
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/860992.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Sam_Evans/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Kurt_Hummel, Sam_Evans, Carole_Hudson-Hummel, Rachel_Berry, Mercedes
      Jones, Noah_Puckerman, Mike_Chang, Tina_Cohen-Chang, Blaine_Anderson,
      Dwight_Evans, Mary_Evans, Stacey_Evans, Stevie_Evans
  Additional Tags:
      AU, Dom/sub, D/s_AU, Deliberate_Badfic, Pet_Names, Public_Sex, Dirty
      Talk, Orgasm_Denial
  Series:
      Part 5 of The_Cherish_'Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-06 Words: 32266
****** To Touch Your Face, Your Hands, and Gaze Into Your Eyes ******
by Edwardina
Summary
     Yet another continuation of Cherish Is the Word I'd Use. Kurt
     wrestles with the things he wants to do to Sam. Sam becomes more
     confident in sharing his feelings. Awkwardly, so does Blaine. Quinn's
     present gets opened and exchanged for something Sam likes a lot more,
     which Kurt finds intriguing. They wind up on a date that ends in a
     brush with subspace and Kurt literally tucking his sub in.
Notes
     This returns to Kurt's perspective and straddles events in 218. Title
     from "Cherish" by The Association.
     Thanks to Kate for always helping me consider this 'verse with
     patience.
Kurt had made plans for his sub. Oh, yes.
Telling Finn he owed Quinn for paying so much attention to Rachel and owed Kurt
for helping to hang all those important campaign posters, he'd steered him into
going out with his Domme after school. His dad needed no encouragement to put
in overtime at the tire shop. Kurt was usually so insistent that he shouldn't
that his dad said, "What, is it Father's Day already?" And all it took was an
innocent inquiry about how Cardio Barre was going for Carole's guilt over her
lack of attendance to inspire her to attend Tuesday's session.
With his halo glinting, he'd successfully maneuvered his whole household and
locked at least a couple of hours of utter privacy after glee; he intended to
spend every second he'd earned giving Sam all the domming the guy could handle.
His poor sub... who was apparently literally, actually poor.
Kurt didn't know how he hadn't realized sooner – somehow, it wasn't a total
shock. Small things suddenly added up and provided a more whole picture: The
way Sam always politely found ways around Kurt's offers to give him a ride home
after glee; his modest lunches; the way he gave his paycheck to his parents;
the way he looked tired more often than not; his general difficulty with
believing he was worthwhile.
Now Kurt could see it wasn't just bad luck with girls that had taken a toll on
Sam's spirits. It wasn't that the relationships hadn't been damaging, but they
were underscored by the loss of his home and possessions and privacy. It was
the daily strain of feeling like it all rested on him to keep his family off
the streets on top of the way he felt he'd failed as a sub.
It wasn't exactly a fair situation for a sixteen-year-old to be in, but Kurt
related. After all, it had only been last fall that his dad had suffered his
cardiac arrhythmia and been comatose. Kurt had handled all the medical
arrangements and household affairs himself. He'd even overseen matters at the
tire shop to the best of his ability. He'd icily shunned aid from any party
that showed him concern. He could not accept comfort, because that meant he
needed comfort, and that meant grief, and he couldn't handle that. He would not
and could not acknowledge the idea of a plan greater than his own and beyond
his control, or the dam in him might have cracked and he might have lost
whatever strength it was that kept him going to school like normal and able to
do his French homework at his dad's bedside.
Before Sunday, Kurt wouldn't have said he and Sam were very alike, but he found
he completely understood the private way Sam was bearing his load. Still, if
the opportunity had somehow presented itself to take on a sub while his dad was
in the hospital, Kurt actually doubted he would have considered himself able to
handle it. He would have closed himself off entirely. But Sam hadn't. Sam
wasn't aloof, even though he'd been trodden on. He had an open heart and his
desire to give himself was powerful.
And Sam's faith in his Dom had obviously taken a huge leap forward. Sam had
told him something private and personal, something that had been weighing on
him. Now Kurt knew just how badly Sam needed the stability of a responsible,
interested Dom. Sam had even asked Kurt not to go lightly on him. If he was
afraid of losing even more than he had already lost or of Kurt thinking he was
damaged goods, no good as a sub, he didn't need to be. Kurt thought that the
best way to take care of his sub was to simply carry on exactly as before. Sam
deserved a safe space beyond the discretionary, a role to fill and rules to
follow and a hand to hold. He wanted time with Sam that he just couldn't get at
school without using one of the passes Ms. Pillsbury had written for him. Kurt
thought a good long session in comfortable privacy would go a long way to
reassure him after making himself so vulnerable.
But even prior to Sam confiding in him, Kurt had been pining to keep going, to
keep dominating Sam in this new physical way. Since Sam had been asking for it,
he thought he'd definitely let Sam have the chance to suck his dick again...
Tying Sam up hadn't really been part of his plans.
At least, Kurt didn't think so. Like, he hadn't thought about it...
specifically... to do that day...
Like, of course he'd thought about it in general. Sam's fully customized cuffs
did have rings on them specifically for that use. Kurt knew restraining Sam was
kinda something he wanted to try someday. He didn't know why, exactly; there
was something about muscular guys, in particular, that he liked seeing both in
positions of power (lifting weights, being all athletic and sweaty and capable)
and, um... subdued. He liked it when all the physical strength these guys had
was taken from them and given to their Doms. He liked seeing them rendered
helpless – and yeah, there was probably some kind of psychological reason
behind it all. He wasn't beyond admitting that. But whatever. It was so
freakin' hot. He still didn't like porn, but Kurt made plenty of accidental
discoveries and had saved lots of interesting jpgs. Well before he was even out
of the closet, he'd even learned some basic knots on old shoelaces with the
help of some videos meant to aid Boy Scouts. (Actually, it had kind of given
him a warped interest in Boy Scouts.)
But he hadn't talked about any of it with Sam before. Not even once. There was
no guarantee they were ever going to get physical, so he simply hadn't gone
there. They had never talked about anything like whether Sam would like being
restrained. But Kurt had tied Sam's hands behind his back anyway, and loved it.
Freaking loved it.
Again, not part of his plans. Not, not, not something he'd intended to do
beforehand.
He'd felt guilty pretty instantly.
While Sam had whuffled nakedly on his furry bedspread next to the fresh
splatter of his own come, seeming so totally out of it that it was both
thrilling and frightening, Kurt had wrung his hands. Had this been too much?
Had he gone too far? Kurt hadn't exactly put Sam on a rack, but still.
On autopilot, Kurt instinctively turned to what he found comforting and
relaxing... candles, low light, and divas crooning soulfully. He considered
making some honeyed herbal tea, but he just couldn't make himself leave the
room for longer than the fifteen seconds it took him to create a little water
feature. He really didn't want to leave Sam's side, even though Sam was conked
out. Actually, he didn't know if Sam was really asleep or really awake; he
thought it was obvious Sam was in his own private Idaho, but he had no idea
what that was like or if it was the same phenomenon as subspace. Ms.
Pillsbury's scary pamphlet had definitely done its job and impressed upon him
the importance of aftercare. But even if he'd never been handed the pamphlet,
Kurt knew when he was needed. His dad would've figured one Slim Jim couldn't
hurt and dropped dead last year if it hadn't been for Kurt taking total control
of what food entered their house and what he ate and when. If you asked him, he
could've written the damn pamphlet.
No-nonsense, he'd massaged his sub's arms, rousing him up not just out of sleep
but out of his dreamy state, earning himself soft little gasps and exhales,
given free and unawares – so sweet. Sam's arms were heavy and limp, just like
his body on the bed. He'd responded to Kurt, though, wonderously at first, then
seeming to wake up further and further, tuning back in to the real world.
Now Sam was eating quiche.
Kurt kind of couldn't believe it, but there Sam was, sitting at his family's
dinner table, wolfing down leftover mini-quiche along with the salad Carole had
made. The quiche boasted loads of cheese – granted, it was low-fat cheese and
Kurt used egg whites on account of his dad's health, but Sam didn't eat dairy
at all, and those crusts weren't part of his diet, either. And Sam made his way
through quite a few. Kurt had never seen Sam eat with so much vigor. Ever. He'd
only ever seen him slowly make his way through plain rabbit food at lunch or
cooperatively munch on something Kurt handed to him. At Breadstix Easter
Sunday, he'd carefully eaten around the pasta in his minestrone and didn't even
have crutons or dressing on his salad, and had not seemed to have much of an
appetite, anyway.
Kurt almost spoke up, wondering if his sub might regret this indulgence later,
but Sam looked like he was starving, and didn't seem to be thinking about
anything other than the deliciousness of what he was shoveling into his mouth.
It was so unguarded and un-shy. Kurt really liked it. He could sense Sam felt
comfortable with him and Carole, and it occurred to him that he hadn't ever
seen Sam looking very comfortable. He wasn't about to interrupt that.
"Would you like more quiche, Sam?" Carole asked him. "We have lots of those
spinach and white cheddar ones left."
"Yeah, I would – this is so good. But – I should probably pass, actually. I'm
kinda cheating on my diet," Sam confessed, before shamelessly stuffing nearly
an entire muffin-sized mini-quiche into his mouth.
"Aren't we all," Carole said. Kurt watched Sam's eyes glow warmly, something in
his expression informing Kurt that he was happy he wasn't the only one. "This
kind of stuff isn't really good for Kurt's dad, but every now and then, you
just gotta have some cheese or life gets boring."
"Amen," said Kurt. "How about some water, Sam? Would you like a refill?"
"Mm!" Sam hummed, his mouth full.
Kurt happily poured him some more from the pitcher and watched Sam drain it all
in one go.
"I'd really love to lose another fifteen pounds, but when you get to be my age,
it can be hard to get results," Carole was lamenting. "I don't think I'll ever
get back to my ancient pre-pregnancy weight, but I have some old jeans I'd just
love to fit into again... don't look at me like that, Kurt. I just kept one
pair for sentimental reasons!"
"Hoo boy," said Kurt, pouring Sam another glass. He could still see the acid
wash denim vests he'd pried from Carole's hands a year ago in his nightmares
and thought he'd gotten rid of it all in a brutal fashion Clinton and Stacy
would be proud of, but apparently not.
"You young guys, though. You're in the best shape of your life. Enjoy it."
"Oh, God, I hope this isn't the best shape I'll ever be in," Kurt said.
"I'd kinda like to lose a few pounds," Sam admitted.
"Don't be ridiculous," Kurt told him. "You're fit as a fiddle, and I would much
rather play you than a fiddle."
Sam wiped his mouth, blushing deeply, as Carole laughed.
"You're lucky your dad's at the garage," she said.
"Oh, should I tone it down? The kids at school are always telling me to tone it
down."
"That's okay, honey. I'm getting used to your little quips. Don't worry, Sam,
it was just a compliment from your Dom," she added kindly. Sam was hiding much
of his face in the clutch of his napkin. Kurt gave his knee a sneaky squeeze
under the table.
After dinner, Kurt's sub helped rinse his plate and load it into the
dishwasher, then followed Kurt upstairs. They still had another couple of hours
to hang before Sam's curfew – which, at nine-thirty, seemed kind of early to
Kurt, given that Sam often worked till eleven or twelve at night – and Kurt was
determined to fill the whole time with extra attention.
"I ate way too much," Sam said, a broad hand on his stomach.
"You seemed really hungry!" Kurt commented, shutting the door behind them.
"Yeah. I was super hungry. I haven't been so hungry in a long time."
Kurt pulled the chain on the nearest lamp, which was on his dresser next to the
wrinkled scarf he'd used to bind Sam's cuffs, brightening up the room now that
the sun was going down.
"Well, in that case, I'm glad you were fine with leftovers. You drank lots of
water, too."
"Yeah."
"If you were really cheating on your diet eating any of that stuff, don't let
yourself worry about it. It wasn't too nefarious, I promise. Indulgence has its
place, but I actually like to make healthier versions of things. And I know
pretty much everything you put in your mouth, don't I, honey?"
"Nefarious?" Sam echoed, puzzled. But instead of asking Kurt what he meant by
that, he commented, "You kinda like watching me eat..."
"Yep, I do," Kurt acknowledged, dropping himself happily on the bed. Before
they'd headed down, he'd rolled up the furry spread stained with his sub's come
and put it on the floor beside his bed, hidden from view. It was really getting
grungy, but he just hadn't yet had it in his heart to give it some scrubbing
and take it to the dry cleaners. He loved seeing the evidence of Sam's helpless
submission way too much. "Does that bother you? Me watching you eat?"
"No, not at all," Sam said. "I mean, I like when you... like stuff. I dunno."
Kurt tilted his head, fondly considering the way Sam was standing there in his
jeans and non-descript gray t-shirt, which Kurt had helped him back into as
dinnertime beared down on them. Sam's arms had been feeling, as he phrased it,
like limp noodles. His coordination was shot, and he'd seemed a little clumsy
when coming down the stairs, but it seemed to pick up when he had a plate of
food in front of him. Sam's fingers were slouched awkwardly into his pockets
now, his cuffs back in place.
Maybe it was the outfit, but Kurt was reminded that in his closet waited a gift
that still needed to be opened.
"I didn't think about it till now 'cause I was kind of eager to pounce on you,
but if you want, you can open that present from Quinn," Kurt said. "I put it in
my closet so I wouldn't be tempted to peek any more than I had already."
"You peeked?"
"Yes, I admit, I took a little peek."
Sam looked worried.
"You don't have to open it if you don't want to," Kurt reminded him.
"I don't?"
"Not if it makes you uncomfortable."
"I dunno how it makes me feel," Sam admitted.
"I have mixed feelings about it, too. I'm kind of irritated with Quinn," Kurt
said, quite bluntly. "I do think she's trying to be nice, but I also think
she's trying to retain some kind of emotional tie to you that, knowing her, she
might try and manipulate into more at any given time – regardless of the fact
that you're mine and she has Finn to manipulate all she wants."
Kurt watched his sub's eyes squint thoughtfully.
He continued, "Let's face it, she has priors that for me, as your Dom and
Finn's step-brother, are really hard to ignore. I think she likes having boys
on the line she can reel in when she decides she wants them. I think she's got
Puck and Finn hooked, and she'd probably love it if you were still on her line,
too. I mean... it's not that I don't want you to be friends with her... you're
a big boy, Sam. You can be friends with whoever you want. I trust you totally."
"No, it's –" Sam took a second to get his thoughts in order. "I wanna be
friends with Quinn, I really do. It's kinda hard, but still. I don't wanna
treat her bad 'cause of – everything. I forgive her. But it's nice I'm not the
only one with... mixed feelings. It makes me feel like a bad person to think
like that," he added. "I know she's just probably feeling sorry for me. It was
nice of her to get me... whatever."
Kurt nodded sympathetically, because it was clearly tough for Sam to admit that
his feelings about anything concerning her included mistrustful ones.
"Want me to spoil you?" he asked.
"Uh. How?"
Kurt bit down a smile. "On something I know she got you."
His sub, who may well have been thinking about a different kind of spoiling,
said, "'Kay."
"I spied with my little eye some Macy's tags and seersucker," sang Kurt. "I'm
willing to bet you just about anything that girl hit up the Easter sales."
Sam's brows furrowed gently. "What-sucker?"
"Shirts. They seem nice. Probably for church," said Kurt. "They don't seem like
ones you'd wear to school."
Looking for all the world like he couldn't comprehend why Quinn would buy him
clothes, Sam stared at the floor, but now her offer to take Sam shopping and
comment about knowing Sam's sizes made more sense to Kurt, at least.
Kurt was sure he knew every single thing Sam had in his school wardrobe,
between his sharp eye and memory for clothes being near photographic. He'd
never lent too much extra thought to the way Sam dressed, because it seemed to
be thoughtless in itself. It was the way most high school boys dressed, which
was to say, his wardrobe seemed to be exclusively made up of t-shirts, jeans,
hoodies, and plaid button-downs. It was kind of like the jock uniform. But
since poking his nose into that bag, he'd realized it had been a while since
he'd seen that blue tee with the red distressed logo and that brown striped
shirt that fit Sam's torso like a second skin, amongst numerous other articles,
and he wondered if Sam had lost them or sold them to a second-hand shop.
"The bag is on the heavy side for just having a few shirts in it," Kurt added,
watching Sam simply stand there with a bothered expression on his face. "So
there's probably other stuff in there, too."
"God. She didn't have to do that," Sam murmured, almost affronted. Then he
looked right at Kurt, gaze piercing. "Did you like them?"
"They seemed nice. Like good basics."
Apparently this was something that warranted some hardcore thought, by the
expressions pulling across Sam's face. Kurt almost wanted to laugh, but he kept
it back.
"She said I could exchange them," Sam finally said, with intense eyes. "There's
receipts."
"It wouldn't hurt to try them on and see what you think," said Kurt, smiling.
"And if you don't like 'em, I say exchange 'em for something you do like. It's
pointless to have clothes you don't want to wear. I mean, what good are they
going to do you, right?"
Sam blinked thoughtfully.
"I just ate, so they probably won't fit," he said.
"Aw. You don't need to try them on right this instant, or anything. Wanna come
over here and lie down with me for a little while?" Kurt proposed. He wanted to
follow up about Sam's arms, and see if he was feeling okay now that he was less
limp and dazed.
"Yeah, is that... cool? With your stepmom here?"
"Well, I should probably let you keep your shirt on this time."
"You don't wanna see me with my shirt off right now anyway," said Sam, drifting
toward Kurt.
"Oh, don't I, though," Kurt groaned playfully, scooting back.
He patted the spot next to him, which was where Sam had slept the one time he'd
spent the night, and enjoyed watching Sam climb onto the bed from this vantage
point as much as he'd enjoyed it when Sam had been drunk and super confused
about how blankets even worked. Slumping back against the pillows between him
and the headboard with a round sigh, Sam settled next to him. Kurt had somehow
gotten accustomed to curling up on Sam when Sam was laid out for him like this.
His instinct to roll himself onto his side and edge in over Sam, pin him to the
mattress, was actually a lot stronger than he expected.
"So you're feeling pretty full, huh?" Kurt asked. Instead of climbing onto him,
he reached over and took Sam's hand, friendly, just gazing at him.
"Kinda," Sam said. Kurt could tell he was a little surprised, since his low
monotone tended to get higher whenever he was tense, and the word was soft and
out of his upper throat. He was looking down at their hands joining, or maybe
at their legs stretched out in front of them. His fingers twined tightly into
Kurt's.
"What else?" Kurt asked.
"Uh... well. Kinda... nervous, a little."
"Nervous? Why nervous?"
"Uh, just – I dunno. My heart's beating kinda fast. I don't know why," Sam said
sheepishly. "Probably my blood sugar going totally nuts."
"Are you maybe... excited? Or is it more like a scared nervous?" Kurt wondered,
reaching over his chest to rub at Sam's bicep warmly. It was really, really
hard not to get right up on Sam, invade his space. He crossed his ankles,
trying to remind himself to hold back. He was still wearing his boots, but
Sam's feet were bare, and even that tiny imbalance pleased him to strange
heights.
"Yeah, excited," said Sam, not hesitating. He added, "I get to be on your bed
with you."
"Mm-hmm," Kurt hummed with warm satisfaction, smiling at him even though Sam
was busy staring at Kurt's fingers playing with his t-shirt's sleeve.
"Kinda a little scared," Sam offered up.
Kurt didn't know whether he liked the sound of that. Well, he kind of did. But
he wasn't trying to get a rise out of Sam right then. He'd witnessed his sub
having a lot of profoundly vulnerable moments, but this was harmless and
innocent – they were just holding hands. He hadn't even begun to put on his
bossy boots. But he could feel that Sam was being open with him, and honest,
without any coaxing to be honest in the first place. He didn't want to react in
a way that would make Sam shy away from telling him how he felt at any given
moment or feel the frightened instinct to keep secrets. He responded gently.
"What's scary?"
"I don't know," his sub repeated. "It's not like being scared, like – really
afraid. It's just, like, all this energy. Like that kind you get before you go
on stage or ask someone on a date when you don't know what they'll say."
"Oh? I've never actually asked someone out," Kurt said, but he'd seen just
about every romantic comedy there was, and he was utterly thrilled at the idea
that Sam felt that kind of hopeful anticipation and tension with him just lying
there with him. "But I think I get what you mean. I feel a lot of energy when
I'm with you."
Sam's lashes lifted. He met Kurt's gaze, somehow startled to hear that. He
looked like he was thinking it over as he looked at Kurt, eyes unguarded and
curious.
"Me too," he uttered in a small voice. "I feel a lot of stuff I don't know the
words for."
"You're so precious," Kurt told him, heartfelt and smiling, cupping his cheek
and finding it quite warm.
Sam's chin dipped low, and even though it wasn't a natural stretch by any
means, he somehow managed to ease his forehead onto Kurt's shoulder, so
timorous it just killed Kurt.
"C'mere, honey," he whispered. "You can cuddle up if you want to."
Sam seemed to want to. He hiked a knee so he could push his bare foot against
the bedspread and lean himself tentatively onto his hip, fingers still twined
with Kurt's, and actually rested his cheek on his Dom's shoulder, sweet as pie.
Kurt took a good minute just to gloat internally, chest swelling with pride and
fingers fussing through Sam's hair, smoothing it along the side of his head and
tucking it behind his ear. It really was on the shaggy side, and his darker
blond roots were glaring, but it was like glimpsing the real Sam peeking out
from behind the colored hair. After a minute, he became aware of Sam's heart
beat knocking against his arm and smiled widely.
"You have lots of energy now that you've had some good dinner, huh?"
Sam hardly moved, but he could feel that rapid pulse and Sam's aura of eager
submission as he nodded against Kurt's shoulder.
"Tell me, what's my sub thinking about?" Kurt prompted.
"... Touching you?"
"Ooh. How intriguing," Kurt said lightly. "Do you wanna?"
"Mm," Sam emitted, with a further nod.
"You can." Kurt could hardly believe he even needed to say it, but of course,
he couldn't forget either Quinn's deep-reaching influence over Sam's instincts
or the fact that Sam wasn't naturally inclined towards boys. Sam could be kind
of awkward at the best of times anyway. So he added, "You don't have to be
afraid to touch me."
"Your clothes," Sam said into his arm.
"What about them?"
"What if I touch them?"
"That's okay," Kurt assured him, thinking fondly of Sam's tendency to touch his
sleeve to ask for attention.
"I don't – get under them... I don't undo them...?"
It took him a moment to remember that Sam was recalling a boundary Kurt had
given him in the soft room at school.
"Since Carole's downstairs, we probably shouldn't strip down. Otherwise you can
do whatever you feel like. Touch, don't touch. Whatever makes you happy. And
you can ask me whatever, if you want to. I know how you like to ask for
permission. You're such an attentive sub, Sam. It impresses me when you ask
questions."
"Thanks," Sam breathed, although Kurt wasn't sure it was because of the praise
or the permission. He lifted a hand and touched Kurt's chest tentatively, and
God, Sam had big hands. Kurt giggled softly, pleased purely because it was cute
to see his strong, athletic, masculine sub have such a shyness in his manner.
"You have my permission," he murmured, finding it worth emphasizing.
Sam's response was to shift his fingertips over and run them slowly over one
suspender, feeling up the red stitching on the taupe elastic.
Kurt's mind boomeranged. It always came back to the same place. He was just so
curious about the things Sam had experienced without him.
He kind of suspected Sam had been granted at least second base with Quinn. He
didn't know for sure, but it just seemed likely that sessions with Quinn had
gotten legitimately steamy a couple of times, if she'd ground on him and gotten
him close to creaming himself. He'd been promised second base with Santana but
had never gotten it, but had mentioned being excited to get his hands on her
fake boobs. He bet his sub wouldn't have been quite as tentative touching Quinn
or Santana.
Much more of a mystery was what Sam had done with his boarding school sub. That
was how Kurt thought of whoever the guy was Sam had apparently once tried to
dom, and everything about that was complicated. It hadn't worked out for Sam,
but. It simultaneously riled up Kurt's possessive side and made him somewhat
self-conscious, since he personally had no previous experiences other than
Karofsky planting one on him in the locker room – yet, imagining his beautiful,
eager Sam domming boys was super hot, too. Maybe Sam wasn't as interested in
boys as Kurt, but he'd still engaged in some kind of situation with one before.
And Kurt knew there were incidents, plural, so there wasn't just that one lone
blip on the gaydar. Kurt had wondered about it every time they'd been together.
Distracted for a moment by that inevitable line of thought, Kurt came back to
attention and found that Sam was unbuttoning the second button on the short
placket of his henley, hand a little shaky, his breath issuing in soft huffs
against Kurt's shoulder.
Rather than say anything, Kurt hummed, soft and low and interested. His
response made Sam pause for a moment, alert, then slowly go for the third and
final button when no protests or guilting or scolding came. It was probably an
inch and a half of bare chest Sam was gaining access to, but then, Kurt did
remember declaring to Sam that he'd have to earn every inch of his Dom's bare
skin. He wondered if Sam remembered that, and if this inch of skin Kurt was
allowing him to reveal was at all exciting to Sam.
He got his answer pretty much immediately. Sam's fingers pushed into the little
opening, and Kurt heard his sub's breaths go sharper.
Kurt's own chest rose slowly to take in a deep inhale as Sam's fingertips slid
eagerly over his upper pectoral. Sam's fingers were so long they were easily
curling around Kurt's shoulder under the cotton of his henley, squeezing at it.
The camo-print cuff on his wrist was too thick to just slide under like his
fingers did, and caught the open placket, tugging it gently; likewise, the back
of his hand was stretching Kurt's suspender over it. Kurt didn't mind. He could
feel that this was doing something for Sam, even if he didn't have any kind of
main attraction to feature under there. Sam's fingers caressed his collar bone
and felt the mild dip underneath it, following that shallow valley until
muscles made it disappear. It was a small touch, but it made Kurt feel melty-
hot.
"Kurt?" Sam managed softly.
"Hmm?"
"... Thank you?"
"Mm, what for, cutie-pie?"
"Everything." Against Kurt's arm, Sam's heart was pounding hard, and it just
seemed to get faster and harder. "But, uh. Especially letting me serve you. ...
Service you."
It was just a small huff and a tiny change of wording, but it made a world of
difference.
"You waited so patiently for your Dom to let you service like you did, huh,"
said Kurt teasingly.
Sam nodded.
"When you knew you were going to get to, you were such an excited boy..."
Making a throaty little noise, Sam nodded again, clutching at the unbuttoned V
of Kurt's collar. Kurt didn't know if he should ask, especially because he
wasn't sure exactly how he'd feel about the answer, but his curiosity got the
better of him. Man, if he was a cat, he'd be running low on lives.
"Did you ever do that before you were my sub, Sam? Give anyone a blow job?"
"No," huffed Sam.
Kurt's deep breath was equal parts relief and arousal. It was gratifying to
know that this part of Sam belonged to him, in a way – that Sam had only ever
had Kurt's cock in his mouth – and also sort of reassuring to think that maybe
Sam wasn't as experienced as he was assuming.
"But they wanted me to," Sam added slowly.
"Boys at your boarding school?" Kurt guessed.
"Yeah."
"I bet! I bet you were like catnip to them. I know you are to me. I just can't
resist you at all."
Sam's heart felt like it was pounding hard enough to power a small city. He was
either incredibly excited or incredibly nervous. His hand in Kurt's felt hot
and sweaty.
"You didn't ever give in, though, hm?" Kurt said, not sure whether he was
aiming to reassure, or what. He rubbed at Sam's forearm, which was resting
gingerly on his chest and still felt silky from that gelled-up massage a couple
of hours ago.
Sam shook his head.
"Not even when you dommed that one guy?" Kurt asked.
"Of course not," Sam breathed.
"Hm. And still, you're so good at it," Kurt told him, enjoying the way Sam's
chin lifted and his breath seemed to catch.
After a few beats, his sub offered, "I have blow job lips."
"You do?"
"People say."
Oh, did they, now? Sam's mouth was on the large side, and that had gotten a
fair number of comments from Puck in particular. Kurt didn't tend to think in
that way about them, distracted instead at just how beautifully-shaped they
were, but he could see the validity in just about anyone leaping to the
conclusion that they might feel good.
"Well, your lips are gorgeous and I do love them," Kurt was willing to confirm,
reaching up Sam's arm to nudge at them with an encouraging thumb.
He was pleasantly surprised when Sam caught at his hand and anchored it so he
could press his lips against the pad of Kurt's thumb, kissing it for such a
long moment that it seemed more like a real kiss instead of just a smooch. It
didn't seem playful; his sub's eyelids had dropped, his light lashes on
display. Then Sam pressed another right against the bend of his knuckle, and
Kurt got it – it was reverential, thankful.
His thumb got kissed so many times that Kurt lost count, and he just let Sam
have at the compulsion, sighing softly and stirring in his trousers as Sam's
hand carefully pulled at his and the generous-lipped kisses pressed at the
tender web between Kurt's thumb and index finger. Warm and earnest, Sam's mouth
pressed kisses into his palm and up his index finger to the very tip. Cautious,
Sam finally paused there, kissing Kurt's fingertip softly three or four times.
Kurt couldn't help it. He pushed his finger between Sam's lips, and
immediately, Sam responded, warm wet mouth sucking him down to the second
knuckle and tugging prickles of sensation into Kurt's nerve endings.
"That's a good boy," Kurt huffed, not afraid to push his finger in deeper.
"Suck it."
Sam somehow sagged, his exhale pushing out of him as his temple rubbed into
Kurt's shoulder. Kurt got the impression that he'd assuaged Sam of needing to
have some dignity, and groaned in approval as Sam's lips caught his middle
finger, too.
"Aw, there you go. Is that better?"
Huffing, Sam nodded, hand gripping at Kurt's. The tantalizing clutch of his
lips rolled, slid hotly over Kurt's fingers till they were wetting the hilt of
his palm. They drew back, pulling at his skin, lighting tingles into existence.
Kurt was hazily aware of the air in the room thickening, warming, and of Sam's
obvious pleasure. It gave him the feeling of filling his sub up somehow, of
giving him something that he desired, and Sam's beautiful mouth anywhere on him
was a total score. He could see himself letting Sam do this for hours if he
wanted...
"That's good, Sam," Kurt breathed. "Your mouth is so soft."
Sam moaned around his fingers; Kurt could feel the noise right on them. That
big careful hand of his clasped excitedly at Kurt's wrist, clutched down his
arm, and then dropped right to Kurt's fly and groped at it, searching. Kurt,
who was in the midst of remembering the last time Sam had sucked on his fingers
and the satisfying, dominating sensation of filling him up in two different
holes, wasn't expecting it in the least. He sucked in a startled breath as Sam
found his erection and ground his hand across it eagerly.
"Sam," he let out, not even knowing what to say for a moment. Sam had actually
touched him like this before, emboldened by knowing he was within the rights
the rule had granted him. He could still hear Sam babbling, You let me have
this... You're letting me feel it... Follow the rule... I wanna be your good
boy...
Panting through his nose, Sam arched, burying Kurt's fingers in the warm heat
of his mouth and twisting his lips around them gently. Kurt could feel the
silky back of his soft palate on his fingertips and grew even harder under the
warm rubbing, till there was absolutely no way anybody in Kurt's family could
casually peek into Kurt's room and not see his hard-on, if they ever looked
past the sight of Sam Evans blowing his fingers. It was Sam's right hand
groping at him this time, and it felt to Kurt like it knew what it was doing as
well as if Sam had been doing it to himself. Kurt just sighed, waves of heat
crashing through him as Sam sucked his fingers like crazy and that hand got
increasingly confident, caressing blatantly.
"Hm! Seems like you want something pretty bad," Kurt finally commented.
"Mmf."
"Maybe if you ask nice..."
"Pleah," Sam breathed, with Kurt's fingers still almost entirely in his mouth.
"Hmm, try again. I wanna hear exactly what you want."
"Pl – please," Sam huffed, letting Kurt's fingers out of his mouth completely
wet down. Saliva dribbled over his lower lip and chin from Kurt's fingertips.
"Please let me suck your dick again. You can – tie me up if you want? Just –
anything you want, just, please... I wanna service your dick. More than
anything. Please, Kurt."
"Oh," Kurt sighed, his dick just throbbing in response. With his fingers still
warm and spitty and Sam's breath huffing on them, he couldn't even think of
saying no, even though the door wasn't even locked. Sorry, potential intruders.
"So sweet, honey. That's so sweet. It's okay. You can suck it again. I
understand..."
Sam huffed, sounding relieved, and lifted his head from Kurt's shoulder so he
could attack Kurt's button and zip.
"That's a good boy," Kurt managed, gaze sliding briefly up to his ceiling – it
seemed incongruent to see, even if he was pretty used to jerking off just like
this in bed, on his back, because this was just too impossible to be real. But
of course Sam wanted to suck him off, given permission to do just about
anything. Sam shoved himself down the mattress, pulling his hand out of Kurt's
so he could pry into Kurt's boxer-briefs as he hunched on his knees beside him.
He wasn't shaking like he was when he was daring to unbutton Kurt's shirt, but
Kurt could still feel the clumsy eager desperation that made him feel so...
Dommy, so powerful and important and benevolent towards his sub. And he
couldn't help but notice that Sam had put himself on his knees, even on the
mattress. Half encouraging and half teasing, Kurt asked, "Can you get that cock
out? You can use your hands this time, can't you..."
Focused, Sam managed to pry Kurt out, and inhaled sharply.
"You got it," Kurt congratulated him breathily, staring down at his dick in
Sam's huge hand. "Look at that, Sam. Look how hard you got your Dom..."
Sam's fingers drew along it in a subtle pump that had Kurt forcing back a moan.
"Thank you," his little sub whispered, his eyelids dropping as he buried his
forehead briefly in Kurt's hip. "Thank you."
The noise made its way out even though Kurt was trying to hold it in. He didn't
know the exact thing Sam was thanking him for, but his belly sank in a hard tug
of arousal anyway, because that profuse gratitude was so submissive and
obviously flowed from a deep and honest well. Then Sam's pretty lips slid over
his knob and sucked gently all the way down it, sliding up again from the neck
to the very very tip, where they slipped right off. He had to open up again to
take Kurt's knob back into it, and Kurt felt every little bit of the sweet
cling Sam's mouth had on him.
"Jesus please us," Kurt blurted rudely.
Since they'd just celebrated Sam's Personal Savior's Zombie Resurrection
together at church, the words rang pretty harsh, but Sam didn't seem to stall
at that little bit of blasphemy beyond a clutched breath. Maybe going down on
Kurt's fingers had really roused him, or maybe he was just as over-eager as
he'd been earlier, because he rocked on his knees and sank into an intent
rhythm, right off the bat. He was wetting Kurt down in his hot mouth instead of
licking him like last time, hair falling over his forehead in a bleach-blond
curtain.
Choking down the loud, undignified way he wanted to respond to the abrupt but
heartfelt blow job, Kurt tensed on the mattress, his spine actually curling
enough to make his chest rise high. Honestly? Carole was downstairs, and here
he was with his ankles casually crossed, letting his sub give him blow job
number two for the day? He was hardly even used to Sam touching him anywhere at
all. It was just bonkers.
He made himself relax again after an overwhelmed moment. Fixing his gaze down
his own torso, he admired Sam's left hand gripping at the suspenders buttoned
into the waist of his pants, his right dedicated to steadying Kurt's cock. His
pinky stuck out like he was holding a teacup, giving Kurt the impression that
Sam was holding him as he would fine china – but it was still so boyish, kinked
over at the knuckle, and unawares. Sam's mouth was so abundant that it seemed
easy for him to be taking Kurt in his mouth like this, almost quick and sloppy.
Maybe he did have blow job lips... maybe he was just made to worship his Dom
like this. Made to please with his body and mouth and big hands. He'd begged
for this repeatedly.
With a deep sigh, Kurt felt himself swooning. This was his sub's desire and he
was just reaping the benefits. Knowing that if nothing else, it made Sam feel
servile, felt good on a whole other level. And he wasn't having to push back
his own arousal every few seconds this time... this time he wasn't going to
blow immediately... this time it was more familiar to him, how Sam's lips held
him in this perfect heat and his tongue stroked the back of his dick in broad
rubs.
"God," he murmured, voice wavering. "You don't know how awesome that feels,
Sam."
His sub let out a huff of breath, excited, and Kurt closed his eyes for a long
few moments, belly pulling taut with pleasure and brain losing touch with where
they were, anyway, besides the world he and Sam created together. He could hear
Sam's lips slipping over his skin wetly and how intense his little exhales
seemed to be. Kurt centered himself over and over, but he could feel himself
giving in slowly to the rhythm, captive to it. His hand found Sam's hair,
fingers sliding through it several comforting times before he got some sense
and pushed the hair out of Sam's face, away from his cheek and forehead so he
could have an unobstructed view of Sam's cheeks hollowed and his eyelids
hanging heavy, not all the way shut.
"What a good boy I have," he drawled. "Aren't you a good boy? Getting to
service your master's dick twice in one day?"
After a shiver of shock, Sam whimpered an affirmative-sounding response, and
Kurt grinned, letting out another long, deliberate breath.
"I know," he agreed. "So good. Make me so proud. My sweet little sub deserves
to suck my cock as much as he wants."
Sam groaned softly, without a hint of shyness, blinking a few times before his
eyes simply shut and something about his posture changed. He slowed, the
capable and energetic pace he'd dived right into rolling naturally right into
something that was truly slavish. It was as if Kurt had found that little
behavioral switch in him and given it a nudge, given him permission and comfort
in a deeper way. Sam's lips slid down his shaft deep, taking him to where his
fingertips were bracing him, and Kurt got another groan that he felt right in
his balls.
"That's right," Kurt managed, stomach swooping. "You can have all that in your
mouth. You like that, right?"
"Mmh," Sam squeaked responsively, sucking Kurt slow and sweet right up to the
tip, where his tongue was free to slide around in a hot squirm, and down again.
"Oh – God, you're so good, it's not even – fair," Kurt let out. "Just like
that."
Happily, Sam repeated the move, so fucking deliberate that it was suddenly a
whole different blow job and Kurt was panting, feeling the ring of Sam's lips
caress him from root to tip in purposeful strokes. His mouth was so silky but
so firm, the bow of it easily keeping Kurt's shaft from ever grazing his teeth.
And he kept right at it, giving Kurt those hot lengthy sucks capped with eager
swirls of tongue, till Kurt whispered to him sharply, "Think 'm gonna come."
Sam's response to that was to back off.
He didn't back off totally, but his lips softened, and he leaned weight onto
his elbow and hip, his head tilting and his hand keeping Kurt securely in his
mouth as he eased himself onto his side.
Now he was positioned more like the time in the car, like he'd leaned over from
the passenger seat to blow Kurt. His hair slipped back into his face with the
change of angle, and Kurt couldn't see his eyes anymore, but his neck and
shoulders were right there at Kurt's side, ready to be pet. The pause had been
enough to make the sweet knot of tension in Kurt's belly loosen a little, and
he exhaled hotly. He'd meant to warn Sam as a basic courtesy, not get him to
stop or take it easy, but he was still hovering so close he only felt amazing.
He could see Sam's spine in the dip of his flushed neck and all those muscles
helping him bob in a pace that was tremulously slow and gentle.
His sub wanted to keep going, he realized. He wanted more – he wanted what Kurt
had told him he deserved.
"Fuck," Kurt sighed, entranced. "Sam..."
After a minute of those petal-soft sucks, he was close again, aching in Sam's
hand and mouth, and Sam seemed to realize it. He backed off even further, the
wet pull of his lips sliding off Kurt's dick entirely, his tongue giving the
crown little flicks that felt extra-slippery and hot as he panted, winded. It
was so wet – because his dick was fucking drooling, thought Kurt, who could
barely even see straight anymore. Sam was pushing that heavy wet precome all
around his knob...
It hit Kurt the second he even thought about Sam's tongue doing something like
that. It seemed somehow beyond the pale; all that had been beyond Sam sucking
him off dutifully. His body clutched, and jizz shot right out of his swollen
cock. He felt Sam freeze, and Kurt let out something between a groan and a
high-pitched cry, alarmed and turned on because he was shooting off right over
Sam's cheek – and coming even harder with that last-second hit of feeling. He
shot off again and again, just making it worse, his come landing in Sam's hair
and on the back of his neck as Sam's head bowed. Even as it tapered off, every
little drop rolled from his slit onto Sam's face.
For what seemed like forever, Kurt couldn't even find words. He slumped,
panting, internally trying to claw his way back to reliable mental footing.
"Oh – God – I'm sorry, Sam," he finally managed. "I just – soaked you – I'm so
sorry."
Sam grunted. At this point, his cheek was cushioned in submission against
Kurt's belly, the curve of his lips right in Kurt's neatly-groomed pubes, and
Kurt's dick was twitching against his jaw. Sam was still holding it in gentle
fingers, letting it lean along his sloppy-wet jaw.
"It's all over your neck," Kurt muttered. As much as he would have liked to lie
there and bask with his sub, he felt a little panicky. He grabbed at the back
of Sam's collar and tugged it up to mop at where his load was sticking to Sam's
flushed skin. It was strung along locks of Sam's hair. Kurt's come wasn't as
thick or downright copious as Sam's always seemed, but it was still obvious,
unmistakable, and Kurt wheezed, "Jeez. You are definitely going to need to wash
your hair or we're gonna have a Farrelly brothers situation on our hands. Oh my
God. Sit up. Shirt off."
Silently, Sam obeyed, pulling his shirt off with a stretch of back and arm
muscles. It ruffled his hair. Kurt yanked it from him.
"Come here. Face me."
His sub slowly spun, and Kurt let out another, "Oh my God," because the side of
Sam's face was utterly creamed and dripping onto his bare shoulder, now,
gravity making the slick jizz rush. The two seconds Kurt took to stare at Sam's
round cheek seemed like an hour; Kurt knew he'd never forget the sight of Sam
dripping with his load like that, just like he'd never forget shooting off up
Sam's spine and seeing his come glisten in the pit of Sam's back. It was on the
tip of his ear, too. Quickly, Kurt pushed himself onto his elbow and reached
out to clean Sam's face off with his hand tucked into the cotton of Sam's tee,
dumbstruck.
Jaw tiredly unhinged, Sam blinked, languid and glassy-eyed, then looked at Kurt
blankly.
It only took a few moments to get his cheek relatively cleaned off, Kurt's come
soaking and sticking at the cotton instead, and Kurt nipped at his blushing ear
with a clean part of the shirt and tried to smile.
"I'm so sorry, sweetie. I made you into such a mess! You okay?"
Sam breathed, "Yeah. Thank you, Kurt."
Kurt folded the shirt over to a clean patch and rubbed at the back of Sam's
neck, making Sam's eyes fall shut again.
"What do I need to do?" he asked, like his brain was a few steps behind.
"Wash your hair. I can't send you home like this – your parents would never let
you come over here again! We should get you right into the shower. We don't
want that to dry."
Sam hummed lowly. It sounded as though his voice had slipped from a perch in
his throat and sank to the bottom of his stomach.
"I have to advise from personal experience that you use cool water and, uh,
lather-rinse-repeat at least once," Kurt said, and sighed. "God. Sorry,
sweetie. I didn't mean for you to wind up having to take a cold shower..."
"Nothing new," Sam murmured.
Feeling bad for his sub, who was clearly hard in his jeans, Kurt tucked his
cock back into his underwear and zipped himself up again. Then he uncrossed his
ankles and sat up to give Sam a kiss on the same cheek he'd just sullied,
pining to go full-on fussbudget. He could smell himself all over Sam's skin,
pungent. It was like taking a hit, or something; he felt so in love with this
boy, his heart squeezed tight in his chest.
"Poor sub," he cooed. "Come on. I'll run the shower for you."
 
*
 
Fifteen minutes later, a damp-haired Sam peeked into Kurt's room, hovering in
the doorway until Kurt said, "Come in here!"
Kurt put his phone in his bedside shelf. He'd been occupied the last several
minutes by looking at the picture he'd taken while Sam's wrists had been
restrained earlier and wondering whether that had been a good idea. It had
seemed like an effective punishment at the time, but he hadn't thought it
through all the way. Now that he wasn't in the middle of domming the lights out
of his sub, he wasn't really sure he'd handled that trivial rule-breaking
situation well.
"Did the shower help?" he asked. "Does your hair feel clean?"
Easing himself into the room, Sam nodded, carefully shutting the door behind
him again. He was just in his jeans, which luckily hadn't gotten doused, and
seemed like he'd inevitably calmed down in the cool shower. And he clearly saw
that Kurt had pulled out the shopping bag Quinn had given him and left it in
the middle of the floor between them. He slid his hands into his back pockets
warily.
"I'll wash your t-shirt and get it back to you this week, but in the meantime,
how about you try on a couple of these shirts from Quinn?" Kurt suggested.
"You'll need something to wear home."
"Uh. Well. Will you... decide what?"
"Are you sure?" he asked, even though he knew the answer. Sam really seemed not
to want to open the bag himself to see what was inside. Kurt thought that Sam
had a generally curious nature, so it really spoke volumes as to how uneasy he
felt about accepting the gift. He remembered Sam nervously insisting he wasn't
a charity case, so it seemed the gift had two strikes against it. As he
expected, his sub nodded, so Kurt said, "Okay! I'll pick for you. And if any of
these aren't your style, we should go to the mall and exchange them."
The first thing Kurt pulled out was a blue and white seersucker button-down,
which seemed very cool and summery. A tiny yellow Ralph Lauren logo was
embroidered on its chest. He held it up for Sam.
"How 'bout this? Cute? Not cute?"
"I – um. I really have no idea what clothes are cute," said Sam.
"I'm just asking if you like it. There's another one that looks just like this,
but the stripes are red. This kind of shirt is very classic and versatile! It
can be worn alone or under a jacket or sweater or with denim or khaki, and
seersucker's really easy to take care of as well as wear. You don't even have
to iron it. Here, c'mere. Let me put this red one on you."
Kurt was already unfastening the buttons on it, so Sam cooperatively stepped
over and let Kurt help him into the shirt. They had to pause again to unbutton
the cuffs on the long sleeves so they wouldn't get stuck above Sam's collars,
but it was easy to give the sleeves a couple of casual rolls up his arm.
"Luckily for the Titans, red flatters you," Kurt murmured, buttoning Sam up
easily. He could smell his own shampoo and conditioner in Sam's hair and didn't
mind it at all... although, honestly, he sort of preferred that sharp scent of
his own jizz on Sam's skin. He couldn't smell it now. "Give me a spin, why
don't you."
Obediently, Sam rotated in an inelegant, uncertain circle.
Kurt had to admire the the whole picture. Sam looked good in pretty much
anything, but the ride of the sleeves on his forearms flattered them immensely,
showing off his cuffs. The shirt fit him well in the shoulders and chest, but
it was his arms that looked amazing in it. As casual as Kurt found it in
general, it was on the churchier side in the spectrum of things he'd seen on
Sam. It wasn't hard for Kurt to envision Sam at some kind of picnic or beach,
all-American, with rolled up khakis and a football under one arm. Damn that
Quinn Fabray. Girl did have an eye.
"Does it fit?" Sam asked.
"I'll say," Kurt leered. "It makes your shoulders look so broad."
Sam slid a finger into the collar and pulled at it a bit. "Do you like broad
shoulders?"
"Broad shoulders are never bad," Kurt told him reassuringly, which in his mind
was an understatement. Sam's body was essentially perfectly proportioned.
"So you like it?"
"Well, I think you'd look good in just about anything. The important thing is
that you feel comfortable and like yourself. So how's it feel?"
"Like a shirt," said Sam.
"So it's 'eh'?"
"I guess. I mean, it's fine. It's just a shirt. I feel kinda weird wearing
something someone else picked out for me. I mean – if you like it, I'll wear
it. I trust your, like... opinion."
"What I hear you saying is that the shirt itself is neither here nor there. You
just don't like that Quinn is attached to it," said Kurt.
"Not really," Sam confirmed. "Quinn is a good girl. I just don't want to
feel... attached. Like you said. Ugh, but I feel really bad even saying that.
She's... she was important to me... and this is a gift."
Trying to phrase things delicately, lest his irritation with Quinn flare up on
him, Kurt said, "You know, it's okay, Sam. I get it. You let Quinn have control
of your emotions for a long time, even after you were with Santana. Even though
you ended things, it's hard to let people go. I understand that it might feel
like you're being disobedient if your instinct is to pull away from her. I
think it's big of you to want to keep her as a friend. But it's okay to feel
another way than hopelessly devoted to her." Looking carefully at Sam's eyes,
which were shiny-wet and wide and unblinking, Kurt said, "Sam. It's really
okay. It's okay to feel however you feel about Quinn. It's okay if you're
totally over it, and it's okay if you're not and still feel hurt. You said it
yourself: She was important to you."
"Yeah, but I'm not hers anymore," Sam said quickly.
"Don't I know it," Kurt assured him, cupping his cheek affectionately. He just
really loved to nudge the corner of Sam's mouth and feel the resulting smile in
his palm.
"And I don't want to be but I still feel – bad. I already said. I don't want to
think about her. I just feel bad. I know I shouldn't..."
"Remember what we talked about Sunday? I won't judge you. I'll never judge you.
Your feelings are important and valid and meaningful to me. You're my sub, and
the fact that you are and that you're you, just the way you are, means a lot to
me. I'm here for you. You telling me your honest feelings is the most perfect
thing you can do for me as your Dom. Even if they're feelings about that little
hussy. Positive or negative. They're a part of you."
Sam nodded hurriedly, lips quirking against Kurt's thumb in a half-smile, then
sniffed.
"I really wish you picked out this stuff instead of Quinn."
"Well, that's no problem, sweetie. Let's just exchange it. If you promise not
to let me get carried away, we can get you a whole different set of shirts.
Courtesy Quinn, but we'll pick out whatever we want."
"Really?"
"Really."
Sam visibly relaxed, his shoulders sinking. He let his head roll back for a
second, blinking carefully, then straightened up again. It seemed like tears
had been threatening to spill, but he'd moved out of the storm.
"Would you try on just one more thing for me, though?" Kurt asked, squinting
and tapping at his own chin with his index finger.
"Of course," Sam said.
"There's a shirt in here that I confess I really like," said Kurt. "Finn has
one kind of like it, but this one is much cuter, trust me."
"Cute like... Pinky Wigglenose cute, or...?"
"Hm! Try 'jock at school I wanna cuff to my headboard' cute."
Kurt heard Sam stop breathing for a few seconds, then exhale tensely.
"Ditch the seersucker," Kurt added, fishing through the bag for another bag,
which he knew from his snooping had a few assorted polo shirts in it. He knew
for sure Sam used to have a couple of polos, and that he might even like and
willingly don the ones Quinn had picked out if he didn't associate them with
her.
The polo Kurt had liked was a pretty simple white one with slender black
stripes and a black collar. The chest had a yellow band over it, like someone
had decided to highlight one of the black lines. While it wasn't what Kurt
would consider fashionable, it was frankly a tad more styled than anything he'd
ever seen Sam in, besides those purple Bieber kicks. But it wasn't so
distinctive or unusual that it didn't fit in with Sam's typical wardrobe. It
was nothing special; Kurt just liked its clean look.
"Trade ya," said Kurt, as the red seersucker came off Sam's gorgeous arms. Sam
took the shirt he held out, and Kurt took the seersucker, unrolling its cuffs
again. "Get that on for me."
Sam pulled the polo over his damp hair, and Kurt watched him get his arms
through the sleeves and tug it down his waist.
"So are you gonna tie me to your headboard now, or...?" he asked, grinning.
"I'm sorely tempted," Kurt teased him. "That looks great on you. Especially
with your blond hair."
"Thanks," Sam said, pleased.
"You'll wear that home for me, won't you? Since I wrecked your t-shirt and I
feel bad about it, you should take pity on me."
"'Kay," Sam agreed.
"Let me snip that tag, then," said Kurt cheerily, going for his craft box,
which was in his bookcase. All his rhinestones and glue and feathers and fabric
swatches were hidden in a box he'd covered with black flocked velvet damask. He
lifted the lid and found his scissors easily, and when he turned back, he saw
Sam had stepped up to his dresser and had carefully eased the curtain of
scarves up so he could see how he looked. He dropped them again when Kurt
snagged the dangling brand and price tags (which showed signs of having been
marked down several times) and cut them free, plucking the plastic barb out
after. "There you go. Personally, I think you look hunky, but if you wanna toss
it once you get home or give it away or whatever, I get that, too. Please
yourself."
"I look hunky, huh?" Sam echoed, smiling.
"Mm-hm." Kurt batted his eyelashes. "Sorry about your t-shirt, though."
"It's okay. I – I was gonna swallow... I didn't mean to just slack off like
that," Sam said, and Kurt's eyelashes fluttered further, this time in surprise.
Slacking? Sam considered that slacking? He opened his mouth to assure Sam that
not a single aspect of that blow job had been the least bit wanting, but Sam
said, "When I felt it hit my face... I – just let it happen. I didn't move or
anything. It's really my fault. I didn't know it would get on the back of my
neck and everything. I didn't mean to be a Farrelly brothers situation."
"... Oh," Kurt managed.
"Next time I'll definitely swallow," Sam said.
"I see," Kurt said. His ears felt like they were on fire. "Um. Sweetie... trust
me, you don't need to swallow to make me happy. I'd hardly be offended or
insulted if you'd rather not. Messes happen, and I'm not exactly against them.
You might have noticed my, um, bedspread. So you don't have to swallow at all,
if you don't want to. You don't even have to blow me in the first place. I
mean, I've loved all the blow jobs you've given me! All three of them. Three
seems like a crazy number. I kinda can't believe it. But you do know I don't
expect you to do that for me, right? Let alone swallow."
There was such a pause that Kurt thought it was obvious Sam had definitely not
thought dick service to be optional, but then Sam said, "Yeah. I know you don't
expect anything but honesty. I just... was hoping you'd let me do it." He
shrugged awkwardly, tugging at his new polo by its hem.
"Swallow?"
"Well – just..." Sam fidgeted, gaze tilting to the left in a nervous fashion.
"You mean service me," Kurt said, getting a nod. "I let you today, didn't I?
Twice. Amongst other things you did for me. Right?"
"Yeah."
"And I must say, it was some killer service," Kurt said airily, although he was
reminded of exactly what else Sam had done for him earlier, and sat on the edge
of his mattress, picking up his phone. "Come here, Sam. Sit next to me."
Sam padded over, his weight dipping the mattress next to Kurt and his fingers
hanging onto the edge of it. Kurt still had the picture he'd taken earlier
pulled up, and he tilted the phone so Sam could see it – the picture of the
chair in his corner where their school stuff was sandwiched together between
its metal arms. Sam exhaled quietly as he eyed it.
"Is there a picture of me too?" he asked after a few moments of silence.
"No," Kurt replied. "I just snapped this one and let you think it was of you."
"Oh," Sam said, confused. "Yeah. I thought..."
"I told you it was a little punishment. A temporary punishment. See? Epitome of
temporary. But I was thinking. It was a bit dishonest of me to play with your
expectations like that. It's something I won't do again. I won't take any
naughty pictures of you without your consent just because I'm your Dom. You're
safe with me. Always. I'm not happy if you don't trust me."
Head heavy, Sam nodded his acknowledgment.
"You look disappointed," Kurt observed.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," Sam mumbled.
"You kind of liked it, didn't you?" Kurt asked gently. He was well aware it
hadn't put a dent in Sam's wiggly, subtastic state of arousal, at least, but
Sam nodded again, just once, looking both sad and ashamed. "Me too. So it
wasn't really a good punishment, then, was it?"
Sam shrugged.
"What would you have done if you were in my place? If you had a sub and he'd
broken a simple, temporary rule. How would you punish him?" Kurt wondered.
"Spank him or something," said Sam, like it was the obvious answer.
Kurt stared down at his phone's screen. "Yeah, there is that. To be honest, I'm
not sure I feel comfortable spanking you. It's just... I think I would enjoy it
too much... and I don't want to like however I choose to punish you. Even if,
maybe, when I punish you, I might be relishing the fact that I'm your Dom and
you're submitting to me – I don't want to actually get off on punishing you.
I'm afraid it would make me more likely to punish you when you don't really
deserve it and make it easy to get carried away. And I get really carried away
with you as is. I'm not above admitting that in the moment, I really enjoyed
making you whimper like you did."
"You could smack these cheeks instead of these cheeks," Sam said, gesturing to
his face with both index fingers pointed, then his ass.
That got a giggle out of Kurt, who till that point was occupied with being
really grave and apologetic.
"How dramatic," he commented. "Maybe I should slap you across the face with a
glove."
"Okay, but I might try to duel you," said Sam. "It's just instinct."
"You can certainly try, but give me five seconds and I'll have you begging for
mercy."
Startled, Sam inhaled, then let out the breath again sheepishly.
"I see kids at school carrying out punishments sometimes," Kurt said, flushing
happily at the response that had gotten him. "It's usually either some kind of
manual labor, like locker-cleaning, or some kind of public humiliation –
wearing 'HELLO! My name is: Flirted with Figgins' stickers and going from class
to class with makeshift gags in their mouth and stuff... I do like the idea of
people seeing you be so submissive to me, but. Going from class to class can be
hard enough with guys like Karofsky around, who don't exactly respect and fear
me as a Dom and who would probably love to jump you for being my sub. And for
accidentally breaking such a little rule, I don't know. I should have just
given you a warning. That wasn't really punishment-worthy, since you didn't do
it on purpose at all. See? When I'm in that Dom mode, I just get carried away.
Would you forgive me, Sam? I'm kinda new at this."
"Of course, if you want. But what would you do if you were ever really mad at
me?" Sam asked. "Like, say I did something you told me not to do, on purpose.
Would you punish me then?"
"Oh. Well, it really depends on the situation. I might punish you, but I'm not
sure what I'd do," Kurt admitted. "But I'll be thinking about it. If you have
any suggestions, you can tell me."
"I dunno," Sam admitted in return.
"Well, it isn't a pressing issue," Kurt told him. "You're extremely well-
behaved, and like I said, I consider it my place to help you if you do ever
have trouble. I promise I will provide you with a warning in the future, and I
promise not to make you think something that isn't true. I just wanted you to
know that I didn't take any nudes of you, sweetie. In fact, I don't have any
pictures of you at all."
After a moment of consideration, Sam asked, "Well, do you want one? We could
take a pic together or something."
"Really?"
Smiling at the happy lilt in Kurt's voice, Sam spread his hands in complete
deference.
Kurt, feeling a little like this was simply too good to actually be his life,
accessed the camera on his phone.
"Just, is my hair okay?" Sam asked him. "I don't have that Cameron Diaz thing
going on, do I?"
After giving him a little inspection, Kurt arranged Sam's long, mostly air-dry
bangs over his forehead with a few light pats, then said, "Looks good to me. In
fact, you look particularly photogenic, all scrubbed clean and in your cute new
polo. ... Ready?"
He stretched his arm out, holding his phone at a distance so they could both
fit in the picture. Sam leaned in.
"On three," Kurt said. "One, two –"
The shutter sounded.
"One more for safety," Kurt said. "On three. One, two –"
Aware of Sam's arm around his back, hand on his waist, and their cheeks
brushing lightly, Kurt pressed the button again.
"Let's see," he murmured, feeling extremely pleased. He and Mercedes usually
took several pictures together anytime they did anything; his Facebook had a
whole folder dedicated to their cam-whoring and face-making and cheek-kissing
in various locales. But he'd never cozied up with a boy as such, and as small a
thing as it was, it was thrilling – another first for him that he was sharing
with his sub. Sam's cheek tilted onto his shoulder as Kurt eagerly pulled up
the first shot.
Kurt never smiled with teeth if he could help it, but in the first picture, Sam
was grinning particularly brightly, his pretty, perfect teeth visible and his
mouth for once not just quirked on one side. He looked too handsome to
tolerate, especially compared to Kurt. Rachel had it totally right when she'd
referred to him as a Ken doll. Kurt gave Sam an elbow in the side, muttering.
"Cutie. Look at you."
The second one featured a Sam that was just as painfully gorgeous as he was in
the first, although he and Kurt were much closer together, with Sam's chin
nearly on his shoulder. His lips were more crooked, smile more of an
afterthought. He almost looked more occupied with getting in close than with
actually posing for a picture.
"I like that one," Kurt said, quickly selecting it as Sam's ID picture.
"Will you email them to me? Both of them?" Sam asked.
"Certainly!"
"Thanks."
"Thanks for taking a picture with me," Kurt countered. He bumped his shoulder
against Sam's, friendly, and gave into the urge to give Sam a peck on the
cheek, since Sam had said it didn't bother him.
"Anytime," Sam said. "You know you could –"
He stopped short.
"I could what?" Kurt asked.
"You could take however many pictures of me you want," Sam said, studying his
knees. Kurt watched him flatten his lips together and his teeth tug at his
upper lip for a sharp second before letting it go. "Just if you want."
"I'd like that," Kurt told him truthfully.
 
*
The next day, Sam showed up at school wearing the cute white, black, and yellow
polo, looking all kinds of adorable with his hair particularly neatly arranged
and pulled over his forehead in long swoops. The clean, new shirt fit his frame
extremely well, which made quite a difference; he looked tall and lean and –
well, super hunky. The cuffs were the perfect accessory, in Kurt's opinion. His
sub was just hands down the hottest boy in the whole school and everyone else
could just die of jealousy, as far as he was concerned.
Quinn strolled by the two as they stood at Sam's locker checking over his
homework, and upon noticing the shirt Sam was wearing, she smiled and tilted
her nose offensively high up in the air, looking extremely pleased with
herself. The proud, satisfied expression only seemed to bother Sam for a couple
of seconds.
"I forgot to read on my novel for English," he said, when his attentions
refocused.
"Oops," said Kurt angelically, knowing full well he'd taken Sam's entire
evening. "If you can make it through your class, we can catch you up during
study hall."
Sam nodded reluctantly. He was probably thinking the same thing Kurt was – that
he'd rather just skip study hall. Miss Holliday wasn't subbing this week,
though, so with Mr. Clippinger leading it, their shared study hall was much
more quiet and class-like than the social hour it tended to be with lenient
teachers.
Kurt got a real start in second period when he saw Rachel. The purplish bags
under her eyes and splint on her nose were worse than Finn had prepared him
for. She'd stayed home yesterday, and it was now obvious why.
"Jeez, Rachel, are you okay?" he asked.
"My nose is a little swollen," she acknowledged, opening her pink notebook with
a prim hand.
"You look like you went a few rounds with a punching bag and lost every single
round!"
"Well, that's better than the 'ugly stick' comments I got in first period," she
said.
"I'm sure the swelling will go down soon," Kurt said hastily.
"I suggest you get used to seeing me like this," Rachel advised. "Are you
sitting with me, or something?"
"Yes," decided Kurt, putting his books down. "Hey... don't worry if those
under-eye bruises linger. When you're playing Elphaba, you'll be covered in
green face paint anyway."
"That's sort of simultaneously mean and nice of you, Kurt," she said with a
small, flattered smile. "Why are you being nice to me? Is it because of my
dramatic injury?"
"Well, yes, but – we're friends, too. At least, I think," said Kurt. "I mean,
we may be rivals in terms of solos, but we can be friendly rivals. Right?"
"Of course!" said Rachel. "Does this mean you'll un-ban me from your Project
Runway blog?"
"Oh my God, yes! I have to talk about it with someone! Sam can do a great Tim
Gunn impression, which you know I love, but he has no interest in the actual
fashion component."
They were animatedly chatting about Rachel's doctor apparently advising her to
repair her deviated septum ("Well, I hate to break it to you, but you do snore,
so you might want to do it, if only for the benefit of any future roommates or
submissives," Kurt told her) when Mercedes walked in.
"Excuse you!" she said to Kurt. "You're in my seat!"
"You guys, you don't have to fight over who gets to sit next to me..." said
Rachel.
"Never mind, keep the seat," said Mercedes, rolling her eyes and walking away.
 
*
 
At lunch, Kurt produced a little tupperware box of wheat crackers, which he'd
layered thinly-sliced ham onto, fixed with a small amount of spicy tomato
sauce. He got busy shredding a mozzarella stick for Sam, laying thin strips
down on top of the ham. It was kind of his version of Lunchables. Sam already
had a tin of tuna and a yellow-kissed red apple, which in Kurt's humble opinion
was very healthy, but not actually enough lunch for a teenage boy.
"No, Tina, I'm not going to feed him by hand," he announced pre-emptively as
Tina came to the table, Mike behind her as usual. Artie had started eating with
Brittany and Santana in the courtyard after witnessing him spoon-feeding Sam
yogurt, which apparently crossed the line from art to porn with him, or
whatever. "I'm just assembling."
"Don't worry about it. I found out why you insist on doting on Sam the way you
do," she said, sitting. Mike pulled up his usual seat next to her.
"Really?" Kurt asked archly. Even though his doting far pre-dated his learning
of Sam's family's dire straits, he still prickled at the idea of Tina somehow
putting two and two together about Sam's meager lunches, since Sam obviously
wanted to keep everything about the situation as private as possible. He
glanced at Sam, who was gnawing at his apple and looking at Tina with some
confusion.
"I saw how Coach Sue barked at you after lunch last week. You weren't even
doing anything!" she said. "I'm so used to you fussing over him like a giant
toddler at lunch all the time, it didn't really occur to me how discreet you're
actually being! You guys never even kiss at school. You don't hug or hold
hands, not even in glee. It wasn't that long ago that Karofsky was shoving you
into a locker every day, and I wouldn't want that to start happening again,
either. So I get it now. You do other things to show Sam how much you care."
Kurt swallowed, a dim heat gathering in his face. All that was actually kind of
true... but his relative lack of displays of affection, other than touching
Sam's cheek and hair every chance he got, had more to do with the fact that he
had deliberately chosen not to pursue a physical relationship with Sam until
now. He'd never wanted to make being touchy-feely and handsy seem like an
expectation or put Sam on the spot or embarrass him. Sam had fallen in line
with unquestioning obedience, and they had actually gotten along pretty
swimmingly without anything being about sex. Till collaring him a week ago,
Kurt hadn't allowed himself to think of sex as being in the cards. He'd used
every other means he could think of to dominate Sam and give him ways to
express subservience. But still, he wasn't kissing Sam anywhere but on the
cheek and sometimes the neck, and he rarely did that at school – outside of the
discretionary, that is. Karofsky was really the least of his concerns when it
came to his sub.
"Thanks for noticing," he murmured anyway, somewhere between heartfelt and
sarcastic.
"We hold hands sometimes," Sam spoke up, looking at Mike for a split second
before turning his stare to his apple, which was ravaged with wide, toothy bite
marks.
"It's true, we do," said Kurt lightly.
"Good for you!" said Tina. "It's just not fair you guys can't really act like a
couple."
"Well, you're right about my fussing and doting," Kurt said, rather than remind
Tina that while he and Sam were in a committed agreement, they weren't exactly
a traditional couple who went on dates and stuff. "I do like to feed Sam,
whether it's by hand or not. I'm aware other people find it weird and that some
people think I'm spoiling him, but I happen to like giving my sub the things I
make for him every night. It's fun for me and makes me happy. Do you mind it,
Sam?"
Sam shook his head.
"We don't mind it, either," said Mike, easy breezy.
"Yeah. I'm sorry I've given you a hard time about it, Kurt," said Tina. "You're
fully within your rights as a Dom to do whatever you like with your sub."
"Yes. I am. But thank you, Tina. And thank you, Mike."
"Feed him by hand and make him lick your fingers clean in front of the whole
cafeteria for all we care."
Mike paused. His expression was somewhat surprised and intrigued.
"We hug, too," Sam said, turning to Kurt with his brow creased.
"Mm-hmm," Kurt hummed in a satisfied way, and tried to draw Sam's attentions
off the topic. "Here, Sam. Try this. Tell me if you think I should pack the
tomato sauce separately next time. Hey, Mercedes!"
Mercedes, who was passing by with her lunch tray, stopped with an expectant
look on her face.
"Sorry I took your seat in math earlier," Kurt said. "Come sit with us!"
"Whatever, Kurt," she said blandly. "It's fine. You know what, I have somewhere
else to be. See y'all."
"Is she mad at you?" Mike asked Kurt.
"I don't know," he replied, sort of stung at the brush-off. He and Mercedes
weren't exactly as inseparable as they used to be these days, after Kurt had
found a friend in Blaine and a submissive in Sam. "I hope not."
 
*
 
After lunch, Sam seemed like his brain and body had disconnected from each
other. He nearly threw away his text book with his empty tuna tin and apple
core, then bumped into the door frame on the way out of the cafeteria and hit a
whole group of Cheerios like a bowling ball clipping a set of identical pins.
Kurt stopped him where they usually parted and gave his collars a squeeze,
hoping it would pull him to attention.
"Okay?"
"What? Yeah."
"See you after class, sweetie."
"Wait, what class do I have next?"
Sam's geography book was right under his arm, luckily not having gotten covered
with milk and Jell-O and pizza grease in the garbage.
"Geography," Kurt told him.
"Oh, right... 'kay. Uh, I –" Sam fished around in his pocket. "I wrote you a
note."
He offered Kurt a small, thick square of notebook paper, which had been folded
until it literally couldn't fold anymore. Kurt took it. It easily fit into the
curl of his fingers, warm from Sam's pocket.
"You don't have to read it," Sam said quickly. "'Kay. So. Um. See you after."
With that, Sam bolted in the wrong direction. After a second, he caught
himself, turned around with a sheepish expression, and hustled past Kurt the
opposite way, thumbs stuck in the straps of his backpack. Baffled, Kurt stood
there, watching Sam disappear into the milling flood of students all heading
from lunch to their lockers and various classes.
Sam had never written him a note. He didn't really like writing and was prone
to losing concentration and doodling stars and unlikely geometric shapes in the
margins of his homework. There was no greater ordeal to him than essays and
tests that had essay questions. They barely even texted. And he hadn't asked
Sam to write to him. It had to be important, didn't it? Or maybe it was the
opposite, and Sam had written him a This Class Is Sooo Boring note with lots of
doodles.
Clutching the mysterious wad of paper, Kurt hurried to history so he'd have
time to take a peek at this missive before the bell. As if he wouldn't read it,
he thought incredulously.
He was excited and slightly anxious as he unfolded the square, and unfolded it,
and unfolded it repeatedly in his lap. He could imagine Sam getting restless in
his English class and folding the whole thing up. All the creases made his blue
ink tracings look trapped in some kind of web, and to Kurt's surprise, the text
seemed to cover the whole page, and his own name was written quite large at the
top.
     DEAR KURT,
     Thank you for taking me as your sub. I'm so lucky. Everyday I think
     about how lucky I am you took me. Your the best Dom and best person.
Kurt exhaled sharply, shocked. The words went on.
     I wear your collars proudly. I'm so lucky you let me service you
     twice. Thank you for letting me, I know I don't deserve it but I will
     do anything to deserve it. Please let me. Thank you for cumming (sp?)
     on me. Thank you Kurt. I'm not too shy to say it in person but
     sometimes I get distracted around you and cant think. I sub out. Its
     easier for me to tell you like this, no distractions no sub act just
     honesty. Plus I don't think you will ask if I liked it anyway. Or
     being tyed up. The truth is I even liked my punishment, you can do
     whatever you want to me, its you're right. It was "mixed feelings"
     but I belong to you. Im your sub, I was shown my place and Im
     grateful. Im so lucky you showed me how much I am your sub I dont
     know how I can say it. Hope you understand. You said you like tied up
     subs. You dont need to worry about my shoulder. Its 100% healed. If
     you need proof I can call my dr or ask Bieste. I had to be cleared
     before she let me back on the team. I want to be your sub in every
     way Kurt. I promise Ill be a good boy for you always, abide by your
     wishes, try hard to make you proud, most of all always be honest.
     Please let your sub service you
     love
     sam
In Sam's somewhat large handwriting, with his complete lack of paragraphs,
randomly selected homophones, cute curling Ys, and forgetfulness about
punctuation towards the end, all of that just barely fit on the page. He'd
started out with grand, tall letters, but by the end, Sam had signed his name
small and underneath the very last line.
Heart racing, Kurt folded it up again in his lap during roll call, not wanting
the painfully earnest little pouring out of his sub's soul to be confiscated
from him. Rather than tuck it into his bag, away from him, he pushed the thick
square under the cuff of his sleeve, where his pulse jackhammered against it.
He had to sit there and think for several minutes, faking some real fascination
with the lesson, his mind skipping around like a needle on a warped record.
There were so many things Sam had tried to put into writing, and they all
warranted attention; he couldn't wait to reread it, slowly and in privacy, and
consider every clumsy sentence. His brain was absolute static. And Kurt was
shocked that Sam had written all of it in the first place. It was such a
dedicated effort, not just to express his gratitude and devotion but to
repeatedly try and articulate his submissiveness... and his desires. Even
though he hadn't directly asked Kurt to tie him up, Kurt was pretty sure he was
trying to indicate that he was willing to be if it was a way he could be
submissive. More blatantly, he'd managed to ask at least twice to be allowed to
service Kurt's dick. It was practically a love letter in slave shackles.
Thinking about it like that didn't exactly help Kurt's inner fluster.
He preferred to think of himself as a Dom not easily ruffled, and he'd always
sort of lead Sam – rather happily, at that – through their conversations, very
interested in his mood and feelings about things and able to deal with anything
and help Sam deal, too. But Sam was probably right. Kurt had already taken for
granted that Sam probably didn't like getting his face covered in jizz, and he
was uneasy about how much he had loved seeing Sam struggle, bound, and even how
naturally he'd taken to the act of punishing him. He didn't want to make Sam
believe bondage was a requirement of his, a component of being an ideal sub; he
hadn't exactly missed Sam's attempt to barter permission to suck Kurt's cock by
offering to be tied up again, as if that had been the only reason Kurt had let
him at all the previous time. But after reading all that, Kurt felt a little
bit like a can of shaken-up soda, full of excitement that had no place to go
but was just waiting till it could explode out of him.
He joined Sam at their table in study hall with a cheek-splitting smile. Sam
was rolling a pen between both thumbs and index fingers, but stopped carefully
as Kurt took a seat next to him.
"Hi."
"Hey," responded Sam, sitting up straighter.
"I loved your note," Kurt purred at him.
"Did you read it?"
"Of course I did. It was quite a note to get. When did you write it? During
English?"
Conscious of Stoner Brett sitting right behind them looking around the room as
if he'd never seen it before in his life, Sam leaned in and whispered.
"Last night and all morning. I didn't get to thank you last night. I know it's
long – I just kept thinking of things I wanted to say. I said so much, I didn't
know if I was... actually going to give it to you," Sam said with a small sigh
and a roll of his eyes, clearly not too proud to have been doubtful, but
sticking to the truth. "Then at lunch, Tina said we never act like a couple and
you found all these other ways to show me you care. I know how nice it is you
make me stuff. I know you like to watch me eat. I always like what you make,
but I didn't know you always do it 'cause... you care about me. I just – dunno
how to say thank you enough..."
At that, his sub curled onto the table, leaning towards Kurt so much that if
the table hadn't been in the way, he might've buried himself in Kurt's lap
instead of in his own arms or even gotten right onto the floor to bow.
"You are very welcome, sweetie," Kurt breathed, wrapping his arm around Sam's
shoulders and giving him a warm cuddle. He couldn't help but be bemused that
Sam had never equated Kurt's urge to feed him with caring; maybe he'd
considered it pity, or an expression of discontent with his diet. "Thank you
for writing all that down for me. I love it. It's by far the best note I've
ever gotten. And I do like to make you special snacks. That's the kind of thing
that could keep me happy as your Dom even if you didn't want to... you know.
Service me."
"All right, everybody," Mr. Clippenger said boredly, very unawares that Kurt
was in the middle of conveying important information to his huddling sub, and
on cue, the bell rang. "Study materials out, mouths shut. Take your seat, Mr.
Azimio. Let's all make use of this time to get our work done. If you don't have
work, occupy yourself silently for the next fifty minutes. Respect the people
who are using this time to work."
With a small sigh, Kurt gave Sam's back an encouraging, affectionate rub and
reluctantly sat up straight. Maybe he could get a minute or two before the end
of the day to be even more affectionate – right then, he didn't want to be too
overbearing and tip Sam into subspace like last week, even though he honestly
would've l-o-v-e loved to. He got that it wasn't the most appropriate thing to
do during study hall, but that didn't really quell the desire. He opened his
messenger bag to pull out the history work he hadn't made a single dent in
during class.
Sam was leaning right into the space in front of him, but Kurt really wasn't of
the mind to urge him to move. Instead, he smoothed the scruff of Sam's hair
down and reached back behind his chair, picking up the top of Sam's backpack
and peering into the bag for his English novel. Sam's note was still stuck in
the cuff of his sleeve, bulging at his wrist. He put the book down patiently
and waited for his sub to come around on his own.
After a minute, Sam turned his pink cheek onto his arm and stared up at Kurt
with watery eyes. His lower lashes were wet. Kurt gave him a sincere smile and
gently nudged a thumb under his sub's eye, nicking away the trail of a tear.
Sam blinked slowly. Then he shifted an arm out from under his head and reached
for Kurt's hand, snagging it and pulling it into his lap to hold, as he had in
church.
 
*
 
"So, I haven't heard from you since Saturday night," said Blaine as they took a
seat that afternoon.
The Lima Bean was in a pleasant afternoon lull, as the after-school crowd had
thinned and the coffee date crowd wasn't due for another couple of hours. Post-
glee was a great time for a grande non-fat mocha, and Blaine was treating him
in return for the ticket to the Night of Neglect. Kurt had been sort of
preoccupied with other things the past few days, and still was; Blaine
obviously knew what was on his mind, too.
"How's it going with Sam?" he asked. "Last we talked, you were dying to get him
alone. So? Have you gotten him pinned down for some quality domming?"
"Pinned..."
"... And?"
"And nothing," said Kurt teasingly. For one thing, they were in the middle of a
coffee shop, and for another, he didn't want to share all the things Sam had
written in the precious note that was still stuck between his wrist and sleeve.
Nor did he want to violate Sam's family's privacy by going into exhaustive
detail about Sunday.
"Ah," said Blaine. "Really. That bad?"
"Oh, no! It was, um. Very productive."
"Oh, there he is," declared Blaine. "There's the guy who refuses to watch
porn."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Kurt asked, although in truth, he wasn't
exactly offended by that statement.
"Last week you were so excited about collaring Sam and that soft room makeover,
and now you're being surprisingly coy. So what's up?"
Kurt smiled.
"Nothing," he repeated. "I haven't visited the soft room all week, so I haven't
been able to check on its progress."
"No? You haven't taken Sam there?"
"Nope. Not this week. I'll try to peek between classes or something before the
week is over. I can tell you're on the edge of your seat for an update on how
that light fixture works in the space."
"So no troubles with him zonking out during class?"
Kurt flashed back to study hall, which Sam had spent merely holding his hand
and basking in his Dom's presence. He'd been in no shape to catch up on his
reading, so Kurt had just enjoyed the PDA (if holding hands under their table
counted as PDA) and jotted down answers to his history questions with a smirk
lingering on his mouth.
"Not so much I've had to take him aside. Sam continues to amaze me, though. We
have this assignment in glee club this week... we're doing Gaga."
"'Born This Way,'" Blaine assumed correctly, since unlike any of the New
Directions guys, he was up on his Lady Gaga.
"Of course. So we're doing 'Born This Way,' and we all have to choose something
about ourselves that's been difficult for us to accept or that we're self-
conscious about and may wish we could change. We're supposed to own it by
putting it on the t-shirts we're wearing for the number. Sam actually picked
his lips. Can you believe it? You've seen them. They're one of his best
features."
"Well, if they're his best feature, why's he ashamed of them?"
"I think he's taken some guff about his mouth in general. It's just
unbelievably beautiful to see on a boy, and it's a little big, and since he's a
sub... you know how some people speak to subs. Santana definitely didn't help
matters by talking about how we should all get plastic surgery – which is a
whole other story, by the way. But I don't know. I didn't realize he was self-
conscious about them. They're just so gorgeous. Either way, we're going to have
to change it to something else. I don't think Mr. Schue is going to let us put
'blow job lips' on a t-shirt."
Blaine laughed. "Probably not. So what's your shirt?"
"I guess 'queer as a three dollar bill' is a little long, so I'll probably just
go with 'gay.'"
"You don't wish you could change that, do you?" Blaine wondered.
After a thoughtful sip at his piping hot coffee, Kurt licked his lips and said,
"No. Not anymore."
"Good," said Blaine. "Just think, if we were straight, we wouldn't be here,
having coffee together."
They chatted for a while. The Warblers were having short rehearsals only twice
a week for the sake of not falling completely out of sync, but their only
upcoming scheduled performance was at Dalton's graduation. Blaine seemed put
out by it, at one point stating, "God, I'd kill to do 'Born This Way' and go to
Nationals. My voice is just going to waste. I should just transfer to McKinley
and join the New Directions."
"Oh, you're more than welcome," said Kurt. "But you'll never pry the lead away
from Rachel. Speaking of whom..."
Kurt filled Blaine in on Nosegate and Rachel's extremely dubious desire to make
her nose look like Quinn Fabray's, on prom posters going up all around the
school, and on someone drawing mustaches and man boobs on Finn and Quinn's
(which was both hysterical and irritating, since he'd helped hang most of
them). He wound up bitching about his efforts to make nice with Quinn, which
only made him repeatedly come back to the topic of Sam. It was so hard not to
yammer on about him. Kurt honestly did feel reticent to go into detail about
yesterday's session, especially since he felt unsure about the decisions he'd
made in the heat of the moment. The heady, subby note made it impossible for
him to think about what he was like when he was in the thick of dominating Sam
from an objective standpoint. He had gotten carried away to the point of
fucking Sam when he had no prior plans to do such a thing, tying Sam up without
even discussing it with him first, and playing around with Sam's expectation of
punishment. He was usually so together. But Blaine did always offer his
brutally honest two cents. Maybe that was what Kurt needed.
"Hey, do you really think I'm a romantic Dom?" Kurt found himself asking his
friend, thumb restlessly stroking the black paper cap on his coffee cup.
"I very much do," said Blaine.
"Then do I seem like a massive hypocrite if I confess that I think about doing
things with Sam that seem kind of... unromantic?"
Blaine's eyes twinkled mischievously. "I'm sorry, but you're obliged to give me
additional information before I can answer that."
"All right, brass tacks," relented Kurt, squaring himself and leaning onto the
table to close a little of the distance between them and attempt to keep their
nearest neighbors from overhearing. "I've been thinking about punishing Sam.
Spanking him. And restraining him. And doing all kinds of things that would
probably make him uncomfortable and might even get him in trouble. So am I no
better than Quinn, or what? I'm not, am I. I'm as irresponsible as she is. I
knew it."
Blaine, who was mirroring him cooperatively by sitting forward, blinked as Kurt
threw himself back in his seat. Admitting all that out loud had actually made
him feel awful.
"Hang on, hang on. Uh. I, uh. Listen. Here is where you differ from Quinn, in
my biased opinion. You really care about Sam and about, um, being there for him
emotionally. You enjoy connecting with him and investing a lot of time in his
well-being. You didn't become his Dom to use him for popularity, security
detail, service, or sex, and you told me you would help him find a new Domme if
he couldn't be fulfilled by being with you. I think that is very romantic. And
I don't think it makes you unromantic to be interested in, um." He took a
second to swallow. "Disciplining your sub. Physically. You want to, right?"
"I'm... not sure. I mean. Yes," Kurt made himself admit. "But also no. I don't
want him to feel like he's a bad sub. He's asked me several times, when things
are a little intense for him, if I'm going to punish him. It's always kinda
concerned me. He's never done anything wrong. He just feels bad about himself a
lot and assumes I must feel the same about him as he does. I've told him that
he'll get a warning and he'll know when he's being punished. He won't have to
guess – which is one of those things that makes me so angry at his exes. You
have to be really specific with Sam! You can't leave him to wonder. He'll start
tearing himself apart. It makes me – ugh. I don't want to be anything like
those girls." Kurt ripped the lid off his coffee and gave the liquid an
unnecessary stir, just to burn off the energy of his resentment. "So I've been
crystal clear about circumstances that might warrant a punishment, and I've
told him I don't expect him to read my mind and that I'll help him behave. But
still, I can't help but feel like he actually wants it in some weird way, even
though he seems to want to avoid it, too. I don't know what to do."
"Um, that's..." Blaine shook his head, surprised, "...confusing. And not just
for you, I'm sure. But it sounds like negative reinforcement has always been a
part of his tenure as a sub. From what you've told me, it sounds like a lot of
the attention he got from his ex-Dommes was negative. I do remember Santana
smacking him around in Rachel's basement..."
"You do? You sure you didn't miss it totally while you were busy singing duets
with your soul mate, Rachel Berry?"
"I do. I remember it because I was sort of, um, intrigued she was putting on
such a public display. Sam appeared to be having a good time, too, if I
remember correctly. We all were, though. Thinking back on it, Santana wasn't
slapping Sam punitively, was she?"
"I don't think so. I think she was just drunk and enjoying batting him around
like a ball of yarn."
"Ah. And Sam enjoyed that?"
"I thought so at the time," Kurt verified. "But I'm honestly not sure."
"Here's the thing about discipline," Blaine said. His fingers touched the table
in a purposeful way, like he was actually infusing the surface with wisdom.
"Just like sex, it seems very physical, and it is, but it's also very mental.
Remove the idea of punishment from something like a spanking, and what do you
have? It's just attention from you. From his Dom. It's very extreme attention.
It's not just authoritative, it's possessive. It's stimulation of his senses.
If not his physical senses, certainly his mental and emotional senses. If you
were to spank him or flog him or use something like a spreader bar on him, or
merely instruct him to do something he wouldn't normally do – not as a
punishment, but as an assertion of your dominance over him – I can see how he'd
be drawn to it."
Kurt's brain was yanking up vivid mental pictures of Sam's shoulders squirming
and the McQueen scarf sliding and tugging gently in the D-rings on his cuffs.
Actually, Sam wiggling on his bed with his hips pumping in futile arousal,
hands obediently flattened to the bedspread, all subbed out from nothing more
than some Q&A came to mind.
"Or," proposed Blaine seriously, "look at something else that has happened to
him, like Quinn not letting him –" He tapped the table again, then upended his
hand, allowing the obvious insinuation to go by with a lift of his brows. "He
didn't ask Quinn to release him because he felt neglected in that sense. It was
basically because she cheated on him. Right?"
"Right," Kurt said slowly.
"I'm just saying, involuntary celibacy sounds rather extreme and torturous to
you and I, and perhaps even like a punishment or an abuse, but to him..."
"It was how he behaved. It's how he was 'good' and felt like he was doing what
was wanted of him. He certainly got trained into associating having a libido
with being displeasing."
"So it stands to reason that Sam actually got some submissive fulfillment out
of giving that up to her. I know you don't want to be like 'those girls,' and
treat Sam badly or in any way you'd consider neglectful. I know you want him to
feel comfortable with expressing himself, verbally and physically, and enjoy
himself with you. That's admirable. But maybe in Sam's mind, you punishing him
is something a little different than it is in your mind. Maybe he'd like to be
disciplined just because it makes him feel very dominated. He can want that
level of submission and still be afraid of doing something to displease you,
just like you can be interested in disciplining him yet not want him feel like
he's failed you or angered you."
"So you're a sub whisperer," Kurt commented after a silent minute of
consideration.
Blaine smiled, a somewhat wavering expression, then said, "Well. I don't know.
This actually might be a good time to tell you something."
"What?"
Save his dark lashes batting a couple of times as he stared at his coffee,
Blaine was still. It took him several seconds to get going.
"There comes a moment, Kurt, where you say to yourself..."
Kurt waited, feeling somewhat tense.
"'Oh. I thought I knew who I am, but actually, I'm not that sure.' I've been
having these, um, feelings."
He paused again, and Kurt blinked. Hadn't they already had this conversation
after Rachel's party? Hadn't he already told Blaine he wasn't bisexual? Oh my
God, was Blaine about to tell him that Rachel really was his soul mate? A
sudden typhoon of bizarre nervous energy was looming right over them and Kurt
knew he couldn't get out of the way and that it was about to come crashing down
right on him. It made the beat that went by downright eerie.
When Kurt didn't say anything, Blaine finished carefully, "Submissive ones.
Towards you."
"Ohh!" Kurt found himself saying dismissively, as if that was no big deal and
he wasn't sort of cold-sweating all of a sudden. "Um. That's – okay. Normal, I
mean. I think everybody wonders if they could switch eventually, just like
everyone eventually asks themselves, 'Am I gay?' or in my case, 'Am I straight?
Because I love Nicole Kidman so much, I'd marry her,' and then you construct
this elaborate fantasy wherein you're married to Nicole and keeping Taylor
Lautner as a houseboy. It doesn't mean anything. Sorta like when you kissed
Rachel while you were drunk," he added pointedly, still not entirely convinced
he was in the clear of Blaine transferring to McKinley and replacing Finn as
the lead male. "Being curious didn't make you straight."
After a beat of silence, Blaine agreed, "Yeah. Um. That's true. I'm not drunk
all the time lately, though."
"Well, that's good to hear," Kurt managed.
"For a couple weeks, I thought I was just jealous you found yourself this
beautiful sub because I wanted one. I mean, I was. I am. I'd love to have a sub
like Sam. But after a lot of thought, I'm pretty sure I'd still be feeling like
I do without Sam in the picture at all."
"Oh," repeated Kurt.
They sat there together for a minute, not saying anything, and it was the first
time Kurt had ever felt uncomfortable around Blaine. It was actually sort of
distressing there for several beats.
"If it means anything, when we first met, I... I thought it'd be a dream come
true if you were a sub," Kurt finally said, wanting to do something to ease the
tension. "You're the only out and proud gay guy I know, and I was so lonely,
and look at you in your Dalton blazer. You're pretty dreamy, and I thought it
was flirty of you to send me those little 'courage' texts. After you came to
McKinley to help me confront Karofsky and bought me lunch, though, I had a
feeling you weren't a sub. You may be a year younger than me, but your presence
is very commanding. And my sixth sense is usually pretty accurate. Are you sure
you're not just – lonely and wishing someone would care about you like I care
about Sam?"
"Uh-hum," Blaine coughed, looking away awkwardly. "This is going about as well
as it did when I tried to ask out Jeremiah."
"No! It's not that bad. I mean. Of course you could be a switch," Kurt said.
"That's very magnanimous of you, but once again, you sound like you've made up
your mind about who I am," said Blaine, before taking a fortifying and
irritated sup of his coffee.
"I'm just surprised, Blaine!"
"Well. It doesn't matter, anyway. Forget it."
Kurt drew in an awkward breath.
"I'm sorry. I've been asking too much of you, talking non-stop about Sam and my
discretionary plans and – all that just now. Punishment and reinforcement and
all this Dom shop talk. It's been an absolutely insane few weeks, and I've
poured out my thoughts about Sam to you multiple times as I've waded these
unfamiliar waters. It's probably been too much to be hearing about how I want
to spank my sub.
"But you're the only person I've felt like I can confide in and commiserate
with, without that fear of homophobia or being told to tone it down. You've
kind of become my confidant. Maybe subjecting you all my thoughts has just
gotten you confused. I'm... so flattered if I've made you... question yourself.
Honestly. I just find it hard to believe! You've always got the room in the
palm of your hand. All your fellow Warblers just kowtow to you and you act
modest, but you totally love it. I know Dalton boys are all about rules and
structure and hierarchy, but do you even know how to follow an order? I mean,
you've never shown the slightest inkling of subbiness around me."
"Just because I've been questioning my responses to some of our conversations,
it doesn't mean I'm out to act on my responses," said Blaine, an edge of
impatient laughter creeping up on him. "You already have a sub, and you're
fully invested in him. And, yes. I do have an array of Dominant tendencies. I'm
not saying I'm actually a sub! And even if I was, I'm certainly not the
subbiest sub that ever did sub. I think that honor belongs to your sub,
frankly!"
"Well, he's adorably subby, I agree! But he's not on the floor licking my boots
every day," Kurt said, somewhat defensively.
"He would if you wanted him to be. He would do anything for you!"
At that, a light went on in Kurt's head. "Ah-ha. There's the subbiness."
Blaine's lashes fluttered a bit again, and he lifted one shoulder casually.
"Well. Yes, in fact. I think?"
"Ah. All right, then," said Kurt, fiddling with the edge of a paper napkin.
"I've just made you uncomfortable," Blaine noted, incongruously calm with his
coffee cup at his lips. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"No," said Kurt quickly. "I'm not uncomfortable. It's okay. You should know by
now how much I respect honesty. I've been dishonest with myself in the past,
and with my friends, and my dad. And I'm never going back to being dishonest
about who I am and how I feel. What's any relationship without communication
and trust? What's our friendship if we don't know we're in each other's
corners? I'm not uncomfortable if you're a switch, or questioning, or...
bisexual, or anything."
"Oh! Okay. Well, that's certainly a change of tune," Blaine commented archly,
although Kurt could tell he was relieved. "Very big of you, Kurt. I suppose
it's been difficult on you, having a sub who's bi when you don't personally
believe in bisexuality."
Kurt sighed. "If you want to know the truth, yes, it's been kind of hard to
think my submissive doesn't like me the same way I like him and would like
things I can't give him, like boobs! Honestly, I'm still not sure Sam is bi. I
mean, I don't know how he identifies. What exactly he's attracted to is a murky
mystery to me. But on that note, I've thought several times that he could
easily be a switch. I can see him being a very sweet Dom."
With a pained squinch of his lips, Blaine smiled politely.
"But this isn't about Sam," Kurt hurried on. "You are who you are. It doesn't
change our friendship. I'm just used to talking to you a certain way... as a
fellow Dom. Should I tone it down? I should probably tone it down."
"Well, regardless of whether it's even possible for you to tone it down, I'm
still the exact same person you've been talking to the past six months," said
Blaine. "I'm not less of a Dom now than I was ten minutes ago just because I
told you that I find you to be very, um... effective."
"Right," said Kurt, although he honestly had trouble thinking about it like
that.
"Just like Sam is no less of a sub if he did decide he might want to try
switching someday," said Blaine.
"Right."
"Speaking as a Dom," continued Blaine, very grandly, "I can assure you it's
normal to be interested in the art of discipline. It comes naturally and you
shouldn't be ashamed of wanting to paddle Sam. You think it puts you in the
same box as Quinn, but it doesn't. Disciplining Sam wouldn't make you anything
like her as a Dom. If I were you, I'd turn Sam over my knee ASAP and see how he
takes it."
"Oh?" Kurt asked, amused at the tone. "And how about this newfound inner sub of
yours? How would you take being turned over my knee?"
Blaine smiled stoutly and shook his head. "Kurt..."
"Don't you 'Kurt' me! I just told you things I'd never tell anyone else. The
least you could do is indulge me."
"Fine. If you spanked me, I probably think I'd died and gone to sub heaven."
"Oh my lord."
"You made me tell you!"
"Okay. Now that I see the subbiness, I don't know how I missed it," Kurt
lamented.
 
*
 
One drama after another flared up at McKinley the next week.
It was just as well, because Kurt needed the distraction.
Some part of him felt responsible for Blaine's apparent confusion, as if he was
in control of it in some way. Which, of course, he wasn't. It was Blaine's
deal. He knew Blaine would figure it out himself – and of course he'd be a
friendly ear and support Blaine no matter what conclusion he came to. But
still, he felt a little strange. It felt as if Blaine had confessed feelings
for him in admitting he'd felt submissive in response to him. It might have
been natural, normally, but Kurt had certainly never caused anyone to question
themselves before. It wasn't that Blaine was crushing on him, obviously. He'd
just had an innate response to all the ideas they'd been discussing. But it
left Kurt very aware of everything he said to Blaine, and attentive to his
responses in a way he hadn't been before, just because he knew Blaine might be
having submissive responses. Now he couldn't help looking at them to see if
they seemed Dommy or subby or wondering if he was trying to act casual. Their
texts felt stilted and a little awkward, no matter how they both tried to
downplay and smooth it over and be as chatty as always.
The week had slipped by, and Kurt monitored and considered Sam with care, yet
he had a lot to think about, like spreader bars. Why did Blaine have to go and
mention them? He spent far too long looking at them online, trying to decide
whether that was a wise purchase. Probably not. But it was his birthday in a
few weeks. He peeked around at under-the-bed restraint systems and harnesses
and riding crops and had to be sure to jerk off before Sam called him so he
wouldn't be tempted to dominate Sam right into a corner while the poor guy was
at work.
Sam worked for much of Saturday and had church Sunday, followed by more work.
It was kind of a bummer he didn't get near the amount of time with Sam as a lot
of Doms got with their subs, but Kurt was aware how important it was for him to
take the work if he could get it. Just like Sam, he didn't utter a single
complaint. Instead he claimed Sam's Saturday morning, and they met at the park
for a couple of hours, both sleepy.
Kurt had spent his Friday night preparing a truly epic picnic basket. Cheesy,
yes. Totally. And probably the opposite of the bondage contraptions he was
scoping lately. A picnic in the park was just one of those things he'd always
dreamed of putting together, and the fact that it wasn't time for lunch didn't
stop him. He made a mish-mash of Sam-friendly creations, not sure whether he'd
be in the mood for breakfast food or lunch food.
Sam had seemed bewildered at the basket at first, then became enthusiastic when
Kurt instructed him to carry an old quilt he'd packed and pick out any place he
wanted to spread it. He'd found a cool, shady spot, undisturbed except for the
occasional jogger, and beamed at Kurt's comments about what a perfect place it
was. He sat by attentively and allowed Kurt to feed him some experimental
tabouleh. He tried a little bit of everything, all from his Dom's hand, before
becoming more interested in stretching out over the quilt, lazy and probably
more tired than he was letting on. He curled up and put his head in Kurt's lap,
and it became clear that Kurt had way over-packed the basket, but he didn't
care. The half hour Kurt spent petting Sam, the dewy breeze ruffling their
hair, was entirely worth the evening of preparation, and the sweet hit of Sam
being so subby coupled with his multiple re-reads of Sam's thankful note gave
Kurt a buzz that lasted all weekend. If only he'd known what was ahead.
Drama bomb number one went off when Lauren Zizes decided to run for prom queen,
with the full support of Puck and a number of vibrant purple posters that made
Quinn's look practically invisible. It set the school abuzz, and predictably,
Quinn was extremely pissed.
Atmospheric conditions in the choir room were already just about right for a
tornado to form at any time, but things got steadily crazier when Rachel
presented the glee club with a composite of the new nose she was considering...
and it was literally Quinn's, Photoshopped right onto her face. It got worse
reviews than Christina Aguilera's Bionic album.
"I can't believe she's actually considering this," said Kurt after glee, truly
saddened. He threw his picture away on the way out the door, and Sam did the
same. Most of the glee club had, so there was just a pile of Quinn-nosed
Rachels in the trash can.
"Maybe you should talk to her," Sam suggested.
"Maybe I should," Kurt agreed. "Rachel doesn't need this surgery. Her nose is
distinctive, yes, but it doesn't keep her from being a pretty girl, does it?"
"Is, uh... that a real question you want me to answer, or...?"
"Oh! I'm not trying to prompt you to say something you don't agree with or trap
you into confessing you have the hots for Rachel. I just think, although she
looks like she gets dressed in the dark, she's obviously beautiful the way she
is."
"I guess she's kinda hot in some weird way," Sam said.
"Ah-ha! So you think Rachel's hot, huh?"
"I – well – I mean she's pretty. I thought this wasn't a trap!"
"I'm just teasing you," Kurt assured him, leading his sub out to the parking
lot. "It's cool. I know you like girls, Sam."
"Okay," said Sam, a little easier. "Yeah, she's got a nice body under those
sweaters, but I don't have the hots for her."
"I know," he repeated, amused. "Being attracted to her and thinking she's
attractive are two different things, trust me! I'm gay as the day is long and I
can still see that if someone took those knee socks away from her and maybe
gave her a little cat eye she'd be a knock-out."
"I think anybody could be improved with cat eyes. They glow in the dark," said
Sam, sending Kurt into a fountain of laughter.
Drama bomb number two went off in the crater left by number one, blasting it
deeper. Santana joined the race for prom queen, and she wasn't alone. She was
holding hands with Karofsky, taking him into consideration publicly as her
latest sub.
Kurt saw this unfortunate turn for exactly what it was: a political alliance.
But that didn't mean it wasn't sad and kind of disgusting. Sam seemed deeply
offended, and was quick to assure Kurt he didn't have the hots for Santana,
either, but that there was no way she was going to let Karofsky grope her if
she hadn't let Sam, so he didn't get it. Kurt was the only one besides Blaine
who knew that Santana was as much Karofsky's beard as he was hers. But whatever
the reasons for Santana's power play, it presented more competition to Quinn,
and between almost every class, Kurt spotted either Santana defacing Quinn's
posters with a Sharpie, Quinn replacing marked-on posters with an unbecoming
scowl, or one of the two pulling down Zizes' posters.
The deadliest bomb was when someone put up a poster featuring an old, extremely
unflattering picture of Quinn. School photos were always the worst, but wow.
This one set the bar. She was nearly unrecognizable in it. Glasses, braces,
frizzy hair, double chin. At lunch Kurt found Sam pulling down a few that had
been plastered up by the door to the cafeteria, despite the fact that they'd
attracted quite a crowd and a lot of people didn't even know who it was in the
picture, and Quinn had gone home "sick" already.
"Dude, you dated that," someone sniggered.
The look Sam shot over his shoulder was so menacing it made kids back up from
him like a ripple effect.
Wordlessly, he ripped down every last one, leaving torn corners still taped to
the wall, and stuffed them into a recycling bin. Then he pushed his way through
the small throng watching him, shoulder first, and came straight to Kurt, guilt
flickering somewhere in his otherwise stoic expression. Kurt knew Sam was
experiencing another wave of those mixed feelings he'd described.
"That was noble of you," Kurt told him, never one to shy away from praising his
sub. "I'm sure Quinn will really appreciate it."
"Jacob Ben Israel already got this hands on one," Sam muttered.
"Ew," Kurt said. He didn't even want to get started imagining what J.B.I. was
going to do with it. He snagged Sam's elbow so they could go claim their usual
seats. "Did you know Quinn was a natural brunette?"
Lips pressing together, Sam shook his head. "Guess I didn't know Quinn very
well."
"Maybe you should talk to her," Kurt said, aware he was echoing Sam's advice to
him.
"She won't wanna hear from me."
Kurt didn't pursue the suggestion any further than that, but it only took Sam a
couple of minutes of disinterest in his salad to come around.
"I'm kinda worried. Would it be cool with you if I go call Quinn?"
"Totally," Kurt assured him, and got a quick and totally unexpected kiss on the
cheek before Sam was hopping out of his seat, walking off to find someplace
quiet with his little off-brand phone in his hand. Kurt saw he was dialing
Quinn's number from memory. He hadn't put her in his contacts, but there were
still ties his sub couldn't cut.
 
*
 
The Barbra-vention was basically Puck's idea, surprisingly, although he hadn't
named Babs in particular when he spouted off to Kurt about how Jew noses were
just as kosher as anyone else's noses. He'd just come to Kurt because Finn had
punked out on him. Quinn did not want her sub getting any more involved with
Rachel drama than he had already. The two of them held a brief conference in
the boys' room.
"Leave everything to me," Kurt said, holding up his hand. "I know exactly who
to invoke to make Rachel pay attention. I'll touch bases with the rest of the
glee club and mall security. You just deliver Rachel at the right time."
"Great," said Puck, relieved. "Mall security won't give me permission to do
squat, trust me. I'm on their Most Wanted list. But if there's one thing I can
do, it's get convince chicks to get onto my bike."
"Somehow, I picture Zizes on the bike and you in the sidecar," Kurt kidded.
"Man, careful with that sword of truth," commented Puck. "Between you and me,
Hummel, this switching stuff is harder than it looks. I don't know how you do
it."
"I don't. I'm not a switch."
"Yeah, guess playing army with Sam keeps you pretty busy." Puck gave a worldly
sniff.
"So you're a switch for Lauren?" Kurt asked with some reluctant interest.
"She doesn't give me much of a choice," said Puck. "If I wanna tap that, I
gotta pay my dues. Humiliate myself. Climb on that cross. Play that game. I
don't dig on it, but she ain't gonna do it for me. Man, something 'bout her
just gets to me, you know? Usually I'm all about thoroughly debasing dudes'
moms, teachers, probies – all those chicks who take one look at me and think
they're better than me. But Zizes... I can't even explain it! It's not
rational!"
"Hey, if it gets you off, I say go for it," Kurt said with a shrug.
"I've never respected you more than I do right now," said Puck bluntly. "I'm
gonna leave before this gets confusing for me in my fragile state. Text me the
deets, dude."
Once Kurt told Sam about the mob, he decided on his own to take the evening off
work so he could come be a part of it.
"Well, that's perfect! While we're at the mall, how about we go by Macy's and
exchange those clothes?" Kurt proposed.
"Really?"
"Yeah! We'll already be there. It won't take long. We'll look around a bit and
see if there's anything you like. If not, no big deal. You can use the money
for something else."
"Cool," said Sam happily.
Despite how thrown together it was, the Barbra Streisand flash mob went off as
planned, and Rachel seemed incredibly touched at the gesture even though the it
had involved so much wack-ass dancing, and she hugged everyone wholeheartedly,
even Lauren Zizes. Puck looked pretty jealous.
Afterwards, the crowd watching the mob dispersed slowly, and the glee kids went
their own way. Brittany spirited Rachel away to Claire's, Puck rolled off with
Artie and Zizes to get pretzels, and Kurt treated Mike and Tina to some Orange
Julius for all their hard work in choreographing and marshaling the effort. He
got one, too, and shared it with Sam, who didn't want one of his own but took
obedient baby sips from the straw whenever Kurt offered it.
The four of them, who ate lunch together every day at school, made for a
surprisingly pleasant group outside of the confines of the McKinley cafeteria.
Sam and Mike were friends, but both tended to be on the quiet side. Still, Mike
was friendly and had a lot of qualities Kurt thought might make a good
impression on his sub. It was good for Sam to see how calm and confident Mike
was in his submission, not to mention how effusive Tina was as a Domme. Sure,
Mike wasn't exactly getting hand-fed by Tina, but he still made being
submissive just seem as effortless and cool as he made traveling kick ball
changes seem.
"That hat's sweet, but whenever I see you out of the corner of my eye, I
automatically start to salute you," Mike told Kurt factually.
"I assume you mean because of my stars and stripes and not my general aura,"
said Kurt, crossing his legs at the knee.
"Could be that," Mike said innocently, glancing for Tina's response.
"I'll allow it," said Tina, unruffled.
Without Mr. Schue to hold them back, Mike and Tina apparently felt free to make
out for lengthy periods of time in front of Kurt and Sam, who just shrugged at
each other and exchanged awkward smiles. Since Tina and Mike had stopped giving
him any kind of side-eye at lunch, Kurt wasn't inclined to put the kibosh on
his friends' frenching on the bench of the fountain. Sam seemed content to
share Kurt's drink and hold his hand and try to tell him a myriad of painful
jokes that sounded like they were straight from some book called 1001 Super
Dumb Jokes while Tina felt up Mike's abs.
"Those were in my Laffy Taffy," Sam told him with a grin.
He didn't appear self-conscious about holding hands with a boy out in public,
away from the feeling of safety he obviously had in his church and with his
parents. Maybe Sam really legitimately didn't care that some people stared at
them, but it definitely helped Kurt to know he was part of a group, chilling
with people who accepted him and his sub for who they were, separately and
together. Maybe if he and Sam were the kind of couple who made out, they could
do so in front of Mike and Tina and it wouldn't be a big deal, and –
Kurt tried not to hope for that kind of thing.
After saying later to Tina and Mike, who wanted to stop by a boutique to look
at prom dresses, Kurt took Sam by the hand to Macy's.
They exchanged the two seersucker shirts, three variously striped polos, two
hoodies that were lighter and thinner than the dark green one Sam was wearing
at that moment, and two pairs of jeans. Altogether, the clothes made the bag
quite heavy. It would have doubled Sam's wardrobe to keep it all, but Sam
wasn't reluctant to say goodbye to any of it. He kept looking at Kurt with a
funny light in his eyes as the Macy's clerk rang up a substantial amount (more
than Sam's parents had dropped on Breadstix, even though many of the items had
been on sale). Quinn had done some impressive shopping.
Kurt tried to hand Sam the money, but Sam asked, "If you don't mind, would you
maybe hang on to it? I like knowing you have it."
"Sure, sweetie," said Kurt, rather tickled. He slid the bills into his pocket,
then slid his arm into Sam's affectionately. "What should we look at? Shirts?"
"Whatever's good," said Sam. "Lead the way."
It very quickly became apparent that Sam was not a shopper. At first, Kurt just
walked at his side on the white-tiled pathways between sections, waiting for
something to catch his eye, but Sam seemed oblivious to the concept that he
might want to duck into the racks and go through them to look for things he
liked. Maybe he just needed to get the ball rolling; he asked Sam what kind of
shirts he needed.
"Like... t-shirts? Or ones that button?" Sam asked, uncertain.
"Whatever you like."
"Well, what do you think?" Sam asked him.
"T-shirts it is," said Kurt pleasantly. He slipped into personal shopper mode,
which was a mode that suited him anyway.
He lead Sam to some affectedly casual tees printed with distressed logos and
patterns in a variety of colors and necks. Many were truly terrible and had
dumb cocky phrases printed on them, or stuff like crosses and skulls – and not
in an awesome McQueen way – but some were pretty cute, with little pockets or
stripes. Anything would've looked good on Sam. Kurt pulled out a few, but
couldn't really get a committed response about much of anything; Sam just
shrugged and nodded agreeably, and it dawned on Kurt that Sam probably would
have just nodded agreeably even if Kurt pulled out a clown costume.
He tried to ask some more questions, like about what kind of shirts Sam had at
the beginning of the school year and whether he liked them. With some
persistence, he managed to wheedle out of Sam that his favorite color was blue,
which wasn't super helpful given that Sam wore bluejeans every day, but was
still kind of cute.
"Y'know, you can get t-shirts at Goodwill for like a buck or two," Sam finally
said.
"Yeah! I love me some Goodwill and thrift shops. Not to mention eBay, which is
like a thrift store on a global scale. I find some of my best stuff second-
hand," said Kurt. "But you know, there's also something to be said for having
new clothes that have never been worn by anybody but you before. They're just
nice and soft and clean and all yours..."
"I do love clean clothes," said Sam, without a trace of irony or sarcasm.
"I know you do. They make you feel good, hm?" asked Kurt, holding up a lavender
t-shirt to Sam with some kind of faded print on one side before hanging it up
again with a shake of his head.
"It sounds dumb, but." Sam glanced at a man who passed by their section
carrying his toddler on his shoulders, and one side of his mouth perked
automatically at the sight. "You don't think about what a crazy luxury it is to
have a washer and dryer until you don't anymore, and you're at the laundromat
at eight A.M., sitting there for two or three hours waiting on your laundry,
and you don't wanna leave, 'cause if you do, people will steal your clothes."
Sam took a small breath and darted an apologetic look at Kurt. "I mean, not
that I'm ungrateful. I'm happy we can even do laundry."
"It's not dumb. Who doesn't love clean sheets on their bed and the smell of
fresh laundry? You're right, though. People take modern suburban ease for
granted. I know I certainly do. In fact, I'm disgustingly picky about the
detergents and fabric softeners I use and the way my shirts are hung. Never
folded. Not even t-shirts. And if I didn't have my ironing station set up the
way I wanted, I would cut someone. Someone would just have to get cut," Kurt
said, making Sam smile incredulously. "But really, you've really sacrificed a
lot and work hard. You deserve to have some new things that you like. It
doesn't matter what it is. T-shirts, jeans, some of those plaid button-downs,
or maybe things you can wear to church... socks... whatever! Don't worry about
how much it costs. Let's just get you something you like, or at the very least,
something you might need. It would make me happy."
"Okay," Sam agreed slowly. "To be honest, this isn't really my element... my
mom usually picks my clothes."
"Ah," Kurt chuckled. So Sam was a typical teenage boy, then. "Well, that's why
I'm here to help. These t-shirts don't really scream 'you' to me."
"Really? Not even that one that was like, purple, with M.C. Escher birds spray-
painted on it?"
"Oh, did you like that one?" asked Kurt, surprised.
"Not really. I'm just kidding with you."
His sub looked wary yet hopeful about how the attempt was coming off, eyes
round, and Kurt huffed, reaching up to cup Sam's cheeks and give them a playful
pinch.
"Funny boy," he said affectionately.
"You didn't think my Laffy Taffy jokes were funny."
"They weren't. You are funny."
"Look, dude. That's just my face, I can't really help it," Sam said, deadpan.
Kurt giggled pleasurably.
"Your funny, sweet little face," he murmured, smiling, thumbs tracing across
Sam's high cheekbones; he was thinking of Sam staring up at him from the table
in study hall, with this squidgy flushed cheek of his against the table and the
shine of a spilled tear under his eye. Fond instinct made him lean in and kiss
Sam's lips gently.
The second what he was doing occurred to him, he caught himself swiftly, ending
the kiss before it could become anything more than a peck. He leaned back,
hands still clutching Sam's face, and looked at him with intent eyes, wondering
if that had been unwelcome and awkward. They weren't really Tina and Mike. He
watched Sam's lashes flick dazedly as he blinked, eyes widening but heavy-
lidded, like he was just waking up or something.
"Was that weird?" Kurt asked carefully.
Sam just blinked, unfocused for a few seconds, then seemed to realize Kurt had
asked him something and breathed, "No?"
By the look on his face and the curious tilt of the soft utterance, it might
have been a little weird – or at least extremely unexpected. Kurt just gave him
a smile and another firm cheek-pinch.
"Cutie. Let's get you some plain t-shirts. Every guy can always use a few of
those."
"Yes," Sam said after a pause, as if he was running all that through a
translator in his head.
"Yes, huh? You like saying 'yes' to me?" Kurt asked, cuddling his precious face
a bit more before letting him go again. "Come with me, honey. There were a
bunch of plain tees in the active wear section."
Sam followed as Kurt lead them out of the doucheville tee racks, reaching out
for Kurt's hand and holding onto it like a child.
The active wear section, although full of shiny running shirts with Nike
symbols and stuff, proved to be a wise decision. There was a clearance rack of
basics, and without consultation, Kurt lifted out a bunch of white and
heathered gray tees, all with different collars and a couple without sleeves.
They had each been marked down and down and down again, but were so plain, it
was hardly a wonder they were just hanging out on the racks. Kurt figured that
between phys. ed, workouts, school, and possibly losing clothes at the
laundromat or to slushie stains, Sam could use each and every one of them. To
his surprise, Sam reached out and touched the sleeve on a gray and light blue
raglan tee questioningly.
"Is this good?"
Just happy that Sam had made an effort, Kurt gave him a resounding, "Yes!
Definitely! Do you wanna get it? You can!"
That encouragement earned him Sam looking at things he suggested with a little
more interest. With not too much prodding, the two of them picked out an
exceptionally soft green hoodie. It was so soft it made Sam hold a sleeve up to
his cheek for a second, which Kurt found heartbreakingly cute. They found black
and blue ones for ten bucks each, too, and then Sam picked himself out a red
henley from the section right next to them. It was plain, and clearly something
in his comfort zone.
"I have, like, a million shirts now," Sam said with his mouth quirked crooked.
It was more like seven or eight, but his arm did look full.
"Good," said Kurt. "You need shirts that don't say 'trouty mouth.'"
"You not like my nickname?" Sam asked, obviously joking.
"I cannot believe Santana actually kept your number in her contacts under a
mean nickname," Kurt said. He was trying not to fume about it. After all, he'd
taken Sam from Santana after only a week, so it's not like he'd endured months
of blatant taunts like that, but still. To think Sam was ashamed of his
beautiful mouth, and people like Santana were why!
"What do you keep me as? In your phone?"
"'Sam,' of course!" said Kurt. "But I can change it to 'cutie-pie' or 'angel
face' if you want. Just let me know."
"See, you call me nicknames, too," said Sam.
"Do you think they're the same as calling you 'trouty mouth,' though?" Kurt
wondered, worried.
"No," Sam said. "I was just saying. You call me lots of things. And you can
call me whatever you want. I'd probably like it if you did it."
Kurt hummed in approval.
"Uhh," said Sam, blushing for reasons unknown. "Anyway. Do you want to check
out?"
"We still have plenty of money left," Kurt said. He'd been keeping a good
mental tally, but boy, things were cheap when they weren't designer. "Do you
need anything else? Something for church? Underwear?"
He thumbed to the right, pointing out how they were right across an aisle from
a modest underwear section. Sam followed the cue, gazing over at the cool
neutral shelves packed full of sets of underwear in varied plastic packaging
and boxes. There was a "fun undies" wall where there were boxers with the
Superman logo and shamrocks on them and the like. There were pajama sets and
robes nearby, too. Kurt did love him a good robe. He watched Sam roll his lips
under his teeth and bite down on them, resulting in his mouth becoming a
perfectly flat line that made him look stumped.
"Ah. Your mom buys your underwear, too, huh," Kurt guessed wryly.
Sam's eyes slid back to him. His flattened mouth quirked at one corner in
silent acknowledgment.
"Are you a boxers or briefs kind of guy?"
"I dunno."
"I've seen you in both," Kurt reminded him. "What about boxer briefs? Best of
both worlds. What's comfiest to you?"
Sam silently shifted on his feet, eyes on Kurt one second and on the floor the
next.
"Aw, hey," Kurt said, reaching over to give Sam's back a comforting rub. "Why
so shy all of a sudden?"
After an awkward pause, Sam managed, "What do you like?"
"Like, to wear? Or maybe... to check out on a hot guy?" Kurt asked playfully.
He must have hit the nail on the head, because Sam looked right at him with
that intently alert, mysterious expression he'd worn while Kurt had exchanged
the clothes Quinn had picked out for him. He gave Sam a smile that he meant to
be reassuring, but it felt rather deviant, Kurt was so delighted.
"Like in the pictures you gave me," Sam murmured, staring at him.
Kurt tucked his arm around his sub's waist and snuggled his cheek briefly
against his shoulder, hiding a stupid lovesick smile.
Unlike the Laffy Taffy jokes, he hadn't heard anything about the USB drive
after giving it to Sam that first week. Given Sam had sold his laptop to help
his family pay for basic necessities, that was one of those little things that
suddenly made sense, but up till learning about that, he'd assumed Sam was
probably just overwhelmed by the surfeit of sights and sounds. He seemed to be
overwhelmed by many things to the point of tears, and Kurt hadn't known that
when he'd given him the drive of music and pictures. Not that the images Kurt
had given him were pornographic – except for maybe the ones that featured men
bound up with ropes and cords so intricately they looked like they were wearing
some kind of haute couture – but they were still unwittingly intense in their
subject matter. All were rather artsy shots where a lot of thought had gone
into the setting, the lighting, the posing, so shadows gripped straining
muscles and fell across the submissives' faces, hiding them as if behind a
mask.
"Mm-hm," he hummed, stroking the dip between Sam's shoulder blades with warmth
and gentleness. He tried to keep his voice as light as possible. "What did you
think about those? Did you like them?"
It took Sam a moment of uncertain wavering before he dipped his chin, nodding
nearly imperceptibly. Kurt felt himself flushing through with a nervous, happy
heat. Usually, when he saved a picture of an underwear model, it was more about
the abs or the shape of the guy wearing them, and he didn't feel guilty for
looking at it, because it was just an advertisement. It was just a fashion
shot. It was meant to be commercially appealing. But he couldn't assume Sam
responded the exact same way he did.
So he simply said, "Me too."
Sam was quiet for a long moment. "I don't remember seeing any pictures of guys
in boxers."
"No, I suppose not," Kurt admitted airily. He gathered Sam's elbow and pulled
him along towards the underwear section.
"So... tighter stuff...?"
"Hmm. You're figuring me out!" he accused with a grin.
His sub shook his head as if bewildered. "I wanna know what you like."
"In the sense of what kind of loin cloth I would generously allow houseboy
Taylor Lautner to cover up with on formal occasions?" Kurt asked.
"No! I mean. Yes. If. If that's what you like, then..."
"Then... you would want to wear that for me, hm?"
"Yes," Sam said apprehensively.
"Honey, that's so sweet," Kurt told him, and left it at that while he
considered the request. It was sort of like when Sam had asked Kurt if he
wanted him to dress differently. Sam had asked him to help him choose things
that he, Kurt, liked, and Kurt had assured him he didn't need Sam to change his
style. He said decisively, "Well, I like it when you feel like you're just
being yourself with me, so anything you like to wear is something I like you to
wear. What's important to me is just that you wear your cuffs. It makes me very
happy to see them on you every day."
"Thanks," said Sam with an uneasy half-smile. "I just... I was curious
'cause... I do want to please you, Kurt."
"You know what pleases me the most, though," Kurt said, and Sam nodded. Neither
of them needed to say it out loud.
"Okay, then – I like jock straps," Sam sighed, as if he was admitting he liked
something embarrassing.
"Jock straps? To wear?"
"Yeah. But I don't ever wear 'em normally."
"Oh, so... like, you just wear them for football?"
"Yeah."
"I bet you look hot in a jock strap," said Kurt, and enjoyed the way Sam's gaze
jerked up from the floor again.
"You like 'em?"
Thanks to jock straps, Kurt had certainly gotten a side-eyeful of bare butts
during his short stint on the football team. Depending on the owner of the
butt, it could be a blessing or a curse. When he'd been on the team, they'd
been mandatory, but many guys wore them over their boxers and as far as Kurt
knew, Coach Tanaka hadn't done jock checks. With some guilt, he remembered
being really, really curious if Finn wore one, but – his futile longing and
domming efforts were pretty awkward to think of now. In total, he sort of
associated them with humid stench of sweat and guys the size of refrigerators
who would probably love to give him multiple black eyes if they thought he'd
seen their fridgey behinds.
But he did have to admit, the way they framed glutes and drew the eye was
pretty hot. And dirty, in a way. Their straps practically showed off what they
were wrapped around and begged all who could see to look. Their sole job was to
be all over sweaty junk, which was gross and arousing at the same time. They
were part of the whole jock mystique. Jocks were just everything he wasn't, and
were fascinating in their simplicity and masculinity. Kurt hadn't even worn a
strap when he'd been on the team, even though he was supposed to. He was just
the kicker; he didn't really see the need to wear a cup. They remained a sweaty
boy thing.
"Yeah," he responded with a smile, watching Sam carefully.
"I wore them at boarding school all the time," Sam said. He could hear the
eager perk in Sam's words and followed up with interest.
"Did you really? Did you play football there, too?"
"No, we didn't have a team. We had lacrosse, baseball, and cross-country. And
tennis, but I didn't play that."
"But you did play all the other ones? Wow."
"Straps were kinda mandatory for contact sports, so everybody on teams wore 'em
all the time."
"All the time? Like, on the field?"
"Yeah. Playing. In the locker room. To class. Just normally."
"Well... I'd love to see you in something like that," Kurt said, watching Sam
swell in response.
"I could – y'know, wear one for you."
"Really? Would you do that for me?" Kurt asked, flirty.
"Yeah, of course – I – I have a couple in my gym bag, I can –"
"That's great. And maybe you should pick out a new one, too," Kurt suggested,
watching as Sam hugged the collection of shirts and hoodies they'd picked out
to his chest, round-eyed with excitement. It was the most darling thing he'd
seen all day, even more than Sam's attempts at Mike's choreography, the way
he'd chicken-danced with Santana, the way he'd taken the world's tiniest sips
of Orange Julius from Kurt's straw, and the way he'd felt the sleeve of the
soft hoodie with his cheek. "One you can wear anytime you like."
Sam looked as if that didn't quite compute. "Anytime?"
"Uh-huh. Not just for sports. Whenever you like."
"Whenever I like?" Sam repeated.
"Mm-hm! And between the two of us, you're clearly the expert on them, so I'm
depending on you to help me pick out the best one for you," said Kurt keenly,
steering his sub into the racks.
After a few moments of thought, blinking at the selection in front of them –
arranged by fit rather than brand – Sam reached out. He just touched the edges
of a few boxes, seeming to consider each one, and Kurt happily leaned his chin
on Sam's shoulder and glanced up at his handsome profile. He could see how
dialed in Sam was all of a sudden. It was way past the semi-interest in t-
shirts and hoodies. Something in him had shifted into total attention, like he
was a sub with a mission.
"I guess this one," Sam said after he'd looked at pretty much every box,
tapping on a box top. The picture on the front was quite modest, barely hinting
at the straps at the edge of the hip of the catalogue model who was wearing it.
It was white cotton with a gray waistband, which bore the name of the brand –
one Kurt didn't recognize – embroidered in black letters, and it was so sporty
and adorable and, uh, skimpy, Kurt couldn't even. He just couldn't. "None of
these have cup pockets."
"That's okay, though, isn't it? You don't need to wear a cup to class."
Sam nodded slowly. "There's three in the box, though."
"Good! Plenty to spare. Let's get them," Kurt encouraged.
Even though he seemed pretty excited, Sam still let a hesitant beat go by
before reaching for a box in his size.
"Thanks," he muttered, cheeks ruddy.
"Aw. Of course, cutie," said Kurt, who hadn't done a thing and wasn't even
paying for them. Thanks should have gone to Quinn. The mere thought made him
frown. Was Sam going to be literally dressed head to toe courtesy that girl?
Nope. This was one thing Quinn was not essentially putting on his sub's body.
He dismissed the frown toute de suite. "What else?"
"I have so much stuff here," said Sam. "Honestly, it seems like too much
stuff."
"You don't even want to look at jeans or anything?"
"My mom buys my jeans. She's really good at it."
Kurt chuckled at the statement. "Oh! Okay. I think you're all set, then. Shall
we check out now? Or do you want to snag some more undies?"
"I'm... I'm all snagged up."
"Stop! You're too cute," Kurt complained merrily.
At the register, Kurt requested two separate purchases, aware of Sam watching
him with some confusion as Kurt sectioned out Quinn's money to pay for all of
the clothes, leaving the box of jock straps conspicuously sitting on the
counter. The checker folded the items and put them in a bag exactly like the
one Quinn's purchases had been placed in.
"Would you like a separate bag for this?" she asked solicitously, ringing up
the box.
"Yes, please," said Kurt, intending for this purchase to be unrelated to
Quinn's in every way possible.
Sam remained silent while Kurt took out his slender leather card case and
handed the checker his bank card, but Kurt noticed him leaning over his
shoulder to peek at the driver's license behind its clear plastic ID window. He
offered the case directly to Sam, who took it and examined Kurt's terrible
picture, bringing it close to his face.
Kurt had still had so much baby fat when he'd turned sixteen; he was so pale,
his face was almost entirely washed out; his eyes looked piercing, manic,
staring out from this white, round face; and it sort of looked like he was
wearing lipstick even though he absolutely was not. He'd been in this phase of
pairing neon t-shirts over clashing patterned button-downs, too, which in
retrospect he didn't even understand.
"Terrifying, isn't it," he said dryly, so Sam wouldn't have to wince all by
himself.
"Your middle name is Elizabeth?" Sam asked.
"I was born to be a queen, no?"
Sam handed the card holder back with his mouth in a thoughtful curve, then
accepted the larger bag when Kurt handed it to him. Kurt took the smaller
plastic bag with the underwear.
"I'd call this a success," he said, easing his free hand into Sam's.
"I, uh, can't believe you bought me underwear," Sam said sheepishly. "You
could've used that last twenty from Quinn's stuff!"
"Quinn does not have the right to buy you unmentionables, even unknowingly,"
said Kurt. "That right is mine! And your mom's, I guess. Hey, are you hungry? I
know you probably don't want to eat anything at the food court, but we could
use this twenty to get some dinner somewhere. Or you could keep it and use it
for something else. It's your money!"
"I can take you out to dinner," said Sam.
"Yeah?" Kurt asked happily.
"I mean, I took the night off. I don't have to be anywhere."
"If you talk like that, I'm just going to want to skip dinner and take you
home."
"We could do that..."
"Yeah, we actually could. But everyone's home tonight, and technically I'm not
supposed to be inappropriate with you in my dad's house... which is a rule I'm
completely willing to break in half and toss over my shoulder, by the way,
just... probably not with my dad at home. I really don't want him to have
another heart attack."
"What do you want to do with me that's inappropriate?" asked Sam with a grin.
"I have a hard time doing anything appropriate with you."
 
*
 
They wound up at Breadstix, getting $5.99 soup and salad, and it was strangely
perfect. Even though it was the same place Kurt had been countless other times
with his family, Sam's family, Mercedes and Tina (and one shameful time he just
pitied himself so much that he had two slices of cheesecake in a booth all by
himself then slid outta the joint with a massive pair of Jackie O. shades on),
it felt different to be with just Sam. Somewhere along the way, the evening had
sort of begun to feel like a date – not that Kurt had ever really been on a
date. It was beautiful springy weather outside, not too warm but not too cool,
the evening sky a velvet amethyst.
When the check came, Kurt quickly handed the leftover twenty to Sam, who had
been taking out his wallet with clear intent. After a second, he accepted it
and used it to pay for the meal with a small sigh, even though he was smiling.
The waitress took the bill and their empty plates.
"Thanks for dinner," said Kurt, popping a complementary peppermint into his
mouth.
"I wish I could do more," Sam replied, fidgeting with his wallet nervously.
"You deserve more."
"Please! I had the best time today! We got you some cute hoodies and stuff."
"Yeah, but... you should let me take you out for real, on my own dime," said
Sam.
"I'd be more than happy to do that," Kurt said, coyly sipping his water.
Their waitress smiled at their happy awkwardness as she swept by and laid down
their change, which Sam just left sitting on the table.
"Hey, can I look at your driver's license?" Kurt asked him, since Sam still had
his wallet out. "I mean, you saw mine."
Smile spreading, Sam handed the billfold to Kurt, who admired the simple,
boyish feel of it in his hands. Kurt tended towards using a card carrier to
avoid ruining any of his trousers or his silhouette with back pocket wallet-
bulge. Sam's wallet wasn't too thick, though. It was tan, the color not unlike
the buttery tan leather of his cuffs, but it was waxed canvas and had a black
lightning bolt stamped on the front. Inside there were a few slots for cards,
but the only card was a library card. There were a couple of worn-looking
ticket stubs poking out of one of the slots, and they were both for Avatar. His
license peeked through its clear covering, bearing the word Tennessee ("The
Volunteer State"). It was beige and not rather pink like Ohio's, and it had a
little red flag on it. In the picture –
"Oh my goodness, look at your long hair!"
"Yeah," Sam laughed.
"It's gorgeous!"
It really was; it looked wavy, sun-streaked and thick, and it wasn't too long,
just wonderfully natural, and a little longer than Sam's current hair, which
was shaggy and getting to be on the longish side already. The color of his
natural hair was a dirty blond, and Sam was very tan and healthy and happy-
looking.
"That was a couple months before I got it cut and, ah, poured a bunch of lemon
juice on it."
"Sam," Kurt chuckled fondly, unable to imagine why Sam had thought he needed to
change his hair so much. He could hardly tear his eyes away from the photo. Sam
had that charming grin on his face. His messy signature had been digitally
printed on the bottom. His birth date was large and bright red. Sam was born in
May, too. Kurt studied it for a beat. "Uhh, am I reading this right? It says
your birthday is in less than a week."
Sam nodded.
"Oh my gosh! I had no idea!" Kurt said, trying not to convey how actually
startled he was. After all, to his knowledge Sam didn't know his birthday,
either... it just wasn't information that had been interesting enough to swap
in light of everything else that had been happening... but his wasn't mere days
away. Sam hadn't said a peep. Knowing Sam, he probably would've kept it to
himself unless Kurt had directly asked and just let his sweet seventeen pass
everyone by. "It's so soon. What would you like?"
"Nothing," Sam said, ruefully. "I just got a bunch of clothes."
"Ah, so that's why Quinn splashed out! It wasn't just guilt! It was an
occasion!"
"I guess so."
"Well, you're not getting nothing from me," Kurt informed him.
"Please don't, Kurt..."
"Sorry! This is non-negotiable."
Sam's mouth squinched to one side, his gaze falling in the same direction. It
was a worried expression; Kurt didn't know whether he was worried about being
cause for fuss or if he had the warped idea that birthday gifts were tantamount
to pity.
"Don't worry, I won't force-feed you cake!" he teased, returning Sam's wallet
to him. "I know exactly what to do for a boy like you."
"What?"
"You're going to have to wait till your birthday to find out," chirped Kurt.
This didn't alleviate any of the worry. Sam seemed unsettled as they left, but
waited until they were shut up in Kurt's car and fastening their seatbelts to
say, "I just really don't want stuff. It's weird to get stuff when you don't
have a place to put it... I don't have my own room or anything. All I want is
to be with you. Is that – okay?"
"Of course!" Kurt reached from the gear stick between them and patted Sam's
knee. "I'd love to spend some time with you on your birthday, sweetie."
"I wanna –" Sam began. He had to pause to find the words. "I just wanna be with
you and be your sub."
"For your birthday?"
Sam nodded.
"I wanna be with you, Kurt, please," he repeated. With the little plea, the
request took on a deeper shade. "I wanna be your sub. Be good. I know if your
family's home we shouldn't mess around. I get that. I'll be good. But can I
still be in your room with you?"
"Is that really what you'd like?" Kurt asked. He was rather touched.
Sam piled his fists anxiously in his lap and leaned against the head rest of
his seat, gazing at Kurt with his cheek hanging close to his shoulder and his
cuffs overlapping. "Yeah. If it's okay."
"It's more than okay. I'd love to have you over. What would you want to do if
we could do anything? Like, anything. If money was no object."
"...Spaceship," said Sam.
Kurt laughed. "You'd buy one? Or go to space?"
"Go to space."
"Oh, okay. I'll just play the part of Liv Tyler in this scenario."
Sam whuffled. "Can I make animal crackers walk around on your abs?"
"Oh, that's sweet, how you think I have abs," Kurt lamented, throwing the car
into reverse. "My dad will be so thrilled to hear that we came close to talking
about a Bruce Willis movie. Shall we get you home, sweetie?"
"Can we – is there somewhere we can go?" Sam asked. "My curfew isn't till nine-
thirty."
"Where do you want to go?"
"Somewhere. With you. ... Somewhere alone?"
"Say what you want, Sam," Kurt commanded softly, intently aware of Sam's
submissive body language and the way he was circling with his words.
"To go somewhere with you – so I can suck you off," Sam exhaled, with some
effort.
Kurt shot him a sharp but considering look. God, it was really tempting. Sam's
eyes were pinned to him and clearly saw only him. It suddenly occurred to him
that Sam might have been thinking of this since Kurt had teased about taking
him home.
"I haven't gotten to since last week. You haven't taken me to the nurse or
anything," he said. "I know I shouldn't be asking – but please. Please let me.
It's been a week!"
"Where should I take you to let you service me, sub?" Kurt demanded, rather
imperiously.
"Anywhere. I'll do it anywhere!"
"Name places."
"McKinley parking lot. The park. ... A bathroom somewhere. The truck stop by
the motel..."
Sam was already out of suggestions, but Kurt was well and truly shocked by each
of them. A parking lot anywhere seemed good enough for Kenickie and Rizzo, but
a public bathroom had gotten George Michael arrested, and a truck stop just
sounded filthy and desperate. The worst thing was that Sam's breathy begging
had gotten him chubbed, and each subsequent suggestion only got him harder.
"Sorry," mumbled Sam. "I don't know anywhere else."
"I do," Kurt said. He was already pulling out into traffic. "We're going back
to the mall."
 
*
 
The mall wasn't far from Breadstix, which was one of the reasons they'd
defaulted to Breadstix for dinner, so they were pulling back into the parking
lot in no time. Unable to keep from noting a couple of station wagons that were
printed with the word "security," Kurt pulled into the covered parking,
following yellow arrows painted on the concrete that took them around to the
second floor. It was not very well lit, and it was not exactly empty, either,
but Kurt chose the farthest corner from the elevator and parked there with his
veins thrumming heavily.
"Well?" he asked his sub, turning off the car so his headlights wouldn't
attract anyone. "How's this for you? The parking lot of the place where we
spent the afternoon dancing around with our friends? Still wanna go down on
me?"
Sam was leaning against his seat like he was dizzy or about to nod off to
sleep, his limbs heavy. Kurt watched his hand clutch and squeeze at the crotch
of his jeans. His legs were so long and his knees were splayed wide, his ankles
in their high tops awkwardly crossed in the foot well.
"Please, Kurt," he mumbled.
"Yeah? Is that what you want?"
"If you'll let me. Please."
Kurt sighed and stretched, grasping at the back of his headrest. "That would
make you a happy boy, wouldn't it?"
"Mm!"
"I'm going to let you," he informed Sam, "but you have to stop if I tell you
to."
"I'll do anything you say. Please, Kurt."
"Mm-hm. You can have it if you can get it."
Sam jerked in his seat, trying to lean over. He quickly realized his seatbelt
was in the way and undid it in a fluster, his eyes trained on Kurt's belt. He
popped the button on it, parting the belt; it caught on Kurt's arm, but he just
let it, determined to keep his hands off Sam – as if that would make him look
any less like his eager sub was getting into his bright red skinny jeans.
"You're not gonna let anything get on my clothes, are you?" Kurt asked sternly.
"No!" Sam fumbled with Kurt's zip, panting. "I'll swallow. I promise. I
promise."
"What if I come on your pretty face while you're licking my knob, hm?"
"You can come on me anywhere – come on me, not your clothes. Wipe it off on
me."
"God, Sam," Kurt groaned, gutted at the rather proactive suggestion. Sam's hand
was fighting its way into his zip, and he hunched his hips up out of his seat
so Sam's fingers could fumble and pull his dick out of his boxer briefs. Kurt
trained his eyes on the elevator, hoping it wouldn't open and deposit the
owners of the Range Rover parked a couple of spaces away. He really couldn't
believe himself, and how with Sam he kept finding himself doing things like
this. With a huff of triumph, Sam gave his stiff prize a couple of jacks, but
practically dove into his lap, his mouth hot and ready.
There was an intense beat of déjà vu as Kurt's back flattened to his seat – he
was briefly right back in his driveway, shocked by the newness of the situation
and the fact that his sub's head was in his lap and his broad shoulders right
there, butting up against him in the crammed space. It wasn't as easy as it had
been when Kurt had let Sam do it in bed or as delirious as when he'd bound
Sam's wrists, but the sudden sensation made him suck in air and a groan catch
uncharacteristically loudly in his throat.
"Sam," he uttered, squeezing the soft headrest. Sam moaned back with Kurt's
cock buried in his hot mouth.
All at once, Kurt was just dropping any semblance of keeping himself scraped
together. He was just a little beyond it. Sam sounded like the most fulfilled
sub on earth, and Kurt knew he wanted this and had been counting the days,
maybe waiting for an opportunity to ask, and that this was the ultimate in his
mind.
"That's a good boy," he sighed, his nerves on fire. He'd only laid it on this
thick a couple of times, but he went for broke right then, because it felt good
to him, too, praising Sam so profusely. "God, what a good boy. Suck it for me,
sweetie."
In his lap, Sam let out a muffled squeak, responsively picking out a deliberate
rhythm and rolling his lips up to the neck and down to the zip of Kurt's jeans
in dips and swoops. He was clearly determined to keep Kurt's cock in his mouth
this time, and after figuring out that he could do so, he shoved his hand down
and gripped at the seam between his thighs. For a second Kurt thought it was
punitive, prohibitive. But Sam's shoulder rolled slightly and Kurt realized he
was rubbing at himself through the thick layers of denim and underwear.
"Ah – yeah, is that good?" he breathed, dizzily throwing a look towards the
elevator – which was open. He tensed wildly, but kept his voice calm. "Stop,
Sam. Stay down."
Sam, who felt him go on edge, held himself still and panted noisily in his lap,
nose pressed into Kurt's jeans, mouth utterly full of cock.
The middle-aged couple that had stepped out of the elevator were already
walking away, though. Kurt could only see the backs of their heads and some
truly horrendous mom jeans not even Carole would wear. He waited several
seconds, listening to Sam's labored breaths, until they were climbing into
their Oldsmobile.
"Good, Sam," he breathed. "Good boy. That was perfect. You okay? Do you wanna
suck me off some more?"
Sam nodded, which actually moved Kurt's cock in his mouth and felt good all on
its own. After a few beats, Sam carefully eased his way up Kurt's cock and
swallowed with some effort before he fell back into a rhythm, moaning low. The
noise traveled right through Kurt's belly like a spike. He didn't ease again
until the Oldsmobile couple had pulled out of their space and turned the
corner, heading down to street level and taking their headlights with them.
They left Kurt in the dark, to be serviced by his sub in safe silence. His dick
pulsed rigidly against Sam's tongue, adrenaline tickling across his skin in a
shiver that left his nipples peaking under his shirt and salute-worthy red,
white, and blue sweater vest. Sam's shoulder heaved, and Kurt could tell he was
struggling to keep up his rhythm and rub at himself at the same time. God, he
loved it when Sam was struggling.
"I'm gonna let you have my load soon," Kurt told him conversationally. "You
think you can take it, Sam? All in your mouth?"
His sub gave him a grunt.
"You were so obedient, stopping when I told you to. Do you wanna keep being an
obedient boy for me? Hmm?"
A pleading squeak.
"Yeah? Service me just like I tell you?"
Sam grappled for Kurt's knee, winding up with his fingers wrapped firmly around
the side of the steering wheel. Kurt got it instantly. He was showing him the
collar on his wrist; he couldn't give a better answer with his head still
desperately bobbing than to present himself in submission.
"I knew it," Kurt moaned. "Oh. I'm gonna shoot off right in your pretty mouth.
And you're gonna take it all. Every drop. But you're not gonna swallow it, Sam.
Do you hear me? You're not gonna swallow it till I give you – permission – uh.
Sam!"
Sam had managed to slide his lips up far enough to give the crown of Kurt's
cock hot, clumsy swirls of tongue without letting it slide all the way out of
his mouth.
"Fuck, you're so good," Kurt choked. Sam was totally doing that on purpose.
Instinct made him drop his hand and steady his cock between his thumb and first
two fingers, bracing it for Sam and helping to stroke his load right out
against Sam's tongue, where it slopped around wetly. Kurt managed to whisper in
harsh jerking breaths, "There it is for you – Sam. Ah! Don't swallow! Don't
swallow yet, sweetie."
Sam groaned softly, waiting, still; he was just letting Kurt empty himself in
his mouth.
"That's a good sub. Don't swallow," Kurt repeated breathlessly. "Sit up."
Grunting with effort, Sam slurped right off him with the wettest noise Kurt had
ever heard, pushing on the steering wheel to try and do what Kurt was telling
him to do with a heavy body. His red mouth was pinched together, and his eyes
were tightly shut. Kurt's ears were still fucking pounding with the throb of
orgasm, and he was sweating in his clothes, too hot, but he shoved his
sensitive shaft back into his boxers anyway, leaving the zip down as he stared
over at his sub's lap. He could see the line of Sam's hard-on, pulled up under
his pocket by all the groping and rubbing Sam had gotten in. He reached for it.
"Don't swallow yet," he reminded Sam as he got his hand right on it. "I'm gonna
let you in a minute, don't worry."
After a drunk-looking nod, Sam let his head fall back against his head rest in
a heavy slump. He drew his lips in tight, his face patchy and red from effort
and arousal. Kurt stroked the hard arc of Sam's dick and purred at him, words
elongated in his satisfaction.
"Gooood boooy. Keep that come right there in your mouth. It's a lot, isn't it?
I wanna just have you like this for a minute, being such a perfect sub. So hard
from serving your Dom. So sexy and turned on. Mouth full of come and cock
aching in your jeans. Hmm? Don't let yourself swallow it just yet. You have to
let me see it first, Sam. I wanna see it in your mouth. Open."
Face squinching, Sam obediently dropped his lips, though he only let them open
a sliver. In the dark, the only light some yellowed fluorescents dotted here
and there on the ceiling, Kurt could only see a glisten on his lower lip.
He commanded patiently, "Look at me. Let me see it, Sam. Tongue out, honey."
Sam's pink tongue poked out, doing a clumsy and desperate sway and curl to try
and keep the cloudy mess of jizz and thickened spit from slipping out. It just
had the effect of looking like he was wiggling his tongue teasingly. His eyes
were open and slightly focused, but he didn't look like he was seeing anything;
his main focus was following orders and trying with some understanding gusto to
push his gently curved tongue out, covered with thick wet come, for Kurt to
see.
"Good boy," Kurt cooed appreciatively. He gave Sam's hard-on a squeeze. "I love
how obedient you are! Go ahead and swallow that for me."
The gulp was quite audible in the quiet car, and once the load was down Sam's
throat, he opened his mouth and gasped in fierce shock.
"Mm, good," Kurt told him, fingers sliding warmly along Sam's dick in
affectionate rubs. "That's my sweet little sub. Was that good? Servicing your
master's dick and having your mouth full of come?"
"Kurt," Sam moaned, all astonished breath. He looked like a rag doll someone
had just barely propped up in the seat, with his head rolling and dipping
heavily in Kurt's direction and his arms and legs as slack and heavy as they'd
been after Kurt had restrained him.
"Mm, I can feel how hard it got you. Your dick's just suffocating in here..."
Kurt's satisfied sigh and Sam's vulnerable, shaky exhale overlapped. Kurt
indulged himself with giving Sam's hard-on full-bodied rubs, then traced with
his fingertips around the head at Sam's hip, which was twice as muffled through
his pocket.
"My sweet boy," he whispered. "I just know you're full of come for me. But
you're just gonna have to wait till I let you blow it."
"Umf," Sam uttered. There was a pleading note to it, but Sam didn't make a move
or beg, Please let me, Kurt. He leaned there in the seat, eyelids sliding shut
then lifting again as if in slow motion, and as Kurt scritched and rubbed him
right through his jeans, he just sucked in a breath and let him, perfectly
submissive.
"You're not going to come," Kurt told him. As the words were out of his mouth,
they felt cruel, because he thought of Quinn – he was doing just as she'd done,
and he didn't like the thought of being anything like her. But they came to him
and left his lips, anyway, deep instinct, and once they were out he knew they
were right, and he shifted gears hard. "No. You don't get to come till I let
you. I know you can behave for me. I know you can choke it all down, angel.
You're gonna give me all your obedience, Sam. Aren't you, sweetie. Say 'yes' or
'no.'"
"Yes," Sam whispered, beyond dazed, the word coming up from the very depths of
him.
"That's right. You know how you need your Dom's permission to come. You can get
hard. You can touch yourself. You can make yourself feel good. You can make
your dick start dripping. You know how much I love that. You know how much I
think about you in your little sleeping bag with your dick so boned in your
sweats, that checkered flannel all soft and warm. But you know you can't come.
You know your come's for me. You know that, don't you, sweetie."
Sam's head picked up minutely off the rest, then thumped back again heavily. He
was in another world, but Kurt didn't exactly have both feet on the ground,
himself. It was a little like they weren't even in his car in a parking lot.
They could've been in Kurt's bed, or in the discretionary at school, or just
about anywhere. Kurt's world had narrowed down entirely to Sam: The heat of his
cock burning through his clothes; his huffing, almost reluctant breaths; the
flutter of his eyelids over his distracted, glazed stare.
"'S my good boy," Kurt whispered, palming down Sam's long thigh. He had nudged
Sam just beyond aroused and submissive to this subbed out mess. This, he
thought. This was Sam's subspace. At the very least, it had to be close. He
recognized the far-gone heaviness, the lack of fidgeting or wandering
attention, the slow responses. Sam wasn't always like this when he was
submitting. He wasn't always far-gone.
Fascinated, Kurt just stroked Sam's leg for a long minute, watching Sam exist
in his stupor. He could hear Ms. Pillsbury advising him not to take his sub
into subspace away from home, but she wasn't there. She didn't matter. He was
there with Sam all the way.
"Honey," he finally murmured curiously, lifting his hand to Sam's cheek.
Sam blinked slowly in response. After a heavy pause he breathed, "Kurt."
It was like they were wired together. Before that moment, Kurt had never known
it was even possible to feel so connected to someone, so close – especially as
Sam seemed so faraway. He cared for Sam so much it was overwhelming. He stroked
Sam's cheek gently. He didn't know exactly what he'd done, what button he'd
pushed, or when the switch had flicked in his sub. All he knew was that he
loved it.
 
*
 
It took about twenty minutes for Sam to naturally wake back up to the real
world again, with little pushing or pulling from Kurt. He'd seemed kind of
groany and shy as he came around, but had willingly laid his head on Kurt's
shoulder for a while and even submitted to let Kurt take him home. He'd never
allowed Kurt to take him any further than a bus stop.
Sam navigated him somewhat sluggishly to the American Family Motel. It seemed
okay from the outside. Not as nice as a chain, probably, and obviously cheap,
but not incredibly skeezy.
"Home sweet home," Sam said in a low voice, gazing at it through the passenger
side window. "Wanna tuck me in?"
"Here? Or for real?"
"Real," said Sam.
"Won't I be intruding?"
Sam fiddled with his seatbelt. "No."
"Okay, then, angel. Let me tuck you in," Kurt said, unable to beat back his
curiosity about Sam's living conditions and that sleeping bag of his. He saw a
couple of kids' bikes on a porch, not even chained to anything, and wondered if
they were Stevie and Stacey's and if they would get stolen out here. It was
definitely not his business to ask about them, though.
"Please don't be mad," Sam began, "but it's kind of a mess inside. Just a lot
of stuff..."
"Please, sweetie. Don't worry about it."
Kurt gathered the shopping bags from his backseat, popping the small plastic
bag with the jock straps in it into the larger one that held quite a number of
shirts.
The same way he always wanted to carry Kurt's schoolbooks, Sam took it from
him, then took Kurt's hand for the short distance from the car to the porch,
leading him up the steps to the room on the left and smiling at him foggily
before opening the worn red door. Then he paused with the door only open a
crack, and Kurt realized it was to let his family have a second to realize
someone was coming in.
"Hey," he called hoarsely.
From within, Stacey exclaimed, "Sammy!"
"Hey, Stace. Mom, Dad, I have Kurt with me."
"Kurt? Kurt's with you? Come on in, guys," said Sam's dad.
Sam pushed the door open all the way, enough for Kurt to get a glimpse of a
wood-paneled room with enough stacked boxes and strewn about stuff that
Hoarders came to mind. Then Stacey appeared in the doorway, tow-headed and big-
eyed just like Sam was, wearing a pink cotton nightgown printed with Disney
princesses on the front.
"Let me in, squirt," Sam said, backing her up with big brotherly ease.
Kurt carefully followed him in.
He hadn't really been prepared for the reality in front of him. The room was
small, much too small for five people to stay in for more than a night or two.
And it was messy. It wasn't that it was filthy. The room was just shabby and
old, and there was clearly nowhere for the Evans family to pack away the
belongings they'd managed to keep hold of. There was no clearly-marked kitchen
area. It was just a square room with a closet so small he wondered why whoever
built this place had even bothered with it and an equally unacceptable
bathroom. Bananas were sitting on a shelf that had been crammed into the
corner, and there was a hot plate sitting on top of a cardboard box, unplugged.
There was only one bed. Sam's sleeping bag had been left mussed where it lay
next to the bed on the brown carpet. A folded-up cot was leaning against one
wall, and the small clear space where they were standing was probably where the
cot was set up at night. A tiny table was next to the window and had
essentially been shoved aside to make room, but it was still covered with
folders and papers that looked important.
Kurt scooted in just enough to let Sam close the door behind him. He was
absolutely intruding.
"Hello, Kurt," said Mrs. Evans, sitting forward on the bed. She had Sam's
English novel open in her hands.
"Hey there, Kurt." Mr. Evans, who had stood, extended a friendly hand, and Kurt
reached for it with a smile and gave it a good firm pump. "Nice to see ya."
"Hi, Kurt!" Stacey said, with the air of one not wanting to be left out. She
was staring at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. The
last time he'd seen her, she had not found his compliments on her Easter dress
or Pinky Wigglenose voice amusing and had given him the cold shoulder.
"Hi!" he replied with a grin.
"What's going on with you two?" Mrs. Evans asked. It was a very polite way of
expressing some concern at Kurt's sudden presence, he thought.
"Oh," said Sam modestly. "Kurt's gonna tuck me in."
Stevie, who had carved out a space in the corner by the bananas, peered over
the bed.
"Bedtime, huh?" Mr. Evans asked.
"Bedtime," Sam confirmed.
"It's early!" Stevie said suspiciously.
"It's almost ten," said Mrs. Evans. "You know what that means."
"Bedtime," Stevie sighed.
"See?" Sam asked, dropping the Macy's bag next to his backpack where it
slouched under a chair that was shoved against the wall, looking at Kurt like
his family surrounding him so closely was normal and to be expected. "I'm gonna
brush my teeth and get in my PJs, so – be right back."
"What's the bag?" Stacey wanted to know.
"Quinn bought me a birthday present," Sam said as he cut toward the bathroom.
"It's not for you!"
"Quinn bought you something?" his mother wondered.
"How many strings are attached?" Mr. Evans asked plainly. Kurt felt very firmly
that Dwight had the same idea about Quinn that he did. Maybe it just took one
to know one with Dominants.
"Well... how was your flash dance?" Mrs. Evans said, changing the subject now
that Sam was shutting himself away in the bathroom and the buffer of his
presence was gone.
"Perfect!" said Kurt enthusiastically. He had no idea how much Sam told his
parents about everyday goings on, but he was used to talking about things that
he knew didn't interest his dad. "We didn't get to rehearse much, but it was
fun. We did it for our friend in glee club to convince her not to get a nose
job. I think it worked. I think she'll cancel her surgery."
"Nothing like some good old PDA," said Sam's dad.
"Little PDA, little light admonishment," Kurt agreed.
"I like this one," said Mr. Evans told his wife with an amused smile.
"Dwight," said Sam's mother reproachfully, thwapping him with her book.
"So what's this tucking in business? Is that slang?" Mr. Evans asked, dropping
the smile and crossing his arms. As well as he sort of naturally got along with
Sam's dad, it was a formidable sight. However, Kurt actually found Sam's mother
somewhat more intimidating; she was less demonstrative.
"No! Not that I know of. I'm just gonna – tuck here, tuck there, say 'sweet
dreams' and give his cheek a little pinch," said Kurt rather brazenly.
"This cheek, right?" Sam's dad pointed at his own face.
Kurt laughed, thinking of Sam offering both sets of cheeks up for smacking.
"Yep. It's... kind of my favorite cheek."
"Mary's too."
"Oh!" said Kurt pleasantly, like he and Mrs. Evans shared a coffee order. Sam's
mom was shaking her head, but she was also smiling.
"So you're gonna tuck my seventeen-year-old son in," Dwight said, squinting at
Kurt.
"Yes, sir. I usually tuck him in over the phone."
"Over the phone."
"Yes."
"Stacey's looking at Sam's present!" Stevie announced. Next to Kurt, Stacey
whined at being tattled on.
"That's not nice, Stacey," Mary said firmly.
"I peeked too. It's boring stuff," Kurt assured Stacey, who wiggled away from
the bag, penitent. "Just some t-shirts. We glee kids get slushies tossed in our
faces so often we all keep extra shirts and jackets in our locker and stuff."
"Really! Slushies? Aren't those cold?" Sam's dad asked.
"Beyond cold."
"Sam's never had a slushie thrown at him," said Mary, with keen eyes.
"Well, he's lucky, then," said Kurt, who was fairly certain Sam had been
double-doused by Azimio and Karofsky his first week in glee club but really
didn't want to give Sam's parents cause for alarm. He knew all too well the
helplessness one could feel after a Big Gulp right in the kisser. "But it never
hurts to be prepared!"
The bathroom door opened, and Sam hustled out awkwardly, with his jeans folded
under one arm.
"Someone's ready for bed," commented Mr. Evans. "And that someone is not Stacey
Evans."
"I'm not sleepy!"
"I am," said Sam. He was depositing his hoodie and t-shirt into a hamper and
placing his jeans in another hamper that apparently was just being stacked
right on top of the first. "I'm all ready for bed."
"Well, we'll leave you to it," said Mr. Evans, with a dismissive air that made
it seem like he'd drawn some kind of invisible privacy curtain, even though he
had simply sat himself on the edge of the bed right next to Sam's sleeping bag
and there was really no privacy whatsoever.
Sam went for the bag with a warm face, dropping to his knees in a familiar way
and wiggling his way into it. As strange as it felt to be there and to be
engaging in this ritual that he looked forward to every night in front of Sam's
entire family, Kurt knelt by him to watch him snuggle down in the bag – which
he'd described with such accuracy to Kurt that Kurt had seen it in his head
many times before, almost just like it was now, down to the checkered flannel's
colors. Kurt was happy to see it really was thick.
"Do you like it zipped?" he asked Sam.
Sam nodded. He tugged a little abused-looking pillow with a dull blue case on
it out from underneath his parents' bed and tucked it under his head, looking
up at Kurt shamelessly.
Biting down on a smile, Kurt found the sturdy zipper at the side of the bag and
drew it up much of the way. Sam's bare arms weren't in there yet. He had them
crossed over his chest, hugging the sleeping bag to him the way he'd clutched
his clothes at the mall. Kurt gave them a warm, friendly rub-down.
"Are you comfy?"
Sam gave him another nod.
"I was proud of you today," Kurt said, very aware Sam's parents could hear him,
but honestly having eyes for nothing but his sub, whose lids lowered modestly.
"Taking down those posters was nice of you, especially after everything you
went through with Quinn. I'm happy you can be friends with her. You're a bigger
man than I. And I'm so happy you made the flash mob. You didn't have to do
that."
Kurt reached out and nudged Sam's cheek with his thumb.
"But I liked spending all that time with you. All the things you told me. Those
Laffy Taffy jokes. Your favorite color. The sports you played at your last
school."
Sam, whose eyes had fallen shut, insistently nuzzled his cheek into Kurt's
palm.
"You know what to wear tomorrow, don't you?" Kurt asked.
With a soft exhale, Sam nodded.
"Yes?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"Good boy," Kurt murmured. "I'll do a check tomorrow. Don't forget."
"Yes, Kurt."
Kurt chuckled. "I'm gonna say good night, sweetie. Are you gonna dream some
sweet dreams?"
"Hope so," said Sam. "Thank you, Kurt."
After making a pretty unnecessary fuss with zipping the bag up the rest of the
way, easing Sam's arms into it, and giving each side a warm tuck around them,
Kurt leaned in and gave his sub a brief peck at the corner of his mouth, right
where he loved to feel that sweet smile.
"Good night, honey."
"Mm," Sam let out.
Pleased, Kurt stood again and reached out his hand to Dwight to give it another
shake.
"Good night," he said softly.
"G'night," Sam's dad echoed, just looking at Kurt with quiet interest. He waved
at Mrs. Evans, who smiled at him as if she didn't quite understand what had
just happened. Stevie had sprawled out on the floor behind the bed, but Kurt
could see him peeking, some action figure in his hand.
As he turned to open the door, he found Stacey peering up at him with her pink
rabbit in her arms, and Kurt patted her head on the way out and added, "Good
night, Stacey. Good night, Princess Pinky."
Stacey waved to him from the door.
"Bye, Kurt!"
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