Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/825376.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Sam_Evans/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Sam_Evans, Kurt_Hummel, Blaine_Anderson, Emma_Pillsbury, Burt_Hummel,
      Tina_Cohen-Chang, Mike_Chang, Quinn_Fabray, Sue_Sylvester
  Additional Tags:
      AU, Dom/sub, D/s_AU, Deliberate_Badfic, Pet_Names, Dirty_Talk
  Series:
      Part 3 of The_Cherish_'Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-11 Words: 19914
****** I Could Mold You ******
by Edwardina
Summary
     Continuation of Cherish Is the Word I'd Use. With the help of Blaine,
     Ms. Pillsbury, and Coach Sylvester, Kurt gets down to the bottom of
     the hidden room in the nurse's office. He also starts getting down to
     the bottom of Sam's relationship with Quinn and decides another trip
     to the room is in order.
Notes
     Yet another continuation of Cherish_is_the_Word_I'd_Use and Can't
     Hide_My_Need. This jumps back to Kurt's perspective. Look forward to
     the abundance of pet names (and also pardon my French, like,
     literally). Title from "Cherish" by The Association. Takes place
     circa 217.
     Thanks to Kate for being such a helpful sounding board and encourager
     and my one ideal reader.
When Kurt finally checked his phone, he discovered a text from Blaine waiting
for him.
How'd the first official day go? :)
For this, it was definitely necessary to press "call."
Blaine picked up after two rings with a charming, "Kurt, hi. I was just
thinking about you."
"I'm so in love with Sam," Kurt announced right off the bat, and pulled his car
door shut behind him. Before Blaine could pop his bubble by bringing up Sam
loving girls, he added, "In love with him being collared, I mean!"
"I totally thought that was what you meant," said Blaine. "So? Tell me all
about it."
"Well, I don't mean to brag, but we were the center of attention," said Kurt,
turning his key. "Even the teachers were talking about us. I've always stuck
out like a sore thumb here and I know we're an odd couple, and I knew people
were giving us the side-eye already, but I don't think anyone expected me to
actually collar him, for some reason."
"It's a big deal anyway," said Blaine, as Kurt backed out of his parking space.
"Two guys having a very public collaring like you did. You don't hear of that
happening much in Ohio. It's usually behind closed doors. Even at places like
Dalton. But here, that kind of savoir-faire is more of a respected tradition.
Everything's very proper and ceremonial. But I bet it's totally different at
public school. Didn't you say stuff like making out and disciplining are
allowed in the hall there?"
"It's allowed, to an extent," Kurt said. "I think Figgins draws the line at
stuff like spanking so the school can't get sued. Admonishment and subs
carrying out the terms of private punishment are all I've ever really seen."
"But I'm sure other stuff goes on behind closed doors," Blaine remarked wisely.
"Oh, it definitely does," agreed Kurt. He had pulled out of McKinley, but was
stuck behind a bus that was going unnecessarily slow. "Hey, on that note, does
Dalton have a soft room?"
"Pardon? A what?"
"A soft room," Kurt repeated.
"What is that? Like, a padded room?"
"No, a room where Doms can take their subs if they have some pressing issues to
deal with in private."
"Oh! Actually, yes, but here we call it a discretionary chamber. I've never
even heard the term 'soft room.'"
"Discretionary chamber, huh?" echoed Kurt. "Well, that does sound proper.
What's it like?"
"I'm not sure," Blaine said. "I've only seen the door. It's not like I have a
sub to require some discretion with."
"You have no idea what it's like?"
"Well, you've been to Dalton. Everything at Dalton is upper-crust and
traditional. Leather furniture. Polished wood. Parquet floors. The door to the
discretionary does happen to be in the study where the Warblers meet, so I can
only make an educated guess that it may look a lot like the study. But I don't
actually know. Maybe it's full of lava lamps and black light posters. Why?"
"Well, because I wound up taking Sam to McKinley's bare-bones version."
"Wait, what? Are you serious?" Blaine sounded incredulous. "Why?"
"He just needed a hand," Kurt said, automatically defensive at Blaine's tone.
"After study hall, he could barely move."
"What! Kurt..."
"It seemed like it was an intense day for him," explained Kurt. "I told him he
could go home if he needed to, but he said he wanted to stay. I probably should
have made him go home, but – ugh, the sight of him in his cuffs, Blaine. And
the way he displayed them in study hall. It was amazing. I could hardly keep my
hands off him, and I guess I lathered him up without really realizing it. So I
asked Miss Holliday – you remember me talking about Miss Holliday, right? Well,
I asked her for a pass to the nurse, and she asked me if Sam was in subspace
and wrote 'soft room' on the pass."
"Hang on. I'm sorry, but you let Sam go into subspace in study hall?" Blaine
asked.
"You keep sounding like you think I majorly fucked up," said Kurt, unamused.
"No, not fucked up, exactly," hedged Blaine. "Are you saying it was
intentional?"
"No, if Sam was actually in subspace, it was not intentional on my part. I
wasn't being all über-Dom with him, and I don't really know what his subspace
looks like. I mean, he can get kind of spaced out in general, and like I said,
I think today was hard for Sam... and I'm not talking about his dick."
"Uh-huh. So was he just, like, frozen? I hear some subs just go limp and stop
responding."
"Well... I don't know. A little? I guess the best way to describe it is that it
was kind of like he'd taken sedatives. He was responding to me, but he seemed
slow and, like, disoriented or something."
"Is he usually quick to respond?"
"Yeah, pretty quick, I guess, but sometimes he seems confused and like what I'm
saying isn't fully soaking in. Like, he's so willing, and he wants to behave
more than anything. But he comes at everything from his own special angle. I
don't know what it is, really. His situation is complicated. His family's
religious and he only just told them about me yesterday. I didn't intend it
specifically, but being collared forced him to acknowledge the relationship to
his parents, and I think it was kind of a big deal. Also, his exes are crazy
mean girls. I swear, they messed with his head and made him think he's always
doing the wrong thing. And he's only had weird experiences with guys – I don't
even know about them all yet. Still, he reacts to me more than basically
anybody I've ever met. But I don't know what's going on in his head sometimes."
"I guess that does sound complicated."
Finally, the bus turned a corner, and Kurt was able to step on the gas again
and actually get moving.
"For the record, I pet him and mother hen him in study hall all the time.
Usually we get out of there and he's calm and happy after some light domming.
Today, though..."
"He was wearing his collars. He was presenting to you. And you were touching
him in front of an attentive audience," finished Blaine, understanding.
"And praising him."
"Ah. Well." Blaine chuckled.
"So, yeah, I guess things got amplified. I could feel it, too, but not on the
same level as him, obviously. He didn't seem to know what was going on. Or
maybe he did, but didn't know what to do 'cause he thought I'd smack him down."
"You're taking this all really seriously."
Kurt blinked. "Of course I am, Blaine."
"Well, that's great. I think it's awesome that you care so much about this guy.
He's lucky. So what did you do?"
"That was when I took him to the soft room. So that helped. And he was normal
by glee. He even volunteered to emcee this concert we're putting on Saturday –
which you're coming to, by the way. He seemed like he was paying attention and
all."
On the other end of the call, Blaine hummed thoughtfully.
"I'll check in with him again later," Kurt said, looking over his shoulder and
switching lanes. "He has to work tonight. But that gives me some time to plan.
I have got to do something about the soft room at McKinley. It doesn't even
qualify as a room, and it's not soft at all. It's a dank broom closet with a
hard bed and a chair. That's it."
"What more do you need?"
"Don't play devil's advocate for Figgins!"
"Oops, sorry. I just thought it sounded delightfully dungeony. So what I'm
hearing is that you're going to turn this so-called 'soft room' into a bona
fide discretionary."
"You're damn right," said Kurt. "Don't get me wrong, the grime on the floor
gives it a certain je ne sais quoi and I don't exactly have a problem with
watching my sub squirm on an uncomfortable surface, but it needs some work. I
don't want to worry he might get an infection of some type."
"Well, I'm totally behind you there. And I know how you love a project."
"I'm Pinteresting in my head as we speak," said Kurt, eliciting a chuckle. "And
I'm getting into traffic now, so my attentions are totally split. Let's meet up
on chat tonight."
"Okay. Tell you what, I'll call Wes and see if he knows of anybody who can give
me the skinny on the discretionary. Maybe it'll help inspire you."
"Great! Thanks!"
 
*
 
Kurt was layers-deep in browser tabs when his dad knocked on his door. He could
tell it was his dad by the two short raps. Finn wasn't used to knocking, and
Carole always called his name when she knocked. He whirled around on the spot.
"Come in!"
Sure enough, his dad opened up and peered in warily. Kurt almost blushed;
apparently his dad thought he was going to find Sam in his son's bed at any
given time, which was embarrassing, but kind of cool in some respect. He felt
like he had a real rapport with his dad about being a Dom now.
"He's at work," said Kurt.
"How'd it go today? Do I need to make any phone calls? Grease any squeaky
wheels?"
"Not at all," Kurt said pleasantly. "It was actually great. Intense, but
great."
"Well... good. Glad it was so great, Kurt," said his dad, giving him a nod.
"But anyone gives you crap, you let me know."
"Yeah. I promise I will, Dad," said Kurt, who still took everything having to
do with Karofsky seriously.
"Turkey meatball subs tonight."
"Oh. Sounds good."
"You workin' on homework?"
"Actually, I'm – I'm thinking about starting a committee, so I'm in the
planning stages of that," said Kurt. His browser was still open on his
research. "The discretionary at McKinley needs a good Philippe Starcking."
"The whoosey-what needs what, now? Is that Pennsylvania Dutch?"
"Sorry. The discretionary chamber at McKinley needs a makeover."
"Okay... and what is that? Some club?"
"Uh... the soft room is a mess?" tried Kurt.
"McKinley has a soft room?" his dad asked, as if Kurt was setting up to deliver
a punch line.
"Well, not a very good one," he frowned.
"You gotta be kidding me. Since when does McKinley have a dang soft room? Do
parents know about this?"
"You're not hearing me, Dad. It sucks. It looks more like a jail cell. In fact,
I'm pretty sure the Lima Police Department's drunk tank is cleaner and nicer
than this room."
His dad folded his arms and gave him a good staring.
"I'm having a hard time putting two and two together, here. What the hell do
you need a soft room for?"
"Sheesh. What do you think? I have to have someplace to take Sam when he's
having trouble. Did your high school not have a soft room?"
"Kurt, a soft room is where people go to watch other people have sex or
experiment in partner-swapping."
"... That explains your sour expression."
"You're thinking of a sub space," his dad informed him.
"Actually, that means something else entirely nowadays. People use that term to
talk about a submissive's psychological state. It went from literal to mental.
You could benefit from watching a little Oprah every now and then."
"Okay. So this... this soft room of yours –"
"You can call it a safe space, if that helps."
"It does," his dad said patiently. "This safe space. Are you just thinking
ahead, or what?"
"Okay, yes, I'm still new at this, but I don't think I'm getting ahead of
myself," said Kurt. "I'm just figuring out how to take the best possible care
of Sam. I'm still learning what he responds to and what he's like when he's in
his, you know, subby place."
Kurt's dad looked a little like he wished he hadn't asked, but he let Kurt go
on.
"If I need to pull him out of a class to help him get his head on straight, I
will. If I need to see to him in a private way, I'm going to. I mean, I'm not
trying to hide – I think public displays are good for Sam, and good for other
committed couples to witness. It's good for people at school to see two guys in
a healthy relationship, too. But if necessary, I will take him to the
discretionary, and it shouldn't be a freaking health hazard to do that."
All his dad did was look at him for a moment, then nod in understanding.
"Okay," he said gruffly. "Form a committee."
"Oh, actually, I'll probably be the only member," said Kurt. "I don't trust
anyone else's aesthetics, and it seems like most people aren't aware we even
have one."
"It shouldn't just be you in Figgins' office talking about soft, safe spaces
and color stories, Kurt," said his dad. "Get that Quinn girl on the committee
with you. She's Finn's Domme now, right? The, uh. Cheerleader?"
"Uh... yes," faltered Kurt, getting the idea that he was avoiding calling her
"the girl who lied to Finn about getting her pregnant."
"There you go. You might even get some Cheerio money for your makeover."
"That's helpful, Dad, thanks," Kurt said. He didn't even want to get into the
whole Finn-Quinn-Sam-Santana thing.
"Turkey meatball subs," his dad repeated.
"I'll be right down."
 
*
 
Sam's break wasn't until 9:45, which was a bit late, so Kurt killed time on
iChat with Blaine. They finished their math homework together and Googled about
discretionary chambers.
Discretionaries were quite fascinating – they made total sense, he thought,
especially now that he actually knew what it was like to be a Dom. But it also
seemed pretty crazy that there were hidden rooms in buildings all over the
world with the express purpose of discreet domination. Kurt had been minorly
aware of soft rooms as a quaint, outdated concept in the same way he was aware
of parlors and sculleries. But it was all about dungeons these days. And now
that he'd actually taken the time to read up, he was learning that
discretionary rooms had a history of being on the DL.
Rooms set aside for private admonishment had come into use in upper classes in
the Victorian era, particularly as so many men had mistresses and needed small,
easily-accessible but still secluded places in which they could conduct their
affairs, regardless of whether they were doing the caning or the crawling.
Discretionary chambers were always very nearly completely hidden, entrance
camouflaged as well as possible. It was all to help keep the sub fully under
the Dom's control, allowing for a level of domination that wouldn't fly in the
company of others. They were used for hook-ups, yes, of course, but also for
more intense training, reward, and punishment.
In lower classes, setting aside such a room wasn't practical, but amongst the
upper crust – oh, boy. Discretionaries got popular. They even became status
symbols, as only the moneyed had means to put so much self-indulgence and
effort into their various clandestine activities. However, the rooms also bore
the double standard of being considered so absolutely private that if one did
glean any recognition or reputation for their discretionary, it was clearly not
discreet enough. For a brief period, the construction of them had turned into
an underground competitive art, and some old discretionaries were ingeniously
hidden. Many were still being found in old manors in Europe behind false walls
and such, untouched for decades; they were often ornately decorated inside and
had trunks or shelves full of things like homemade ball-gags and chastity
devices. There was a photo of one with the entrance in the back of a wardrobe,
which seriously gave a new meaning to Narnia.
In America, the discretionary chamber tended to be smaller. Most often, they
were only found in the houses of rich men interested in copying what was
fashionable overseas, and were mainly on the east coast. Sometimes they weren't
hidden at all, and often also had a secondary function, like storage, or were
simply extremely tiny spaces where disobedient submissives were sent to think
about what they'd done.
But both in Europe and the States, discretionaries fell into disuse as
domination in the home and in public slowly became more socially acceptable.
The spaces were often converted fully into closets or studies or safe rooms.
Although successful as places to hide entire families of Jews during World War
II in Europe, in the United States discretionaries were just about unheard of
after the 1930s.
But during the 60s, they started popping up on the sly in small office spaces,
which proved to be their real future. Kurt supposed a lot of illicit affairs
between co-workers were going on in the real-life versions of Sterling Cooper.
The needs of the people had changed, and discretionaries were more useful
outside of private residences. In the 80s there was another shift.
Discretionaries began to appear in corporate buildings and nicer institutions
as part of the facilities provided. The discretionary's location and means of
access in any building was privileged information; once again, they were
totally for yuppies.
The only two images of corporate soft rooms Kurt could find without having to
join a sketchy site were depressing – they both had that gross dropped ceiling
with fissured tiles and fluorescent lighting, and big clocks on the wall to
remind you whose dime you were on. One had an intercom system by the door, and
the other had a list of rules on a bulletin board: no smoking, no spitting, no
restraining, no sessions over fifteen minutes. That one was otherwise empty,
but the one with the intercom had a very 80s-looking loveseat and a water
cooler.
Kurt almost told Blaine that he couldn't imagine taking someone there, but his
brain supplied him instantly with proof otherwise. He could definitely bend Sam
over the arm of that couch, no matter how out of style it was. After all, he'd
taken Sam to McKinley's, which was far worse.
"Frankly, I fail to see what's 'soft' about these rooms," mused Blaine, looking
at the links Kurt sent him.
"It was the 80s," said Kurt. "People actually used the word 'bodacious' and
said 'gag me with a spoon' in everyday conversation."
"'Gag me,' how subby," Blaine remarked.
Kurt laughed.
"Oh, okay, this site says 'soft room' is swinger terminology misappropriated by
the work force, particularly those against domination in the workplace. The
phrase 'safe space' was adopted by many, especially in universities... blah,
blah, blah..."
"'Safe space' seems so watered-down and sanitized to me. I get what they were
going for, but. Whatever. I'm just surprised they weren't called 'dom-o-rama's
or 'subspace camp' or something else equally 80s. This does beg the question of
how my dad knows swinger terminology, though."
"You have an awesome dad," Blaine told him.
"True, but you did not see his face when I asked him about soft rooms."
They continued rifling and linking their finds. His impression was that soft
rooms had once again become moderately common, and yet they were still
successfully kept private almost everywhere they were. Dominants in positions
of power, he thought dryly. His fellow control freaks.
But Kurt gleaned no wisdom on who had put together a soft room at McKinley.
McKinley had been built when discretionaries were considered a thing of the
past, and while they seemed to be a provided feature at some secular private
schools like Dalton, they just weren't a thing in public schools. Not in the
Midwest, anyway.
Blaine had dug up some minimal detail on Dalton's discretionary chamber, all of
which was basically hearsay. It was supposedly about the size of a dorm room.
Apparently there was a red leather chaise, and a selection of paddles provided.
Some people claimed there were manacles on one wall, which seemed too extreme
to be likely in light of the corporate-sponsored one for actual adults
forbidding restraint, but also seriously hot. Only two students in the
collective shared history of the Warblers had ever been known to take their
subs to it, and only minor details had been passed around. Unlike at McKinley,
one had to access the chamber with their school ID, guaranteeing it couldn't be
used without someone's name being recorded in a security system.
"I reiterate, McKinley's is a broom closet in the back of the nurse's office,"
said Kurt. "If I hadn't been tipped off, I would've just put him in a bed in
the infirmary and drawn the curtain."
"Are you sure it's even a discretionary? Couldn't it just be a closet with an
extra bed in it?"
"I did consider that, but Miss Holliday told me to look behind the curtain, and
when the nurse saw 'soft room' on the pass, she seemed to know exactly why. And
the door was a false wall, not one with a knob. It didn't have hinges. It slid
seamlessly. But if you hadn't known it was there, you wouldn't have thought,
'Hey, that wall looks like a door. I bet I can open it.' It was extremely well-
hidden. I think it really is a soft room. Ooh, there's a documentary about
Queen Victoria's discretionaries. I'm putting it in my Netflix queue."
"Maybe it's just for teachers," said Blaine, "and Miss Holliday was throwing
you a bone."
"Sounds as likely as anything else. I know discretionaries are supposed to be
hush-hush or whatever, but nothing ever stays a secret at McKinley. That school
runs on gossip. Jeez, if it's supposed to be for the teachers, then I wonder if
they'd still let me redecorate it –"
Kurt's phone rang; it was Sam's ringtone.
"I hear Beyoncé," Blaine noted. "'Baby Boy.' I assume Sam's calling."
"Gotta go," said Kurt quickly. "Thanks for the chat."
Blaine gave him a smile that very clearly indicated he was affectionately
putting up with Kurt's Sam-centric interests and closed the chat, and Kurt
picked up the call immediately, totally abandoning his internet sleuthing.
"Hi, sweetie," he all but cooed.
"Hi," Sam said, his voice coming through the line muffled. "I'm in my van."
"Do you have a mouthful of pizza?"
"Huhn?" A pause as Sam swallowed. "I already had a cookie today, and it's,
like, ten o'clock at night!"
"Half a soy bar, then?" Kurt corrected himself, amused.
"Mm. Sorry. I didn't eat dinner earlier so I'm super hungry, an' I jus' don't
like to eat an' drive."
"No problem. Eat, eat."
Kurt allowed himself a moment to marvel over the fact that he could barely
tolerate noisy chewing from others, but when it was Sam doing the eating, it
didn't ping like it was the same thing as his pet peeve. Maybe he just
associated it with the pleasure of feeding Sam himself. It seemed to make him
feel like Sam was being taken care of.
He listened for a few beats, secure in the knowledge that Sam wasn't skipping a
meal entirely, then said, "I'm happy you called. Even if I can't tuck you in
and send you right to sleep, it's just not a good night if I don't get to talk
to you."
Sam let out a puff of breath, dopey.
"How are you feeling?" Kurt quizzed.
"So tired," said Sam. "I wish you would tuck me in."
"Me too. Maybe some night after I meet your parents, I could come over and tuck
you in for real," said Kurt. He'd been dreaming about doing such a thing, but
as Sam's parents hadn't even been aware Sam had a Dom, it made for an
impossible dream. But things were certainly changing now.
Sam sighed, "Yeah. Someday. I hope."
"Yeah? You don't think that'd be stupid?"
"Not any stupider than anything else I like even if I shouldn't."
"Good, 'cause I want to do it," Kurt declared. "Can I ask you how your day
went? How you felt about it, I mean? Wearing the cuffs that signify you as mine
to school?"
"I guess, just... I loved it," said Sam, thrilling Kurt with both the words and
the simple way he shoved them out of himself. "But I know I messed up."
"How so?"
"I got too horny?" Sam said, as though Kurt might not remember. "You had to
take me to the nurse?"
Kurt had to catch his lips roughly under his teeth to keep from laughing
outright. Too horny? Maybe Sam had been too horny to register Kurt whispering
to him about how hot he was, and how Kurt had never dreamed a guy would be in
such a desperate subbed-out state for him.
"What would you say if I told you that I loved having to take you to the
nurse?" he said, hoping to wind Sam up as much as clarify and absolve.
"That... I'm lucky?" Sam managed, obviously wondering if there was a right
answer. "I'm lucky you're not mad?"
"Definitely not mad," Kurt told him. He'd had to say this a lot, since it was
Sam's default assumption, but was determined to keep doing it until Sam learned
differently. Maybe it would take Kurt actually getting mad about something for
Sam to know where the boundaries were and find out how Kurt expressed anger,
but he had yet to lose his patience, even with pet peeves. Despite the rough
edges and what Kurt would consider damages, he felt lucky to have even nabbed a
guy like Sam for a sub. He continued, "But even if we hadn't taken a little
trip to the nurse, I still wouldn't be mad if you were horny, wearing your
collar."
After a little choke, Sam asked, "Even at school?"
"Yes. Even at school. I might be just a little bit of a sadist. But really. It
happens to the best of us. You told me you notice when I wind up with wood,
right?"
He listened to Sam breathe and try and work that out.
"I wasn't in trouble?"
"Nope. I wanted to take you to the nurse. I took you there on purpose so I
could undress you, look at you. Then what happened?"
"You – told me I could come."
"Yep. I told you to do it. And I watched you. I knew what you needed, didn't
I."
"Yeah," Sam agreed in a huff.
"I wanted to take care of you. If I didn't want you to be hard or to give you
any relief, what do you think I'd have done?"
"... I don't know."
"What did Quinn do?"
"She... she never would've unbuttoned my pants... she would've told me to calm
down. She would've made me apologize, own up, 'cause when she gave me my ring,
I pledged to her I'd never do anything she wasn't comfortable with. I mean,
sometimes she... I dunno. I'd get kind of close when we made out sometimes. But
then she'd just get off me with this look on her face and I'd always know I
messed up. I wasn't supposed to come."
Kurt had heard a bit about this, but he hadn't pressed for details. In spite of
himself, he was morbidly fascinated.
"Not ever? Or just not when you were together?"
"Not ever. I had to call her if I wanted to."
"Did you call her a lot?"
"No. I mean, yes, but I didn't ever ask for that."
"...Not once?"
"I didn't want her to think that all I ever thought of was sex. She made it
really clear she didn't want to do it. So I didn't want her to feel bad 'cause
of me, or worry I'd ever get her in trouble. I would've – done anything."
"You're a prince," said Kurt, amazed at the depth of Quinn's control over Sam's
mind and body. It seemed almost cruel of her to never consider that Sam was a
perfectly healthy teenage boy in the peak of his sexual prime. His abstinence
and his unconditional desire to be obedient deserved lavish praise on a daily
basis. Sam's constant apologies were making more sense to him now, though:
Quinn, that little snake charmer, had reveled in her absolute control over
Sam's libido, but trained him to associate it with guilt and failure. "So you
never got off when you were with Quinn? Even if you weren't supposed to? I have
to assume you did, and wouldn't blame you at all. Girls don't understand what
it's like for us guys."
"I jizzed in my sleep a couple times," admitted Sam.
"I'm not surprised. But that's it? You never touched yourself without her
permission?"
"I did sometimes... a little bit. I always felt so bad if I did. I just
couldn't help it. I would just do it automatically, without thinking! But I
stopped before I could blow it... Kurt, my break's gonna be over in five
minutes."
"I know. I have a clock in front of me."
"Sorry."
"Should I stop asking you about your masturbatory habits?"
"... I... don't know..."
Kurt chuckled. "I don't want to, but I will, because I want your last couple of
hours at work to be bearable for you."
"I just don't want my boss to see me with a tent pitched. I have to wear my
work shirt tucked in."
"Maybe I should order a pizza," teased Kurt.
"No," Sam protested, laughing.
"Well, okay. I won't, then. But I do want to see you. More, I mean. I want real
time with you, just us. Can you come over tomorrow? We can skip glee again.
It's not like either of us have numbers to rehearse."
"I – I want to – believe me – but I'm supposed to be the emcee, so they might
need me," said Sam. "Why did I volunteer for that?"
"'Cause you're a team player. I liked that you put your hand up. Don't worry,
we'll find some time. Maybe you could come over after glee? Stay for dinner? I
could help you with your homework."
"I'll ask my mom."
"Excellent."
After a pause, Sam said, "Since we were talking about Quinn – she came by
today."
Kurt was startled out of a response for a second.
"Really. What for."
"She had Easter baskets to give to Stevie and Stacey, but it was pretty obvious
she really just wanted to talk to me."
"Oh? What did she have to say?" asked Kurt sharply.
"It's okay," Sam said quickly. Kurt realized his tone had betrayed him. "She
just wanted to apologize and make sure we could both, you know, move on and not
hold grudges. And she offered to baby-sit, which was sweet of her."
"Yeah, that sounds nice," Kurt said warily. "What a generous offer."
It was probably better for everyone if Sam was friendly with Quinn, but it
still raked against the part of him that wanted to push Quinn out of Sam's mind
forever.
Sam said, "My parents are really busy right now. Our, um. My family's not in
the best shape right now... the economy's so bad. It's been really hard the
past few months. So if I could pick up extra shifts here and there while Quinn
sits, it would really help out."
With a single clench of his jaw, Kurt made himself accept it all in one dose.
Lots of high school kids worked minimum wage jobs, but not to actually help pay
the bills. Since it was important to Sam, it had to be a priority to him, even
if Quinn was somehow involved.
"Of course. Pick up all the shifts you want. I'd offer to sit, if that would be
a help to you, but I don't really have any experience with kids. I'd send them
back to you totally traumatized. That doesn't seem like it would help."
"Nah, you'd be fine. You're a good snack-maker. That's, like, half of it. But
it's totally okay. You help me other ways. Um..." Sam seemed to take an extra
moment just to manage to ask his name. "Kurt...?"
"What, sweetie?"
"Can you..."
Kurt waited for him to scrape it together, not feeling a single ounce of
impatience. Actually, he kind of enjoyed the fact that he knew Sam was trying
to ask him something that seemed difficult for him.
"Do you want me to, like... dress different? Or anything?"
It was such a random, uneasy question that the only conclusion Kurt could
immediately draw was that it had something to do with the recurring topic:
Quinn.
"Did Quinn make you dress a certain way?"
"I – she didn't say to, exactly. It was just kind of a given. I tried to look
how I should look if I wanted to be with her."
"How was that?"
"Like, I guess – like the quarterback dating the cheerleader should look. Like
I fit in. Popular. Athletic. I try to keep in good shape. But I guess what I'm
asking is if you want me to buy new clothes, and if you could help me, 'cause I
don't know what you like."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Kurt said, flustered. "Are you suggesting I style you?"
"Well... is that what it sounds like?"
"Okay, I don't want you to get the wrong idea, here, when I say I would
freaking love to dress you up..."
Fighting down the automatic kick of excitement, Kurt tried to at least show
some restraint. Despite his initial cravings to fix Sam's hair, now he found
the too-long locks adorable when swept over his forehead. He ran his fingers
through it almost every day. He couldn't actually imagine making Sam cut it.
"But I don't want you to change the way you dress normally," he finished. "I
like seeing what's 'you.' Do you get what I mean? You don't need to modify your
looks to be with me. Unless you've always wanted the Queer Eye treatment and
you're secretly a mani-pedi kind of guy, in which case, now I know what to get
you for your birthday. But misadventures in hair bleaching aside, I don't think
you really are, and I like your whole jock-next-door look."
"Clothes just seem kind of important to you."
"Oh, I love them," Kurt attested. "I'm obsessed. Putting together a good
ensemble is an art for me. And there's nothing like some good retail therapy.
But it's just something I enjoy. I wear things I feel good in. Things that make
me feel like me. I want you to wear the things you like. I loved your little
hoodie today, with the sleeves all pushed up. Green is a good color on you. But
I have yet to see a color you didn't pull off. I remember The Purple Sneaker
Experience."
"Thanks," said Sam. Kurt could practically hear him blushing over the phone.
His voice was sheepish and tucked up in his throat. "I was just wondering. I
have to get back to work, though."
"Aw, boo. Just when I was actually talking to a boy about my passion for
fashion. Have a good rest of your shift, cutie. Don't forget, you're invited to
dinner tomorrow. Ask your mom."
"I will."
"Nighty-night, Sam."
"Night, Kurt."
Smiling, Kurt sat back against his headboard and sighed, holding his phone
against his chest.
Even though it had been a couple of months since he'd started talking to Sam
every night, he was still pretty damn thrilled after every conversation. He
wasn't exactly sure why Sam was so different than anyone else he talked to.
Technically, he had way more in common with Blaine or Tina or Mercedes – even
Rachel. Maybe especially Rachel. Sam liked dumb boy things: country music and
sports and Nic Cage movies. Kurt really didn't like any of that stuff. But like
his clothes, that stuff made Sam so deliciously Sam. And nothing fulfilled Kurt
the same way minding his sub did, not even fashion or singing or interior
design or Audrey Hepburn movies. Having never had another sub, Kurt obviously
couldn't say for sure, but he doubted they were all so beautiful and earnest,
because they weren't Sam.
However, as much as Kurt resented Quinn's lack of sympathy as to the extent of
Sam's sacrificial nature (and oh, he did), he really had to hand it to her.
Making Sam require her permission to come was dominating to the core. He was
rather shocked by the mental images it gave him. The thought of his poor needy
sub ejaculating in his sleep, losing control when his defenses were down and
unable to stop himself, was so fucking amazing.
He didn't want that, exactly – he wanted Sam to have urges. He wanted to know
all about them and use them, not try to erase them.
But thinking about Sam's hand wandering into his sweatpants to fondle a hard-
on... his submissive letting himself stroke it just enough to bring that
welling sensation of orgasm, then stopping – frustrated... wanting...
wishing... but obedient... his Dom's satisfaction more important than his own –
made Kurt's gut ache.
There was something just fucking egregious about jacking off to the idea that
Sam had been denied release for months, but it totally did it for him anyway.
 
*
 
At Kurt's locker the next morning, fingers preoccupied with fiddling with the
hem of his blue hooded shirt anxiously, Sam apologized. He couldn't come to
dinner because his mom really needed someone to watch Stevie and Stacey while
she went on a job interview.
"Aw, that's okay," said Kurt, tucking his red jacket and scarf away. It turned
out to be a bit warm for his look; spring in Ohio was a tricky mistress.
Luckily, he had a gray sleeveless sweater on standby that would go equally well
with his checkered button-up. He slipped the knit vest right on and drew its
diagonal zip across his chest, adding, "We should ask her when a good night
would be."
"Yeah. I even didn't think of that."
Sam frowned and shook his head, looking impatient with himself – and tired,
Kurt noticed, which wasn't an unusual look for his sub. The late shift at the
pizza place wasn't doing him any favors at school, but Kurt was beginning to
see that Sam's nature was to put essentially everyone before himself, and Kurt
was there to help him pick up the scholastic slack.
"That's okay," he repeated, giving Sam's cheek a fond little caress before
closing his locker. "I have a back-up plan."
"What?"
"I've got to finalize the details, but when I do, you'll be the first to know.
Now, let's go grab your books."
"Can I carry your purse?"
"It's a messenger bag."
"Right, sorry. I'm a dumbass. Can I carry your messenger bag?"
"You may." Kurt de-shouldered it and handed it to Sam, who looked like he
wanted to crawl into a hole, deflating in front of Kurt's eyes.
"'May I,' not 'Can I.' And I forgot to say please! Ugh. I'm so sorry. I'm –"
"Sam, Sam," said Kurt gently. "Relax. Here, come here..."
He grasped at Sam's sleeves, which covered the collars on his wrists almost all
the way, save an edge of camel-colored leather with darker hues dappled over
it. They were bulky and obvious under the thin cotton, hardly hidden by it.
Kurt grasped them with both hands, giving Sam a squeeze.
"I like formality as much as the next Dom, but unless I've given you explicit
instructions on how to address me, I don't expect you to be formal. Just
because I've collared you, that hasn't changed. Just like I don't need you to
dress differently for me."
Sam's eyelids, which had fallen shut as he listened to Kurt, squinched, and his
mouth twisted self-consciously, which was quite the pout.
"Furthermore, as you've said, yourself, it's not up to you to decide on your
own rules for how you behave towards me. That pleasure is mine, and I'll tell
you when something's not okay or if I expect certain behavior. Rely on me, Sam.
You won't be punished unless you do something I specifically asked you not to.
And even then, I'll give you a warning. You'll know when I'm seriously
correcting you. It will be like right now. I'll demand your attention and I'll
tell it to you straight."
Sam nodded, face slowly relaxing, and Kurt took the opportunity to dig a little
deeper.
"What's the only thing I want from you at all times?"
It took Sam a second, but he sounded certain when he said, "Honesty."
"Perfect," Kurt whispered, thumbs circling the buckles he could feel under
Sam's sleeves. "Are you going to be able to concentrate today? I know it's been
intense the past couple of days. Truthfully, I was totally excited yesterday,
too. But I still think you can miss a day if it's too much. So what's your
honest answer?"
"I'll be better today – I want to try. I want to be here. I wouldn't get to see
you if I went home."
"Okay, then let's make a deal," Kurt proposed, a smug smile spreading on his
face. "Try to concentrate like normal, but if you start to have trouble, go to
the nurse. You can ask her to send for me and she will. Or you can text me to
come. You don't have to worry if you feel overwhelmed, 'cause I get it, and my
number one priority is to tend to my sub. I will help you, Sam. If you feel
like you need me, I expect you to ask for me."
Sam's chest was rising hard.
Leaning in, Kurt whispered, "You understand I won't be mad if you can't help
being horny, right? You love being collared and now you know what it's like to
be used by your master. Your master who loves your come and your body and how
eager you are."
Now he had Sam completely stupefied, standing there motionless save his labored
breathing.
After a good thirty seconds, Sam's brows pulled delicately and he opened his
eyes, squinting like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to be opening them or
not. Kurt could tell he was sorting out the information through his automatic
arousal response and the need to grovel, and – he really wanted to kiss him.
But the smooch they'd shared in study hall was a total anomaly. Although he
didn't know for sure, Sam might have been in subspace, or at least skirting it
enough to seem confused. He didn't know if it had even registered with him. So
Kurt simply arched a brow and leered.
"Let's get your books."
 
*
 
Usually Kurt enjoyed French, but today, he had other things on his mind.
It was becoming more and more clear to him that Sam's wiring was a mess. He'd
known it from the start, but it was really beginning to show now that things
had become more physical. Sexual things that had happened between Sam and
Quinn, as chaste as they ultimately were, had obviously made a very big
impression. They were part of Sam's first training as a submissive – to him,
they were fundamentals. He'd locked onto them, and in her short tenure as Sam's
Domme, Santana had only reinforced them with her lack of interest. She'd given
Sam even more of a sense that he wasn't really wanted and that he wasn't a good
sub somehow.
But thanks to Sam's uncertain morning, Kurt had shifted right into problem-
solving mode. He passed in his homework and raced effortlessly through that
night's assignment even as his teacher gave their lesson, conjugating ten verbs
with a good fifteen minutes to spare. He gave Mrs. Greer a courtesy two minutes
at her desk before his ass was out of his seat.
"Madame? I'm finished with my work. May I have a pass to see the guidance
counselor?"
"En français?"
"Er, puis-je... consulter le conseiller?"
"Oui, oui. Comme toujours, très bon."
"Merci beaucoup."
Hurrying, Kurt clutched his pass all the way to Ms. Pillsbury's office. Through
the glass panes of her office, he could see her arranging the bookshelf behind
her desk, adjusting something carefully. He was willing to bet that the books
and decor had been perfectly straight all along, but he himself was more on the
neatnik side and did like a good fuss-session, so he couldn't really judge. He
tapped on the door frame gently.
"Oh! Hello, Kurt. I was just – did we have an appointment?"
"No, I was just hoping to ask you a quick question."
"Okay. I do have an appointment for second period with a certain freshman who's
dating her iPhone, so you've got a good ten minutes. Come in."
Ms. Pillsbury, who had a very particular style that was somewhere between Mad
Men and Marian the librarian that he often found on-point, seated herself, and
Kurt did the same. He had a mini inspiration board tucked into his messenger
bag, prefaced with three separate proposals on how to spruce up the soft room,
each in a differing price range. He hadn't had time to gather fabric samples,
so it was just a digital print-out, but her well-placed vintage brooches and
fresh color choices assured him Ms. Pillsbury understood the difference between
herringbone and houndstooth.
"So, how are you doing?" she asked solicitously. "Are your new English teacher
and study hall working out for you?"
"Yes, especially the study hall. I get so much done in there, you wouldn't even
believe. But actually, rather than seeking academic guidance or a schedule
change, I came to ask you about the school's discretionary chamber."
"Oh? Well, I'm sorry, Kurt, but we don't have a discretionary."
"We don't?" echoed Kurt, not sure whether to believe her or not. "We don't have
a soft room of some type? Any type? Anywhere?"
She gave him an apologetic smile. "No. We're a public high school. We can
barely keep our arts programs from getting cut and most of our entrances still
aren't handi-accessible. Besides a petition before my time here that never
gained much traction, there's never been any movement to set aside a special
room. It's just not reasonable. Public domming is very accepted now. It's even
kind of cool, isn't it? These days, people identify themselves to their peers
and wear their collars proudly. That wasn't always the case. It was a lot
different when I was in high school, even, and now there's stuff like Facebook
where you can list yourself as 'Dom' or 'sub' and all your friends can see. The
need for soft rooms doesn't really exist anymore."
"You seem to know a lot about them," Kurt observed.
"Yes," she acknowledged, straightening her stapler. "I studied them in college.
Some educational establishments do have them."
"There's one at Dalton, that private school in Westerville."
"Yes. But as I understand, it isn't used much."
"Well, what about when a submissive is, you know, kind of far-gone?" Kurt
asked. "Like, they might be in subspace?"
"You know, I've never had a student actually ask me about subspace, but I have
pamphlets for that!"
Eyes bright, she opened a drawer, then presented Kurt with two pamphlets, one
adorned in a confused scattering of question marks, followed by simple block
letters: Subspace: Yep, It's Real. The other depicted a girl freaking out,
standing beside a boy who had apparently passed out in wooden stocks. DID I
BREAK THEM??
"Oh my. This is terrifying," he said dubiously. "Thank you."
"That one's about aftercare, which is very, very important," she chirped.
"But in terms of caring for my sub, there's nowhere here to take him if he
needs, you know... help?"
"You can take him to the nurse."
"The nurse."
"Kurt," said Ms. Pillsbury reproachfully, as if just she only just got what he
was saying, "a submissive should not be going into subspace at school. It's one
thing if she – or he, pardon – is in a submissive headspace, feeling subby.
Wanting to serve, minding their manners, asking for directions, or maybe
testing the boundaries. All that good stuff. Totally normal and acceptable. But
subspace is more than that. It's a deeper level of submission that is very
personal and private and the result of things which are extremely inappropriate
to be doing in school. More than that, it can be dangerous to a sub if not
handled correctly."
"Seriously?" Kurt scrabbled to open the scary-looking pamphlet.
"Very seriously. It's rough stuff, McGruff." She eyed him. "But unless you're
paddling your submissive between classes or causing him pain or overstimulating
him in another way, I highly doubt that he's in subspace. It's an extreme state
of mind and usually a reaction to intense domination. And not just a light
spanking, mind you."
"Oh. Jeez," said Kurt. His heart had jumped up into his throat. No wonder
Blaine had thought Kurt letting Sam slip into subspace in study hall was a
fuck-up. "I've never spanked him. Not even for fun."
"T.M.I., but in that case, I wouldn't worry. Subspace really is a real thing
that happens to some subs – see other pamphlet – but it's very different for
everyone when it does happen, and it's different for guys than it is for girls.
Some might say it tends to be less intense for guys. And for some, they just
aren't the type, and that's perfectly all right and they aren't any less
submissive or obedient. Everyone has their own unique reaction to things. Hold
on, I'm getting a couple of ideas for a pamphlet..."
She reached for a pencil, sharpened it even though it seemed to already be
sharpened, and began to write something on a yellow notepad.
Shifting his attention, Kurt's eyes sped this way and that through the Yep,
It's Real pamphlet. They landed on bolded headlines like, What Even Is
"Subspace," Anyway? and he felt a tinge of impatience.
While he liked Ms. Pillsbury, she didn't know Sam like Kurt did. Kurt felt
perfectly and factually aware that Sam was very much the subspace type. He
didn't know how else to think of his state in study hall the previous day, now
that he'd ruled out the idea that Sam had been half-asleep the entire class.
Sam was more responsive than he would have been able to imagine before
collaring him, actually, but what Kurt had witnessed seemed beyond him just
feeling subby. It seemed more like Sam had gone somewhere Train might write a
song about.
With a pleased flourish, Ms. Pillsbury put her pencil down again. "As I was
saying. Either way, it often takes guidance from a firm hand and some very old-
school domming for a sub to enter subspace. I don't recommend any sub be taken
there outside of the home."
Nodding, Kurt tucked the pamphlets into his bag and decided to revisit his
original reason for being there one more time.
"So, just to be clear, there's no soft room here? Not even for teachers?"
"Nope. If we had a soft room, Coach Sylvester probably would have turned it
into a cheerleading trophy room or something by now, especially since she's all
for less restrictions on domming in public schools. She constantly demands that
people be publicly flogged."
"So if my newly-collared submissive seems overwhelmed and unable to concentrate
or communicate, I should take him to the nurse?"
"Yes, for sure. The nurse will be able to help you. Is this a thing that's been
happening?"
Kurt nodded shortly.
"Okay, that's perfectly understandable. Some subs get more excited about their
collar than others, especially the ones with A.D.H.D. or other disorders, and
that can be a challenge for a high school student to manage."
"Sam is dyslexic, but I don't know if he's A.D.H.D.," said Kurt.
"Well, dyslexia and attention deficit can go hand-in-hand, but that's just food
for thought, not a professional medical diagnosis. He should calm down after a
few days. Would it help put you at ease if I wrote you a couple of passes to
the nurse? You could keep them with you and use them at any time, if you think
your sub's getting a little hyper or loopy on you."
"Oh, yes, please," said Kurt, lunging at the opportunity.
Ms. Pillsbury smiled pleasantly, looking happy to have seemingly resolved the
issue, and pulled her pad of passes out. Kurt tried not to bounce in his seat.
His back-up plan was looking like a go.
 
*
 
At lunch, Sam seemed to be faring okay. He did looked dazed as ever to see that
Kurt had brought something homemade for him, but that was a typical response
for him to have any time he was given a kind gesture. Today it was a simple
fruit salad in a tupperware container, but he still seemed surprised.
"No sweeteners," Kurt assured him, giving his round cheek a quick cup and
feeling his sub's smile right in his palm.
"You're not going to feed it to him by hand, are you?" asked Tina warily,
joining them with her lunch tray and Mike beside her. "You make the rest of us
look heartless."
"It's a bit messy, so I'll let Sam eat it himself, but concern for his shirt is
the only reason," Kurt said.
It didn't escape his notice that Mike gave Sam a small bemused grin as he sat.
"Hey, Tina," Kurt said lightly, "have you ever had to take Mike to the nurse?"
"No," she said, not noticing the way Sam fumbled with the lid on his salad,
taking it off too forcefully and sending it clattering onto his tray. "Mike
never gets sick."
"The only sick thing about me is my abs," said Mike, scooting his chair in. It
might have been a joke, but Tina nodded seriously. "I did have to go a couple
of times freshman year. I twinged a nerve in my neck pop-and-locking, so she
let me lie down with a heating pad on it. Why?"
"Don't you think the nurse's office is kinda weird?" Kurt asked him, poking his
salad.
"Yeah. I've always thought it's kinda weird," said Mike. "Why's the front of it
glass? I know there's a section curtained off, but shouldn't the whole office
be more private than that?"
"My thoughts exactly," Kurt said, although that wasn't really so. "And could
those infirmary beds be any closer together?"
"Now that you mention it, there's a sink in there, but no bathroom," said Tina.
"What if some kid can't stop barfing? They have to barf in the sink in front of
everyone? That's gross."
"Totally," said Kurt. That was a fair point, and he hadn't even considered it.
Now he had to wonder if someone had converted the bathroom into a soft room. It
would explain the paper towel machine on the wall. "But let's change the
subject. Tina, I'm looking forward to your solo tomorrow night, and Mike, your
dance solo – and Sam, your hosting of the evening's entertainment. It's going
to be great. I invited Blaine. I trust that won't be an issue, now that he's
not the competition."
"Ticket sales? Not a problem," said Tina. "Maybe you should ask Blaine if he
wants to buy twenty thousand pieces of saltwater taffy."
At Kurt's side, Sam was carefully eating his fruit salad, but one glance was
all it took to see that his ears were a deep red. With a tug of warm affection,
Kurt sneaked a hand under the table to give his knee a little rub, and Sam shot
him a shy smile, lips flattening into each other. He was hanging in there, even
though Kurt was casually talking about the nurse and Sam had to be thinking
about yesterday at least a little.
When Mercedes joined them a minute later, she looked relieved to see that Kurt
wasn't slipping juicy slices of fruit between Sam's lips himself.
"I'm gonna staple Rachel Berry's mouth shut," she declared, and the rest of
lunch was spent discussing the Night of Neglect and how Rachel had stolen "My
Heart Will Go On" from Kurt when she knew for a fact it was one of his go-tos
and how Mercedes was fed the hell up.
"Rachel's good, but I just want to hear you sing a solo, Mercedes," Sam told
her at one point, which Kurt found very kind-hearted. Mercedes seemed to
appreciate it, too.
After the bell rang, Kurt bid Sam farewell out in the hallway, where they
always had to part once more before their shared study hall.
"Thanks for the salad," Sam said.
"Did you like? I usually add melon balls, but they're not quite in season yet.
You do like strawberries, though, right?"
He got a nod, and then a thrill when Sam bowed his head and happened to be
close enough to Kurt that his forehead touched Kurt's shoulder lightly.
"Aw. You're welcome, sweetie," Kurt purred. He could feel the heat of Sam's
neck on his cheek and turned his face into it, smelling the fresh fruit he'd
been eating, and was unable to keep himself from planting a light kiss on that
warm skin. He whispered to Sam, "You're so sweet. You make me proud."
"Move along before one of you gets mauled, young Siegfried and Roy," said Coach
Sylvester as she passed them by with her quick, long stride. The off-handed
comment jerked Sam's head up again, and Kurt had a split-second of feeling
extremely cross, because wasn't Coach Sylvester an advocate of P.D.D.? Okay, it
was more a conservative public display of submission, but still, Doms and subs
reflected upon each other; it was the same thing. Was she telling them to move
on because they were both boys – ?
Then something clicked in his brain.
"Get to class, Sam," he said. "I'll see you in study hall."
He spun on the spot and followed Coach Sylvester down the hall, in the opposite
direction of his class, leaving Sam blinking and staring after him.
 
*
 
"Coach," he said, finally catching up with her just as she was seating herself
in her office and sliding her glasses onto her nose. "A word, if I may?"
"Not if the word is 'sexuality,' 'Gaga,' or 'mash-up,'" she responded, although
she didn't deny him completely.
"The word I was thinking of was 'discretionary.'"
Her stare lifted and he met it steadily. Caught off-guard, she took her glasses
off again and threw them on her desk.
"Sit."
After a stare like that, Kurt didn't even need to ask; he felt absolutely
certain Coach Sylvester was in the know. She had eyes and ears all over the
school, and at least as much power as Figgins, not to mention more brains and
initiative. Plus, didn't Figgins seem like a total sub?
"I visited the discretionary yesterday," said Kurt, settling in the chair in
front of her desk, "and I'm appalled by its condition."
"Well, porcelain, first allow me to congratulate you on finding someone willing
to be enslaved to you. I'm not surprised it's Happy Hooligan. There's something
weird about the way he walks, like there should be two more of him in different
colored shirts and baseball caps, quacking. And I think we have the same
hairstylist."
"Thank you," said Kurt coolly. He wasn't even sure what most of that meant, but
it was probably insulting, and it was probably best to let her get it out of
her system.
"So what makes you think we have a discretionary at this school?" she asked as
she leaned back in her seat.
"Like I said, I went there. I saw it. I know it exists, and I'm glad it exists.
I'm glad there's somewhere I can take my sub. I even think its location is
perfect. It's extremely quiet. I just think it could use a thorough cleaning
and some functional yet stylish updates."
Coach Sylvester frowned. "How the hell did you hear about it in the first
place?"
"Miss Holliday. She wrote me a pass and told me to take my sub there. He
couldn't have gone to his next class in the state he was in."
"And here I thought my night of Animal Hoarders and red wine with that charming
drifter was done biting me in the ass," she lamented.
"Coach, I appreciate that someone thought a soft room might be beneficial to
have around. I found it extremely helpful. Who else uses it? Anyone?"
"A select few have been granted permission to use it."
"So the student body at large doesn't know it's available?"
"No. It's not a discretionary if everyone knows about it. It's not for the
Proactiv-slathered masses, with their oil-drenched follicles and foot fungus
and still-forming brains. The domming you kids are allowed to do doesn't
require privacy. This is a public school."
"So it's just for teachers, then?"
"None of your business."
"How strange that Ms. Pillsbury told me we didn't have one, but the nurse let
us use it..."
"Well, it's under her watch, so that's her judgment call. And of course that
hollow-boned sub-in-denial doesn't know about it."
"It's not very sanitary for something under the nurse's care," Kurt said
flatly.
"Kidney. World's worst janitor. It needs cleaning, does it? Probably because he
sleeps in there. I assume. I've never seen him leave or arrive. He's just
always here. It could be where he's been keeping his collection of used
retainers."
"Okay, gallons of premium unleaded nightmare fuel aside, I don't think he's
been in there all year," said Kurt. "The floor needs a thorough scrubbing, but
not with that old mop Mr. Kidney uses. And I think that the paper towels need
to be much better quality, or that a box of baby wipes or moist towelettes or
something that will actually clean skin needs to be offered. There needs to be
someplace where people can hang their backpacks or jackets, or something to set
things down on besides the gross floor. Might I suggest an Ikea shelving unit?"
"If you had looked carefully, you would have seen a slat under the bed. But I'm
sure you were too busy administering the Heimlich maneuver to your sub, who
looks like he regularly chokes on his own ginormous lips."
As that was somehow not what Kurt had expected Coach to say Sam was choking on,
he moved on quickly.
"Also, the light fixture, or lack thereof. Covering a bare bulb is an
inexpensive change that would make the room less hazardous and really go a long
way in making the room feel like an actual room instead of a sad closet. Or, as
I'm currently theorizing, former bathroom that either you personally converted
for your own interests, or are simply helping to keep on the down low to use as
a bargaining chip."
"You've got it all figured out, eh, porcelain?" Coach Sylvester mused, peering
at him with her finger on her lower lip.
"I believe I do, and I've put together a list of the changes I think need to be
instituted and some ideas for some very chic cosmetic improvements."
He handed her his proposal, which he'd put together like a history report, with
a clear cover. She looked at it for a second, but didn't open it.
"What makes you think I'm going to approve any of these changes? This
discretionary is not a school-sanctioned facility provided for anyone, and the
school is under no obligation to pay for baby wipes for your sub's precious,
tender behind."
"I guess it would just be a shame if I had to bother Principal Figgins about
it, especially since I doubt he knows there's a soft room in his own school.
Then everyone would find out about it, and it doesn't seem like Miss Holliday
really knows how to keep a secret, so it'll probably be traced back to you,
even if you didn't install it for your own use. It'll still be 'Sue's Corner.'
And it'll probably get turned back into a bathroom."
There was a pause. Kurt used it to give a sorry-not-sorry smile.
"Well, I gotta say, blackmail looks good on ya, kiddo," said Coach Sylvester,
unperturbed. "I respect your backbone, even if it's unnaturally curved and
makes your body look totally weird."
She got up, Kurt's report in hand, and took it to her shredder, which had a FOR
CHEERIOS USE ONLY! label on it. Kurt's smile faded, and sure enough, she pulled
the pages of his detailed ideas out of the folder and put them through the
machine, talking loudly over the sound of it mechanically digesting what she
probably viewed as proof.
"Here's the deal. I will pay for the soft room to be professionally cleaned.
You will pick out a low-cost light fixture. I will retain final approval over
said light fixture. Here are the guidelines: no chandeliers, no prisms, no
fringe. Nothing that dangles."
Sitting back down, she took out a sheet of Cheerios letterhead and began to
write, somehow continuing to speak at the same time.
"I will have the fixture installed, and as a responsible Dominant, you will
stop your whining and provide your own moist butt-wipes."
Kurt flushed triumphantly.
"There needs to be a trash can so people don't just toss their used paper
towels on the floor," he said. "And it needs to be emptied on a regular basis."
"Done. Lastly, you will not tell anyone about the discretionary. None of your
little glee club friends. No teachers, no Figgins. Obviously you're going to
continue to use it for things that require baby wipes, and now I'm just
thinking about the waddle of a six-foot sophomore in adult diapers and I want
it to stop. I can't and won't monitor your activities in the soft room, but
friendly reminder, inappropriate touching on school grounds is against the
rules, as is spanking, slapping, infliction of pain, and other forms of rough
body play. Take me down and I'm taking you with me."
"Fine. I had a new chair picked out, but seeing as how this is coming out of
your budget, I concede. Thank you for addressing my concerns."
"Personally, I enjoy watching my submissives writhing in filth and their own
frightened stench, but I understand you're a fussy one. I'll bring the cleaners
in this weekend. Email me your choice of light fixture by tonight."
"Pleasure doing business with you," said Kurt, standing tall and offering his
hand.
"Nope," she said. "Not shaking that. God only knows where it's been." She
pushed forward the letterhead. "Sign this confidentiality agreement."
"Let me read the fine print," said Kurt.
"Damn. You can see that, huh?"
 
*
 
Kurt seemed to land next to Sam in study hall, falling into his chair from
Cloud Nine.
He was already in a Dom groove, but he'd been totally Katrina and the Waves-ing
it since his under-the-table bartering session with Coach Sylvester. He hadn't
expected to be presenting his ideas to her, but he also hadn't expected
threatening to tattle on her to work out as well as it had. It could've
exploded in his face, but it hadn't.
Everything was coming up Hummel, he thought smugly. Sure, Coach Sylvester may
not have actually looked at his proposals, but she'd given into the basics that
were featured in all three – the scrub-down, the light fixture, and the waste
basket. And as far as he could tell, she had given him the green light to keep
using the room in exchange for his silence. Even if he only ever took Sam there
once or twice more in the rest of his time at McKinley, the peace of mind that
he'd secured a good cleaning was worth it. That would benefit whoever else used
it too.
"Since tonight and Saturday are off the table, how about Sunday night?" he
asked his sub optimistically.
Sam's mouth gathered at one side like Kurt had tugged a string.
"I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "It's Easter."
"Oh, right," Kurt said. "I forgot. I bet you have church and family stuff."
"Yeah. Does your family not do Easter?"
"Not so much. Just a bit of brunch. We don't watch the Easter parade or
anything, but I do don a hat."
Sam's smile became a grin.
"I don't think there's an Easter parade."
"No?" Kurt asked. "Then why did Fred Astaire and Judy Garland star in a classic
– no, never mind. If you knew 'We're a Couple of Swells,' I'd be shocked. So we
have the benefit tomorrow night and Easter's on Sunday? I won't get to see you
till next week?"
He pouted, mostly for dramatic effect, but Sam's eyes widened and Kurt quickly
realized it wasn't a good time for that; at the moment, Sam would probably
think the answer displeased Kurt on a personal level.
"Well, that settles it!" he pushed on. "We simply must pay another visit to the
nurse."
Sam's eyes flared further, which made him look utterly shocked.
"Unless you have studying to do," Kurt added, somewhat repentant.
"I can probably study later," said Sam, staring owlishly.
"I really can't resist the opportunity to get you alone," murmured Kurt. "Not
with Coach Sylvester in my pocket and Miss Holliday for a substitute. Gather
your books and follow me, cutie."
As Miss Holliday, stylish as per usual in her high-heeled boots, walked to the
front of the class with the roll book clenched in her teeth and her hands busy
tying her hair into a ponytail, the bell rang. Kurt slid from his seat, digging
into his bookbag for the passes he'd carefully stashed and presenting one to
Miss Holliday with his sub hanging awkwardly behind him.
"The nurse?" she asked knowingly, placing the roll on the podium. "Feeling a
bit under the weather again today, are we?"
"Still getting over it," said Kurt with a smile.
"Okay, Mr. Hummel and Mr. Evans," she said, putting tiny pencil marks by their
names and returning the pass. "I've got you covered. See ya lata."
Out in the hall, Kurt slid his arm around Sam's and beamed at him.
"How'd you do that?" Sam asked, puzzled.
"How'd I get us soft room passes? I have my ways."
"Yeah, you kinda do."
"Mm-hm," hummed Kurt importantly, followed by a bar of "I've Got A Golden
Ticket."
"I'm still not in trouble," Sam put forward, seeming mildly confused even
though he seemed to be stating a fact.
"No. I just want to get in some quality time with you before we're busy this
whole entire weekend. I love studying with you and I loved just petting you
into oblivion yesterday, but today I want to have you to all myself for a
little bit. Do you like the sound of that?"
"Yeah," Sam said, smiling. His bicep flexed under the twine of Kurt's hand as
he drew his arm up, escorting Kurt in a very gentlemanly fashion. It was
difficult not to feel swoony.
The nurse looked nonplussed to see them darkening her glass doorway again, but
Kurt handed her the pass with Ms. Pillsbury's neat signature on it and said
outright, "I asked about the soft room and she said it didn't exist."
"It doesn't," said the nurse flatly. It was quite the expertly-delivered lie.
She shrugged, then, and pulled out a trashy-looking novel that was bookmarked
right in the middle and didn't really give them a closer look. "Go 'head."
Kurt pulled Sam's arm and murmured, "Come along, sub."
Today, there were no Cheerios napping or feverish students stricken with mono
or pop-and-lockers with pulled muscles – no witnesses to wonder why Kurt and
Sam were disappearing into the wall. It must've been a lucky break for that
Cheerio to have been wearing a sleep mask, marveled Kurt. He really hadn't
thought about it at all at the time; he hadn't known the discretionary was
quite so discreet. He slipped his hand under the curtain and felt for the
nearly imperceptible curve between wood panels that made the entrance easy to
slide open.
"Our private suite?" Sam asked, as if he hadn't realized where they were going
until then.
"But of course," Kurt responded, holding the curtain back for Sam to duck
under. "Get in there."
Yesterday, Kurt hadn't known what to expect from the soft room. He'd quickly
discovered it wasn't exactly ideal, but he'd also been fairly preoccupied with
tending to his sub, who had seemed to be barely taking in his surroundings
either way, so the unappealing aspects about the room weren't important. Sam
was important. It had turned Kurt on just to watch his sub try to comprehend
what was going on and try to follow directions. He'd stared up at Kurt,
clutched fearfully at the bed, and shaken into orgasm the second Kurt had told
him he could.
At the time, Kurt had just breathlessly watched him, enamored, because even
though he'd spent a good half an hour getting his inspection on with Sam
propped up obediently on his bed, and they'd actually gone all the way
together, the sight of Sam coming was still brand new and incredible. And he'd
been so... subbed out. He'd been less beefcake boy toy obediently showing
himself to Kurt and more helpless, on some mental orgasmic cliff already. And
Sam had come so much, and it was so beautiful, just seeing his red knob against
his belly letting off gout after gout on his tensed abs. Kurt had felt the meat
of Sam's dick throbbing desperately under his hand. But remembering how quick
Sam had been to warn him, Kurt suddenly knew he wouldn't have even had to touch
Sam to have had him go off like that.
Today was different. Today, he knew what the soft room was like. Today, Sam
wasn't already far-gone, and Kurt honestly had no idea what it might be like to
dom him a little bit or whether it would be so intense or hair-triggered, but
he was determined to make the most of the next forty minutes.
Like before, Kurt didn't bother with turning on the naked light bulb. Early
afternoon sunlight made the covered window glow softly, casting Sam in
silhouette and shining off the wood paneled walls, and that was enough until
Coach Sylvester upgraded the lighting. He slid the door shut behind them again,
then checked to see if there was a lock of some type. There wasn't. It was just
as well, he supposed; he didn't want to have to be rescued if he accidentally
locked them in here. It really was quiet. The nurse's office wasn't noisy in
the first place, but the quiet seemed so true and deep, Kurt wondered if there
was soundproofing.
"Put your books under the bed. There should be a shelf of sorts. Then lie
down," he told Sam, watching Sam obey him and crouch to stick his books onto
the slats, which Kurt couldn't even really see without the light on. It didn't
matter. Sam straightened, then sat back on the bed, limbs slouchy and shoulders
hulking, fingers sliding around the vinyl curve under his thighs. The cuffs on
his wrists made the whole sight unfairly hot.
"Do I take my shirt off?" he asked innocently.
"Mm, not right now," decided Kurt. "Just relax."
By the look on his face, Sam had to concentrate to do so, looking very
conscious of himself as he scooted back and hauled his legs up, lying back with
some consideration. Kurt didn't miss that his expression pulled through a wave
of confused concern, like maybe he was experiencing déjà vu. He looked up at
Kurt as he stepped over and shoved his books under the bed next to Sam's.
"Like this?" he wanted to know.
"Perfect," Kurt responded, smiling. Sam's eyes seemed to light up, but maybe it
was just that his irises caught the weak light while his gaze was tilted up and
glowed a clear, pretty green. God, what a face Sam had. The trusting look on it
was half of the charm, but he really was one of the cutest boys in school, and
– he was Kurt's.
Kurt spared a glance at the bed's wooden frame. It had a solid base. The legs
looked fairly sturdy, too. It sort of looked like a table with a cushion on
top. The main problem was that it was short, length-wise. Sam's feet dangled
off it mid-calf. But it was wide. Not quite wide enough for two to lie side-by-
side, but Kurt edged a knee up onto the vinyl cushion anyway.
Feeling that the bed actually could hold them both, Kurt tossed his other leg
over Sam's knees, straddling him efficiently.
Sam stiffened from the waist up, arms awkward and rigid at his sides, staring
up him.
"How about this?" Kurt asked him, leaning forward onto his hands.
With downright amazed eyes, Sam nodded, so Kurt eased himself down gracefully.
One elbow took much of his upper body weight, but he let his hips rest right on
Sam's. Their belts awkwardly pressed between them. But the huff Sam let out
didn't seem to be because Kurt was very heavy. As Kurt's knees slid and his
legs straightened along Sam's, his feet in his white Docs went off the bed,
too, hanging off alongside Sam's navy Converse, but otherwise the solidity of
Sam's body was extremely comfortable, and Kurt settled further with a contented
hum.
A warm bloom of pleasure opened in Kurt's chest as he watched Sam's expression.
He blinked, eyes unfocused and not seeming to be looking at anything at all,
and his open mouth closed and pressed into itself, twisting up on one side as
he exhaled. Kurt's hand slid over the muscle of his shoulder and stopped flat
on his sternum, where Sam's heart beat was racing. Kurt really couldn't tell
what he was thinking, but he loved that he could sense an internal riot going
on.
"Close your eyes," Kurt said, letting his impulses lead him. Sam obeyed
instantly, so he hummed, "Mm, good boy."
With his torso on top of Sam's, the drop of Sam's breath was instantly obvious.
His abs flexed. His rib cage sank, then rose reflexively. The tiny stressed
exhale was barely audible between them, but Kurt heard it, especially because
he felt it. It was like he'd touched Sam somewhere sensitive.
"You're being very obedient," Kurt told him, laying it on incredibly thick. "I
love how much you want to be good for me, Sam. Does it make you feel like a
good sub to obey me?"
Without hesitation, Sam gave him a nod, breaths coming short and shallow
through his nose.
"I bet so. That makes me happy. I love a sweet little sub who likes being
obedient for their Dom. Are you feeling like my good boy?"
Another open nod.
"Why's that?" Kurt asked gently, as if just curious.
"I'm with you. I'm being obedient. 'S warm," Sam answered slowly, not sounding
like he was groping for the right answer so much as he just needed time to
bring up words. Kurt could feel his murmur right in his chest. "I'm collared."
"Yeah? All that feels good?"
Sam nodded, and his mouth pulled crooked and sheepish as he added, "You're on
top of me."
"Mm-hm. I saw you and had to cuddle on up."
A little noise escaped Sam, somewhere between a grunt of acknowledgment and a
happy whimper.
"Do you like this, too? Me on top of you?"
A nod.
"Me too. Pinning you down is fun. Now I'm going to give you a rule, Sam," Kurt
said, lovingly watching Sam's face slacken and his curvy mouth slip open. "Say
'yes' or 'no' for me, and keep in mind I only want honesty from you. The right
answer for you to give me is always the honest one. Are you ready for the
rule?"
"Yes," said Sam. Kurt could tell he was at attention.
"Good. I like that you listened close. Here's the rule: You can touch me if you
want. You don't have to. That's not the rule. It's an allowance I'm giving you
right now. What I mean is that you can do whatever you want with your hands.
You have total permission. The only thing you can't do is mess with my clothes.
Don't undo them. Don't untuck my shirt. Stuff like that. That's my rule. Do you
follow?"
"Yes," Sam said. His brows were carefully drawn together.
"This rule is only in effect until the bell rings. Do you understand that?
After the bell rings, it isn't a rule anymore – like the rules in a game. It's
just for right now, and not something for you to keep following after the bell.
Okay?"
"Yes."
"Tell me what the rule is," said Kurt, so he could test Sam's comprehension
level just then.
"I can touch you if I want, but not get under your clothes, till the bell
rings. Then the rule doesn't apply anymore."
"Good, Sam," Kurt told him, pleased. "You understood perfectly. Starting now,
you can touch me."
Sam's hands slid from their constant grip at the cushion and brushed the seams
running up either side of the dark jeans that were skinny and snug to Kurt's
thighs. The movement was reflexive and obedient. Kurt could tell Sam was
automatically eager to follow within the constraints of the rule, but was
obviously cautious about it. The touch was so light.
Kurt just let it be whatever it was; he had to figure that Sam would take some
time to work out that it really was a real allowance with real boundaries, and
not something created just to punish Sam with invisible exceptions. He also had
to figure that Sam might not know the difference between touching Kurt however
he wanted and trying to touch Kurt how he believed might be expected of him, so
he didn't want to offer any criticisms or any more direct instructions. It made
him curious to find out what Sam would do on his own, given permission and a
defined boundary.
"I touch you all the time, don't I?" Kurt asked him, sliding his palm over
Sam's heart beat as if he could soothe it.
"Yes."
"'Cause I'm your Dom, and you're mine to touch. However I want. Whenever I
want."
In a slavish breath: "Yes."
"You've given yourself to me, and everybody knows it."
"...Yes."
Biting down on the corner of his mouth, which really desperately wanted to pull
into a smug grin, Kurt slid his hand up Sam's hot pink neck and cupped his jaw.
He hadn't meant for Sam to respond to everything he said with an affirmative or
negative, but it was interesting. He also wondered if Sam was going to keep his
eyes shut until Kurt said he could open them, and decided to just watch and
see.
"I'm glad you let me take you here," Kurt told him, dotingly thumbing at Sam's
round cheek. "I don't intend to do it all the time. But this week is special. I
just can't wait three days to touch you again."
"Yes," Sam breathed nonsensically, his head seeming to become heavy in Kurt's
hand, like he couldn't keep it from falling deep into that cradle of fingers.
"'Yes,' huh, sweetie?" Kurt echoed, chuckling warmly into Sam's jaw.
"Yes. Yes, Kurt."
Kurt eyed the stretch of flushed neck Sam had bared to him with that turn of
his head and muttered, "Sweet boy."
"Yes," pleaded Sam.
Huffing deeply, the breath echoing loud against the vinyl next to Sam's head,
Kurt dipped to press his mouth to Sam's neck, almost right where he'd kissed it
after lunch.
"Yes. You're my sweet sub, Sam," he murmured, being self-indulgent, yes, but
also firming up all the ground he'd been laying for weeks. He knew Sam knew who
he belonged to now – it was absolutely undeniable now that he was collared –
but Quinn still lingered in Sam's psyche. He kissed that warm spot, feeling
Sam's pulse throbbing as his lips slid up the strong muscles in his throat.
Sam's yes came as a formless, helpless little moan. Kurt pressed, "You don't
belong to a girl, do you."
"Nn-no..."
"That's right." Kurt nuzzled him, lips just sliding against that warm
vulnerable pulse. "You're too good for them. You're gorgeous and sexy and need
to be used by your master. I know exactly what needs to be done with a boy like
you. I'd never let all that come you have go to waste."
Lightly, Kurt's lips caught on Sam's neck, sucking tentatively. Kurt had
sacrificed his first try at kissing to make out with Brittany last year, but
he'd found the idea of doing anything other than spit-swapping pretty
unappealing, so despite how right he felt with Sam, he was technically way less
experienced with necking and stuff. But Sam gasped and moaned and clutched at
Kurt's sides.
Kurt grunted in surprise, not just because Sam's hands felt huge and warm on
him and his grip was strong, but because he'd never felt a touch like that
before, and the surprise spiked right into arousal in his belly. He felt Sam's
hands slide around his back, collared by the cuffs that were heavy and thick
and reminded him shiversomely that Sam really was his sub – but then Sam seemed
to ease off, doubtful. Humming at him softly, Kurt nipped at his neck, waiting
for him to realize he wasn't about to be reprimanded or told to calm down.
"Show me your neck, sweetie," Kurt muttered, his fingers sliding over and
snagging at the collar of Sam's shirt. There was a thin gathering of stretchy
t-shirt cotton around his neck – his little faded dark blue shirt had sporty
yellow stripes on its sleeves and a hood – that Kurt pulled down as Sam dizzily
turned his face and tipped his chin up, panting. Sam's neck was strong, Adam's
apple jutting.
He attacked deeper, mouth closing wet around a flexed tendon near the hollow of
his clavicle, and Sam's breath squeaked. Ripples of satisfaction tore down
Kurt's spine. Maybe he'd give Sam a hickey. The base of his neck seemed like a
good place to try. After a delicate lick at his skin, Kurt re-latched, pulling
at the flesh in a sharp suck, and Sam's arms clutched around his middle as he
pulled at that skin, bossing it into a flushed pink oval. It was amazing for
Sam's muscular arms to twine around him like that. He fought down a head rush,
but not very effectively.
"Have you ever gotten a hickey?" he whispered right in Sam's ear.
"Y... eah..." Sam answered shyly. "A couple."
"Mn. Of course you have," said Kurt, flashing back to the way Santana had been
all over Sam at Rachel's party. Now that had been a public display of
dominance. "Your neck's irresistible."
"I..." Sam's heart was thudding under Kurt's forearm. Kurt didn't wait around
for him to get focused on what he was starting to say. He went after that rosy
mark he'd coaxed onto Sam's skin, catching at it again, and Sam huffed. Words
tumbled out of him under his breath. "I get so hard! I get too hard if you kiss
my neck. I dunno why! Please... I wanna be good."
"You can get hard. That's not against my rule, is it?"
After a few beats of silence, Sam's breath trembled, and Kurt realized he was
attempting to let out tension from lungs that were jerking. As his chest sank
in obvious hard-won increments, his heart beat became even easier to feel, and
he squirmed minutely under Kurt, maybe trying to pull himself together, or
maybe just turned on. His hands moved carefully to Kurt's shoulders, another
purposeful loosening that maybe he thought of as respectful, or something,
after making out with Quinn. Kurt's head was swimming. It hadn't taken very
much, but Sam was well and truly hard. He could feel the solid arc of Sam's
erection under his own hip. Maybe Sam really did like having his neck kissed
and having his Dom on top of him.
"Cutie," Kurt cooed, some kind of reflex getting hardcore jammed at the notion.
"I bet those girls got you so excited. I bet you loved getting little marks of
ownership from your Dommes. They didn't know how much you liked it, though."
He let his hand slide down the entire length of Sam's chest and side, going
slow enough that there was no way Sam could miss where it was headed, reaching
between them to rub Sam's dick through his jeans.
"Let me feel. Let me feel what having your neck kissed does to you..."
"God! Kurt. I –" Sam panted sharply.
Before he could manage to spit out something like I'm so sorry, please don't be
mad, Kurt interrupted: "Oh. That's a good boy, Sam. I like that, mm. Feeling my
sub's dick so hard for me."
That seemed to stun Sam into actual pleasure; he moaned, his head tipping
heavily, and submitted to the slow grind of Kurt's palm framing his hard-on
through his jeans. The little flick of the behavioral switch inside Sam's head
was somehow palpable, and went straight to Kurt's. He didn't need to have been
informed – twice in the same day – that this kind of thing was inappropriate
and against school rules. That was just sort of common sense. But he didn't
care. They were in private and had at least half an hour. That was plenty of
time.
His fingers popped the button of Sam's jeans open.
"Maybe I'll jerk you off," Kurt breathed, working the zip open next. Sam's
chest pulled in a wince of a breath. It was too tempting not to thrust his hand
right into Sam's open fly and caress him through the hot cotton of his briefs,
just as he had yesterday, earning himself a tight gasp. "Since you obviously
need to come all the time, horny little sub. You're so full of come, aren't
you. You just need to blow it. Or..."
Kurt drew his touch away, till only his middle finger was grazing the curve of
Sam's erection. Sam clenched at Kurt's arms, hooked.
"Or I could just play with you," Kurt told him cruelly. "I could play with my
sub all I want. I could just stroke it like this. With my fingertips. I could
just keep you here, suck on your neck, play with your hard dick. Get it
dripping wet. Get it so red. And you'd just have to hold off. I know you could
choke it all back if I wanted you to. Then when the bell rings I could just zip
you up again. Send you off to Mr. Schue."
Listening to Sam's breaths scrape in fast, Kurt smiled, scritching him
affectionately in his jeans.
"Bet you'd let me do that to you," he said. He knew Sam absolutely would, but
it was fun to tease him. "And I bet you'd go home tonight and get in your
sleeping bag having been such a good boy all day, but you'd have gotten so
excited. You would be aching 'cause you know what your Dom likes to do to you.
Maybe you'd touch yourself a little under the covers, get hard again thinking
about how much I love it when you're hard for me. You'd feel so good, Sam.
You'd feel so hot, thinking about how your Dom loves your dick to be hard.
You'd want to come so bad. But you'd hold off."
Sam inhaled, hollow and alarmed, body tensing hard.
"Poor little sub! You don't have privacy. You don't have me there to beg for
permission to shoot your load. You'd fall asleep just trying not to hump your
sleeping bag till you were creaming it. You'd be such a good sub. But still,
you'd wake up in the middle of the night, soaking wet with warm jizz –"
Under his wandering fingertips, Kurt could feel Sam's cock leaping like he'd
put an electrode on it.
"Dreaming all about your master letting you come," Kurt finished, cheeky.
"Wouldn't you?"
Whether or not it was true, Sam nodded frantically. His brow was so pulled he
looked extremely distressed.
God, Kurt really couldn't deny it; damn Quinn Fabray. He loved bringing Sam off
– he loved touching Sam and seeing him come, especially because he did so in
such total submission, it was beautiful – but the thought of Sam's libido and
obedience at war like that was so massively appealing. He definitely had it in
him to want to deny Sam the privilege of coming. He had it in him to torture
Sam. And he was definitely going to do it.
But not at school. He wasn't that cruel.
Their harsh breaths echoing in the little space together, Kurt shifted further
onto his side, overlapping Sam at the knee but giving himself plenty of room to
pry at the y-front on Sam's briefs. They only just fit on the bed like that.
"Let me see you," he whispered, patient as he did his best with one hand to get
Sam's cock out of his underwear.
Sam was kind of big, he thought proudly. His size and the snugness of Sam's
Hanes made pulling him out an awkward process, especially as Sam only clutched
at him rather than rush to his aid, but the effort and fumbling was still
weirdly hot. Finally, he worked Sam's erection through the fabric and shoved
the cotton around it down, staring at how fully hard Sam was, how pink and
veiny. His dick was really so gorgeous, Kurt couldn't believe he was touching
it and that Sam was his, now, to tease and jack anytime he wanted.
He prodded Sam's briefs open further. His sub inhaled with a wild hiss as
Kurt's fingers insistently popped his tense balls out, too, his gaping zip
dangerously toothy around them. With a hitch of his index finger, Kurt wiggled
the fly down a little, making sure the metal was only pressing at cotton and
not bare skin, but it was still somewhat tight. It shoved Sam's balls up
against the root of his dick. Oddly, Kurt liked the sight. Sam's blue hooded
shirt was still covering his navel, and his cock was pink and twitching right
on it, his balls somewhat unnaturally crowded and tight.
"This is so good, Sam," Kurt informed him breathlessly. "Your dick is
beautiful. You're beautiful."
Sam's head picked up, and Kurt saw that his eyes had finally opened, unfocused
and confused and trying to comprehend. But the weight of it all seemed too
heavy for Sam to bear and he dropped his head again with an audible flop
against the vinyl, and Kurt's eyes went right back to the lewd sight he'd made
Sam into.
"I love this. Your hard dick poking out of your jeans, sticking out for me
where I can see it. Everything on display for me. Right here in the nurse's
office, huh?"
Under him, Sam flexed, his hips lifting a tick and pushing his cock restlessly
along his t-shirt.
"Aw, that's it. My sweet boy's big submissive cock."
That got another deep tensing, like a jerk of helpless arousal that resounded
in Sam's entire body. It was like Sam was a puppet and Kurt was casually
pulling his strings without so much as touching him. It hit him again that he
could probably get Sam off without even jerking him into it, and the rush of
power was so heady, he felt slightly insane. It sort of hit Kurt then that he
was totally hard, too, but it was just totally incidental to him in that
moment, like the fact that there was a chair next to the bed. It didn't really
matter. Sam was at the absolute forefront of his attentions, dick pulled out
just for Kurt.
"Should I let you come before you go to Spanish?" Kurt asked. "Hm? What do you
think, sub?"
It took Sam, whose helpless straining was becoming squirming that was dragging
his cock against his tee, a few seconds to answer.
"I – don't – know –"
"You don't know? You don't wanna come again for me in here?"
Sam whined softly. His eyes were squeezed shut again. It didn't seem to be an
answer as much as a response.
But Kurt got it. Sam still wanted to be perceived as good more than he
necessarily wanted release. Kurt decided to be more gentle. He drew the tips of
his thumb and middle finger up the root of Sam's dick, moving silken skin over
swollen hot flesh, and stroked him up and down like that, with hardly any
pressure. It was a tease, really, but Sam choked, legs quaking like he was a
hair away from coming and trying so, so hard to hold it at bay.
"You're so good, Sam," he whispered.
Sam's hips squirmed.
"Such a good boy."
Sam wracked. He seemed unable to keep his hips from pumping, pushing his cock
against the bare graze of Kurt's fingertips.
"It's okay," he whispered. "You like me taking you here, don't you? Pleasing me
by showing me how much you respond to me? Showing me your hard sub dick?"
"Y – y –"
It was too much for Sam to get out beyond the first quivering shape of the
word.
"You can blow it if you want," Kurt said mildly, casually curled there atop
Sam's shuddering body. His fingers slipped away again, wet; Sam's slit was
starting to well over with precome that was shot through with thick globs of
white. Sam was losing it anyway. Something in Kurt wondered how long Sam would
try to hold himself off if Kurt wanted him to, but he said, "It's not against
the rule."
The noise Sam let out was pure anguish, which was a noise that sounded way too
good.
"P – please," he gaped, with no air or voice behind it.
"Good boy," Kurt hummed, and inhaled deeply as Sam shot off. His red cock
strained so hard that it seemed to lift and lift and lift again as come blurted
from it, uncontrolled. Yesterday Sam been held in place by the constraint of
still being mostly in his underwear, but today his dick was free and it looked
powerful and huge and twitched wildly around his loads that shot almost
diagonally up his little blue shirt, spattering him thoroughly. One heavy wad
hung off his knob, strung between it and his t-shirt even as his slit let out
more. Kurt, usually extremely practical and neat and even a little bit fond of
Sam's jocky duds, found himself having an out of body experience. He knew it
was bad. He knew it was mean. He knew Sam had no standby sweater in his locker.
But he hissed urgently, "Oh my God – yes, Sam. Yes, sweetie. Shoot all that hot
come all over that shirt for me. Go ahead and ruin it, little sub. God, you're
perfect."
Sam moaned, his body rolling and sinking. Kurt didn't rest, though. He was
still on the offensive. Sam deserved to feel like he'd behaved and done what
was asked of him. Sam deserved praise. Sam deserved to associate orgasm with
good behavior, not bad behavior.
"That's such a good boy. Such a hot, subby, obedient come for me, Sam. Good
job."
It was familiar, the way Sam's muscles and cock jumped for him. Biting down on
his lower lip, Kurt squashed the urge to reach down and stroke him further just
to see if he would yelp or groan or cry.
"Aren't you my good little sub, honey?" purred Kurt.
Sam let out a formless husk of a groan, dick still pulsing gently around
nothing. Kurt couldn't identify the noise as an affirmative or a reflex. He
examined Sam's face, his pink mouth gawping around breaths and the merest
wrinkle in his forehead signs that he was still conscious. Kurt still wasn't
entirely sure about when to consider Sam in subspace, but maybe right then Sam
was floating or in some kind of private heaven, as the pamphlet had described?
He smiled at the thought, feeling happier than he'd ever felt in his life, and
contentedly rested his cheek in his own palm, watching Sam breathe and his cock
slowly stop twitching and soften.
After what seemed like a couple of minutes, breaths slowed and shallow, Sam's
fingers flexed on Kurt's bicep.
"Please," he whispered muddily, lips barely coming together to help him out. "K
– lemme –"
"Hm? Say what you want, Sam," Kurt prompted patiently.
"Lemme suck your dick," Sam breathed, and once the words were out, his fingers
squeezed and his head turned towards Kurt's, eyelids still demurely closed.
"Please. Let me."
"Let you suck my dick?" Kurt echoed, smirking. "Is that what a good little sub
wants?"
"Yeah. Please let me."
To Kurt's surprise, Sam's hand slipped off his arm, and a second later it was
groping at the front of his jeans, sending a shock wave right through Kurt.
He'd mentally put his dick on ignore, but he absolutely could not ignore the
way Sam was sliding needy fingers along it. He listened to Sam huff, piqued by
the messy but muscled way Sam was feeling him up, trying to get a grip on him.
"Oh-ho," Kurt chuckled under his breath. "Feeling how hard you got me, huh."
"Can't unbutton," Sam whispered, but he didn't stop rubbing.
"You remember the rule," Kurt noted, pleased.
Sam nodded, and that was when Kurt realized his sub's breathing was ratcheting
back up.
"Can't move your clothes."
"Poor guy," said Kurt, laughing breathily, his own eyelids getting heavy. His
gut was tugging, and he tried not to moan as he asked, "What are you gonna do,
Sam?"
"Follow the rule. You're... you're letting me touch you... 's all I want."
"Yeah, sweetie?" Kurt asked, his heart swelling.
"You let me have this. You're h... hard... and you're letting me feel it. I
wanna – I wanna be your good boy." Sam was trying to put his head on Kurt's
bicep, above where his elbow was planted against the vinyl cushion. He
whispered, almost to himself, "Kurt."
"Are you happy you get to touch me?"
"Yeah. 'M happy."
"You got me turned on, didn't you," Kurt asked dotingly, resting his cheek on
Sam's hot hair and pulling in a measured breath full of the smell of Sam's come
and cheap shampoo and sweat, which was overpowering the musty smell of the soft
room just then.
He wanted to just close his eyes and talk to Sam until that steady reverent
rubbing and his sub's sweet responses made him come right in his pants, but
soiling his jeans was absolutely unacceptable. Of course, Sam's little shirt
was dirty beyond belief now. But that was Sam. He was meant to be covered in
come. As a sub, he had no choice. As a Dom, Kurt was not going to lose control.
There was something about taking Sam to this dank discretionary that agreed
with him immensely, but thinking of letting his own guard down and allowing Sam
to please him here was a mental gear shift. He didn't need it as bad as Sam
did. Oh, he wanted it, but he could walk out and survive home ec and not be a
wreck. He had the freedom to jerk off as much as he wanted, thinking about Sam
pining to suck him off. He really was a control freak, he guessed. Even if this
wasn't the ideal place – yet – he needed to let Sam serve him.
"Promise I'll let you suck my dick soon, Sam. I know you want to," Kurt said,
his voice veering uncomfortably towards moaning.
"Mm," Sam agreed forcefully.
"But you have to wait for that. Maybe I should unbutton my pants for you,
though," he sighed. "You're gonna make me come with all that groping you're
doing."
An absolutely shocked breath sputtered from between Sam's lips, and his hand
stilled instantly, as if Kurt had caught him doing something undesirable after
all.
"Would you like that, Sam? Would you like to make me come?"
Jittery, Sam said, "Yes? Kurt, can I – ?"
"Do you wanna touch me? Without these pants in the way?"
"Uh," Sam gusted, a pure punch of air. "Please, if you let me, I –"
Kurt reached for the zip on his sweater, drawing it open in a lengthy manner
that had Sam quivering. "You what?"
"I want to. I wanna show you..."
"Good thing my rule has a loophole, huh?" Kurt teased breathlessly, going for
his belt so he could open his jeans with Sam's hand still frozen at his fly.
Sam's head shifted; Kurt could tell he was peering down, just waiting for the
all-clear. Kurt let him watch the belt come open and the snap pop, face
thudding with his own harried pulse and vague disbelief at his lack of self-
control as he slipped fingers into his own briefs and pulled his dick out for
Sam. Suddenly bared to the room and to Sam's body heat, Kurt's nerves prickled.
He stroked it himself a few times, adjusting to the fact that he was letting
this happen. He was technically in the nurse's office, after all. But it was
important to give his sub this chance, especially since it would be days before
Kurt could hope for another.
"Go ahead, cutie. Show me if you can get your come-soaked shirt even filthier."
At that, Sam's hand obediently wrapped around him, huge and hot, cuffed at the
wrist, and with the immediate pleasure that cut through him, Kurt knew it
wouldn't exactly be a challenge for his sub to bring him off, even left-handed.
Kurt grabbed at the lower half of his sweater, pulling it back behind him, out
of the way, and watched Sam handling him carefully. Again, he couldn't help but
wonder just how experienced Sam was with guys, and didn't know how he actually
felt about the idea that perhaps Sam had jacked someone else off before. It was
kind of hot and perturbing at the same time. The fact that he could see Sam's
collar around his wrist just then was a comfort, though, and the possessive
feeling of owning him shamefully arousing, and he even liked the way Sam's hold
on him was awkward, with his non-dominant hand.
"Thank you, Kurt," Sam huffed. "Thank you. Thank you."
"Is that good, Sam?" Kurt asked, belly twisting at the profoundly submissive
words.
"Yes." Sam squeezed him, falling more in control of his grip with increasingly
desperate strokes. He panted, "Thank you. Thank you so much," like he honestly
couldn't help it.
"I'm gonna come for you, little sub," Kurt said, dead calm even though it
really was in his muscles, a flutter away. "You want it all over you? Like the
other day? I came right on your back. Stuffed even more of it inside you. You
want your master's come, don't you."
Sam's breaths were almost harsher than his.
"Yes, Kurt, thank you, thank you – please –"
Kurt groaned, hitting it so hard he forgot where they were as Sam jacked him
frantically. A second later he was dousing Sam's belly with come, shooting it
on his abs where Sam's come had already soaked and started to stiffen the
fabric as it dried. Sam seemed too surprised to speak, his breaths taking his
belly low and his rib cage high, but Kurt was still dribbling on him, wetting
the circle of his index finger and thumb, when he did start up again.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Kurt. Thank you for letting me have your
come."
"You're welcome," Kurt wheezed, burying his face totally in Sam's hair. He
didn't know what else to say; it felt a little ridiculous, but also perfect.
"Thank you," whispered Sam. He sounded like he desperately needed to be saying
it. "Thank you so much, Kurt. Thank you for letting me be your sub."
"Mmm," Kurt groaned, thoroughly full inside even though Sam had emptied him and
was shining with it, fingers white with it. "You're welcome, sweetie. You're my
good boy."
"Thank you... I'm not worthy."
For the first time, Kurt didn't hear that as messed up self-hate or shame or
something wrought upon him by a careless girl. He could feel it in Sam's
whisper and humble touch and the intimate envelope of heat they were sharing
right then: It was worshipful.
Exhaling in satisfaction, Kurt reached up and grabbed at that perfect handle of
Sam's jaw, feeling sweat at his sideburn as he cuddled Sam's face into his arm.
It was the next best thing to kissing him. His sub whuffled and mumbled softly,
hiding his face right in Kurt's sweater. He didn't seem very inclined to let
Kurt's cock go, now that he'd been allowed it, even though it was waning in his
hand. But when he finally did, he clumsily scrubbed his fingers over the side
of his come-covered shirt, trying to make sure he was clean before he touched
Kurt's sleeve, ginger as ever.
 
*
 
Although he really had nothing much to do for the benefit concert other than
offer moral support, Kurt went to the auditorium for glee rehearsal so he could
spend that extra hour or so with Sam – who was buoyant at his side.
His poor sub had been lead out of the discretionary sans shirt, that having
been removed with care and folded so no white stains were visible, and the
nurse had simply harrumphed at the inappropriate nudity she glimpsed out of the
corner of her eye and shoved a pass their way, getting back to her book.
Kurt had offered her a quick "Sorry," and Sam had echoed him, then scurried off
to the locker room to slip into his gym shirt, his hustle and rather gloriously
muscled back making Kurt smile.
In the auditorium, Tina and Mike were both on stage, wheeling around some kind
of extra stage area with Puck and Finn's help. Mercedes was seated in the front
row, and Rachel was clearly trying to appeal to her in some way, gesturing
wholeheartedly. Zizes stood nearby with her arms crossed, nodding. An
unfortunate-looking A.V. kid was being directed by Artie. Microphone cords were
everywhere.
"You better get up there, M.C. Cutie-Pie," Kurt told him now, and watched Sam
ditch his backpack in a folding seat nearby and obediently jog up the steps at
stage right. A podium had been set up and was just waiting for him.
It was somewhat funny to think of his sweet Sam, whose most devout wish seemed
to be to get his mouth on Kurt's dick, acting as emcee in front of Sunshine
Corazon's hundreds of Twitter followers (who, to get real, were only coming to
see her perform). He remembered that Sam had taken a lead solo at Sectionals,
and had been more than capable. But he'd been Quinn's sub, then, and had shared
the spotlight with her. There might as well have been no audience for him. He'd
only seen her. He'd sung his enthralled little heart out for her. Kurt
remembered him holding her hand backstage as she'd had a panic attack, steady
and supportive. Sam had become exactly what Quinn had needed him to be. Unlike
nearly every other glee clubber, Sam didn't seek the spotlight. He didn't fuss
about solos. He was happiest in service, as support.
On stage, Artie flagged Sam down when he saw him and made him bow next to his
chair. Kurt realized he was just consulting with him on something, but with
those cuffs on, basically anything looked inappropriate, he thought, sinking
into a seat to watch. The difference between Sam at the beginning of the school
year, with his terribly dyed hair and his eyes on Quinn, and Sam now seemed
really conspicuous... but Kurt couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was.
"Hi, Kurt," said a voice.
And naturally, it was Quinn. Who else would it be? She'd probably sensed him
thinking about her.
"Oh, hi, Quinn," he said politely.
"I'm sure Sam told you that I came by to check on him," she said.
"He did."
"I wasn't trying to cut back in, or anything," said Quinn. "I'm considering
Finn now, as you know. It's looking like it might become official. We'll be
publicly campaigning for prom king and queen starting next week. The posters
are all done."
"Hm, yes. Well, I'll definitely be voting for Finn."
Quinn's eyelashes fluttered delicately as she took that one right on the chin.
"I was just concerned about Sam," she said lamely. "As a friend."
"That's so considerate of you, Quinn," said Kurt, who was killing with kindness
so much right then he was a one-man slaughterhouse. "I know Sam values your
friendship."
"I hope you and I are on good terms, too."
"Of course. Why wouldn't we be? My step-brother apparently really likes you,
and I'm very happy with Sam. It's for the best that you released him."
"Right. You're obviously enjoying him a lot." She paused. "So will you make it
clear to him that you're fine with me being his friend? He said he'd have to
ask you, and I know with Sam, sometimes you have to spell things out. Subtlety
really does not get you anywhere."
Kurt blinked once. Sam hadn't actually asked him if he could be friends with
Quinn; he'd only mentioned moving on from her without holding grudges, and
Quinn's offer to baby-sit being sweet.
"Well, if he asks, I'll say yes."
"Thanks. I'd like to help Sam out. You too, of course. Like, if you don't want
to take him shopping, I don't mind doing it. I remember his sizes."
"Shopping?" asked Kurt. "Please. It's me, Quinn. Men's fashion is kind of my
life. And anyway, I don't need Sam to change for me. I like him just the way he
is. He's perfect. He's more perfect than you could ever guess."
Yeah, there was no way he could be on a committee with this girl.
"Oh," said Quinn mildly. "Okay. Glad we talked."
She walked away, a vaguely insulted look on her face, and headed towards the
stage, where Finn was sitting with his long legs dangling over it. That was
when Kurt noticed that Sam was behind some kind of little propped up wall with
Mike Chang. They were taking turns ducking and popping up, looking like a game
of whack-a-sub. It was basically adorable, and Kurt hid his chortle behind his
hand, watching Sam eventually throw off the timing of the goof and throw his
head back and laugh from the belly up.
Tina came strolling up the aisle and towards him, apparently impatient for the
audio to get hooked up.
"Have you seen Miss Holliday or Mr. Schue? They're late."
"Nope. They're probably making out in the janitor's closet or something."
Or something, indeed, Kurt thought.
"Everyone's just goofing off," she complained.
"Yeah. Look at our subs," Kurt told her.
"They're like puppies," she agreed.
He and Tina watched the boys for a minute. Mike produced a mop out of nowhere
and bapped Sam lightly in the face with it. At least it was a new, clean white
mop and not the scrungy one with twenty years of grime embedded in it that Mr.
Kidney used.
"What's with that?"
"It's his dancing partner."
"Really? What's wrong with you? Sprain your ankle?"
"Oh my God, don't say stuff like that!" gasped Tina. "The benefit is tomorrow!"
"Don't worry, you won't get a sprain. You'll full-on break a leg."
"Now that sounds really ominous!"
"Ominous? Your sub is teasing mine with a mop."
"Your sub apparently likes it," responded Tina. They wound up giggling in their
seats, watching Mike finally hand Sam the mop and pantomime a dance move that
Sam tried clumsily to copy. The mop wound up clattering onto the floor, and Sam
disappeared behind the prop wall to fetch it. A moment later, it popped up,
leaning like a puppet. Mike put his arm around it, and the mop jiggled merrily,
probably in Sam's hands. Then it poked Mike and knocked his hat off.
"Do you think they're really good friends?" Kurt asked.
"I think so," said Tina, looking at him. "Mike's friends with all the guys. And
remember when we got a verbal spanking from Mr. Schue about picturing Coach
Beiste to help cool off? That kind of started with Sam and Mike."
"Do they hang out, ever? Outside of school?"
"I'm actually not sure. Usually if Mike and I have a free afternoon, we spend
it together."
Kurt smiled at Tina appreciatively. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one
salivating for time with his sub.
"You're full of questions today," remarked Tina.
"Yeah, I suppose I am. I know the drama with Sam and Quinn and Santana is a
thing of the past, but I've been thinking about it a lot, still, and I'm
getting to know Sam a lot better. I just want him to be happy. I want him to
have friends. Real friends."
"Sam has at least twelve friends," Tina assured him with a kind smile. "There's
a ton of drama in glee. There probably always will be. It's a key component.
But at the end of the day, we're more than a bunch of random kids who meet up
to sway in the background behind Rachel and Finn. We're kind of a family."
She watched him gaze at Finn and Quinn consideringly. They had been Sam's
friends, but Finn had taken Quinn from Sam with zero qualms. Quinn's baby daddy
had once driven his mom's car through a convenience store and stolen the ATM,
so he probably needed friends even worse than Sam did – and knowing Sam, he'd
probably accidentally commit larceny under Puck's forceful guidance. Or maybe
Sam could be a good influence on him...
"There's a lot to consider when you have a sub, isn't there?" Tina asked.
"Ugh, totally. Way more than I ever thought. But I think it kind of suits me."
"I think you're in your element," agreed Tina. "You seem happy. And Sam seems
happy."
"Testing," boomed Artie's voice.
"Oh, finally!" said Tina, hopping up again and giving Kurt a wave. "Stick
around and tell me what you think of my song selection!"
"Testing. Tina, you're up."
"Sprain an ankle," Kurt said playfully.
"Let's run through the evening in order, even though we are apparently without
adult supervision. Ladies and gentlemen, your host, Sam Evans."
Grinning, Kurt gave his submissive some light applause, sitting up straight in
his seat as Sam wrapped his hand around the mic and slid it into its stand.
"Uh, hi. My name is Sam Evans and I am... The Justin Bieber Experience. Check
one. Check two. Sibilance," said Sam, expression completely serious until the
very end, when his smile went sly and he turned to Mike. He cupped a hand to
the mic, breathed heavily, and droned in an impressive bass, "You are beaten.
It is useless to resist. Don't let yourself be destroyed as Obi-Wan did."
Kurt tilted his head curiously.
Artie shoved some index cards in his sub's face, and Sam obediently took them,
which was probably for the best.
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