Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/805559.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Sam_Evans/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Sam_Evans, Kurt_Hummel, Blaine_Anderson
  Additional Tags:
      Kink_Meme, Dom/sub, AU, D/s_AU, Dirty_Talk, Pet_Names, Deliberate_Badfic,
      collaring
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_Cherish_'Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-31 Words: 13853
****** Cherish Is The Word I'd Use ******
by Edwardina
Summary
     Glee kink meme fill. Everyone's a sub or a Dom. Kurt is a Dom, Sam is
     a bisexual sub. Kurt watches Sam's relationship with Quinn, sees how
     Quinn's neglect affects Sam, and wishes he could help. After Quinn
     dumps Sam, Kurt starts courting Sam and tries to rebuild his sense of
     self worth. He praises him and is very affectionate with him.
     Finally, Kurt collars Sam.
Notes
     I saw this_prompt on the Glee kink meme. It's a S2 AU.
     It's more sweet than kinky, probably, kind of strange, and... I am
     pretty mad I wrote it.
Kurt was walking down the hall towards Home Ec when he saw Sam Evans standing
at his locker, practically hiding his face in it, and felt a flash of pity.
Sam was looking worse for the wear these days. Sam had started the year off
promising, if a bit of a fixer-upper in terms of his hair, and he'd gotten
better as soon as Quinn had chosen to take him on as her sub, but now he was
trudging around in the hallways by himself, looking lost. This week in glee
club, he had dedicated his numbers to his mistress, trying so hard to garner
affection and approval, and all the girls had loved the whole Bieber thing (it
was pretty cute), but Kurt knew the only praise that mattered to Sam was
Quinn's.
It wasn't up to Kurt to tell Quinn Fabray how to treat her sub – he didn't even
have his own sub, and people who didn't know him found it difficult to believe
he himself wasn't one, so it would've been particularly rich – but if Kurt was
ever lucky enough to have anybody submitting to him, he never would be as
criminally neglectful to him as Quinn was to Sam.
First off, it was just plain cruel to accept his servitude yet not display any
interest in him, and also, it just spoke poorly of Quinn as a Domme. Oh, Quinn
was together. There was no doubt that she herself was immaculate, scandal and
drama aside; she was always perfectly dressed, was a Cheerio, on the honor
roll, and one of the most popular girls at school. But she let Sam go around
looking ragged and depressed, and obviously miserable. It just didn't make
sense. Kurt was sure plenty of guys (and girls) would've loved to be chosen
from amongst the acne-covered masses to be her sub, even on the experimental
"Collar of Consideration" basis that was popular at McKinley. Quinn could have
her pick, so why did she insist on Sam? If it was really just that he'd been
the quarterback, that was a crying shame.
Where was Quinn? Why didn't she take one look at that too-long, shaggy blond
hair and take him to a salon for a trim? Why didn't she correct his terrible
posture during glee? Sam was just begging in every way conceivable to be
corrected, cared for, and told he was worthy. The Bieber cover band was
basically a cry for help.
Kurt would've loved to do all those things. Even if Sam was straight, having
such an attractive and malleable submissive still would have pleased Kurt
immensely. He didn't even need sex. Yes, owning his submissive physically was
probably the ideal, but for him, it wasn't the end-all be-all. The truest
pleasure for any good Dominant, in his opinion, was to support, guide, train,
and mold their submissive, and Kurt was sure he could do that even without the
physical trappings many Doms and subs relied on.
But even if it seemed truly ridiculous to him, Sam was Quinn's, and at the end
of the day, Dominants could treat their submissives however they pleased.
It wasn't until glee rehearsal after school that Kurt found out why Sam had
been standing there like that: Quinn and Sam were kaput.
He strolled into the room and saw Santana Lopez with her legs slung over Sam's
lap, casually proprietary, and Sam staring submissively at the floor. Kurt
tried not to act as startled as he felt, taking a seat by Mercedes.
"When did that happen?" Mercedes asked him.
Bewildered, Kurt shook his head, but Tina leaned in from the row behind them
and said, "Those rumors were true, you guys."
"Rumors? What rumors?" Kurt asked.
Tina gave him a somewhat impatient look, lowering her voice even more so
Santana and Sam wouldn't hear her. "About Finn and Quinn. They didn't just peck
at the kissing booth. They full-on made out and that's why they were down with
mono last week. I heard that Sam asked to be released."
"Oh my God." Kurt gaped. If anything, he'd thought Quinn might've just finally
done the right thing and broken up with Sam, letting him out of their
arrangement. Sam so plainly wanted Quinn to want him that Kurt thought he would
just as soon languish in the relationship forever, trying to please her by
wasting away if that was what she wanted, until someone else, a responsible
adult Domme like Ms. Pillsbury, intervened. It wasn't astoundingly uncommon for
a sub to ask to be let free; Brad Pitt was notorious for asking to be let out
of his tie to Jen Aniston. Seven years later and everyone was still talking
about it. But it was uncommon enough to be a shock. It simply wasn't the
submissive's place to terminate an agreement, and it was against most subs'
natures to even want to give up on their Dom. It did reflect badly on the
Dominant party, but it really harmed the submissive the most in the end. It
gave them a damaged goods kind of reputation, like they were publicly admitting
to a dysfunction akin to sterility – or worse, it made them seem snobby,
haughty, declaring that their Dom hadn't been able to tame or break or fulfill
them, which made them crazy attractive to intense and unstable Doms.
"And Santana?" he asked Tina.
"Offered her services as a mistress."
Kurt stared at Santana. She wasn't the most reliable Domme he'd ever laid eyes
on. She didn't want to settle down or take the time to build a relationship any
more than Quinn did. She just got off on being controlling. Which, of course,
Kurt got, but he just fundamentally didn't understand why some Doms thrived
more on clashing with others and being punitive for the sake of it. How could
they lack interest in taking control and ownership of every little thing? Not
just the sex, not just the daily activities of their submissive, or what they
wore or what activities they participated in or how they interacted with the
world, but really getting their hands in there and finding, exploiting,
nurturing, and loving every flaw and every virtue they could find.
Mr. Schuester's lesson that day continued on the theme he had been teaching all
week: anthems. Kurt never required the lessons, as emotions and music were
frankly his forte, so he let himself tune out and stare at the way Santana sat
there, triumphant but otherwise blasé, as uninterested in Sam as Quinn had
been. At least, he discovered, Quinn looked vaguely bitter and offended at
having to sit in the same room with the guy that had been her sub, watching him
be touched and publicly under the control of his new Domme.
After glee, Kurt considered calling Blaine to fill him in on the juicy deets,
but as he was walking through the parking lot to his car, he saw Sam standing
with Mike and Tina. He was shaking his head and smiling, refusing them
something in a polite way and deferring to Tina in particular. Tina took Mike's
arm, and they walked away, waving to Sam, who sighed and looked at the slushy
parking lot with eyes that were unfathomable, then turned and headed off to the
bus stop.
"Sam, wait," Kurt found himself calling out, and Sam looked back at him,
pausing immediately when he saw it was Kurt – a Dom. As a sub, he was naturally
attuned to want to do anything Kurt told him, even though he didn't have to and
it certainly wasn't some kind of social faux pas if he didn't. But he did
anyway, and as submissives rarely responded to him, Kurt was pleased, so he
stopped where he was and said, "Come here, if you don't mind."
"I have to catch the bus," Sam said, but he ambled toward Kurt cooperatively.
"Oh, well, I can give you a ride home," Kurt offered. "Unless, you know,
Santana wants you to walk."
"No, she didn't, like, tell me to walk. I just... I don't need a ride. I've got
bus fare and everything. I just don't wanna miss it, so I have to hustle."
"All right, I won't keep you too long," Kurt said, tilting his head and
examining the boy in front of him. Perhaps it was cliché of him, but he loved
the way Sam was tall and muscular, rather strapping but sleek and wrapped in a
cute boyband package. He'd known at first glance that Sam was a sub, but
something about him suggested that he could play the part of Dom, which just
made knowing he liked to be bossed around even hotter. He really was a catch.
"Look, it's none of my business, and I know you don't want to hear anyone
talking smack about your girl. I'm not here to disrespect you or her or what
you had. But I hope Santana is better to you than Quinn was. You deserve to be
happy, Sam. You deserve to be with someone you can please and who will reward
you for what a good sub you are."
Sam's face, which had fallen slowly and tellingly as Kurt spoke, reflecting his
misery and the obvious fact that he thought he'd publicly failed beyond
measure, twitched. His widened eyes gave away a flicker of absolute
astonishment. Then he snapped back into the reality of the moment and said,
automatic and high-pitched out of surprise, eyes riveted to the ground,
"Thanks."
"It's the truth," Kurt relished telling him. "I know Santana enjoyed your
Bieber Experience thing. Maybe she'll be a better fit for you. Appreciate all
that dedication you've got."
Sam's chest lifted over a breath, but Kurt could see that he didn't dare look
up.
"Oh, sorry," Kurt said, because he was being a socially clumsy oaf who had
plainly never had a sub; his only experience with the whole mess was watching
others, particularly in movies and musicals. He could tell Sam wasn't used to
such praises from a Dom, and it was a little too much, wasn't it. "I couldn't
help telling you. It's obvious to me that the problem with you and Quinn wasn't
you. I don't think there's a sub in the school who could make Quinn happy. I
heard a rumor you asked her to release you. If that's true, it was smart and
right of you – the most respectful thing you could have possibly done in that
situation – and I'm proud of you. And now I'll stop making you uncomfortable.
Go catch your bus and get home safely, Sam."
"Thanks," Sam repeated, a ghost of a smile on his mouth. His chin dipped in
awkward thanks, humble and careful, then he turned and hustled off toward the
bus stop near the end of the parking lot.
Kurt felt good. A little guilty for talking to a sub about his ex-Domme like
that, but he highly doubted Santana was going to do anything but call her a
two-faced skank, and someone had to let Sam know that he wasn't alone and
wasn't a failure. There was hope for him yet. Sam's only other sub friends were
Finn and Mike, and Finn was likely going to get punched in the eye if he told
Sam that it was all for the best. And Sam's new Domme wasn't known for being
exclusive, so for all Kurt knew, she was going to just use Sam for Dom cred and
booty calls while Sam was vulnerable.
 
*
 
The next week, Rachel got it in her crazy controlling brain to throw a party
for the glee kids, all so she could write a song. Like the rest of them needed
an excuse to cut loose. Kurt invited Blaine, because frankly, there needed to
be another Dom guy in the mix. It couldn't just be him, Puck, and Artie. Subs
were thin on the ground in glee club, and surprisingly, most of them were on
the football team. Things could get a little crazy and uneven with so many
Dominants crammed into one club, especially since most of the girls were
Dommes. Being a Warbler, Kurt thought, Blaine might actually help instill some
team unity into New Directions and keep the party from splintering into a
dramatic mess under everyone's different demands.
When he and Blaine arrived, Santana was busy marking her territory, perched on
Sam's lap in the corner, kissing him. Quinn stood nearby, a dark look on her
face. The show of ownership didn't seem to really click to Kurt, but he never
really would be able to ignore that dyed hair, which meant nothing about Sam
truly clicked. Kurt still hoped he was happy.
When Kurt saw alcohol was in the mix, he was actually somewhat relieved,
especially since things were still so awkward with the whole Finn-Quinn-Sam-
Santana situation and nobody knew what the hell was going on. Quinn hadn't
claimed Finn, as far as Kurt was aware, but everybody knew shit had gone down
because of Sam and now Santana was dangling her abrupt control of Sam in front
of the whole glee club. The whole thing felt like a bomb waiting to go off.
Kurt wasn't in favor of underage drinking and had no intentions of imbibing
anything, but in this scenario, even he could've used a drink.
Far East Movement thumped in the speakers. Kurt watched clothes come off, body
shots go down, quarters bounce.
Later there was spin-the-bottle, and Kurt sat in the circle as the hilarious
fates mis-matched them all like it was going out of style. There was Domme-on-
Domme (Tina and Zizes), sub-on-sub (Brittany and Sam, which predictably ruffled
Santana in all the wrong ways), Domme-on-Dom (Rachel and Blaine – eugh). Dom-
on-Dom relationships were common, even if each partner still had a sub – and it
was in fact extremely socially acceptable if they had several submissives,
embracing their responsibilities as Dominants – but Blaine was gay. Half his
show choir was dying to spread their legs for him. And Rachel wasn't submissive
and pining. She was just drunk. The deluded way they looked at each other was
gross.
They duetted anyway, of course. Santana clung on Sam, kissing him and berating
him and smacking him drunkenly, and even if it was the alcohol, he did look
happier than Kurt remembered him looking... maybe ever.
A sober Kurt wound up giving a third of the drunken party-goers rides home,
with his fellow designated driver Finn taking stewardship of others whose
parents would've flipped out if they weren't home by curfew. He dropped off a
giggly, sleepy Mercedes, then Brittany and a sobby Santana at Brittany's house,
and with Sam half-asleep in the backseat, drove the extra thirty minutes out to
Blaine's, laughing at his uncharacteristic happy sloppiness, one eye trained on
Sam in the rear-view.
"Sam, do you want to sit up front?" asked Kurt, after he watched Blaine stumble
his way inside.
Sam snuffled softly, eyes shut, and shook his head slowly, muttering something
so muddled Kurt didn't get it at all.
"What?"
"Don't deserve to," said Sam.
"What? Why not?" Kurt asked, wondering if Santana had been angrier about spin-
the-bottle than she'd let on.
"I hurt Quinn," Sam said, bleary, and collapsed into drunken tears. As far as
drunk crying went, Santana had the weepy hysterics on lockdown, and up to that
second, Kurt had thought Sam was happy. Happiest he'd ever been. His Domme had
been all over him for once. But Sam hid his face in his hands, his shoulders
shaking, and Kurt got the distinct impression that Sam had been holding the
maelstrom back since the second the alcohol had hit his system.
"Oh!" Kurt breathed, pushing the car into park and turning in his seat to tend
to the upset sub, immediately reaching back to pat his knee. "No, you didn't,
honey! You didn't do anything wrong!"
"But, Quinn," Sam got out.
"You're with Santana now. Quinn's not your mistress," Kurt told him. "Nothing
you do is any of her business now. All you have to worry about is Santana.
Quinn doesn't own you anymore, and if she abused your agreement to the point
where you wanted out of it, she lost the right to be upset with you."
"I didn't want out," Sam sobbed. "But she... she didn't want me."
Oh, fuck. Kurt was opening the door, climbing out of his seat and into the back
in a heartbeat, and he had the most terrible feeling that he was overstepping
his bounds, but what was he supposed to do? He was a Dom and a sub was sobbing
nearby. He just needed to wrap his arms around Sam right then and there.
Perfectly passively, Sam let Kurt gather him, chin tilting down with an
uncontrollable respect even as Kurt cradled him by the shoulders and tucked his
face into Sam's slightly damp, sweaty mop of hair. Sam broke further in his
arms.
"Why. Why. What's wrong with me? Why wasn't I good enough?"
"You were good enough, Sam," he whispered reassuringly. "You are good enough.
You're a good boy and a perfect sub. All you want to do is make your mistress
happy, right?"
Sam nodded wetly, profusely, and whispered, "Please," as though Kurt could give
him the opportunity to make Quinn happy.
"Remember what I told you?" Kurt asked him, rubbing his forearm and ruffling
the light hair on it in a way that made him want to shiver. "It wasn't you,
sweetie. And let me tell you another thing. It's not Finn, either. Finn can't
do anything you can't do. Try as he might, Finn isn't going to make Quinn
happy. She cheated on him with Puck before she cheated on you with him. He
can't be a good sub for her because she won't let him. Quinn is crazy. I don't
know what she's looking for, but no sub is going to make Quinn happy until she
figures out what she wants. Until then she's just going to go from person to
person and use people up and waste their time and their energy."
"I would let her," Sam choked, hitching, and seemed to let out a fresh round of
tears. "I would let her use me however she wanted."
"I know, Sam."
"She could use me however she wanted – I would do anything."
"I know. You'd do anything," Kurt repeated, and shushed Sam nonsensically. "You
just want to be a good sub, don't you?"
Sam nodded for him.
"I know how good you wanted to be for Quinn. But she wasn't using you like you
should be used. She claimed you just to have a sub, so she could be popular and
have everything she thinks the head cheerleader should, but without taking care
of you at all. If she really got with Finn, she was looking for someone else
without doing the honest thing and telling you what she wanted, and there was
nothing you could've done to keep her from doing that. It was wrong of her, and
not your fault. Do you hear me?"
Again, Sam nodded, but he didn't want it to be the truth, Kurt knew, and he
shook like a brawny leaf, sobbing as silently as he could make himself. Kurt
thought that perhaps it was the first time Sam had allowed himself to buckle
under the strain of the rift between him and his Domme and his efforts and his
disappointment, not mention the mortifying fact that it was hot gossip and
speculation about his abrupt hand-off from Quinn to Santana was still running
rampant through glee and throughout the school. He wondered if Santana knew or
cared about Sam's feelings at all, and if she did, how she could possibly
ignore them and continue to waste all the raw potential that was making Sam
shake and sob right now. It was like going around a pile of money just sitting
in the street, or acquiring an amazing vintage Dior piece and then locking it
away in an attic to be eaten by moths. He just couldn't comprehend it.
"Sam, I'm going to take care of you tonight, okay?" Kurt said. It wasn't
exactly a question, even though Sam could deny him if he wanted to. "Your
mistress isn't here, so I want you to let me take good care of you so when we
get you back to her, you're sober and showered and ready to fetch her a bucket
and hold her hair back while she pukes and cusses you out in Spanish, okay?"
A tremor ran through Sam's shoulders, but Kurt was pretty sure it was closer to
a laugh than a sob.
"'Kay."
Kurt couldn't resist; he hadn't had anything to drink, but was close enough to
drunk, with the way Sam was letting him tend to his tears like this.
"What was that?" he pressed gently.
Quickly, Sam nodded, temple rubbing against Kurt's shoulder, and breathed,
"Yes."
"I'm taking care of you tonight?" Kurt asked.
"Yes," Sam whispered, and shuddered so bone-deep that Kurt flushed hard in his
pants.
"Good," he whispered, heady with the rush of powerful arousal. "That's a good
boy, Sam."
 
*
 
Taking Sam home with him seemed like a dream. As per his instructions, Sam laid
down obediently in the back seat as they drove from Blaine's upper-class suburb
neighborhood back into Lima, and when Kurt turned at every stop light to check
on him, he was simply breathing softly, not asleep, but there with Kurt
trustingly, face slack and unguarded. He let Kurt help him out of the car and
take him upstairs to his room with no fuss or question whatsoever. When Kurt
gave him a pair of sweatpants and told him to change, he began unbuttoning his
jeans immediately. Kurt turned to go get him a glass of water and some aspirin,
returning to find him standing there in the sweatpants, folding his jeans
sloppily.
"Do I take my shirt off?" he asked.
"No. Leave it on," said Kurt, envisioning Santana taking on Dark Phoenix-like
powers and simply destroying his house with one crazed glance. It was unkosher
enough that he was moving into caretaker mode with another Dom's sub, even
though she was drunk and off with another sub, probably scissoring her
drunkenly right at that moment, and Sam needed tending. The agreement that Sam
was under his wing just for the night was the most temporary kind, and actually
meant nothing other than that Sam was naturally deferring to Kurt's dominance,
but Kurt knew he'd bristle if Sam was his and someone else put him to bed,
gained his obedience like it was nothing special. He handed Sam the pills and
glass of water. "Take these, drink that whole glass, then lie down. I want you
to get some sleep. I'll get you up in the morning. Hopefully you won't feel
sick."
Sam obediently took the pills, gulping them down with an audible tug of water.
It was times like this that Kurt realized just how easily Dominants could take
advantage of submissives. Some of them liked that, of course, but it made him
sick to think that Sam could someday wind up going home with anyone who would
spare a kind word for him, willingly take whatever drugs they wanted him to,
and wind up in god only knows what kind of terrible position. He watched as Sam
worked with dedication at the glass until it was drained, which was so ungodly
satisfying, it honestly turned him on.
"Where do you want me to lie down?" Sam asked, breathing hard and wet.
Kurt took the glass from him. "My bed."
Sam clumsily twisted to look at Kurt's bed. It looked rather drunk, but Kurt
was familiar enough with Sam's ungainly limbs to know that was also just kind
of how he moved in general.
"Your bed?"
"Yes. I want you to be a good boy and lie down in my bed," said Kurt
unnecessarily, getting a shameful thrill out of it. "Are you gonna do what I
ask you to, Sam?"
"Yes," Sam said responsively, and crawled right onto the bed.
"Get under the blankets," Kurt commanded, and enjoyed watching him tug the
blanket down, clumsy, trying to figure out how to get under it when he was also
on top of it already, his blood alcohol level undoubtedly impeding the process.
Kurt hummed his approval when Sam found his way in and settled down. Then he
went to his wardrobe and pulled out a pair of pajamas for himself. The reality
of sleeping in the same bed as an adorable sub who was so obviously hungering
for his directions was sort of a rude one, and Kurt was fairly obviously
aroused. But even if Sam was drunk, his ultimate attraction and devotion was to
Santana or even still to Quinn, and Kurt knew that. Kurt was the only one who
wished he could be more commanding, more decisive and invasive. He changed in
his vanity corner, eventually making his way to his bed after his moisturizing
was complete.
Sam was blinking up at him from his pillow, exhausted and glazed-drunk and
dazed all at the same time.
"Are you going to sleep like I told you to?" Kurt asked him gently, seating
himself on the edge of the mattress.
"Yes. I was just waiting for you – I just wanted to – wait..." Sam was quiet as
he watched Kurt settle in next to him, his throat stretching when he nestled
into the pillow and closed his eyes. "I get to sleep in your bed...?"
"Mm. Are you a happy boy?" Kurt asked, amused but touched, too, at the idea
that his bed was something Sam got to do. He knew it was just a privilege Sam
hadn't earned with Quinn or Santana, so it was more novel on the face of it
than anything, and that if Puck or Artie or, really, any Dom had invited him to
share anything, he might have been similarly, if not as openly, impressed. He
reached over and smoothed Sam's hair over his forehead delicately, tucking it.
"Yes. I'm happy. I want... I wanna..."
Sam trailed off, all breath; Kurt could practically see him falling asleep.
 
*
 
Kurt had kind of forgotten about his dad. His judgment wasn't impaired, of
course – he'd just been thinking so much about Sam (and to a lesser extent, the
Dom bomb he was starting to feel like he was going to have to drop on Santana)
that he just hadn't really thought about his dad finding him with a sub in his
bed. A boy sub. A super-hot, drunk-ish boy sub.
"His Domme was too drunk to take care of him and I didn't want him to drive! I
was being responsible!" Kurt tried, getting waaaay too close a shave, like he
wanted to hear his dad fumble around with the topics of gay sex and what it
meant to be a Dom in the bedroom. He wound up having to agree that he'd ask his
dad before allowing any boys, especially submissives, to sleep over again.
Sam sobered up massively as he processed the discussion and seemed deeply
mortified to have been discovered in the bed of a Dom who wasn't his own, but
obediently ate two slices of wheat toast and half a grapefruit under the
watchful stare of two Hummels, only ceasing when Finn lumbered downstairs and
stopped short at the sight of him.
"Oh. Hey, Sam."
There was utter silence until Kurt took him upstairs again.
"Don't let my dad freak you out," advised Kurt. "I know he's intimidating, but
I have to get it from somewhere, right? Hahaha."
As a favor to Kurt, Sam smiled lopsidedly, but it didn't touch his wide, nearly
frantic eyes.
"Are you okay? What do you need, Sam?" Kurt questioned.
"Um. My phone?"
"Is it in your jeans pocket? You can check if you want."
He watched Sam kneel and grope around in the denim he'd tried to fold but just
abandoned messily on the floor the night before. Kurt knew intrinsically that
he was going to call Santana, desperate to check in with her and find out if he
was in trouble and what she wanted him to do, the desire stronger than the one
to call his parents to tell them where he was and that he was fine.
"You know what you need?" Kurt asked him. "A bubble bath."
"I do?" Sam asked, looking up from his search for a second, looking minorly
horrified.
"You do. A nice, warm, relaxing bubble bath. I'll go draw one for you."
Kurt thought at that point Sam might actually shake his head and refuse the
further attention, with Santana close to his fingertips.
Instead, he said, "I don't deserve that."
"You don't?" Kurt said, disappointed in an entirely unexpected way. It seemed
like none of the reassuring words he'd had for Sam last night had penetrated
through the fog of alcohol in Sam's head. "Well, I think you deserve a bath
after that awkward conversation you had to sit through. And if not you, what
about me? Don't I deserve to fulfill my obligations as the Dominant taking care
of you currently? You did tell me you trusted me to ensure that you returned to
Santana in perfect condition, did you not?"
"Yeah, I – you can do whatever you want, obviously, I just – Kurt, I don't
deserve these things from you. I'm not worthy." Before Kurt knew it, Sam's nose
was touching his floor, the pit of his spine peeking from between the waist of
his sweatpants and the end of the polo he'd slept in. His phone was dropped and
his fists clenched, but they flattened themselves too, pleadingly. His voice
seemed to be firmer even though it echoed up from the floor. "Only your sub
should be given so much attention. I – I slept in your bed. You made me
breakfast and watched me eat it. I'm not worthy of those privileges, Kurt.
You're treating me like a sub who's learned all his lessons and pleased his
master and earned all these things. I'm so sorry, Kurt. I'm so sorry. I don't
deserve it."
"Or," said Kurt, "I'm showing you how worthy you are of being cared for,
especially after so obediently putting on the clothes I asked you to and
sleeping just where I told you to, and being so perfectly submissive to me in
front of my dad and Finn. I may not be your master, but the fact that you want
so desperately to please isn't lost on me like it is on those girls. You're
just wasted on them. If you ask me, they have no imagination. All the things
I'd make you do... I know you'd try so hard for your master. You make me wish
you were my sweet little sub. You're begging for attention so damn hard, and
I'd give you so much attention, your head would spin. I'd take such good care
of you."
Kurt drew a breath and eased off the offensive, knowing it was ridiculous of
him to say all that. If Santana cared enough to ask Sam if Kurt had promised
him anything or tried anything funny, he'd be so busted.
"I know you like girls and you wouldn't get anything out of being with me, but
I'll be sure to tell Santana how eager you are to do even the simplest things,
things other Doms like Quinn and Artie and even Tina take totally for granted.
I'm sure she'll be pleased to learn she's got such a gem on her hands, and
you'll be able to be a good boy for her, even if all she ever asks of you is to
be her arm candy."
Sam was utterly still, but Kurt could see him breathing, quick and shallow,
phone abandoned by his bent knees.
"I'm going to draw you a bubble bath, cutie pie," Kurt told him, chuckling
sadly. Sam might not have been his to truly own or discipline, but he was at
least going to pamper him while he had him in the same house as luxury bath
products.
Finn was out in the hall, wandering by with his laundry basket, and shot Kurt a
look.
"Santana's not gonna like Sam being so subby for you."
"And Quinn's gonna get bored of you in about two days, bud," Kurt shot back.
"Then you're gonna come crawling to me, begging for warm milk, and if you say
one more word about Sam, I'm not gonna be the one scratching your itch."
"Hey..." Finn frowned. "I wasn't trying to get personal!"
"Where do you think Santana is?" asked Kurt, rifling through the bathroom
cabinet for his bubble bath.
"At Brittany's," said Finn. "Probably paddling her or something."
"So, not making sure Sam, the guy she's pretending is her sub, is alive and
well and happy."
Finn sighed as he thudded down the staircase. "You're such a Dom sometimes,
jeez."
"Thank you!" said Kurt, exasperated.
He felt happier as he drew the bath for Sam, though, and added a very generous
amount of pale pink bubble bath. It frothed in the gush of hot water, and Kurt
left the tub to slowly fill, heading back to his room to retrieve Sam... who
hadn't moved an inch, or probably a muscle at all. He was still bent in
supplication to the floor.
"Sam?" he asked kindly. "Are you alive down there?"
"Please," Sam mouthed. Kurt wasn't sure he'd heard that right, except for Sam
repeated himself, gasping like he couldn't breathe. "Please – Kurt –"
"Say it, Sam," Kurt said, the words coming out instinctively commanding.
"Please – take me," Sam huffed at the floor. His hands flew to the back of his
neck, then, making him look like he was cowering there, afraid. "Sorry! I know
I'm not – I know it's not my place! Please don't hate me, Kurt, please. Don't
hate me. Please."
Exhilarated, Kurt bent and grasped at the back of Sam's neck, ruffling his hair
and making Sam's fingers go slack and supple for him.
"I don't hate you. How could I hate such a beautiful boy begging for me?"
"It's not good. I'm not good enough," moaned Sam.
"Yes, you are. Ask me again, Sam. Let me hear what you want."
"I wanna do whatever you want," replied Sam, shivering there on the floor.
"Please."
"Oh, my," Kurt practically gloated. "What I'm hearing is that you want to be my
little sub. You want to be my sub?"
"Yes," whimpered Sam.
For an insane beat, Kurt reveled. This was it. Maybe he should've seen it
coming, but he hadn't through the static and the drama. Of course Sam had been
so unhappy with Quinn and hadn't known what else to do except try and belong to
Santana. Sam was supposed to be his but hadn't known it until this very moment,
even though Kurt suspected ownership had changed the second Santana had gone
home with Brittany and left him in Kurt's car.
"If you really mean it, then pick up your phone and dial Santana right now."
Sam fumbled. He didn't seem inclined to move from his frogged bow, mortified or
desperate or just triggered somehow into needing to display how sorry,
submissive, willing, or worshipful he was. Kurt didn't really know or even care
to distinguish right then. He sat there hanging onto Sam's neck, stroking it
like Sam was a little kitty cat for him to pet, as Sam essentially dialed
Santana from memory. She had taken the top spot on his speed dial. Kurt reached
out and turned on speaker phone, listening to it ring with his heart so perfect
and right in his chest. He wasn't even worried.
"Why on God's green earth are you calling," a raspy voice finally demanded.
"Oh, that's nice," commented Kurt.
"... Kurt. I'm about to hurl. What do you want."
"Release your sub to me, Santana."
There was a pause, then a small but gross belch.
"What?" she asked, sounding a little more like she was actually paying
attention.
"Give. Me. Your. Sub," said Kurt distinctly. "Sam. Give me Sam. Go find another
sad boy to be your beard."
"What the fuck is going on, here?" Santana demanded, aggravated.
"I'm fifteen seconds from giving Sam a nice hot bubble bath. Look, this is
pretty much a courtesy call. I'm going to do it whether you want me to or not.
I just need you to cross the Ts and dot the Is, for all our sakes."
"Somebody pinch me. I'm having an alcohol-induced dream that lady Hummel's
speaking to me in unintelligible tongues."
"Sam," Kurt said patiently. "Tell Santana what you want."
Sam turned his blushing face out from the floor, eyes tightly shut, but he
didn't hesitate to beg.
"Please, Santana. Mistress. I'm sorry. I'm not a good sub."
"None of that talk, or I'll spank you," Kurt told him. Honestly, spanking Sam
sounded more like a reward than a punishment; he had endless patience for this
right now, anyway. "Try again. Tell Santana what you want."
Sam rubbed his forehead against the floor in obvious apology, gasping, voice
coming out quivery. "I want to be Kurt's."
"Oh, what? Kurt, did you cast some kind of gay spell on my trouty slave-boy?
Did you make him watch Female Trouble and lure him into your bed by waving
LipSmackers under his nose?"
"LipSmackers are super good bait," Kurt heard a girl say. She was obviously
right next to Santana. "They attract fish, skunks, robots, bears, and lots of
other things found in the wild."
"Hi, Brittany," said Kurt.
"Hi, Kurt. Hi, Sam."
Santana huffed in disgust.
"Whatever, Aaron's Party."
She hung up, and Kurt spared no time.
"Good job, Sam," he said warmly, and bent to nuzzle the hot side of Sam's face,
tangling his fingers in Sam's bleached locks. God, he could not wait to get
some toner on them – but first, he couldn't wait to get Sam in the bath and
wash the smell of last night's party and all that face-sucking he'd been doing
with his former mistress right off him. He whispered, "It made me happy to hear
you say how you want to be mine."
Sam moaned meekly, but Kurt just ate it up. Now he had the freedom to touch
this badly-treated hair all he wanted, and he took a moment to stroke it down
against Sam's neck.
"Don't worry about Santana anymore. She released you to me, didn't she? Now I
can take good care of you, just like I told you I would. And I'm a man of my
word, just like you, Sam. I want to take you to your bath. Come on."
Under the light guide of Kurt's hand, Sam pushed onto all fours, and it struck
Kurt how much he liked the sight before they were both on their feet and Sam
was dazedly leaving his phone behind on the floor, willingly coming along as
Kurt led him down the hall to the bathroom.
The tub was nice and full, bubbles quivering delicately on top of the water.
Kurt reached to twist the faucet off.
"Now," he said, thinking out loud, "I know you're straight, Sam, and you know
I'm not at all. So I want you to be honest with me, because I've never heard of
a gay guy dominating a straight guy – just straight women dominating gay guys.
Sometimes straight men, too. Would it make you uncomfortable for me to stay in
here with you? You know I'm going to stay either way. I've seen you naked
before. I just want to know how you feel about that."
"I'm not uncomfortable," said Sam softly, head bowed. "I want you to stay with
me."
"You do?" Kurt said happily.
"I'm – I've been with a guy before... kinda," gulped Sam. He looked like it was
taking all his strength to not get right back down on the floor and plead for
mercy. Kurt reached out and bolstered him by the biceps, gut seized by dual
triumph and jealousy. That guy, whoever he was, was obviously not important
now, and hadn't been so important to Sam in the past that he'd tried to be with
a guy again, but the hair on the back of Kurt's neck prickled possessively
anyway. He hazarded a guess.
"A guy tried to dom you."
"I –" Sam struggled for a second, shamefaced. "I tried to dom him."
"Oh! Wow," Kurt managed, shocked. Sam was just so obviously submissive to
him... but then, he had lashed out at Karofsky in the locker room on Kurt's
behalf and rocked a shiner for his parents' wedding, and Kurt had entertained
the odd thought about how Sam looked capable of acting as a switch. "It didn't
work out, I take it?"
Sam shook his head. "He... he was a sub and did what I asked... I just
didn't... work the same around him as I did by myself. You know? In my head. If
I was jerking off. I always heard all kinds of stuff. Like begging. I thought
it was 'cause I wanted to hear someone saying that kind of stuff to me..."
"But it was really you. Your words. You wanted to be the one begging and
pleading," said Kurt proudly.
Nodding, Sam sighed, giving Kurt the impression that a disgraceful weight had
been lifted off his chest just admitting all that – and maybe readmitting and
affirming his own desire to beg and submit right there in front of Kurt, his
new Dom.
"That's adorable," Kurt told him affectionately, stroking his shoulders and
rubbing his thumbs across Sam's handsome jaw. "Are you attracted to guys, Sam?
You don't have to be just for my sake. Whatever you are, whatever you like, I
want to be your Dom either way. You're perfect just the way you are."
Sam seemed to swell at the words, peeking up at Kurt for a hot instant. It made
Kurt want to smile; he'd never told Sam to keep his head lowered like that, and
wondered if Quinn had, or if it was just his natural instinct.
"I think so," he said. "I'm – seriously turned on right now."
Glancing down, Kurt erupted into a giddy chuckle; Sam was tenting the
sweatpants Kurt had put in him so severely, the swell and strain of it could've
counted as one of the seven wonders of the natural world.
"That's because you're a sweet little sub, and you love telling me all your
dirty secrets, and you know you're finally gonna get the domming you deserve,
don't you, Sam."
Sam gasped softly, barely getting any breath behind the word, "Yes?"
"Mmm," Kurt said approvingly. "That's right. You don't really need to be gay to
love that idea, do you."
"I guess not," Sam admitted, blushing.
"Let's get you in the tub," Kurt decided, relishing in the sheer control he
felt, and in the way he could tell Sam was swooning for him, opening up to him
the way an ideal, ready submissive should, wanting him regardless of whether or
not he was actually into dick, just because Kurt was his master.
Oh, not quite yet, but almost.
 
*
 
Kurt was on top of the world. No one could tell him he wasn't the world's
greatest Master-to-be. And no one, not even Blaine, could tell him that Sam was
anything but the world's most beautiful, sexy, sweet, earnest little sub.
"Sam is definitely pretty," Blaine agreed, sitting cross-legged at Kurt's
vanity. "But pretty isn't the most important thing. Compatibility is. Are you
really, seriously going to take on a straight sub? Isn't that a little reckless
and masochistic?"
"Oh, psh. You wouldn't be saying 'straight' if you'd seen him in the bath. He
was fully functional."
"So you were with him."
"No," said Kurt demurely. "Not yet. Don't get me wrong, I think he would have
done anything I wanted. He told me as much while he was bowing and scraping on
the floor, and he let me pop him in the bath, no big deal. It was so precious.
He really barely fit in there. He's taller than he looks. He's got those long
limbs, and he's so ripped they don't look gangly, but oh, they are gangly.
Sweetest thing. His knees poked up from the bubbles and he stared up at me with
those big gorgeous green eyes of his and let me soap him up just about
everywhere. Stayed at attention the whole time, if you know what I mean."
"Wow," Blaine commented, shifting and palming casually at the hard-on that
vivid portrait had inspired. "So you won't watch porn, but you'll rub a sub in
a tub."
Kurt shot Blaine a frown. "Are you here to spit rhyme on my parade?"
"Absolutely not," said Blaine solemnly. "I just don't think you know what
you're getting into."
"Um, I know better than anyone else what I'm getting into," Kurt said. "You do
know Sam was paraded around on the arms of two thirds of a group of girls who
call themselves 'The Unholy Trinity,' right? I did mention that? I did mention
that Quinn is a serial cheater, and that Santana had zero intentions of
collaring him, not even with a celibacy charm? I did tell you that these
reputation-obsessed girls never even tried to nourish him as a sub?"
"You did," replied his friend. "And I think it's sweet that you want to step in
and save him from bouncing around from Cheerio to Cheerio. But you've never
been anyone's Dom."
"Neither have you," Kurt reminded him. "You keep trying to dom other Doms. What
does that say about you, Blaine?"
Blaine didn't seem concerned.
"I really do think it's sweet that you want to train this guy. And I get why
he's so tempting to you. Picking low-hanging fruit is fun and easy. I just
think you're dreaming. You're moving into collaring him without even knowing if
he can obey you to the fullest, deepest extent, if he can please you –
sexually. Don't stick your fingers in your ears! Kurt! I'm serious! That's
important, whether you want to admit it or not."
"I don't disagree that it's a major factor of any relationship, I just don't
think it's the deciding factor! And like I said, Sam was up for it. Literally."
"Of course he was aroused. You bathed him. That kind of thing is incredibly
intense for a sub, especially when the claim is so new! He was probably about
to lose it just wondering what you thought while you were soaping him up. But
Kurt, how are you going to feel when you realize he's only responding to you
because you're giving him the kind of attention he's been craving, and when you
see that at the end of the day, he's romantically interested in girls? It'll
drive you nuts with jealousy, and I know you. You're kind and incredibly
giving. A romantic Dom. You don't want to be one of those jealous, petty Doms,
getting off on their sub's reluctance and misery."
"Well, okay, Hurricane Anderson," Kurt finally managed. "Now that you've rained
on my parade, flooded my village, and wrecked my economy for the next decade,
if that's the case and Sam isn't happy with me, I'll do the right thing, unlike
Quinn and Santana. I'll help him find a new Domme and be happy."
Blaine shook his head. "You're even more of a romantic than I thought. That
sounds like a movie starring Kate Winslet and Colin Firth."
"Am I Kate Winslet or Colin Firth?"
 
*
 
Rather than another chapter of an ongoing drama, it was kind of just the end of
the scandal for Sam to suddenly be at Kurt's side. After what had happened with
Quinn, the idea of Santana scooping up the queen bee's leftovers only to
discover they weren't any good didn't send any real shock waves through
McKinley. In fact, it seemed to make sense to most people, especially people
who had thought Sam was gay. And, well, Santana and Kurt weren't interested in
giving the story any other spin than that, lest both Santana and Sam be subject
to ridicule. Sam asking to be released from two Dommes was a little too much;
the version of events that detailed Santana releasing him because her gaydar
had gone off just made it all go down easier for everyone.
And Sam, for his part, didn't seem to care. Whatever his sexuality, he only had
eyes for Kurt.
Sam began every day by waiting for Kurt next to Kurt's locker, lighting up at
the sight of him. He'd reach for Kurt's lock and open it for him, obviously
liking the way Kurt stood there and watched him do it, waiting expectantly on
him. That kind of display was one of the many hundreds of tiny little things
that differed from relationship to relationship – just how much general
servitude the submissive engaged in and just how much the Dom wanted to treat
their sub like the help. Kurt didn't really get off on that. He actually liked
to cook and do his own laundry, maybe because he was just that controlling. But
he and Sam were a week into their fledgling relationship and Kurt wanted to
give Sam as many chances to serve him and succeed as a submissive as he could
think of. Unlike most Dominants, he wasn't relying on sex and hormones to seal
the deal.
After Kurt was ready, he would walk Sam to his locker to check his schedule and
make sure he had all his homework. Sam was not an honor roll student, but Kurt
didn't expect him to be. He'd discovered that Sam was dyslexic, which explained
a lot, really, so Kurt was just pleased that Sam tried and responded so
fervently to simple praise. The words "good job" practically made him drop his
books and nearly mow other students down on a daily basis.
From there, Sam would carry Kurt's books to Kurt's first class, luxuriate in
the farewell pet Kurt would give his round cheek, and hurry on to his first
period.
In the cafeteria, Sam and Kurt had rarely sat together before, so Kurt had not
realized how strict Sam's diet was. He ate celery sticks, plain tuna, a bowl of
strawberries now and then, salads with no dressing. It was marvelously low-fat
and low-carb, but also simple to the point where it seemed like there was no
pleasure to be had from the food he consumed. It was just fuel for him to burn.
Kurt lathered on the praise, because Sam's diet was probably a nutritionist's
wet dream, if a little unvaried, and encouraged him to put some peanut butter
and raisins on his rice cakes. After a couple of weeks of watching him eat
fastidiously, Kurt began making him various things and giving them to him at
the lunch table: hummus on homemade toasted whole-grain pita chips, prosciutto-
wrapped low-fat mozzarella sticks, lemon-spritzed edamame. Kurt pretty much
turned into a Jewish mother-in-law just looking at him. "Eat, eat," he'd say,
and feel in Sam's posture how he was dying to bend and put his head in Kurt's
lap or something, but didn't dare.
Sometimes they would meet during study hall and Kurt would set Sam a simple
task of working on his homework, watching an educational Madonna music video on
YouTube (he had to learn sometime), or lying quietly with his head down on the
table while Kurt stroked his hair and told him his t-shirt was cute, his shoes
were tied nice and neatly, he really rocked that letterman jacket, whatever. It
was fun to bring Sam to a simmer while Azimio stole and blatantly ate each and
every one of Stoner Brett's gummi worms and Jacob Ben Israel had panic attacks
over his trigonometry.
Some days, Kurt would press a gift into Sam's hand between classes: a tube of
Chapstick for his pretty lips, a note for Sam to put up in his locker, a USB
drive filled with songs and pictures that reminded Kurt of him.
On some level, Kurt was aware that other Doms were looking at him like he was
ignorant and short-sighted, spoiling his sub, giving him praise for seemingly
no reason, right up-front. Behavioral problems were going to crop up if he
didn't exercise his control from the get-go, he could just hear them saying.
They were obviously and amusingly ignorant of the fact that they had it
completely backwards. Kurt was doing important work, building Sam's trust in
him up so he could train and discipline him effectively when the time came, not
spoiling an undisciplined brat. They didn't understand that Sam was deeply in
the negatives when it came to sub-esteem, and had only had strange, Quinn-
specific training that included regular orgasm denial sans positive
reinforcement.
In glee, Sam sat next to him the same way he'd sat next to Quinn for months,
dedicated and humbled, arm allowed around Kurt's shoulders. Kurt didn't doubt
that if they hadn't been his ex-Dommes, both Quinn and Santana would have some
interesting things to say about their sub winding up with the gay kid. It was
exciting, though. Kurt had never had a presence like this at his side, so
deeply and utterly different than his friendships with fellow Dominants and
even submissives like his stepbrother. That one time he'd butched up to pretend
he could dom Brittany did not count. Knowing he was the center of Sam's world
cemented Kurt's certainty in who he was and what he was doing.
After school, Sam often had to go home and baby-sit his younger siblings. He
also had a job delivering pizzas. But he called Kurt obediently on his breaks
and after he got off work and also before he went to sleep so Kurt could tuck
him in. He was always very quiet then.
"Do your parents know there's a new Dom in your life? And that it's not a
girl?" Kurt asked him one night.
"I think so," Sam said hesitantly, "'cause I call you so much."
"Haven't told them yet, huh?"
"I'm sorry," Sam whispered.
"What are they going to say when you come home with a collar on?" teased Kurt.
There was a clunk and some static, then some silence and a stilted breath.
"Sam?" Kurt intoned.
"Was that a joke?" Sam asked nakedly.
"Of course not. I'd never collar-tease you."
"Kurt," Sam whuffled, and sniffed, and started to cry.
"You seem surprised," Kurt said, a perfect Venn diagram between amused,
sympathetic, and turned on listening to his sub breathe in helpless huffs over
the phone. He always was aroused, at least emotionally, just talking to Sam, or
sitting with him at school, enjoying the simple but vast pleasure of students
milling past them, knowing they were attached and that Sam was now willingly
submitting to him. He loved checking Sam's homework and touching his too-long
hair (often unnecessarily) and feeding him at lunchtime. He hadn't forgotten
Blaine's unwelcome but ultimately well-intentioned reality check, but even
taking all the unusual things about his relationship with Sam into
consideration, as a Dom, he was still keen to mark his territory. Sam wasn't
low-hanging fruit to him. But he was the only one who seemed to feel that way.
Sam was obviously still suffering from the blow to the head that had been his
relationship with Quinn.
Sam finally scraped himself together enough to whisper, "I don't deserve you."
"I decide what you deserve, and I give you exactly what you deserve," Kurt
returned, cheeky.
"Yes," Sam breathed immediately, hiccoughing.
"Quinn gave you a promise ring, didn't she?" Kurt asked.
"Yes."
"Cute, cute. Kind of churchy for me, though. What do you think about the full-
on Puckerman?"
"Are you being for real with me right now?" Sam wondered.
"Absolutely. Leather collar. Spiked studs. D-ring on the front for a leash... I
like a bold statement piece, what about you?"
Sam just squeaked pathetically. Kurt grinned, imagining him curled up on his
side in bed with tears running over his round baby cheeks.
"You'd like anything I put on you, huh, cutie?"
"Yes, Kurt," Sam choked eagerly.
"Are you sure?" Kurt teased.
"Yes – I'm sure. I know I would. I can't believe you want to –"
"What?"
"C – collar me," wheezed Sam.
"Ooh, good boy," purred Kurt. "Was that hard for you to say?"
Sam sniffed and made a tiny noise.
"So you do like the idea," Kurt said, knowing full well Sam did. Submissives
were as eager to be claimed and collared as Dominants were to collar them, if
not moreso – Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if Sam's dick was hard right
then and there, full enough to jerk and wag helplessly – but Sam had a lot of
baggage and a need more visible to Kurt's eye than anyone else's. "You'd wear a
black leather bitch collar in front of the whole school?"
After a pause, Sam managed, "I'd wear anything you want. Everybody knows about
me either way."
"'Bout what, honey?"
"... That I'm your sub."
"Music to my ears," Kurt told him. "Say it again for me."
"I'm – 'm your sub," Sam whispered.
"Sweet boy. Do you know how those words sound coming from that mouth of yours?"
"Stupid?" Sam asked. Kurt clicked his tongue lightly.
"No. They sound perfect. Just like when you told Santana you wanted to belong
to me instead of her. Didn't that feel good to admit? That you wanted to be
mine, and for me to take care of you?"
"Kurt," Sam breathed heavily, "please – I'm – not really alone."
"Hmm? Is someone in the room with you?"
"Yeah."
"Poor thing. Did I get you all worked up?"
Sam grunted in affirmation, and Kurt thrilled from the core up, all that talk
of collars coming back to him hard. He was domming Sam in front of his own
family and hadn't even known it, but now that he did, it was all the more
satisfying to his budding possessive streak.
"Then I'll let you go to suffer in peace," Kurt told him. "But you just made
your Dom very happy, saying all those things for me. You should be proud of
yourself. Are you my good boy, Sam?"
"Yes!"
"Are you gonna sleep tight and remember to bring in those extra credit diagrams
of enzymes and stuff tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Good," Kurt purred. "See you tomorrow, cutie."
"See you."
Incredibly stirred, Kurt just fucking soaked in his own precome for another
minute before giving in to the demanding beat of his blood and unzipping his
jeans. Simply talking to his sub did this to him. He knew it was powerful for
Sam, too, a near-involuntary physical response like embarrassment that could be
tempered and regulated and mentally downplayed, but the simple notion he'd once
had of a submissive who would want to do all kinds of dirty things with him was
somehow nothing in comparison to the reality of what was in his control. He
stroked himself feverishly, thinking of how Sam hadn't even been able to
vocalize the word "collar" for him, and that was all it took for him to blow an
insane amount of come up his own stomach and arm.
The next morning, Sam was flustered at first sight. Weirdly, Kurt knew what he
needed immediately.
"C'mere, beautiful," he murmured, and wrapped Sam in a hug that lasted so long
they were both late for first period.
 
*
 
Kurt probably wasn't the only Dom out there with such exacting fantasies and
tastes that he'd started mentally picking out the kind of thing he wanted his
submissive to wear for him from the time his dominating instincts had kicked
in. He'd always leaned toward the lavish, been torn between different over-the-
top, ahead-of-the-curve things that would announce to the entire world the kind
of visionary he was – something in him did love the idea of chain mail, from a
purely aesthetic Lady Gaga video-esque standpoint.
But it warranted a lot of thought, actually. A collar could be almost anything
and still be considered a collar, as long as it was a material, physical
indicator that the submissive was being considered, trained, or owned that the
Dom placed on their submissive with intent and understanding. Tons of people,
Brad and Angelina included, did the tattoo thing. Miss Holliday had told them
she preferred piercings because they were more temporary; they would heal and
they were total sexy fun if you got them in the right places. (Kurt had to
admit he was rather intrigued.) Jewelry of most types were highly favored by
those who didn't like the slavery flavor of old-school collars, the latter of
which went in and out of vogue regularly. Depending on the couple, sometimes
the jewelry was almost totally unobtrusive, but sometimes it was huge, obvious,
meant to be eye-catching or even body-modifying. Rings and regrettable tattoos
were especially popular with teens, and even in elementary school, woven
friendship bracelets denoting kids fumbling around with their feelings were
respected by adults as collars of consideration. Chastity devices were big with
extremist hardcore Doms, and those, Kurt agreed, were sexy, but as awesome as
the mental picture was, he couldn't imagine Sam successfully delivering pizzas
with his cock in a cage. He went to church every Sunday, too. Kurt was sure a
lot of Catholic priests were wearing all kinds of fucked up cages and cilices
under their billowy robes, but Sam wouldn't have that luxury.
Something in Kurt rejected the notion of going to a jewelry store. Maybe just
because he didn't want to repeat anything Quinn had done; all she had proven to
Sam was that a ring meant nothing. Anyway, he and Sam were hardly a traditional
match.
He thought about Sam. Sam was traditional and definitely seemed like the
promise ring sort of boy. But also, he wouldn't look right in a tall burgundy
snakeskin collar with a gigantic, ornate buckle. Designer things seemed too
fussy and materialistic. Sam was masculine and athletic. However, a casual,
simple leather bracelet seemed like not nearly enough.
So he wound up custom-ordering two thick camo-print leather cuffs, D-rings on
their more traditional black leather straps and all. Camo was always in, in his
opinion, and butched up any ensemble. The cuffs were fun, young, super-hot,
would go with anything Sam wore to school, but most importantly, they were
thick statement pieces that nobody could miss, and suited both Kurt's tastes
and Sam's t-shirt-jeans-sneakers aesthetic. Maybe for a formal collar...
someday... ugh, he was getting way, way too ahead of himself.
Impressing himself with his own patience, Kurt waited till after school so he
could take Sam to glee with him as his officially collared submissive. He
entertained himself with an idle fantasy about the cuffs peeking out from Sam's
striped shirt sleeves. When Sam came from his European History class to Kurt's
locker, clutching his trapper and history book and grinning at the way Kurt was
watching him come along, Kurt pulled their cute little box out of his locker
and opened it right in front of him.
Sam's expression turned into one of confusion then shock right there in the
hallway, in the middle of the after-school bustle of guys in letterman jackets
high-fiving and Cheerios hurrying towards the gym for practice. Kurt knew Sam
had understood him to be serious about wanting to collar him, but he still fell
right to his knees the second he laid eyes on the cuffs, some submissive
instinct kicking in so hard it sort of looked like he was about to Animorph
into a turtle as he pressed his forehead to the dirty floor, backpack still on
his shoulders.
"Kurt," he whispered at Kurt's feet, touching Kurt's boots tentatively with his
fingertips.
"Look up at me, Sam," said Kurt, arch and aching fiercely with pleasure
already. Sam's big eyes turned up on him, brimming with tears, and something
about the hunch of his posture said what Sam was trying not to say anymore: I'm
not good enough; I'm not worthy; I'm not worth it; I don't deserve this. Kurt
didn't need to hear it to respond to it. "I want you as my sub. Officially.
You're beautiful and sweet and honorable and honest, and I see so much
potential in you. I want you to continue to submit to me, publicly. Proudly.
Are you willing to wear my collar?"
It wasn't anything he'd rehearsed or ever mouthed along with Hugh Grant. The
words just kind of came, instinctive, and Kurt smiled just looking at the way
Sam's lips were pulling tremulously. He was aware a couple of people had
stopped in their tracks to stare at the fact that the ex-quarterback had just
thrown himself onto the floor in front of the queer kid.
"Yes – yes. Kurt. Yes."
Sam tried to flatten himself worshipfully to the floor again even as he
obediently stared up at Kurt. It was so sweet and awkward, it would've broken
Kurt's heart if it wasn't glorious and all for him.
"Sit up straight," Kurt told him, watching him obey. "Now push your sleeves up
and give me your hands. Both."
Blinking dazedly, Sam did exactly as he was told, mouth slipping open around
his stunned breaths as Kurt wrapped one wrist up, tight but not too tight, and
buckled it thoroughly, collaring Sam right there in the hall. When the second
one was on, Kurt realized he was shaking from sheer adrenaline, and gripped
Sam's big hands into his, admiring the sight of his strong, slender, boyish
wrists buckled up in thick cuffs that marked him so obviously the sub of
someone with exquisite but unexpected tastes.
"Freaks," some jock snickered from down the hall.
Sam swayed a little dizzily, hands clinging tightly at Kurt's. He'd never
touched Kurt quite like that; he put his arm around Kurt in glee and sometimes
pulled on a sleeve or the edge of a vest if he was too shy to actually ask out
loud for Kurt's attention.
"Heeey," Mercedes sang, the first to approach them and pop the bubble of
amazement. "Congratulations on locking down your boy, Kurt."
"Thank you!" Kurt said, aware he was grinning so hard that his face ached.
"Congratulations, Sam," Mercedes continued sweetly.
"Thanks," Sam squeaked, getting dangerously close to parallel with the floor
again.
"Y'all need to take it to the boys' room before this gets any further, though.
Don't worry, I'll tell Mr. Schue you guys made it official. He'll understand,"
she said, eying them with a smile and shaking her head as she walked away.
Kurt realized, startled, that Mercedes was actually totally right; he didn't
know what he'd been thinking, dreaming about taking Sam to glee and showing him
off, freshly collared. It just served to highlight his total inexperience. He
was rock hard, and just lucky he was wearing his yellow toggled pull-over,
which was at least loud enough to distract from his erection caught in his
jeans.
"Oh," he said dimly. "Fuck. She's right. I think we'd better skip glee today."
"Can we go to your house?" Sam asked, and with his hands safely in Kurt's and
his wrists bound in collars, he said, "I want to sh... show you..."
Except for when he'd begged on Kurt's bedroom floor for Kurt to take him from
Santana, Sam had never pleaded so forthrightly before, and paired with his
round eyes, Kurt couldn't say no. He just couldn't. He might've been a Dom, but
he wasn't made of steel.
"My car," said Kurt simply. "Stand."
 
*
 
The Hummel house was empty after school, and with glee in session, Finn
wouldn't be banging around in search of food for at least another hour. The
drive home with Sam consenting to the passenger seat had been mostly silent
except for Kurt repeatedly saying, "Show me your wrists," and Sam complying,
fingers stretching long for Kurt.
Finally, sitting in the driveway with the car just turned off, Kurt just
gasped, "There's no use playing it cool, Sam. I've never been so hard."
"Me neither," Sam said, nervously clenching his fists. "Is that okay?"
"More than okay," Kurt told him. "I love it."
"Are you hard 'cause of me?" Sam asked, but instead of sounding wary of
punishment, he seemed hopeful.
"A hundred percent," Kurt answered. "All because of you."
"What can I do? Tell me what to do," Sam begged earnestly.
"Is my little sub asking to touch me?" Kurt wondered, practically squirming
with delight.
Sam nodded, blinking spastically. "Not if you don't want. I mean, I don't know
if you want me to. I can't tell if you want me to be your sub all the way like
that. I want to, but I don't want to do the wrong thing – please tell me what
to do."
"You want to?" asked Kurt. "Do you want to because you think I want you to, or
do you want to because you really want to? Be honest, Sam! Because I can live
without you doing anything for me, physically – sexually. To me, there's
nothing better than taking care of you."
"I want to," said Sam, trying to bend even with his seatbelt still on, fingers
daring to touch Kurt's forearm. "Kurt... I want to suck your dick –" He took in
a rigid breath, and so did Kurt, but he seemed to find courage in the words,
because more came spilling out. "I really want to see it, see you hard without
pants in the way. They're always in the way, but I love it when you get hard. I
see how you get every time you're taking care of me and telling me I'm good.
I've just been imagining it."
Kurt's lungs shook, making his voice falter. "My dick?"
"Yeah. Imagining you letting me look at it, 'cause – I was good for you –"
Sam's voice slipped up in his throat, vulnerable " – and touch it – and have it
in my mouth and suck it for hours..."
"God, Sam," Kurt panted, thunderstruck. He reached out and grasped at the
scruff of Sam's neck, which was burning under his hand. "I'll let you have it
in your mouth. Is that what you want?"
"Yes –"
"Hm? Sweet little sub? You want to suck me right here in the driveway?"
Sam shuddered under his hand, hard enough to rock the car. "Kurt – please, yes
–"
"Can you get into these jeans?" Kurt asked him, insides jerking and trying to
get him impossibly thicker and harder just watching Sam reach and try, his
hands with their cuffed wrists pushing up his yellow sweater and fumbling with
his belt, shaking intensely.
Kurt shifted in the driver's seat, the space between his knees widening as he
rolled his hips helpfully, air hissing through his gritted teeth when Sam
actually managed to grasp at his cock and pull it out of the slit of his
boxers. His knob was practically purple, he'd gotten so hard collaring Sam and
staring at his wrists all the way home. He was ripe and shining with precome.
Sam's hot huffing breaths were nearly enough to make him shoot, let alone his
beautiful mouth and big capable hand cradling the curve of it between them.
Only a sliver of him was nervous that Sam was over-estimating his own
submissive desires, mistaking the need to obey and please for the need to
service sexually; the rest of him felt like he was giving Sam a gift. His hard
dick, only ever for his sub.
"Do you like that, Sam?" he asked.
"Yes," Sam breathed, making Kurt bite his lip. "It smells good..."
"It does?" Kurt laughed breathlessly and ruffled Sam's hair, incomprehensibly
happy. "You like the way it smells, all hard for you?"
Sam gave a shy buck of a nod. "So I can... I can put my mouth on it?"
"Yeah, you can have it in your mouth..."
Gentle but sudden heat enveloped him, the whole fucking head of him, and Kurt
blinked at the blue strip at the top of his windshield, scarcely able to
believe his sub was actually doing this – sucking him with reverently soft
lips. He hadn't even dreamed of doing this with Sam. Not because he didn't want
this kind of thing, but because he knew Sam would do whatever he asked and he
knew he had it in him to love making Sam do all kinds of things, and it was
better not to open the floodgates if Sam really did prefer girls. But it was
happening. Sam was whimpering with his own eagerness, easily taking Kurt's cock
down to the ring of his own fingers supporting it, working it wet and hot and
awkward with his nose brushing the open fly of Kurt's jeans.
Kurt had a split second to wonder if Sam had done this with that guy he'd
misguidedly tried to dom before orgasm started to bust in him, and again, he
couldn't help himself at all.
"Sam," he huffed, "do you want my come in your mouth, too? You wanna take it
all in your mouth for me, huh? It's okay if you can't. You're just a sweet
little sub, and, ugh, I'm gonna blow so hard..."
Sam's hand blindly slipped from Kurt's dick, flew and hit the driver's side
door, fingers spreading in total submission.
"Fuck! Yeah. Sh-show me your collar," Kurt groaned, shooting off right in Sam's
mouth. His first blowjob was over in half a minute, but the way his sub
slurped, struggling to swallow, and arched to slide his red mouth right up to
the tip of Kurt's cock made it beautiful. Sam held his lips in a perfect cling,
brow furrowing, and took every last twitched-out drop on his tongue. "Yeah,
Sam," Kurt whispered, as soon as the shock of it began to pass. "God. You know
exactly how to be a good boy already... all that come in your mouth for me. Can
you swallow it?"
Sam nodded, cheeks and neck glowing red, and it took a second of concentration,
but he did, throat rippling. After a small huff, he gulped again. His lips
stayed fat and soft and wet on Kurt's knob, head bobbingly gently even as Kurt
softened. It was almost too much, but Kurt just let him, cooing.
"Don't worry, sweetie." He twisted his fingers into Sam's long, shaggy locks.
"I'll let you suck it again. Does that sound good?"
Again, Sam nodded, lips gradually losing their hold, and Kurt would've claimed
Sam over and over again right there if he could've, watching his sub tilt his
head and let Kurt's dick rest on the pillow of his cheek, eyes shut with
tortured contentment.
 
*
 
Up in Kurt's room, Sam was undressed, his clothes neatly folded by Kurt and
placed at the foot of the bed. The cuffs were the only thing on him.
Upon request, he turned around this way and that, cock bobbing as impressively
as it had when Kurt had gotten him in and out of the bath. This time, with the
idea that Sam was wondering what he was thinking having been imparted to him,
Kurt shared eagerly. Sam's body was beautiful. He loved those abs, of course,
and the divots where his muscles wrapped around his hipbones, the thin golden
hair on his calves and forearms and around his pretty cock.
Had Quinn ever seen him naked? No... just shirtless. So she'd never touched his
cock? No. She ground on it. Sam was never allowed to come. It pissed Quinn off
if he got too close. How often did Sam jerk off? Not very much, because his
family was always around. Wasn't that just the saddest thing ever. Such a big,
swollen cock and no Domme had ever let it spurt.
Sam groaned pathetically when Kurt told him to get on the bed, hands and knees,
face to the mattress. To spread his legs. To touch himself for Kurt while Kurt
looked at his amazing body curled up in submission. Yes, he could come – and he
did, smearing his own chest with thick white spunk and dripping on Kurt's furry
bedspread, his jizz matting the fur and sticking there for Kurt to see. So
pretty. Such thick white cream. So obvious.
Kurt kept him like that for another half an hour, as long as he could make
himself wait, just to see how Sam would take it. His sub never uttered a single
doubt or complaint. He just steadied himself repeatedly, trying not to lean or
slouch too much, and got hard again as Kurt rounded and examined him, palming
his spine and thighs.
Eventually Kurt had him roll to his back, Sam's body long and tall, and put his
hands up against the headboard. There was more soft strawberry blond hair in
his pits. Those D-rings on his cuffs were glinting, gaping open obviously for
restraints or something, but Kurt just kept that to himself, smiling. One of
these days he would tie Sam down like this, naked and hard, and make him wait
for attention while Kurt did his French homework.
Sam's tiny nipples pebbled with one under a curious fingertip. Clamps, someday.
His abs flexed as Kurt's hand slid over them, a startled breath escaping when
Kurt bent and licked away a sticky smudge of come.
He got a strangled sob for air when he asked Sam to spread his legs, more.
More. Did Sam like showing Kurt his hole? A muddled yes. Sweet. That deserved a
reward. Sam's muscles bulged and clenched as Kurt finally touched his erection,
hand delicate and pale against the flushed tower of it. He coaxed Sam to come
more for him, let him have all that jizz, because he wasn't Quinn. He loved
Sam's come, and he wanted more. More. Oh, that was a good boy. Such a good boy.
But Kurt wasn't done yet. No. Didn't Sam want to beg for him? Be a sweet little
sub and plead with Kurt for mercy... or more?
Stunned out of shyness, rewarded for everything he was doing, Sam chose more,
hands flat to the headboard the whole time. Please, could he touch Kurt? Could
he see Kurt's dick again? It was hard, he could see it.
He could suck it again... if Kurt would let him. Please, Kurt. Please let him
suck it. Please let him. He wanted it in his mouth. Or anywhere. Anywhere Kurt
wanted. He was Kurt's and Kurt could do anything he wanted to him and Sam
wouldn't say no, because he was a good sub, and Kurt knew best, he knew what
Sam deserved and what he didn't. Sam would do anything, anything to deserve
Kurt's dick in his mouth, in his hand, in his ass.
Blood pounding in his face out of arousal more than embarrassment, Sam had
nodded and wiggled and pushed his feet as wide apart as they would go, saying
yes, yes he would tell Kurt if he didn't like it, but he did like it – he liked
spreading for Kurt. He inhaled with a jerk and liked that slip of lube between
his perfect little ass cheeks. When Kurt paused with his fingers pressed just
up against his hole, he lifted his head and blinked, startled. Kurt waited
until he moaned, then reached forward and slipped dry fingers into his mouth,
telling him to suck. Show his master what he wanted. Sam came alive at the
sudden intrusive demand, wrapping his lips around Kurt's fingers and groaning,
squirming, hips lifting. The hot feeling of stuffing Sam with his fingers at
two ends, Kurt adored, and told him so. Told him that he owned Sam's mouth,
now, and his ass. Both his holes. They were his, weren't they. Yes.
Emphatically, yes, they were. What could he do with them, he wondered? What
would a sweet sub like Sam just love?
Anything. Kurt could do anything. Fuck him anywhere. Sam would love it.
Everything Sam had was Kurt's now. Kurt could have his virginity... if he
wanted it. If fucking Sam would be good. He didn't know. Poor little sub. He
needed some help learning how to remember that he was good.
Fresh off Kurt's fingers, Sam was rolled over again, flattened onto his tummy
on Kurt's furry bedspread. He strained against it uselessly as he returned his
hands to the headboard, displaying his collars, and Kurt lowered his jeans just
enough to pop his cock out and sink it into Sam, so fucking slowly. Just like
this. Sam was gonna get his master's cock, but he was gonna have to earn the
rest. Every inch of skin.
Kurt rutted him, slick but slow and demanding, tangling his fingers in Sam's
hair and tugging it, his face tucked adoringly to Sam's neck, whispering about
how good he was, how good he felt all around his master's dick, taking it, and
wasn't surprised at all when Sam came all over his blanket again, crying face-
down and managing to sobbingly respond to Kurt's questions: yes, he'd just come
getting fucked like Kurt's good boy. He was a good boy.
After that Sam seemed dazed, arms shaking as he held his hands to the
headboard, naked, with Kurt fully dressed in his yellow pull-over and knee-high
boots and everything, taking him just as he wanted. When Kurt told him he was
gonna come again, Sam whined, and instinctively, Kurt pulled out just in time
to shoot up Sam's bare back, covering his spine in spurts of come that must
have been hot, with the way Sam gasped and stuttered his name, shoving his face
into the mattress to try and muffle his groans.
Territory claimed.
Dick still blurting small, clingy loads, Kurt shoved back in and buried the
rest in Sam, close to losing his mind at the sight of Sam covered in his come.
He was filled with it, still taking it. And they were only just beginning.
Kurt was so proud.
 
*
 
For a little while, Kurt just looked at his sub floating off in a dream state
there on his bed, stuck in his own puddle of come, and liberally striped with
Kurt's. It had rolled into the pit of his back, right where his skin had peeked
out at Kurt when Sam had bent to the floor in apology about how undeserving he
was. He'd never seen such a fulfilling sight, or such a mess.
"Honey," he finally said, "you know what you need?"
Sam hummed, low. "A bath."
Kurt had half-expected to hear a small protest suffixed about how he didn't
deserve it, but instead Sam turned his head slowly, eyelids lifting so he could
find Kurt and gaze at him adoringly, not realizing he was showing off the
depths of his soul shining bright.
"Can there be bubbles?"
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