little like the locker room,
although honestly Sam had no idea how much of that was just the smell of his
own body heat and sweat and how much was floor wax and a lack of fresh air.
"Our private suite, apparently," Kurt said, glancing around once with an
arched, judging brow. He reached for a light switch, but decided not to flip
it. "I heard about this from Puck, but I have to say, I didn't actually believe
it until I saw what Miss Holliday wrote on the pass."
A tremor went through Sam. He still didn't know what this room was, but he knew
it was private and purposefully hidden, and now that the door was closed, he
could see the poster on the back of it that he felt sure had been made by Ms.
Pillsbury. It had a cartoon guy with a blocky Devo hat and it said, MUST YOU
"Whip It"? Six Signs Your Sub's Shaped Up. There were a couple of other ones,
too, but Sam couldn't even see them once his brain had processed the first.
It felt like a room set aside just for Doms and subs, but he couldn't think
why, unless...
"Am I getting punished?" he asked, feeling his eyes widen.
"Mm, hardly," said Kurt, downright sultry. "I just don't think you can make it
through another two classes and then glee. Am I right?"
Even though Kurt had just said he wasn't being punished, his stomach still
dropped like lead.
Kurt reached out and took his trapper from his stunned arm, leaving him with
his hard-on obvious even under his t-shirt and hoodie. He saw Kurt's teeth
momentarily bite at his lower lip.
"Turn around," Kurt instructed softly, and proceeded to pull Sam's hoodie down
his arms, having to work the cuffs off over each wrist that was so thickly
collared, and Sam closed his eyes in dim shock when Kurt pushed his t-shirt up
his back, baring it. He raised his arms and helped it off cooperatively,
wondering wildly if he was going to be stripped down to nothing... right then
and there...
When Kurt reached around him and tackled his belt, Sam groaned, trying not to
buckle into a pile of useless limbs on the floor.
"Kurt," he wheezed helplessly. Kurt's arms were around him. His belt was
sliding, lead by Kurt's fingers. They were at school. It didn't seem right. He
was totally confused. But that sensation was slammed down by the mere fact that
Kurt was undressing him, which he wouldn't have stopped for anything.
"I'm going to take care of you, Sam," Kurt told him, kissing the knob of his
spine and sending chills up and down it. His hands had worked Sam's belt open,
and his jeans were next, the button slipping right through its hole. Sam swayed
on the spot, so turned on by the sound and feel of Kurt carefully taking his
zipper down, opening his pants up, that he felt faint. He almost exploded right
on the spot when Kurt's hand crept into his zip and rubbed teasingly over the
rigid spine of his cock that was stretching his boxers. But it was only a
momentary touch. Then Kurt's hands urged him by the hips to the naked bed. "Lie
down."
Clumsily, Sam eased himself onto it, his legs too long and his feet in his
high-tops sticking out over the end of it awkwardly.
"I said down, Sam," Kurt said, a hand on Sam's chest. Sam slid off his tense
elbows and sank back, honestly incapable of taking in much of anything other
than the cool vinyl becoming hot under him in a split second and Kurt standing
next to him, looking down at him. A burst of intensity barreled its way through
Sam as he stared up at his Dom. Something was going to happen. Somehow it was
only just fully hitting him.
The realization echoed in him, booming, when Kurt reached down and pulled his
jeans down a couple of careful inches. He abruptly remembered Kurt inspecting
him yesterday, talking about his hipbones, his abs. He gripped at the sides of
the cushion beneath him, spiraling dangerously close to just creaming his
boxers knowing Kurt was looking at his body.
"I never thought I'd get to do something like this," Kurt whispered. "Tend to
my hot football player sub 'cause he's so hard for me, he can't get through the
day. Wearing my collar in front of everyone. But you're hotter than anything I
ever imagined."
"'M gonna come," Sam huffed, his throat completely strangled with the enormity
of it, "please –"
With a delicate hook of his index finger, Kurt pulled the waistband of Sam's
boxers down just enough for the head of his cock to poke free. Then he palmed
the caught curve of Sam's junk through the cotton, breathing, "Go ahead. Come
for me."
The perfect coaxing touch would've done it even if Kurt hadn't given him
permission. His hips jacked up in a hard flex. Come shot up his chest fast and
heavy and hot, coating his skin with stripe after stripe in pulses of aching
muscle and flesh. He couldn't – he couldn't – he couldn't help it. He had no
dignity. No control. Something else in Sam, some other tension, gave abruptly,
just snapping and disappearing. He was covering himself in his own jizz and
whimpering through weak little spurts that flung heavy droplets over his abs
and Kurt was encouraging him, murmuring, "That's it, Sam. That's good."
"K-Kurt," rattled out of Sam.
"That's my good boy."
Sam felt like he was maybe shaking the bed underneath him, but wasn't exactly
sure. He just felt his muscles hit a final flex and then soften, and his world
narrowed down to nothing but the warmth of Kurt's hand on him and the sound of
his own gasping breaths echoing in the dim little room. Something in him wanted
to stop himself from wheezing so openly, but the rest of him realized how
little of a choice he had, and hid under the safe knowledge.
"My sweet little sub," Kurt sighed, nosing at his cheek softly. "You've been
needing to blow that wad all day."
Outrageously sensitive, Sam jerked like Kurt had electrocuted him. Even though
his cock was on its way to softening under Kurt's hand, it strained, and Kurt
chuckled breathily, carefully using the back of his hand to keep the elastic of
Sam's underwear from getting wet.
"Bet you didn't jerk off last night," Kurt said. Muzzy, Sam shook his head
once, a flare of guilt going off in him as he momentarily envisioned his
sleeping bag on the floor. "You said you don't too often – that you don't have
much privacy."
Sam tried to answer with something, but his brain seemed disconnected from his
voice, and he didn't have the words to tell Kurt why. So he just grunted
awkwardly, and Kurt let him drift for a few long, warm moments.
"Paper towels," he finally muttered, tisking. "I should complain to Figgins."
Sam's eyelids lifted, heavy, as Kurt moved, and he tilted his head on the vinyl
curve that seemed to serve in place of a pillow to watch Kurt arch and pull a
plain brown paper towel from the dispenser above. After a glance down at Sam,
he went for another.
"Look at all this come you shot off for me," he said, looking pleased even
though he was mopping it up with the slightly scratchy towel. Sam looked, as if
that had been a command of some kind, and... yeah. Even more than he could feel
it, lukewarm and copious on him, he could smell it. The whole room smelled like
his come now, and Kurt was having to clean him up. Sam's gaze drifted to the
back of the door, those posters reminding him that he was basically in a closet
at McKinley High.
Everything felt too surreal to believe – but that was when his mind locked in
on the sturdy cuffs on his wrists and he let it go. Kurt had taken him here...
taken care of him. His mind swung heavily from self-conscious to that safe
place. There, time seemed to melt by, swirling and drifting out of focus. Kurt
leaned and pulled out a third paper towel, and it registered with Sam, but only
just.
"Did I get it all?" Kurt eventually asked him, lifting him mentally to
attention. Sam picked up his head to look, then nodded. His skin felt a little
grimy, but it wasn't shiny or wet anywhere he could see. Kurt adjusted his
waistband capably. "Good. Sorry I don't have my moist towelettes with me. I
usually have a pack or two."
"'S okay," Sam managed under his breath. "Sorry I..."
"Sorry you what?"
"That... about this. 'M sorry."
"Do you think you can go conjugate some verbs for Mr. Schue?" asked Kurt.
"Yeah," squeaked Sam. Frankly, he wasn't sure of the actual likelihood of that,
but he wanted to respond affirmatively.
"Sit up for me, sub. Let me dress you," Kurt said decisively, reaching for the
t-shirt he'd laid on his bookbag.
Sam's attention landed square on the tight fit of his skinny pants, which were
much, much snugger than Sam's jeans were, and did him zero favors of hiding the
line of his hard-on. Sam was still on his back, staring at it, when Kurt got
his t-shirt right-side-out again. Quickly, Sam heaved himself up, and even
though he was coming back into himself and obviously could have put a t-shirt
on himself, he let Kurt work his arms into the sleeves of his tee and rustle it
over his head, tugging it down into place.
"Kurt?" he said, and it seemed so loud for some reason.
"Angel," returned Kurt.
Sam somehow blushed.
"Can't I –" He felt his voice slink down to a more furtive register. "... What
about you?"
"What about me?" Kurt asked innocently, snagging Sam's hoodie.
"You're boned."
"Of course I am. Arm."
Sam stuck it through the sleeve Kurt was offering him, then arched to try and
get into the other, still sitting there stupidly on the bed with his feet
hanging off.
"Do you not want me to do something?" he asked, feeling inept. "I could –"
Kurt grinned, straightening Sam's collar in a fussy fashion. "Do tell."
"I could suck you off," Sam said, staring at the buttons on Kurt's vest, then
daring to look up at his face. The glow of muted spring sunlight caught in his
hair here and there, lighting up chestnut streaks that were new to Sam's eyes,
and fell on his pale skin enough to highlight the ruddy flush in his cheeks.
His neat, smart mouth smiled.
"Really? That's a tempting offer."
But for some reason, Kurt just stood there and tied the strings on Sam's hoodie
into a bow. He wasn't even zipped, so Sam didn't get what was happening.
"You don't want me to?" he asked.
Kurt's lips curled.
"Oh, I'd love nothing more. And I love that you offered. It's very noble of
you. But, no." Seeing Sam's face, which he could feel crumbling into ruins, he
added, "I don't want to lose it like yesterday. The next time I let you have me
in your mouth, I want to be able to enjoy it for more than a split second. I've
got a long sweater in my locker and Mrs. Hagberg teaching me the wrong way to
break eggs to look forward to, so I'll be fine. Put those Precious Moments
puppy-dog eyes away."
Moving in self-conscious reflex, Sam ducked his head low and blinked, then
squinted, trying to get his eyes to look normal and to bite back his
disappointment.
"Stand up and button your pants."
Sam slid from the bed and obeyed, realizing as he hiked his zip and re-fastened
the button that Kurt was actively watching him do it, like it pleased him in
some way. Sam guessed maybe he just liked seeing his wishes carried out in
front of him, but it still made him feel obedient – and after not being able to
keep it together, even during school, and asking for something that wasn't
welcome, it was almost a surprise.
"Is this good?" Sam asked, wondering if his guess was on-target.
"Very good," said Kurt, tugging on the front of his hoodie affectionately. "I'm
proud of you."
"For what?"
"I'm proud that you let me bring you here. I know you didn't want to have to go
to the nurse. Even though you were having trouble, you behaved in front of her,
and for that matter, Miss Holliday. You could have let me go on ignorantly
thinking you were just tired – which, given that you apparently sleep in a bag,
I was thoroughly convinced you were – but instead you told me what was up."
Kurt's hands slid from his hoodie and clutched at Sam's wrists, which made his
blood surge helplessly. "Do you see why I'm proud?"
Sam thought for a few seconds. "'Cause I was honest?"
"Yes. Honest. And so perfectly obedient." Kurt smiled up at him.
Altogether, it made the weight of Sam's true self come crashing down.
"Please let me suck your dick," he breathed. His eyelids were the only thing to
drop, partially because he knew already that the answer was no, and he was
wrong to ask.
Kurt inhaled audibly, but said, "Not now. Another time." Sam nodded, earning
himself a hand smoothing his hair. "Let's get to class. Then I'll see you in
glee."
 
*
Miss Holliday was in the choir room that afternoon, and gave Sam a feline smile
that suggested she knew exactly where he'd been since she saw him last. Sam
suddenly wondered what she'd written on the hall pass. Sub problem? Did she
know about that closet thing? Did everybody know about it but him?
Quinn was there, too, and Santana. Obviously. Santana merely rolled her eyes at
the sight of them, crossing her arms and then pretending neither he or Kurt
existed, and Quinn stared over her shoulder at his cuffs for a full minute even
though she was sitting with Finn. Not sure how to feel about the perturbed look
on her face, Sam put his arm around Kurt's chair, and Kurt scooted closer to
him, gracing him with a warm smirk.
When she seated herself between Mercedes and Sam, Rachel took it upon herself
to say, loudly, "Congratulations on the buckling, Kurt and Sam. I, for one, am
glad you've made such an obvious and public commitment, rather than sneak
around like you have something to be ashamed of. True devotion is the kind of
thing everyone needs to be witness to."
Quinn and Finn glared at her simultaneously.
"Thanks, weirdo, for the ringing endorsement," Kurt said, bewildered.
"It just got awkward as hell up in here," observed Lauren Zizes, making Puck
snort.
"Okay, guys," Mr. Schuester announced, clapping his hands. If he'd intended to
dismiss the tension in the air, he just undid it by saying, "Good to see you're
back today, Kurt and Sam. We're all thrilled for you."
There was a beat of silence.
"Wow," said Miss Holliday. "Let's do some planning! Did everyone think of an
under-appreciated, underrated artist?"
They didn't sing – they just argued about a concert Mr. Schue wanted to put on
to help raise money for Nationals, which had apparently been decided on without
Sam and Kurt yesterday. Rachel spent much of the time trying to control the
roster of performances and everyone's decisions. When no one else volunteered
to emcee, Sam put up his hand, which seemed to please Kurt. Sam was kind of
surprised Kurt didn't put himself forward for a solo, but also, Rachel was
being so resplendently angry with Finn and Quinn, it was distracting and funny
to watch.
After glee, Kurt actually walked him to his bus stop by the wrist, nuzzling his
cheek hot before sending him home full of futile excitement.
By the time Sam got home, he was ready to collapse, and he did, going right
down onto his belly on his sleeping bag and groaning shortly when Stacey dog-
piled him, flopping onto his back.
"How'd it go today?" his mom asked. "Did people give you a hard time?"
"Nah," he said, stuffing his pillow under his cheek. He briefly considered
Jacob Ben Israel, but that seemed like the least important thing now. "Haters
are just jelly."
"You're jelly, Sammy," said Stacey, giggling playfully.
"That makes you peanut butter," Sam teased.
"I'm the bread," Stevie spoke up, making Stacey shriek as he climbed on top of
the pile and squished her between them. Sam felt good and flattened to the
floor, which for some reason made him feel right at home. He hadn't heard
Stevie being goofy in forever.
"I'm a Sam-wich now," he kidded, getting uproarious laughs.
It occurred to him right then that he was happy. He really was. Homeless and
possessionless, and his good grade in geometry didn't negate his D in English,
and he had to rest up for the couple of hours he had until he had to get out in
the van and deliver pizzas till midnight, but he had cuffs on his wrists, and
could call Kurt on his break. He hugged the pillow, unable to keep his mind
from going to Kurt like a moth to a flame.
They were all still in a pile, Stacey with her pink sneakers and pigtails and
ticklishness and Stevie pretending he wasn't tickling her on purpose and Sam
perfectly content under their wiggly weight, when someone knocked on the door.
"Stacey, you're too loud!" Stevie hissed immediately.
"Sorry," Stacey said, with no additional volume control.
Sam's mom paused at the door, peeking out the hole, then paused again.
Then she opened up and said a formal, "Hello. I hope we weren't expecting you."
"No," said a familiar smoky voice. Sam jerked from his blissful mindlessness,
sending Stevie toppling over.
"Quinn!" cried Stacey, scrambling off of Sam in extreme excitement. "Hi!"
Sam heard Quinn's sweet response. "Hi, Stacey! Hi, Stevie! Aw, hi! I've missed
you!"
"I missed you, too!" Stacey said.
"I brought you something," Quinn said. "Is that all right, Mrs. Evans?"
"Of course," said Sam's mom, somewhat stilted from the surprise of her arrival,
and probably even more self-conscious than Sam about where Quinn had found
them.
Sam rolled over slowly, squeezing his eyes shut in resentful embarrassment when
he took in her figure standing in their doorway. She was wearing a hat with her
dress and heeled boots and carrying baskets like it was hipster Easter Sunday.
She wasn't dressed any different than earlier and it had looked fine in the
choir room, but compared to her shabby surroundings, here she looked
exaggeratedly rich.
However, Stacey couldn't handle the joy of what Quinn handed her, and dropped
onto her knees and bounced.
"And of course, for you, Stevie," she said.
"Cool!" Stevie let out. "Thanks, Quinn!"
"You're welcome. I know it's a week early, but I'm signed up for a lot of stuff
during Easter week and I wasn't sure if I would see you guys between the
decorating and greeting and serving food. Look, that's a pin, Stacey. Will you
vote for me for prom queen?"
Sam finally opened his eyes, pushing himself up. Stacey was still right where
she had fallen on the floor, tearing her Easter basket apart. It had pink
plastic grass and a stuffed bunny and an insanely large box of crayons and
plastic Hello Kitty junk, amongst a lot of other stuff half-hidden within.
Stevie's grass was blue and had several activity books, some dinosaur stickers,
and an action figure. Quinn knew exactly what the two of them liked. They were
perfect baskets, nicer than basically everything his family currently owned,
and somehow incredibly angering. It was selfish and wrong for his immediate
response to be so negative, but it was.
"Sorry for coming by without calling," Quinn said with a careful smile. "But I
couldn't get ahold of Sam."
"My phone's dead," said Sam shortly, shooting his mom an apologetic look. He
hadn't given anyone but Kurt his new number. This was his ex and his fault.
"I was wondering if I could just talk to you for a minute. It won't take long,"
Quinn said, averting her eyes politely from the room.
"Sure."
"Thank you, Quinn. It was very sweet of you to think of us," said Sam's mom,
forcing a really nice smile. "What do you say to Quinn for the Easter baskets?"
"Thank you!" chorused Stevie and Stacey, providing the backing melody for Sam
to step onto the porch to. He caught his mom's eye for a moment before she
closed the door, and the brief glance gave him strength.
"Are you okay?" Quinn asked him.
"Yeah, I'm fine, but this isn't great of you," said Sam truthfully. "You
could've given me a heads up or asked if you could come by."
"I've been trying to call you for a week, but your number's no longer in
service."
"Well, sorry. The iPhones were the first to go."
"I went by your old house on Sunday," said Quinn, "but you weren't there. I saw
the notice on the door. So after school on Monday, I followed you here. I just
wanted to make sure you guys had a new place – somewhere to stay." Above the
indignant exhales he was emitting, she said, "Sam, I knew there was something
going on with you. You've worn the exact same clothes to church the last four
weeks in a row, and you've worn those shoes to school every day, too."
"Okay. So you're Veronica Mars now. Why didn't you just ask me what was going
on at school?"
"Are you kidding me?" she asked. "And ask you to step away from Kurt in front
of everyone? Incite even more gossip? Make Finn paranoid? Make Santana jump all
over me? Jeopardize my prom campaign? No, thank you. I'm sorry I tailed you.
I'm not trying to be intrusive or rude. You're clearly keeping this to
yourself. I just got worried. I wanted to know that you're okay."
"I'm okay," Sam said. "Don't worry about it."
"Are you going to be able to get your house back?" Quinn asked.
"Doubt it."
She looked stymied by the news. "I'm so sorry. What are you going to do?"
"Look for a different one. On the bright side, it's not your problem," said Sam
with a shrug.
Quinn clutched her arms together awkwardly. "Despite everything that's
happened, Sam, I did care about you. I still care about you. You might find
that hard to believe, but it's true. If you can forgive me, I want you to
consider me your friend."
"I forgive you, Quinn," said Sam. It was so immediate and thoughtless that he
was surprised to realize that it was true. "There's no use being angry."
"Thanks," she said slowly. "I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to lie to you. I know
you didn't buy that stupid gumball story, anyway. If I hadn't told it, maybe
you wouldn't have dumped me."
"Maybe," Sam said evasively. He honestly had no idea.
She eyed him with that same distraught look as she had in glee. He could
actually see her trying to tuck the expression away and failing.
"Well, I didn't come here to dig up the past. Like I said, I want us to be
friends. You can never have too many friends."
"If I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, I have to ask Kurt."
"Yeah. Of course," she said, acting like she wasn't somehow surprised that he
wasn't defaulting and abiding with a, Sure, anything you want. "Finn's fine
with it. I'm sure Kurt will be, too."
"Probably. But if he's not, then... just know I'm not going to carry a grudge.
Stuff happens for a reason."
Quinn stepped forward, and Sam knew the hug was coming, deciding after a second
of uncertainty to accept it. With his arms around her, he was abruptly doused
with sensory memories of what it had been like to be with her. He had a
flashback to how it had felt to be allowed to kiss her, and her small curvy
ballerina body on top of his, and her voice in his ear telling him to say her
name. Something in him tugged, and he ended the embrace as politely and
casually as he could.
"I should get back inside," he said, irrationally wanting to hide. "My mom's
always worn out around now, so I try to take the kids off her hands."
"Let me know if you ever need help. Like, a baby-sitter," said Quinn. "Please.
Tell your mom I'm free on weeknights and Saturdays before dinnertime. And I
still have my Barbie Dreamhouse if Stacey wants to come over."
"'Kay," said Sam, lips twitching into a smile. "Thanks."
After a pause, he reached for the doorknob, and she sensed it really was the
end of the conversation. Turning, she said over her shoulder, "Of course, I
don't want to butt in. I'm sure Kurt's been a real help to you. He's probably
not too awkward with kids, and I'm sure he's not dismissive about your faith to
your face. Call me if you need a friend."
As she headed down the steps from the porch, Sam blinked, feeling like he'd
been hit upside the head. He was more than familiar with Quinn's passive-
aggressive nature. He'd heard worse than that from her when he'd belonged to
her. The painful part was that she'd just struck a terrible, vulnerable nerve,
and he knew she'd plucked it totally on purpose.
"Quinn," he called, heading after her. She stopped at the broken curb, allowing
him to catch up to her. "You're not going to tell anybody, are you?"
"No, of course not." She watched him close his eyes and sigh, both relieved and
agitated, then advised, "But you might want to ask Kurt to help you find some
new clothes. Your Converse and Levi's are cute, but getting worn out fast. You
know how kids at school are. They notice this kind of thing. Right now it's all
about your cuffs and who your Dom is, but unless you shape up, they're going to
notice you're cycling through about four shirts total, hiding them under
hoodies and your letterman jacket. Maybe they'll blame it on you playing
musical Doms, but if you don't want people to question it..."
Sam nodded blankly.
"I can't believe Kurt hasn't given you a head-to-toe makeover," she mused,
smiling as she walked away. "I bet he's dying to."
 
*
 
"Sorry," Sam muttered when he closed their door again.
He kept his voice soft and light, and even said it with a small smile, all for
Stevie and Stacey's benefit. They all tried hard to keep up a nonchalance so
the kids wouldn't be over-burdened and worried. They'd even gotten kind of good
at it the past couple of weeks, pretending this was all normal. The way his
younger siblings were hypnotized by the pristine new colorful Easter baskets
just proved that things weren't normal at all. Like most of the rest of their
stuff, they'd lost the baskets they usually toted on their egg hunts. Sam had a
vision of himself hiding plastic eggs in the motel parking lot. Could they
afford that?
"That's all right," his mom said. She had confiscated the candy and was putting
it in a plastic bag. "Quinn is always welcome. Did you thank her?"
"Yeah."
"I saw her look at your wrists. I bet she's jelly beans."
If she was trying to get a laugh out of him with the joke, it worked. "Yeah.
That's probably it."
"She always was nice to have around," said Sam's mom. "Are we going to be
seeing her again?"
"She said you could call her to baby-sit just about anytime," Sam said,
banishing himself back onto his sleeping bag.
This time, no kids in need of rough-housing piled him, and he blinked off into
a blur of thought, staring at the old carpet and the jagged edge of a tag
falling off the ugly floral comforter on the bed. He knew his parents liked
Quinn. He'd wanted them to. Would they like Kurt just as much? Even if he
didn't go to church? Even if he didn't have that maternal instinct and had
never baby-sat a day in his life? And would Kurt like his parents?
"Since you're here, I'm going to go drop off these applications around midtown
and see if there aren't any more places I missed. Can you fix dinner?"
"Mm," Sam acknowledged with a nod.
"There's chicken noodle soup. Not your favorite, I know."
"I like it!" Stacey announced.
"Good. Sammy will make some for you when you're hungry." She put her purse on
her shoulder, sighing briefly. "I'll be back in time for your shift. Your dad
should check in by six."
"'Kay."
Sam heard her making Stevie and Stacey promise to be good for him and to
remember not to open the door for strangers or turn on the hot plate, and to
remember not to yell. Of course Kurt would like his mom. Who wouldn't like his
mom? She was awesome. She'd made his cheap K-mart jeans look like Levi's.
He didn't need to be worried about his clothes... did he?
And Quinn wouldn't approach Kurt about him and let on that he'd been secretly
living here for weeks... would she?
A horrible fantasy arose in his brain about Jacob Ben Israel finding him at his
locker and shoving a tape-recorder into his face and yelling, Sam Evans, is it
true that the glee club will be performing a mash-up of Jay-Z's "99 Problems"
and Eminem's "Guilty Conscience" at Nationals in honor of your spectacular
failures? On that note, how goes your upcoming relocation to the moon?
With his mom locking up the door behind her, he reached for his backpack, which
he'd half jammed under the bed when he'd gotten home, and reached for the zip
on the front pocket.
It was where he kept the little things Kurt had given him since taking him on.
For days, Kurt had handed the things to Sam randomly in the hallway between
classes, these total surprises. Sam had literally never once expected any of
them, and had kept every single thing.
A tube of plain ChapStick, its black wrapper beginning to peel from use. A red
and black Chinese finger trap that had entertained Sam for a week's worth of
geography classes before starting to fray. Now it was just to touch sometimes.
There were a few loose Laffy Taffy wrappers; Sam could never resist them for
the sake of the bad jokes he knew were in there. There was a smooth metal pitch
pipe, which made Sam ache for his guitar.
Everything was lost in a shuffle amongst numerous notes. A couple of them took
up whole sheets of notebook paper and were filled with kind words. Dear Sam, I
don't know what it is, but you look extra handsome today... Some of them were
just one sentence on a folded index card. Good luck on your test, beautiful!
The one Sam had looked at the most was almost falling apart at its folds. In
green pen, Kurt had written, You're mine now and don't you forget it!
The most innocent-looking yet ultimately fascinating prize was a tiny flash
drive that looked like a red Lego on a key chain. Sam didn't have a computer to
look at the contents on anymore, so he'd asked Mike if he could look at it on
his laptop in the school library. It had a bunch of mp3s on it, and a random
array of pictures he could only look at in his mind now: pictures of Earth from
space where you could see highly populated areas like New York and LA glowing
with lights; hyper-colorful jungle frogs; Ponyboy with his bleached hair in The
Outsiders; shadowed or otherwise faceless underwear models; muscular arms bound
in complicated rope knots... Some stuff he hadn't been able to look at yet
because he didn't dare do it in the library. Sam wasn't sure if all the songs
and pictures were a message or just things Kurt liked in general, but either
way, they made Sam's gears turn and his brain bounce around like a pinball.
He ran his thumb over the Lego flash drive's studs and slid it out of the
pocket to hold in his grip, enclosing it entirely.
Until yesterday, Sam had kept all these things as proof Kurt really was
considering him, every little thing a boon against constant self-doubt. Now his
cuffs were the ultimate proof. He was Kurt's sub, for real, and owed him so
much.
Fingers squirming into his jeans pocket, he pulled the crumpled pass the nurse
had written for him. He'd had to hand it to Mr. Schue when he'd finally gotten
to Spanish, but for some reason, Mr. Schue had just glanced at it and handed it
back to him before going to update Sam's status in his roll book, encouraging
the class to repeat after him all the while. Staring at the slip, Sam worried
his lower lip.
His name. The date and time. Her signature. That was all that was on it, but
Sam knew what it all added up to. Sub problem.
Everything in him knew it was true.
Things were coming down around him fast, like dominoes knocking each other
over. He couldn't hide anything from his parents. He couldn't hide anything
from Quinn. And now that she knew where he was living, Kurt was going to find
out about all of this, because – Sam couldn't hide anything from him any more.
He needed to choke down the battered remains of his pride and confess. He
didn't want Kurt to find out from Quinn, of all people. How stupid was he to
have just hoped this would all go away? He thought they'd be here for a week,
max. But his family had been without a home for weeks. How could he still have
hope that any day now, they'd be moving out again and his life would return to
normal? How stupid had he been to think no one knew? Quinn had to be able to
tell that Kurt had no idea what was going on.
He deserved to be punished.
He didn't want to lose the right to ask for Kurt's attention, or jeopardize the
fragile concept his Dom had of the extreme extent Sam would go to serve him and
earn his love. He was just the worst sub.
He needed to be bound. With rope, like in the pictures, if that was what Kurt
liked. He needed to be made over; made into an object that would please. He
needed to be shown what was right. He longed to be good and make Kurt proud,
really proud, but first he needed to be made worthy of his Master...
For the third or fourth time that day alone, Sam left the Earth behind,
clutching his Lego drive and flattening his kneejerked arousal into the floor
as he fuzzed out, floated, and disappeared.
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