Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/906577.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Sam_Evans/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Sam_Evans, Kurt_Hummel, Mercedes_Jones, Quinn_Fabray, Mike_Chang, Tina
      Cohen-Chang, Will_Schuester, Stevie_Evans, Stacey_Evans, Mary_Evans
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Dom/sub, D/s_AU, Deliberate_Badfic, Dirty_Talk, Light
      BDSM, Spanking, Jock_Straps, Subspace, In_Public, Orgasm_Delay/Denial
  Series:
      Part 6 of The_Cherish_'Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-24 Words: 33137
****** You Got The Power (To Make Me Feel Good) ******
by Edwardina
Summary
     Continuation of Cherish Is the Word I'd Use. Extremely excited about
     wearing a jock strap for his Dom and still feeling spacey from being
     denied release, Sam has a long and blurry school day and is taken
     back to the made over discretionary. Kurt gets more and more daring
     with his domming, and the two are reprimanded by Mr. Schuester. Sam
     takes it upon himself to try and return to Kurt something he's been
     missing.
Notes
     This returns to Sam's perspective and straddles events in 218. Title
     from "Cherish" by Madonna.
     Thanks to Kate, for always holding my hand. [Glee Cast - Without
     You.mp3]
"Morning, cutie," said Kurt.
He bounced in place and smiled with infinite patience as Sam struggled to
precisely dial the numbers on his lock.
It took him so many tries he lost count, but when Sam finally managed to click
Kurt's locker open, he was rewarded with a soft, flirty little, "Why, thank
you."
The way Kurt's voice curled and his slender, swaying shoulders rocked made Sam
shuddery inside – made him ache with longing. Some of that was pent up need,
but some of it was just that Kurt's voice was so coy yet confident. It always
got to Sam like that. He felt kinda like he was a mouse that had been
befriended by an affectionate cat who could eat him alive at any moment but
graciously never did, and just wanted to, like, play with him. It was
comforting, even though he was also so excited his balls were almost tingling
in the light embrace of his strap.
He took a deep breath, trying to just be cool, and asked, "Can I take your
jacket?"
"This old thing?" Kurt asked, eyelashes doing a dip as he lifted one shoulder
in his red plaid jacket. "You want me out of it ahead of schedule? I don't
know... maybe I'll let you take it off me later."
Sam groaned lowly without meaning to at all. His heavy head tipped and butted
awkwardly into the locker next to Kurt's as he clutched his notebook across his
lap with both hands, casually shielding his semi from kids passing by.
"So are you liking that hoodie?" Kurt asked him knowingly, eyeing him up.
"Yeah," he murmured, a dopey grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was
happily wearing one of the hoodies Kurt had helped him pick out over a new
plain white tee. It was green, but on the paler side.
"Soft, huh?"
"Yeah..."
It really was, on both the inside and the outside. Sam didn't think it should
have felt so good, even if it was as soft as Pinky Wigglenose. But he was kind
of... easily excitable. He'd just managed to forget because he'd been so
satiated and spoiled lately, what with how much his Dom had let him service him
and all the jerking off he'd been allowed to do. Well, between the cuffs on his
wrists, the soft hoodie on his forearms, the jock strap, and his Dom revoking
his j/o privilege, now Sam was reminded. It didn't take much to excite him.
"Well, it looks cute on you," Kurt murmured, flashing Sam another smug little
smile. "I'm glad we got it. That's one of the t-shirts I picked out for you,
too, isn't it?"
"You can tell?"
"Just an educated guess. And tell me, did you sleep tight, sweetie?"
"Yeah. I know it's 'cause you tucked me in." The fact that Kurt had let Sam
service him was a factor, too. Pleading for it, and Kurt allowing it and even
taking control of it, then being taken home and tucked in right in front of his
family was a combination punch that had knocked him right out. He had literally
never felt like that, not even when Kurt had put his cuffs on him in front of
everyone in the hallway or tied him up. He didn't know why, or if he could even
express it, even though he'd been trying to tell Kurt his state of mind more
lately so he could be a good, trainable sub. He lamely said, "Thanks for doing
that."
"My pleasure. I've always wanted to tuck you in for real. I think I utterly
bewildered your parents, but Stacey said 'hi' and 'bye' to me and I got to see
where you sleep every night, so in my book, it was an all-around win," said his
Dom, cheery. "I hope I can do it again sometime. Now shall we get your books?"
With a nod, Sam reached for Kurt's bag.
"Oh, I'll keep this for now," said Kurt with some amusement.
"Oh. 'Kay."
Kurt did a quick hair check in his locker mirror, found it all still in perfect
place, then tossed the door shut and took Sam's arm. Sam sort of floated along
beside him. He didn't want to pop the dream feeling of it, or wake up if it
really was a dream. It felt like he'd finally found his place at this school,
and it was with Kurt, being lead through the halls of McKinley with his
collared wrists on full display, and he was so lucky and so happy, he couldn't
really fathom that there had been a time he hadn't been the luckiest sub at
that school. He'd never really understood what it really meant to be a
submissive until Kurt had collared him, and he probably still didn't actually
know jack about how to be a sub for a guy, but he knew his feet didn't seem to
be touching the floor.
"Why don't you let me take care of your lock today," Kurt suggested as they
strolled up to Sam's locker.
"Okay," Sam repeated bashfully.
"Geometry?" Kurt questioned, dialing Sam's lock with ease.
"Yeah. I, uh. Finished it in class yesterday."
"Oh, nice job. You're absolutely slaying with your geometry lately. Showing
those proofs who's boss!" Kurt handed Sam his book, which had the homework
stuck inside it, with messy spiral edges all bent up. "Biology?"
Warm from the compliment, Sam racked his somewhat jumbled brains for a second.
"We're doing study guides for tomorrow's test."
"Excellent. I already know you didn't do your reading..."
"No," Sam admitted readily.
"I saw your mom reading your book when I came in. If we don't stay on top of
that thing, you're going to fall three chapters behind again."
"I know... I'll try and catch up."
"Well, it's my fault for keeping you from it last night, so I'll help you get
through it, I promise," said Kurt, holding out his hand to take Sam's backpack
for him. He tucked it away, but not before finding Sam's borrowed copy of The
Catcher in the Rye inside and handing it to him. "If you have any time before
English, try to read some, okay? Just if you get your classwork finished up and
have the time. If you don't, don't worry about it."
"Okay," Sam agreed, tucking the novel between his notebook and sweaty palm.
"Good." Kurt shut Sam's locker again. "Just one more thing."
"What?"
"Jock check," Kurt reminded him, brow perked.
Sam caught an awkwardly quick, thrilled breath there in the hallway.
He'd secretly been waiting... he wasn't sure if Kurt had been serious, or what
kind of check he'd do if he was.
At first Sam had assumed he would do an old-fashioned check like the kind his
coaches did back at Brookside, where you had to show just enough of a strap
that they could tell you were wearing one. But with some distracted thought,
he'd realized that Kurt wasn't exactly a coach, and that was a really old-
school enforcement method anyway. It wasn't one Coach Beiste employed. So he'd
wondered if maybe Kurt would just ask him if he was wearing one and take his
word for it.
There was a chance, too, that Sam had excitedly misunderstood the instruction.
It had been given to him in front of his parents as Kurt had been tucking him
in, so it hadn't been explicit, and maybe Sam had just heard what he wanted to
hear because he was so subbed out. He'd worried that maybe he was supposed to
wear something else entirely, or that Kurt maybe wasn't really going to check,
or if he might forget...
Sam exhaled again and asked intently, "Do you want me to show you, or...?"
"Well, it's all kinds of tempting to have you flashing me your undies in front
of the astronomy classroom, but I think we'd better take a little detour to the
boys' room for our first official jock check, hm?" his Dom asked with a smirk,
giving one of the drawstrings on Sam's light green hoodie a playful little tug
that pulled at his hood.
"Okay," Sam breathed, mesmerized.
His dick, which had been fluctuating between soft and sort of boned since he'd
stepped into his jock in the bathroom that morning, went full-on stiff. Like,
shamefully, totally, testing the limits stiff. His mind do-si-doed dizzily.
Kurt was going to give him a check. Kurt was going to inspect him because Sam
was his sub... and Kurt would find he'd been good...
Kurt captured the other drawstring and gave them both a pull, stepping back.
Sam got the cue, following along, lead by his hood's drawstrings like a
makeshift leash to the nearest boys' bathroom as he held his notebook tightly
in front of him.
It was one of the most crowded bathrooms, since it was in a main hall, but this
close to the first bell of the day, no one was using it, either to do their
business or draw scatological cartoons on the walls with stolen dry erase
markers.
Even though it was empty, Sam still felt some kind of default intensity being
taken there, like the kind he got in the locker room; maybe it was because he
was a sub, and so much natural Darwinian domination went on in all-male spaces.
Even if there wasn't any kind of gay vibe to it and no one pulled the kind of
stunt the Brookside lacrosse captain had, it happened. Vibes were thrown
anyway. A pecking order was automatically determined. Doms and subs were
silently sussed, even if the sussing turned out to be inaccurate. The privacy
and lack of chicks meant that the rules were just a little different than they
were in most other places.
Years of experience with communal spaces left Sam feeling physically attuned to
them. He knew them down to their echo and scent after so much time spent at
Brookside, sharing almost everything with forty other guys. Under the
inevitable layer of Axe body spray there was always the humid, base musk of
dude, of damp arm pits and sweat socks. He was accustomed enough to the hair-
raising sensation to successfully mute it most of the time. But when he was
with his Dom, there was no mute button.
Sam shouldered the door open and held it as Kurt brushed past him, then
insistently opened the second door for him, too.
"Handicapped stall," Kurt directed, with a tilt of his head. He watched Sam
scurry past the urinals to the largest stall at the end of the modest beige row
and open the door for Kurt once more. "Merci."
"De nada," Sam breathed as Kurt stepped by him.
"Let's see," Kurt drawled, leisurely, as Sam joined him in the roomy stall and
pushed the door shut behind them. He was surveying the space with sharp eyes,
judging things that were only evident to him but that put him on top of
absolutely everything, always. They were in the very corner of the room. There
was a long, smooth, cylindrical metal bar screwed to the tiled wall for
handicapped people to use for support and a toilet paper dispenser by the
toilet, but not much else as far as Sam could see. "Lock that door, sweetie."
Sam locked it obediently, having a much easier time with the simple sliding bar
lock than he had with Kurt's combination lock.
"Looks clean enough," said Kurt with a squint, "but I just don't trust Mr.
Kidney, do you?"
"I dunno," Sam said. He wasn't sure if it was a serious question, but he had no
idea, anyway.
"Ah, well. Hand me your books."
Conscious of his serious erection, Sam did so, the merest squeak of his fingers
loud on his plastic notebook. Even though the stall they were in was on the
larger side and easily accommodated them both, the tiled wall bounced every
sound back mercilessly. Kurt tucked Sam's trapper up against his chest and
graced him with a sultry smile.
"Now you'd better let me check you for that jock, hm? Unzip."
Sam's blood was rushing so hard he felt dizzy, but he obediently worked his
button and fly open in quick succession.
"Good," said Kurt calmly. "Now show it to me."
"Just a strap?" Sam asked hoarsely, thumbing at the side of his waistband.
"Hm – I think you should show me the whole thing," Kurt said, gaze razing him
up and down in such a quick, expectant manner that Sam didn't think twice, even
though he was kinda embarrassed that he was as excited as he was.
He shucked his jeans right down to the tops of his thighs with his thumbs, then
clutched at the front of his t-shirt and hoodie to pull them up to his ribs,
getting them off his belly and out of the way for Kurt so he could see...
everything.
His ass was bare as fuck.
Sam was used to the idea and even the sensation, but his body felt as hyper-
sensitive to the air as it was to the soft lining of his hoodie. It'd been a
while since he'd worn a jock strap casually, and when he had, it had been under
his school uniform's khakis, which were thinner and a looser fit than his
jeans. This strap was skimpier, sans cup pocket, than even the strap he'd worn
on the track team. It felt different than the actual athletic supporters he'd
worn most of the time freshman year. It felt like he was wearing nothing at
all.
Normally that would have just meant comfort, but under Kurt's direction, he
felt daring, wearing this to school. The guys who actually wore jock straps on
the field at this school tended towards wearing them over boxers (which Sam
thought was pointless, but the McKinley football team was so homophobic) so he
knew wearing one casually was unusual here. Even sliding it on that morning,
he'd felt like he was doing something abnormal instead of just tugging on
underwear. His dick had responded to the whole feel of the strap and everything
by getting hard, so he'd tucked upwards, and now it was stuck in the tiny space
under the waistband, filling his soft white pouch with the weighty bulge of his
erection. It stuck out in front of him in a round curve.
"Ah," Kurt said, and perked his brow.
Sam had no idea what kind of response that was, but he knew it was about him.
He felt his dick twitch heavily and opened his mouth, jaw working awkwardly. He
had to say something to explain his huge wood, but it was like groping for
something in pitch dark. He couldn't find any words, and the harder he flailed
the more he just knocked things astray. So instead of speaking, he twisted to
the side, letting his Dom see the one of the straps that stretched down his
hips and around his ass cheeks.
"Dear God," Kurt uttered softly.
Sam shut his mouth and tucked his chin down, his eyes squeezing shut.
"Hands on the rail," said Kurt, brisk.
Obeying innately and instantly, Sam was clutching that thick, smooth, cool
metal bar with both hands, looking down at his grip on it before he realized
Kurt was checking his backside out further, head tilted. His balls clenched in
abject excitement. Dizzy, he closed his eyes again and let out a harsh exhale,
not sure what to do besides keep his hands right where they were supposed to be
until Kurt told him to do something else.
But Kurt took his time. He looked Sam over silently, and Sam flushed with heat
and flexed. It wasn't on purpose, just a nervous response, but it made Kurt
exhale, measured.
This time he could tell the response was a pleased one – that the way Kurt
breathed was the way he breathed when Sam was servicing his dick and he was
aroused, but trying to keep himself steady. It was so humbling. He wasn't
worthy. But he wanted to be worthy. He wanted Kurt to like what he saw. He
hoped he looked okay. He didn't have football practice every day anymore so he
didn't run nearly as much, but he did twice as much walking as he used to. He
sucked in his belly a bit, his legs and ass pulling taut and his face burning.
Kurt wasn't saying anything.
After another long moment, a warm touch traced the back of one clean white
strap, following it up his hip then back down again. Then Kurt's fingertips
slipped off the elastic and brushed over the bare skin of Sam's ass cheek. A
shiver of tight, sharp arousal pulsed through Sam. He could hear himself taking
in a shuddery gasp.
"Hm," Kurt let out in a little chuckle, like all this was moderately
entertaining, and took his touch away.
Sam was left to stand there breathing hard for several seconds. Then something
traced the skin right next to that strap.
Sam's head lifted automatically, alert. It was something different. Some
object, not Kurt's soft, deliberate fingers. Something ungiving, with an edge
that raked, scratchy, and gave him a light but firm tap right over the strap.
The mild hit upon his skin rang unbelievably loudly in the stall, leaving the
silence that ensued heavy and Sam sort of shocked. He couldn't really feel that
tap at all, especially after the noise dissolved and disappeared in the space
around him, but the resound of feeling and sound in his mind was – massive. His
whole body, every last molecule, wondered wildly what was happening and what
was touching him and began to buzz hotly.
Sam, who was white-knuckling at the safety rail, knew what it was. It had to be
The Catcher in the Rye. Kurt was holding his books and nothing else. The thing
was small and light. Just by process of elimination, it had to be his book.
He tried not to choke as the corner of the book nudged at his strap and slid
under it momentarily, as if it was just taking a peek beneath it – like his
whole naked butt wasn't on display. He heard his own tiny, mortifying squeak of
surprise and bowed his head again, as low as he could get it, in instinctive
deference and bone-deep embarrassment. His shoulder muscles strained at the
stretch.
Another mellow thwap came, no harder than the first, but squarer, aimed well
and clapping him gently on his totally bared right ass cheek.
Again, Sam barely felt a thing. The paperback was insubstantial in weight and
size – but the cover was just firm and flat enough that the sound of it against
Sam's skin was beyond loud, captured and bounced back by four close walls. The
noise left Sam utterly stunned. It sounded like Kurt had given his ass a hard
crack with a paddle or something! Not a benign smack with no actual strength
behind it.
Kurt paused, then gave him another swat. It came down daintily on his left
cheek this time. Sam choked, trying not to groan. This time the book stayed
against his skin, flat and light and almost nothing. Sam didn't even understand
what was happening, or why; he just knew that Kurt was touching his bare ass
with the Great American Novel he was supposed to be reading for English, and he
was going to have to give it back to Brittany having been teased with it by his
Dom like this. He thought for a harsh second that he might spontaneously unload
in his jock.
"Boy, you are just begging," Kurt commented under his breath.
The top of Sam's bowed head touched the wall. What made Kurt say that, he
didn't know, but he definitely felt like begging.
"'M sorry!" he blurted, not knowing what else to say.
Kurt waited a tiny eternity (which turned out just to be a few seconds) before
deigning to tap each of his butt cheeks once more with the book, barely making
contact but still somehow creating sharp echoes that sounded like little claps
of thunder. Sam's body flexed till he felt like he might splinter. His
shoulders, which had hiked up tensely, quivered with how hard he was holding
the rail.
"Please, Kurt," he whispered at the wall.
"Please what?" asked Kurt, stroking the smooth surface of the book up around
the elastic strap and the curve of his gluteal muscle. Sam was extremely sure
that if Kurt gave him many more of those taps he was going to either come or
pass out or both.
"'M gonna die," Sam wheezed idiotically.
"You're gonna die?" repeated Kurt, clicking his tongue softly. "Poor thing. I
certainly don't want that. Shall I stop?"
"Thank you – thank you, Kurt," Sam managed, ashamed of himself for his
outrageously short fuse. He was completely turned on even saying those words to
Kurt, though, which just made him feel even closer to creaming himself. He
broke into a babble, trying to stopper the orgasmic flow of his own thoughts.
"'M sorry! I'm gonna come if you don't. Please. I don't wanna come. Not till
you tell me to. Please."
He wasn't helping himself at all –
Kurt chuckled at him, then got his firm voice back out and said, "I hear you,
Sam. Don't worry. I'm done playing with you for right now. Pants up."
Gulping gratefully, Sam hiked his jeans up, covering up his bare ass and
managing to stuff his cock-stretched pouch back in them too. He was so hard, it
was humiliating. As he zipped up again, red-faced and near tears imagining
going to class with such a raging, visible hard-on (and how nonsensically he
wished Kurt would've pitilessly kept going anyway, until he was standing there
in a soddened jock that couldn't keep his own hot jizz from dripping down one
leg), the bell rang.
"Oops. Guess we're both going to be late," Kurt commented.
Tugging his shirt and hoodie straight again, Sam inhaled a shaking breath,
which echoed back at him almost as badly as the tiny spanks Kurt had been
giving him. He hadn't been paying attention to anything other than the most
epic jock check in the universe, and to realize all over again that people had
been making their way to class just on the other side of the bathroom doors
while he'd been getting his bare ass prodded and patted by The Catcher in the
Rye was bizarre and intense. He didn't know what to do with it, or anything he
was thinking or feeling. He wasn't exactly upset, because he wouldn't have
traded the feeling for the world, but it was overwhelming the same way being
upset was, and tears were threatening to prick. He really wanted to drop to his
knees, and he wanted to hide his face in Kurt's cocked hip and beg to suck his
dick.
Kurt added, "I think it might be best if you waited a few minutes before you go
to class."
"Thanks," Sam wheezed, shame-faced.
His Dom patted his bicep reassuringly. "You okay, honey?"
Swallowing past a lump of intensity, knowing he couldn't put how he was feeling
into words, Sam managed, "Yeah. I just wanna be your sub so much, Kurt."
"You are my sub, sweetie. You're really feeling like it today, aren't you?"
"More than ever," Sam got out, pained, and so grateful Kurt could see that.
"My good boy, hmm?" Kurt's soft hand rubbed at Sam's forearm, coming to rest at
his cuff and giving its buckle a sensuous rub with his thumb. "Can you be in
class today?"
"Yes," Sam panted. He didn't know whether Kurt touching his collar like that
was comforting or arousing. "Just need to calm down."
"You're being honest with me, right?"
"Yeah. Promise. Just need that few minutes pretty bad."
"Mm-hmm," Kurt hummed, seeming sympathetic. "You can take however long you
need. Just remember to go to the office for a pass if you take longer than ten
minutes, or you'll get an unexcused absence. We don't want you to land in
detention. You can tell the secretary you were detained by your Dom and she'll
write you up a pass."
Sam nodded, but he could scarcely imagine forming such words in front of the
lady in the office right then. Anyone who looked at him below the waist would
be able tell he had no control over himself.
"Hey, Sam? Take a nice, deep breath, okay?"
Eyelids too heavy for him to even see straight, Sam obeyed. Kurt was so close
that more than anything else, Sam could smell his hairspray.
"Now let it out."
Sam exhaled in a rush.
"Good! But let's do it again, nice and slow," Kurt suggested, hand sliding down
to squeeze Sam's. This time he breathed along with Sam, who felt himself
getting pulled from some tense place to the center of the universe, which was
where Kurt was. Sam tried to take in air and let it out again at Kurt's pace.
He felt steadier and like he could see all of a sudden; he guessed his eyes
maybe opened up all the way or focused up or something. He was slowly becoming
aware of the sudden quiet out in the hall compared to the bustle there had been
before he'd pushed his jeans down. Nodding, his gaze on Sam fixed and intent,
Kurt said, "Perfect. One more time."
Together, they inhaled to capacity and exhaled gradually. Sam felt the simple,
calming exercise begin to loosen whatever was wound up so tight in him, and he
squeezed Kurt's hand, grateful.
"I'm glad you're feeling like my sub," Kurt told him with a smile, giving him a
return squeeze. "And you're listening close, right?"
"'Course."
"I want you to be proud of yourself for submitting to that jock check and
telling me when it got to be too much for you, because I am bursting with pride
over your obedience and how well you handled it and your honesty with me. Go to
class whenever you're ready. If you have too much trouble concentrating, do you
know what to do?"
"Nurse," Sam said automatically.
"A-plus! What will you tell the nurse?"
"That I need you," Sam responded, without having to think about it at all,
"'cause you'll come help me?"
"You're impressing me so much! That's exactly what you should do, and I'll
definitely help you if you need me."
Sam was getting favored with a satisfied smile. He breathed a sigh of relief,
complex things sinking and rising inside him.
"I'd love to linger here with you, but I better get to class," Kurt said,
smiling lips pursing in a pretend pout. He offered Sam his books. "Here you go,
sweetie. Don't forget to wash your hands before you leave."
"'Kay," Sam managed. He clutched his novel and tried not to let it get him
excited all over again. He definitely needed to take a few more deep breaths on
his own.
His Dom leaned in and gave him a friendly one-armed hug, patting him on the
back.
Then he whispered, "I like your sexy little jock strap," and slipped out the
stall door, leaving Sam scrabbling for the bar to maintain his hard-won mental
center and not, like, just fall over or something.
 
*
 
Sam did manage to pull himself together, mumble the words "I was getting
inspected" in front of Figgins' secretary, obtain a pass that explicitly said
so from her, and get himself to geometry.
He'd missed the homework check already and gave both his pass and his work to
the teacher. The glance given to his pass was so brief yet accepting that Sam
felt intrinsically that the teacher had to be a sub – he had to understand what
it was like, not being in control. After Sam's absence was erased, the teacher
strolled to his table and returned his pass to him to him like it was a badge
of honor. The Domme Cheerio he shared a table with peeped it curiously.
Sam shoved the slip of paper into his copy of Catcher (which then got summarily
shoved into an inner pocket of his notebook), unable to tell if he was
embarrassed or pleased and willing himself not to think about it at all because
he was definitely gonna stiffen in his strap again if he thought about anything
other than line segments.
Kurt had told him he should be proud, and he certainly felt something akin to
pride as he made it all the way to third period English without any, um,
incidents or anything.
But of course, he had to pull out his novel for the class, and that got him
really red really fast.
The mortification melted down into an aroused throbbing low in his guts as the
class went on. Discussion and note-taking ended without Sam being called on,
which was a major relief, since he was behind and couldn't think too clearly
anyway. For the rest of the period, he sat with one arm in his lap to shield
his boner, novel cracked on the table in front of him.
Sam sort of tried to read, and did in small fits and spurts, but his brain
didn't retain any of it. His thoughts kept distractedly circling back to the
fact that he was holding a tool his Dom had used on him.
That's kind of what it was, wasn't it? Like, Kurt hadn't really spanked him
with it. He'd just laid a couple of light thumps down, lighter than any ass-pat
Sam had ever gotten from a fellow athlete. But still. Whiny protagonist aside,
suddenly Sam respected this book. He only actually turned the page once, but
all these words were alive and important in a way they hadn't been before and
the typeface seemed to stand out as he studied it. And the cover was so smooth.
How come he hadn't noticed how smooth it was before? It was just plain, off-
white, with no picture on the front or blurb on the back and no shine. There
was a rainbow of diagonal lines stretched across the upper left corner, like a
logo or something. It wasn't a big book. He could handle it with one hand. It
must have only weighed a few ounces. It had made such a loud noise against his
skin, though. Kurt had held it and used it on him on purpose.
Was it discipline? Was that what Kurt was doing to him? Despite what Kurt had
told him on Easter, he felt like he had terrible discipline. Maybe Kurt wanted
to punish him for falling behind on his reading. Or was it just a part of the
inspection? Was it some kind of training? He was abiding by his Dom's wishes as
best he knew how, but he knew he could use more guidance.
Briefly, Sam had been granted permission to get off whenever he wanted. He'd
gotten a week's worth of hot showers in, just enough to fool his body into
thinking he really could come whenever he needed – whenever he wanted. He'd
taken every opportunity and spoiled himself. Now Kurt had taken that away from
him again, shaping what his routine looked like, where his thoughts went, and
taking control of his come with a single decision. It made him physically ache,
but only in a good way. Even if Kurt had only been playing with him in the
bathroom, it had still been so Dommy. Sam had gotten the message loud and
clear. Kurt owned him.
After English, it was time for lunch. Sam could've groaned. He was ready for a
break, but could only think that even though it was a break from having to try
and pay attention in class, he was going to be all wound up being around Kurt –
especially after spending most of his English class winding himself up. What if
Kurt fed him something by hand? What if he creamed himself? Seriously. It
seemed like enough of a possibility that he wondered if he'd be forced to ask
Kurt for mercy in front of Mike and Tina.
"What do you think I brought for you today?" Kurt asked him playfully as they
claimed their usual table.
"I can never guess," Sam said, trying not to be too flustered. He'd just
brought an apple and some rice cakes. Kurt liked for him to smear peanut butter
onto those, but he hadn't had the presence of mind that morning.
Biting down on a pleased smile, Kurt pulled two stackable plastic containers
from his messenger bag and slid them over to Sam, prim. The top one was filled
with something green. Sam opened it first.
"It's guacamole," said Kurt. "And to go with it, some whole-wheat baked
tortilla chips. Sprinkled with lime, so they have a little bit of nice bitey
flavor."
"You made all this," Sam said. It wasn't even a question.
"I just might've! It's easy-peasy. I sent some with my dad to the garage, too."
"Thanks," whispered Sam.
His Dom looked quite happy and dug in to his own lunch. "Mm-hmm!"
After yesterday, Sam had a clearer sense that Kurt fed him as much for his own
pleasure as he did for Sam's benefit, but he still felt pink from the
consideration and from everything Kurt had done for him – and to him – today
alone.
"Thank you, Kurt," he mumbled again.
Kurt reached beneath the table and pinched lightly at the muscle just above
Sam's knee. It was a playful and affectionate gesture he never hesitated to
bestow, and usually centered Sam.
"You are very welcome, sweetie."
When Mike and Tina joined them, they were in the middle of some vaguely
argumentative-sounding exchange, but Kurt interrupted them.
"So? Did you find a good prom dress candidate?"
"I found a 'maybe,'" said Tina darkly, slapping her tray down.
"I liked it," Mike muttered.
"Because it shows off my cleavage! You don't care about anything else!"
"Well, it's great cleavage! What can I do about that?"
"I'm not choosing a prom dress based on cleavage," Tina said, like it was
literally the stupidest thing she had ever heard.
Mike just sighed, meeting Sam's eye for a moment. So it was a fight day, Sam
surmised. Every now and then Tina and Mike seemed to have them, like the other
side of the coin to how PDA-prone and sappy they usually were. Sam couldn't
help but hear Kurt's voice in his head, lamenting, Girls...
"Tell me about the dress," Kurt was actually saying right then. "Maybe it's a
diamond in the rough and just needs the right accessories!"
Mike and Sam both tucked into their lunches, communicating with silent looks.
Mike shook his head slightly as if to indicate that he didn't know what the
heck was wrong and didn't know what to do about it; Sam gave him an
understanding half-smile, 'cause he remembered the times Quinn had gotten
randomly short-tempered or mad at him. And that was all two guys needed to say.
Mike chowed down on his pizza and veggies. Sam couldn't stay away from the
chips and dip Kurt had brought him. He wasn't sure exactly whether guacamole
was something within his diet, but in comparison to rice cakes, it was a
billion times more flavorful and interesting, so he was totally on board to do
another round of cheating. He hoped Kurt would still want him when his cuffs
didn't fit anymore 'cause he was so fat.
"Don't be pessimistic," Kurt said, involved in his prom dress conversation with
Tina. "There's no reason anyone would think you're doing a 'gothic bride'
look."
"But I have to wear a fascinator. I just have to. I bought it months ago and I
love it and I've been waiting and I really wanna wear it to prom! But with the
lace on the dress, it just looks like a veil! But literally everything else has
these annoying sequins and rhinestones, and while I am a sparkling individual
inside and out and love sequins and rhinestones, I'm just burned out on them
after beading all those dresses for Sectionals."
"I understand. A little beading goes a long way. But you won't be carrying a
bouquet or walking down an aisle! No one will think wedding. Don't freak out on
me, but have you considered making some adjustments to your fascinator?"
The discussion left Sam literally clueless. All he could tell was that Kurt was
talking Tina into her dress – which sounded like every other dress Tina wore,
if it was black and had lace.
Sam silently examined Mike. He wondered if Mike had asked Tina to prom, or if
she'd asked him, or if it was just a given that they were going to go together,
since they were dating. He decided to ask as soon as he could grab Mike alone.
He was seriously stymied as to how to approach prom. It kept coming up in
everyone's else's conversations all the time, so he couldn't put it out of his
mind if he wanted to. Sam didn't know whether or not he should ask Kurt, or
whether he could even afford to. He just knew Kurt wasn't going to bring it up,
now that he knew Sam's budget for stuff like that was non-existent. Kurt always
encouraged him to take all the shifts he could at work and knew better than
anyone that it left Sam with very little free time. They were lucky to be able
to squeeze in seeing each other outside of school once a week and depended on
nightly phone calls like they depended on air. But he hadn't asked Sam before
finding out how poor he was, either. So what did that mean? Kurt hadn't said
anything about it to Sam at all, but he talked about it with all the girls.
Would Kurt even really want to go, or was he just enjoying being looked to as a
consultant? If he asked, would Kurt turn him down?
And how would he act if he did go with Kurt to prom? Like a date, or like a
sub? Would he dance with Kurt like couples did, or was that one of the things
they just didn't really do, like swap spit in the middle of the mall? He was so
bad at dancing... Quinn had winced and laughed at his two left feet at Kurt's
parents' wedding. And they were both guys! Who would lead? Kurt would lead, he
subserviently admitted to himself. As usual. Unless Kurt wanted him to lead. Or
did no one lead when two guys danced? Who put their arms where? He remembered
that Finn and Kurt had danced at the reception, and it had all been okay... but
that wasn't at school, surrounded by haters, and Finn and Kurt were step-
brothers, not a couple.
Not that Sam and Kurt acted like a couple...
Sam didn't really know if they were a couple. Like, dating. He knew he didn't
really have any interest in anyone else. Nobody could hold a candle to Kurt. It
just felt so much like Kurt was in the driver's seat, and because Kurt was a
guy, too, things just seemed more complicated. At least with girls, it was a
given that the guy would probably lead during a dance, no matter if he was a
Dom or a sub. Sam guessed if a Domme wanted to, she would lead, but that was up
to her.
In that way, Sam instinctively felt that if Kurt wanted to go, he would just
tell Sam. He was the Dominant. He had to know how happy Sam would be to go, if
he could afford it. He had no right to ask Kurt for anything more than
forgiveness when he was behaving the wrong way, which he always gave. He'd just
asked Kurt to come to church with his family, and that had felt like a major
deal and Sam had been nervous to ask and never would have if it hadn't been his
dad's idea. It was already asking a lot of Kurt to deal with him, he thought,
and keep a sub that had messed up thinking and no home, no privacy, no money.
It was a bigger pain than Kurt would ever admit to. Kurt deserved so much more
than him. Sam couldn't even take him out to dinner.
He was so disconnected from the conversation going on at the table that he was
surprised when Kurt touched his back.
Sam tried to focus, wondering if Kurt had asked him a question and he'd missed
it – but Kurt just seemed to be touching him, casual, still involved in his
lady-chat with Tina. He was just giving Sam's back a warm rub. As soon as Sam
realized that he was only being pet, his eyelids drooped heavily, focus
blurring and prom fading back into the distance, an unimportant fixture of the
landscape he didn't need to think about.
He tucked his arms into his lap, and whether he leaned in or Kurt pulled him
in, he didn't know, but he found his cheek pillowed on Kurt's shoulder and let
go of everything on his mind. He knew Karofsky shared their lunch hour and was
around somewhere, but he didn't care unless Kurt cared, and Kurt didn't seem to
care. Mike and Tina wouldn't say anything.
Kurt tucked his chin into Sam's hair, called him "sweetie," and let him lean
there bonelessly, just like he had in the car last night. Last night he'd been
aching everywhere in his body to come but had pushed his own desire far, far
away, leaving him in some kind of blissful drifting stasis. He was almost eager
to go right back there, even in the cafeteria. Kurt smelled so good. Sam could
smell the detergent he used in the fabric of his shirt and the extra-hold
hairspray from his locker and his skin, which had a baby-soft, clean scent that
was only half his soap. Sam had used some of that in the shower and it had
smelled like Kurt, but Kurt smelled more complex than just the soap. Maybe that
eye cream...
The lunch bell rang and Sam lifted his head, reluctant but dutiful.
"Guacamole isn't your thing, huh?" Kurt asked him kindly, transferring his hand
to Sam's knee and rubbing it.
"No, I liked it," Sam responded. He wasn't sure why he'd stopped eating,
because it tasted good and he was aware he was hungry. "I just..."
He couldn't explain.
"I know. You're feeling extra subby today and needed a little cuddle," Kurt
said indulgently, reaching for Sam's lunch and packing it up for him, including
his untouched apple and rice cakes. "You can take the chips home if you want.
Have 'em as a snack. Wanna let me pack you up?"
Sam groped for his backpack. His Dom popped open the top flap and put the
remains of his lunch in it for him neatly, then snapped it back together again.
He forgot about trying to catch Mike, and sorta forgot about almost everything
as he walked with Kurt to where they always said they'd see each other after
their next class.
"Have a good time in geography," Kurt said, cupping Sam's cheeks and smiling as
he thumbed them both gently where dimples sometimes appeared.
"I will," said Sam.
"Yeah? You will? Will you concentrate?"
"...Yes."
"And get all your work done?"
"I'll try. I'll do my best."
He watched Kurt's delicate lashes drop against his cheek.
"You're feeling good today, hm."
"Yes," Sam said, although it was a really complicated kind of good where every
class was just an endurance round and being with Kurt was blissful torture and
even his own clothes were giving him boner after boner. It was almost
difficult. He could shove back the need to come and will away his hard-ons if
he took a mental cold shower, but there was no mental mute button for how it
felt to be Kurt's sub. He added softly, "Subby. Like you said."
"I can tell. But I hope you can pay attention in class. Maybe you can show me
your geography work when we get to study hall. And maybe I'll reward you if
you've paid attention," said Kurt with a curling smile. "Maybe I'll let you
service me like a good little sub."
Sam's stomach flopped. His heart leapt. And he maybe lurched in place, although
he was anchored by Kurt's hands on his face. It felt like the earth had dropped
out from under him like a cartoon trap door and he was just miraculously
hovering with the help of Kurt's touch.
"Service you...?" he let out, shocked.
"That would be the best reward for my diligent sub, wouldn't it? Sucking and
servicing and worshiping my cock?"
Flushing, Sam nodded weakly. People were filtering by them, and Kurt was
standing there, talking about dick service in the hottest way Sam had ever,
ever, ever heard.
"Good. I'll be expecting you to show me whatever Mrs. Hagberg has you doing.
See you after class, sub."
Kurt walked off with his jaunty, important sway, and after shoving his fists
into his hoodie's pockets to try and cover his hard-on, wrist collars too bulky
to fit entirely in the pockets, Sam made it to Hagberg's classroom somehow,
mind buzzing and wobbly. After class? Would he be allowed to service Kurt then?
During study hall? Where? The nurse's office? Or maybe the bathroom? He felt
his limbs go limp and tingle almost harshly at the idea; being in the boys'
room, locked in a stall with his Dom, was fresh in his mind. He could still
smell it – could practically feel it. The scent of his Dom was still vivid in
his senses, and Sam longed to smell that deeper, muskier scent of his cock,
taste its sweet delicate pink skin and feel it on his tongue. But maybe Kurt
meant some other time when he could take Sam to his house, or something.
It didn't matter. Sam would do it anytime. If he could earn all that, he would,
and whenever Kurt allowed him to do it, he would.
Sam dragged out his dumb textbook and shifted his single-minded focus
completely, eyes practically burning a hole in Mrs. Hagberg's bald spot as he
waited for her to shuffle to her podium and call roll.
 
*
 
When Kurt entered study hall, Sam stood right up, his chair squeaking
annoyingly against the linoleum and bumping into Stoner Brett's table behind
him, and held out his exhaustive geography notes eagerly. He sort of thought
Mrs. Hagberg may have just been getting recipes off the internet and reciting
them for her lesson on African culture – either that or she was confused and
thought they were her home ec class – but he'd diligently copied down how to
make spicy couscous with dates anyway. Then he'd been given a map of Italy to
color in according to regional exports.
"For me?" asked Kurt breezily, bag on his hip. "Hmm! Let's just see..."
"It's geography, I swear," said Sam, dead serious.
"Oh, no, yeah... I can see the classic Hagberg train of thought, careening
right off the rails... and the confused recovery," said Kurt, turning the page
to Italy, which Sam had colored in red, with orange and green patches. "Great
job on the map. Has anyone ever complimented you on your coloring?"
"Not since preschool. Is it good?" Sam asked desperately.
"Mm-hm," hummed Kurt, returning his papers. "Know what we're going to do now,
since you were such a good little student?"
"Please," breathed Sam, on edge.
"Grab your stuff and come with me, cutie."
"Yo, Evans, man, that map is crazy," said Stoner Brett, as Sam stuffed his
geography papers away in an awkward rush that pretty much turned them to bent-
up rubble. "Mussolini. Mario. The Red Years. You know? It's like, how vast is
this conspiracy?"
"No clue," Sam said honestly.
"Hagberg, man. She is on some next-level shit."
After a beat of wondering whether Brett was actually on some next-level shit
himself right then or not, Sam escaped and hurried to the desk, where Kurt was
standing, waiting for him. Mr. Clippinger was looking at a set of pink hall
passes.
"The both of you," he said.
"Yes," Kurt said, with simple authority.
Sam held his breath as Mr. Clippinger gave the passes a second look, then
squinted up at them. It wasn't a very promising look, especially in comparison
to the one Sam's pass had been given after he'd come in so late to geometry
that morning.
"You don't look sick."
"Sam has medicine he has to take."
"And what about you?"
Kurt said in a way that was friendly yet factual, "I'm his Dom, so. He's not
going without me."
Mr. Clippinger's gaze dropped to Sam's cuffs. Then he handed Kurt the passes,
which were written out in Ms. Pillsbury's textbook cursive. "Okay. Go take your
medicine."
"Thank you. Follow me, Sam," Kurt said unnecessarily, but he'd just dommed the
exchange so effortlessly that Sam followed after him in awe like he was being
pulled by his hoodie's drawstrings all over again, leashed.
"You boss around teachers," Sam said dazedly out in the hall. "How do you do
that."
"Oh, I don't always get away with it," Kurt said modestly, like it was nothing
unusual, and took Sam by his cuff to lead him. "Know where we're off to?"
Sam hazarded a hopeful guess. "Private suite?"
"How right you are!"
"Am I –" Sam tried to get close so he could whisper to Kurt, even though they
were alone in the hall, bumping their shoulders together. He felt so clumsy.
"Do I get to service you??"
"I wonder," Kurt returned coquettishly.
Sam's mind whirled. Kurt hadn't said no...
Both times they'd been to the nurse before, Sam had asked Kurt to be allowed to
suck his dick, and Kurt had denied him both times – but he'd let Sam do it
since. In a parking lot at the mall, even. If there was a magic way to ask, Sam
hadn't figured it out. He wondered if maybe Kurt just felt better when he was
in the driver's seat, literally and figuratively; both of the times he'd let
Sam do that in his car, Kurt had seemed more comfortable than he had in his own
room. He tried to resign himself to the possibility that Kurt had no intention
of allowing him to do that at school, but he couldn't help the pining that came
from deep down and the hope that welled as a result.
No matter what, though, Sam knew now that Kurt liked taking him to the nurse.
Going there wasn't a bad thing, like he'd feared. It didn't mean he was
disobedient or needed punishment or that Kurt had a problem sub on his hands.
It meant that Kurt had made a decision to dom him. Taking him there was what
Kurt wanted, no matter why. Sam had no say. The thought of being laid out on
that vinyl bed for his Dom to look at, or maybe even touch or climb onto, was
overwhelming enough without the long shot of maybe being allowed to please
Kurt. They weren't even in there yet and Sam could feel himself sinking slowly,
bending, floating yet going under at the same time. To him, the nurse's office
now just meant he could submit.
Kurt opened the nurse's door for him, and Sam walked into the office, docile
and breathing hard, eyes pinned to the floor.
"There you are," the nurse said dryly, hardly looking up from her ledger. It
sounded like she'd been expecting them and they were late.
"Here we are," Kurt responded, in his slinky voice. If Sam hadn't already been
stiffening in his strap, that would've done it. The nurse had no idea how lucky
she was to be hearing Kurt's voice sound like that. She had to know Sam was in
for it.
"I have a girl who's feeling under the weather in the infirmary. You can send
her out to see me before you head in. Remember, if you compromise the security
of the safe room, I will deny you and your sub future entrance," said the
nurse.
"Yes, ma'am," said Kurt. "That was in the fine print."
"And if it ain't up to your snuff, you can take that up with Coach Sylvester. I
am not an interior decorator."
Kurt flashed Sam a smile, but it dropped from his face when he pushed aside the
pale blue curtain, and Sam could see why.
On one of the beds, ankles crossed, was Santana. She had her phone in front of
her face, but looked over as they stepped back into the infirmary. When she saw
Kurt, her expression soured, like Kurt was the very last person she wanted to
see.
"Feeling bad for yourself, are you?" Kurt asked her.
"Crimson tide, okay," she muttered. "Lay off."
"Nurse asked to see you out there," Kurt returned unsympathetically.
"Ugh."
Santana hauled herself up, irritated, and grabbed for her purse, spotting Sam
in the process.
"Oh, look, attached to lady Hummel's hip like a gigantic fanny pack that's just
gaping open – it's precious little trouty mouth. You in here with an advanced
case of Amanda Lepore-itis?"
Sam couldn't even say hi, or, like, that he didn't even know who that was. He
didn't really sense that words from him were welcome. But also, he just kind of
wanted her to leave already, so he didn't engage. He just stared at the floor.
His ex-Domme slid from the bed, pulled down the miniskirt that had inched up
her thighs, and didn't try to make eye contact.
"Maybe you should ask the nurse for an ice pack," she said, sliding her purse
up her arm and stepping past Sam coolly. "See if the swelling will go down."
"Wow. Hope your t-shirt for glee says 'über bitch,'" Kurt fired at her.
"Hope yours says 'likes boys dumb, lifeless, and subtle as a slab of cement.'"
With that, Santana ducked her way out from the infirmary, and Sam blinked.
"Dumb" wasn't really a new word for anyone to use about him, but what did that
stuff about cement even mean? And how could Santana say that when she was
dating Dave Karofsky, who was totally heavier and slabbier and less subtle than
Sam?
"Don't you pay any attention to Santana," said Kurt, grasping Sam's hand and
tugging him towards the soft room insistently. "She's just pressed I stole you
away from her, and she doesn't even know what she gave up. If she did, she'd be
rampaging all over Tokyo right now, breathing fire."
Sam doubted that, but he didn't need any further encouragement to disregard
Santana's bitchy comments, anyway. Quickly, while there was no one else in the
infirmary section with them, Kurt slid the wall open and ushered Sam under the
curtain.
Immediately, it hit Sam that it smelled different in the little secret closet.
Lemony, but fresh and aired out. It smelled clean. He hadn't really disliked
the old storage closet smell in the same way that he didn't exactly dislike the
smell of the locker room, but the difference was palpable and pleasant.
Then his eyes started to adjust to the soft gray light glowing in the window
and he could tell the room was different in other ways, too.
The bed was the usual bed, but beside it was a slim silver cabinet with a
frosted glass door on the front. He was sure that hadn't been there before.
There were things inside it, but Sam had no idea what. The paper towel
dispenser had been taken off the wall, and the wall was a darker and more vivid
blue than before, and glossier. The red plastic chair had been replaced with a
sturdier-looking model with metal legs and black cushions on its back and seat,
but so slender that it took up less room in the small space beside the bed. On
the wood-paneled wall behind the chair, a neat series of metal hooks had been
installed.
Sam craned to look for the Devo-inspired poster on the back of the door as Kurt
shut it behind them, and found it had been replaced with a new copy with
fresher colors and a different font. There were other posters, too, that Sam
had never really taken the time to read, but they looked like they had been
replaced with newer versions, too. One demanded, REMEMBER YOUR SAFE WORD? Each
corner had a simple icon: A red stoplight, a hand held up flat, a whistle, and
a pig. Sam didn't know what the pig meant.
Grinning, Kurt reached for the light switch, which had been replaced with a
small steel dial. He twisted it, and a gentle glow emanated from the ceiling,
coming to life slowly rather than flipping on. The light shone in the shape of
a white square, very slightly convex, and it looked more like calm daylight
than fluorescents or yellow bulbs like the rest of the school used. It was
weird to see the blue paint on the wall become brighter and for the room to
lose its misty, shadowy feel, but Sam couldn't help looking around. The floor
shone under his worn navy Converse. There was a small metal trash can that was
smooth and rounded across the top like R2-D2 perched at the foot of the bed.
"It's different," Sam pointed out. He knew it was a stupid, obvious thing to
say, but the soft room suddenly resembled a miniature nurse's office more than
a really shady, grimy broom closet. It probably could've passed some kind of
state inspection.
"I had it cleaned and stuff," Kurt replied coyly.
"You did??"
"Mm-hm! They did quite a thorough job, didn't they? Coach Sylvester even went
the extra mile with that Ikea cabinet and new chair."
"Coach Sue?" echoed Sam. He was just astonished. Kurt had worked his magic on a
formidable Domme like Coach Sue? He was amazing! And he was Sam's Dom.
"Well, you know me and bossing around teachers. Do you like the light I picked
out?"
Sam stared up at it.
"It's bright," he said. "But, uh. It's soft, too?"
"I figured it'd be useful if someone needed to actually be able to see." Kurt
reached for the dial, and the light fell low again, finally just fading away,
leaving nothing but the watery daylight trying to come in through the slim
window set just under the ceiling above the bed. Even though the small room had
left Sam with a clinical impression lit up, with the light off it felt once
again like they were in the familiar closet, and nothing other than Kurt
demanded attention. "But we know our way around without it, don't we."
"Yes?" Sam said hopefully.
Kurt responded with, "Put your backpack under the bed."
"I saw some hooks."
"I know. I want to watch you bending over."
Grinning at his Dom's sly tone, Sam obediently bent at the waist to cram his
pack onto the slats beneath the bed.
"Good boy," breathed Kurt. He pushed the new chair out of his way, apparently
not seeing a need for it, and hung the strap of his messenger bag across one of
the new hooks. Moving fast, he adeptly grabbed Sam's hips just as he was
turning around again. Sam was given a push that turned him right back towards
the bed, and Kurt sidled up so close behind him that his hips pressed right
into Sam's ass. "Nah-ah. Stay where you are."
Surprise rang in Sam's whole body – Kurt was usually far more verbal than
physical, so this was about the last thing he'd expected. Kurt was only a bit
shorter than him, and while he didn't have shoulders as wide as Sam's or the
upper body strength of someone who lifted weights, he was clearly strong, and
his lithe body was more like Sam's than unlike it. Sam didn't even know how
that made him feel.
Well. He did. Excited.
"Hands on the bed."
He responded immediately, hard-wired to obey. It was more of a lean than
gripping at the safety rail in the bathroom had been, especially as he
flattened his hands against the vinyl in front of him. He could hardly believe
the exhilarated feeling creeping over him. Kurt was literally holding his hips
in place, bracing him between his hands and pelvis, and had him bent over just
enough to feel sorta like a bitch. If he couldn't get down on the floor and
actually be on his knees or something, this felt like a close second.
"Your butt's so bare under these jeans," Kurt purred at him. "Are you liking
that? Walking around school in your sexy jock strap with your ass bare?"
" – Yes," huffed Sam, after a beat of hot-faced difficulty. He let his head
hang. It was just so heavy, and the urge to bow was running through his entire
body, only he needed to try and stay as Kurt had him.
"Yeah?"
"Yes, Kurt."
"Aw, good. I like it, too." Kurt's hands reached around him, finding their way
under his t-shirt to his fly. "I know I just gave you one this morning, but I'm
gonna give you another check, cutie."
"Oh my gosh," Sam let out in a stunned whisper, stomach twisting with
excitement.
Kurt laughed lowly. "Hm? What was that?"
"Please," Sam got out instead, throbbing in his strap right under Kurt's
fingers as they opened his zip. "Please check. I wanna be good."
"I know you do, angel," Kurt murmured. "I know you wanna be my good boy. You
know what you're not allowed to do, right?"
It took Sam, who was having an inner meltdown so hot and heavy that he could
barely think, a few seconds – but once it hit him, he moaned plaintively.
"Come?"
"Yep, you're right," his Dom said, pleased. His right hand wandered into Sam's
open jeans and brazenly caressed his erection through the thin, almost gauzy-
feeling cotton of his cup. He caught a sharp breath at the same time Sam did,
as if he didn't expect to feel Sam so hard or so easily through the thin
material. "Ah. Sam. This thing is flimsy! It's barely holding you."
It did feel likely his dick might just pop right out the side of the pouch as
Kurt palmed him and rubbed him against his own belly, and Sam tried not to
breathe, knowing he was much too hard much too fast and if he was allowed, he'd
probably be blowing his wad in under a minute. But he wasn't allowed, and he
knew it, and his body inwardly clutched to dam against the rising tide. Still,
he groaned hollowly, stupidly wanting that coiling tension to peak anyway, and
ached with disappointment when Kurt pulled his hand out of his jeans again.
He held still as Kurt fussed with his shirt and hoodie, pushing them up in
back, then peeled his jeans down gently over Sam's awkward hard-on and naked
ass.
"There," Kurt breathed, leaving Sam's jeans slouched around his thighs.
Warm hands delicately cupped right over the newly-revealed straps, sliding up
them to the gray waistband and tracing over the brand name embedded in the
elastic. The fly of Kurt's black jeans brushed his naked skin and Sam got a
rush of goose bumps. Not only were Kurt's hands warm, but Sam could feel his
body heat through his clothes.
"God, you don't even know what you look like to me right now, Sam. All bent
over, just waiting..."
Sam did know, though. He did. He knew exactly what jock straps showed off. He
knew how tempting they made what they covered, and what they didn't. He'd seen
more than his fair share on his teammates since little league. He knew he was
bared to Kurt like his ass was just served up on a platter, and what a tease it
was, and that Kurt could do anything he wanted without even having to take the
strap off Sam; he might as well be totally naked for Kurt, strategically
covered everywhere except for his ass. Kurt could look at it, inspect it all he
liked, touch it. Discipline it.
Fuck it.
He moaned as the thought crossed his mind.
Getting his ass fucked was still kind of an alien thought and it startled him
to even have it, but he desperately wanted it anyway. He was Kurt's. He could
recall just a sliver of the world-rending euphoria of admitting that Kurt owned
him – and both his holes – from the day Kurt had collared him, and tried not to
think about it. It was all he could do to keep his knees from buckling weakly.
He'd almost fully repressed the details of his Dom fucking him; he had yet to
really sort through it. But it was a fact he was happy about. He knew Kurt
could do anything to him and he would be grateful. If Kurt did that to him, he
would be sore again and would probably need to go directly to the locker room
to shower, but he would be so lucky to be standing in the McKinley locker room
with his ass used and his Dom's come leaking out, sticky and warm. The thought
was so strong, he heard himself moan again.
"You're like any other typical horny jock," his Dom hummed, sounding fond. He
had no idea what was in Sam's head right then, but he still knew – he was still
right. His fingers were sliding around the elastic waistband of the jock strap,
just exploring it curiously. "Aren't you, honey?"
"Yes, Kurt," Sam whispered.
"Yeah? But you like being a good boy for me, don't you?"
"Yes, Kurt..."
"You like being my hot little jock sub?"
Twin flicks on the curves of his ass cheeks made Sam wince, wildly responsive.
It took him a beat to comprehend. The straps. Kurt had slipped a finger under
them both and given them a snap. They hadn't hurt any more than the paperback
had hurt, but the gentle crack of elastic was audible enough to send him right
back to where he'd been that morning – and just remembering Kurt smacking him
casually with his English novel almost made him fold right in half. He rocked
against the bed awkwardly, the vinyl giving slightly under his weight. His dick
just pushed at the accommodating pouch of his jock like he was humping the air
in front of him.
"Did that hurt?" Kurt demanded, rubbing Sam's back soothingly.
"No," Sam huffed.
After a moment of waiting for Sam to steady, Kurt took his hand away again.
Gently, he slipped his fingers under the straps on Sam's jock once more, this
time just feeling them and fussing over them, as far as Sam could discern –
arranging them neatly, sliding them back where they were supposed to hold
against him and feeling where they met and attached to his waistband under his
hipbone. Sam waited, silently on edge for Kurt to snap the straps again.
Instead he was touching Sam's jock all over, getting familiar with it. Sam
crazily wondered if he would follow the straps all the way down between his
cheeks, touch where they met over his taint –
But instead, Sam got another fierce little elastic snap on his right cheek, and
pretty much left the planet for a few intense heartbeats.
It took a moment for the heat to rise fully in his skin, but when it did, it
burned in his whole body, and Sam had to fight against joints that wanted to
lock and break and leave him in an incoherent pile. He had to fight to keep
strength in his arms to hold him in place. His skin tingled very slightly where
Kurt had let the strap whap against it, but only in a tickling way that was
already fading even as he registered it.
"Did that hurt?"
"No," Sam gasped truthfully, even though it had about four times the force.
"Sam," Kurt said lowly, and gave him a casual palm on the left cheek, hand just
resting uneasily.
"Yes, Kurt," Sam panted.
"I want you to tell me how many smacks your bare ass would like."
"Uh," Sam uttered, fumbling massively. Smacks? Like with Catcher? Or the
straps? He couldn't even get his brain to give up a number, not even a
completely random one. It took him several seconds. "Uh – I, um. T... twenty?"
"Twenty," Kurt echoed dubiously.
"Anything you want," Sam mumbled. Maybe that was a ludicrously high number, or
maybe it was too low. He didn't know, so he hastily added, "Anything, Kurt.
Anything you want."
He heard Kurt take a distinct inhale and let it out a second later before
decision arrested him and his hand lifted, only to return immediately, landing
a thwap right where it had rested.
Sam jerked his head up in total disbelief.
Kurt's hand was deliberate and light, and he followed a moment later with
another slap.
This time it was a little more confident, landing on him with a sense of having
gotten in a practice swing. This was no book. It was his hand. His Dom's hand.
Warm. Personal. Capable. Sam let out a shapeless noise of utter shock, and
after a few moments, Kurt gave his cheek another palm-driven smack. The force
of it skirted hard enough to steal Sam's breath, although not hard enough to
make him flinch. It was just almost perfect. Sam didn't even know a spank could
be perfect. He held himself obediently still, craving the next one and groaning
when Kurt gave it to him.
The perfect slap was delivered several more times, steadier and steadier, but
never any harder. Kurt started alternating between cheeks and left them both
sparking, nerve endings for a moment lit up with the impression of Kurt's hand
coming down against them and then stinging gently in the wake of it before they
inevitably got another slapping.
Sam didn't know where his brain even went as each smack hit his skin, but
eventually it clicked: Kurt was really, for-real spanking him. The only tether
Sam could keep was the one where he knew he could not and would not cream his
jock. Everything else in him collapsed and got washed away in a flood of
adrenaline like he'd never felt before. He was responding to each slap and feel
scraps of his voice in his throat, but he didn't really know what he sounded
like. He was just clinging at the knowledge that he had to keep it together and
bending there willingly, bare butt perked.
All too suddenly, Kurt stopped completely, leaving Sam's ass smarting and his
injured gasps and grunts cut short.
His brain struggled to keep up. Had that been twenty? It seemed like half that,
like Kurt had only barely gotten started. Sam's elbows were locked and his
knees were jelly, shaking, and as his ass was given respite, it started to
tingle even more. It felt like there were echoes of the spankings still
crackling in his skin.
"That was for me, Sam," Kurt told him firmly, breaking what Sam only then
registered to be silence. Sam could hear him taking in sharp, short breaths.
"That wasn't a punishment. That was you submitting to your Dom's desires. I
need you to understand that. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Sam huffed. He had no doubt that if Kurt wanted, he could spank him well
into punishment territory, but it hadn't even occurred to him; he didn't feel
disobedient at all. He actually felt really, really good.
"I need to hear what I told you in your own words."
"I'm – not in trouble. You would've given me a warning!"
Kurt let out a slow, controlled exhale and was silent for a moment.
"You're all pink now!" he finally tisked ruefully, sounding sympathetic. "Aw.
My poor little sub!"
Sam let out a rumbling hum of acknowledgment, and Kurt ran a warm, apologetic
hand lightly over Sam's ass cheeks, cupping each gently.
"You did so good, sweetie," he said, syrupy. He sounded so over-the-top sweet
that Sam had absolutely no idea whether he really meant it or if he was just
saying it to tease, but it was sort of humiliating either way, since Sam's
response to the tone was just another rush of harsh arousal.
"Thank you, Kurt," he whispered. His skin felt like it was burning under Kurt's
hand. "Thank you. Thank you –"
"My poor cutie. You didn't know wearing a jock strap would make your Dom do
that to you, did you?"
Sam inhaled, thrilled, dick throbbing, and managed, "No," and tried not to fall
face-first into the vinyl. His elbows were giving out. He added urgently,
"Kurt, please, can I bend over more."
Kurt let out a rather sunny laugh. "Please do."
Sam's hot cheek smooshed against vinyl. He exhaled over it loudly, fingers
pointlessly raking over something he couldn't grasp and the rings on his cuffs
dragging along with them. The shifting of his weight was a relief, but there
was no escape from the tension and heat of his own arousal.
"I can't even believe what I'm seeing," Kurt sighed behind him. "You and your
big, broad shoulders and ridiculously trim waist and cute little blushy bare
butt. God, Sam. Are you still hard after all that?"
"Yes," Sam answered thoughtlessly, sweating against the bed with the knowledge
that Kurt was looking at him. He'd been on display for Kurt a couple of times
like this, but bent over on his bed with his butt much higher in the air. He'd
showed Kurt even more, been even more subservient and bared. Kurt had seen him
covered in come and with his mouth full of it. Still, he felt pleasing; even
though he knew showing off his body was kinda debasing and he worried about how
he looked, he couldn't help but feel in his element doing it – especially if
Kurt liked it. He added in a small groan, "I'm trying really hard not to
come... I wanna be good for you."
"Aw, you're trying hard, are you?" asked Kurt, sounding amused. Now Sam knew he
was teasing on purpose. "What would happen if I played with your dick? Would
that make you come?"
"I'd – I'd try not to," said Sam, shuddering right on the bed.
"Yeah? You'd still let me play with you, huh? Even though you aren't allowed to
come."
"Yes – I –" Sam felt like he could barely speak. Still, he choked out, "I'm
your sub. You can do anything you want with me."
"Turn around for me, then," said Kurt. "Let me see how hard you are."
Just like that, Sam was pushing himself up off the sticky vinyl again, hips
twisting, freshly smacked bare ass easing back onto the edge of the cushion as
he leaned clumsily on his hands, letting Kurt see the stretch of his jock in
front of him. The strap was giving enough that it totally showed off the heavy
lean of his erection and thin enough for every ridge to be fully visible
through the fabric, which looked lightly webbed now that it was stretched so
much. His knob bulged roundly just under the waistband, and he'd leaked enough
precome to soak a quarter-sized patch of the strap through. Where the material
was wet, it had become almost transparent and was clinging to the head of his
dick.
After staring at his own hard-on, Sam fixed his eyes on Kurt, whose face was
deeply flushed. He looked nearly as red as his jacket, but seemed so at ease.
If Sam hadn't been able to see that blush, he never would have guessed Kurt was
near as aroused as he, Sam, was.
"Mm," Kurt commented, stepping in closer. He opened Sam's knees around his own
as he did so, Sam's spanked ass shifting on the bed as he accommodated and
opened his legs around Kurt. Fingers drifted over Sam's erection lazily, the
backs of Kurt's knuckles rubbing back and forth over the thin cotton and
nudging his dick. "What a big cock."
Sam's abs and thighs strained, a helpless grunt escaping him.
"I love how hard you get for me. You know that, right?"
Trying to take a steadying breath, Sam nodded.
"It's beautiful. So full. I can tell it needs to come," Kurt murmured, fingers
tucking around it to stroke it, manipulating it almost as easy as he could have
if Sam had just been free-balling. "When's the last time you got off, Sam?"
"Night before last," Sam whispered urgently, wanting Kurt to keep touching him
and yet doing his best to push his pleasure down and deal with the feelings
Kurt was so good at giving him. It was so much more intense when Kurt was
touching him than when he was whacking off on his own. Even if he was thinking
about Kurt while he did it, he could never think what Kurt was going to say or
do. He didn't want to ignore how good it felt totally. He wanted to feel it. He
wanted to remember how tight and hot his belly was and how Kurt was basically
jacking him slowly right through his jock strap. He never wanted to forget Kurt
touching him through it.
"Oh, really? You didn't touch yourself after I tucked you in?"
"No!"
"Aw, of course you behaved yourself, you little angel," said Kurt
understandingly. "But you have been getting off, haven't you. In the shower?"
"Yes," Sam admitted. It felt so good to say that while Kurt was touching him,
he could have died.
"So not just that one time?"
Sam shook his head and whispered, "Every night."
"Mm, that's my good boy," his Dom purred. "That's just what you've been
needing, huh."
"Yes..."
"That's right. You know that's what I like. My sub, feeling so good and sexy."
"Please," Sam blurted, tensing, "I'm – close –"
Mercifully, Kurt eased off, letting him go and wisely waiting a moment before
he whispered, "Good job, Sam. I depend on your honesty to know when to stop."
Thanks was profuse and right on the tip of Sam's tongue, but like the idea of
touching himself being what Kurt liked for him to do, it was too hot and alive
in him to manage. He was afraid that saying those words to his Dom would feel
so good in the wake of all that praise that he might nut if they actually
passed his lips, even though Kurt wasn't touching him anymore. He nodded
compulsively instead, hearing himself whimper at the tail end of an exhale.
"Shh, shh. It's okay, cutie. I'll take good care of you. Lie back now," Kurt
instructed, in such a delicate voice that Sam knew he was being careful, too.
Sam moved to obey. He felt an intense spike to the gut just leaning back,
thinking that maybe Kurt might climb onto him as he had before. He would
definitely come if Kurt did that. Maybe Kurt would let him, though?
Something in him shut the thought down immediately. He couldn't assume that. He
needed to be prepared, and be ready to admit it if Kurt started to get on top
of him, instead of giving into the greedy desire to have his Dom lying against
him. He tried to grip at the bed, but the cushion was too stiff and slick; he
balled his hands into fists at his sides instead, pretending his cuffs were
strapped down somehow.
"There you go. I bet being obedient feels good for such a little sub," Kurt
whispered.
Just when he thought he couldn't get any hotter or more turned on, he did.
Sam's insides ached as his internal temperature spiked, high and feverish. He
wanted to be obedient for Kurt, and Kurt was letting him obey, letting him
submit, and it was all because of Kurt that he could be good and obedient.
Staring up at Kurt, he felt like crying out of gratitude. Quinn had never
accepted him like this, never saw how hard he really tried or how much he
wanted to be seen as Kurt seemed to see him. He didn't know why everything was
so different with Kurt.
Catching his stare, Kurt gave him a warm smile with tucked pink lips and
brought a hand to his cheek.
"You're going to let me play with you some more, aren't you, honey."
"Yes, Kurt," Sam moaned meekly, his throat thick with both arousal and emotion.
He didn't know how it was possible, but he was pleasing his Dom. He didn't feel
deserving of it.
"Yeah? Even though you don't get to come, you're being such a good boy, letting
your Dom pull you right out of your jock," Kurt murmured almost musically,
doing exactly that. It was so easy to get Sam out of it, it was stupid; he
arched, hips flexing helplessly, buzzing ass cheeks totally up off the vinyl
for a hot beat as he lost control and thrust his dick through Kurt's pale pink
fingers.
He immediately regretted it, whimpering, a hair away from shooting his wad.
"Too close," he wheezed timidly, both at himself and Kurt, flopping on the bed
with his eyes squeezed shut. "Tooclose – tooclose –"
Kurt abandoned his dick and gave him a no-nonsense pat on the chest. "Good boy.
Breathe..."
Sam sucked in several breaths before he was able to slow them shakily and
spiral down from the peak he'd nearly smashed into.
"There you go," Kurt murmured, and without warning, dropped his hand to take
Sam's cock into it. He eased his grip until he was only stroking Sam lightly
with three fingertips, like a tease, but Sam still whimpered, and Kurt
whispered, "I know. You feel like you're gonna come, don't you. But you're not
going to come until I want you to, angel. Do you hear me?"
"Yes," Sam managed, once again straining towards incoherence.
"I know it's hard, but you can do it – I know you can," Kurt reminded him.
"You're a very good boy, Sam. I know how you want permission to come. I know
you know when you're going to come because you always ask if you can. You can
tell me to stop so you don't lose it before I'm done playing with you."
Dimly aware he was leaking precome over Kurt's fingers, Sam nodded, a warm
feeling of safety buoying him. He could red light – what a relief. He
obediently reached for all the self-control he could muster as Kurt stroked him
carefully. He breathed; tried to relax; tried to steel every muscle; tried only
to think of being good – but to his surprise, thinking of how he was being
obedient seemed to be an even deeper, wider well of pleasure. It made what Kurt
was doing feel good in a whole other way, and it all tangled inevitably
together. His balls and stomach were both aching deeply, but he was being so
good, and he didn't want to stop being good. Talk about mixed feelings.
He lasted at least a minute before the thoughts he was holding onto and pure
physical tension had him involuntarily close to peaking, and Kurt murmured,
"God. I love your dick so much."
"S – stop," Sam gaped, voiceless.
To his relief, Kurt did, nimbly dropping him against the elastic strap still in
place across his own belly, and Sam heard himself let out a tremulous moan. It
didn't even sound like him, but it was. His gut pounded with a searing ache of
protest.
"Gold star," Kurt told him, flirty.
Sam tried to speak, but all that came out was a bewildered but utterly happy
noise.
"You're so perfect and gorgeous," his Dom whispered, fiddling with the hem of
his t-shirt. "Look at you. Your body's so beautiful..."
He drew Sam's t-shirt up to his rib cage, caressing each arch of his ribs
affectionately and tracing down between his abs all the way to his sparse happy
trail, which was cut over by the gray waistband of his jock. Sam's stomach
fluttered, the touch to his pubes shooting through him like lightning and
eliciting another incoherent groan.
After a minute of just touching his jock with calm interest, Kurt finally
palmed Sam's dick, exquisitely casual – although, Sam couldn't keep from
thinking about how casually Kurt had touched his ass like that before spanking
it repeatedly. A light, involuntary shudder wracked through him, partially just
because Kurt was touching him again and partially because his brain seemed to
think it was a possibility that Kurt might spank his dick.
But Kurt just took him in that delicate hold between his fingertips, soft skin
wet with what Sam's dick was letting out onto his stomach and sliding along
Sam's shaft with sinful, slick ease. It wasn't ten seconds before Sam was
squeaking, "Please stop."
Kurt cooperatively did, letting him go and letting him attempt to get it
together.
"I'm so proud of you, Sam," he murmured. "I'm just teasing you so much, aren't
I. I can see how much you're trying to – hm. How did you put it... abide by my
wishes. You're my good boy. My good, sweet little sub who needs to come so bad.
Can you say that, Sam? Say what you are to me."
"'M your... good – s –"
Sam couldn't even make it any further than that. The words were so
astonishingly powerful that he was flattened by them in an instant. He didn't
dare continue, even though his head ringing with them. Good sub. He was Kurt's
sub, his good boy. Gold star. Kurt had spanked him, and he'd been good. He
didn't understand what he'd done to deserve feeling like this. He didn't know
why his Dom wanted him endlessly simmering on the very edge of boiling over and
to be so full of feelings he couldn't speak, could hardly breathe. But he
didn't have to understand. He just had to obey.
"Can't," he finally huffed, clipped. "I'll c – c –"
"Shh, shh, shh," Kurt let out in comforting, soft breaths; Sam obediently
abandoned trying to vocalize. It was getting harder and harder to be on the
verge of orgasm, hearing his Dom say things that had his soul fit to burst, yet
not succumb to the pounding need. "I hear you. Just relax. You won't come.
You're not allowed to, are you."
No. No, he definitely wasn't.
"Breathe for me, cutie. Don't even think about it, 'cause I'm not letting you
come this time. Do you hear me?"
Just attempting to respond in some way, Sam grunted, and Kurt's hand returned
to his chest to give it a friendly patting. His hand stayed there, stilling
over his sternum and petting every now and then.
Time slid by formlessly, nothing more than Sam's heart beat pounding throughout
his entire body and up against Kurt's hand. He knew he was in the soft room on
the infirmary bed and that Kurt was next to him and that he was dripping
precome all over himself, but none of it mattered as much as the fact that he'd
obeyed.
Once the certainty that he wasn't about to blow despite all his iron-clad
intentions set in, the feeling was so big and warm and comforting, Sam knew it
was better than the fleeting feeling he would have gotten if he had come, and
wouldn't have traded it for release even though it was what his body was
trembling for. He felt so good. Like, really good. Relieved and amazed, and
like he had behaved, and he weighed nothing, free from the shackles of the
world because the only cuffs that mattered were the ones Kurt had chosen for
him and allowed him to wear.
Sam didn't even flinch when Kurt reached down, gingerly wiped away some of the
slick precome on his belly with a soft tissue, and slipped his dick back into
his jock and straightened it over him with a delicate touch. His stones were
pretty damn angry at him, full and still on edge to shoot the wad he'd built up
so much pressure around, and his heart was still thumping hard, but he didn't
care. He felt like happy-sobbing and he was utterly mired in it.
"Sweetie?" Kurt asked after a quiet spell. "Can I lie down with you? Promise
I'm not going to tease you any more right now."
For the first time since he'd locked them down in his mind, Sam's arms moved,
both of them stretching out for Kurt openly – like a little kid who wanted to
be picked up.
He felt Kurt carefully ease onto the bed with him and pulled him into a greedy
hug, which made Kurt laugh and relax, perched atop him regally. If Kurt had
done that ten minutes ago, the feel of his warm weight would've made Sam go off
like crazy, and he was still hard under Kurt's hips. But right then, Sam had
pushed past his body's desires, and being pinned by his Dom was all he could
conceive of wanting. Fuzzy-brained, Sam clung around his slender middle and
luxuriated.
"You can be in sub heaven all you want, Sam," Kurt whispered, like he had his
finger on the pulse of Sam's internal workings. "You have till the bell rings."
Then Kurt rested his cheek on Sam's shoulder. Sam mumbled, incoherently happy.
He didn't know what he said, or if he even used real words. (Knowing him, it
could've been Na'vi.)
 
*
 
An eon later, Sam was in the boys' bathroom again. This time it was the one by
the choir room, and he and the other glee guys were all getting ready before
heading to the auditorium for their Gaga number, changing jeans and t-shirts.
Sam, who still felt idiotically subtastic, pulled his t-shirt on in one of the
stalls, where he'd also pulled on the black jeans supplied for the number.
Normally he would've just changed in front of everyone like in the locker room,
but he was wearing his jock, and his ass was red. Well, he didn't know that for
sure. It just felt... sensitive, like it wasn't liable to forget that it had
been smacked anytime soon. He wasn't sure if anybody should see what his Dom
had done to him, even though he felt unmistakably proud.
With one foot on the edge of the toilet seat, Sam gamely attempted to tie the
neat, new white shoelaces on the Converse low-tops that were part of their
costume into actual bows. Until Mr. Schue had seen him fumbling with the dress
shoes he'd worn for the boys' mash-up last year, securing the laces into double
knots and tucking the extraneous lace into each shoe, this was a thing Sam had
basically stopped doing. He was bad at it. He didn't know what it was, but his
laces often slipped loose within a few minutes and required retying several
times a day. With running shoes and stuff, knotting them up was okay, and he'd
done it much of the time at boarding school, too, until his roommate had taken
to tying his shoes for him every morning before class. But Mr. Schue had made
him stay after glee a few times and practice his bows.
"Did you and Brittany collaborate on your shirts?" Artie was asking Puck.
"Nope. It was Ms. P. She was being all C.O.D. and matchy-matchy with the
shirts."
"It's O.C.D.," Artie corrected him.
"Whatever. This is her doing."
"I'm feeling pretty good about this week," Finn said optimstically. "I mean,
did I break Rachel's nose with my dancing? Yes. And did my girlfriend have a
massive meltdown? Yes, again. But she's doing better now. She came to school
and she'll be in glee. So please don't bring up those posters or talk about her
'Lucy Caboosey' shirt."
"Not gonna lie, I see the 'before' appeal," Puck commented. "Fatties are always
the freakiest. They're just so desperate. You wanna get in her pants, just
whisper in her ear about how skinny she is."
"Hey, don't talk about her like that," said Finn, sounding tired.
Sam put his foot down again, laces dangling loose. He just didn't have it in
him, and didn't care. He reached for his hoodie to pull it back on, the topic
the guys were shooting back and forth helping to keep him from just leaning
against the stall and floating off totally.
"Worked for me, is all I'm sayin.'"
"Guys," Mike interrupted. "Stop talking about Quinn. Sam's in here."
"Oh, right," said Puck, who had probably forgotten Sam existed. "Sorry, Sam.
Forgot you struck out so royally."
Clutching his backpack in one hand and his discarded clothes in the other, Sam
opened up the stall and gave Puck an awkward smile, which he then transferred
to Finn.
"It's cool," he said. Finn was so tall, Sam had to look up at him, and he was
six foot, himself. "Uh. She's with the right sub now, and, uh. We're friends.
She probably knows what she's doing. So good luck with all that."
This seemed to surprise Finn, who nodded in appreciation and returned Sam's
smile.
Unmoved, Puck gave Sam a flat once-over that Sam was getting increasingly
familiar with, but he was just reading Sam's t-shirt.
"'Trouty Mouth.' Evocative."
"Santana," Sam said, tucking his clothes under one arm and zipping up his soft
green hoodie.
They waited around for Artie to emerge, Sam trying his best to just not think
about Kurt taking him to the handicapped stall and giving him a jock check and
spanking him with his own homework, and when he was ready to roll, Puck grabbed
his chair by the handles to push him out. Sam was thoughtlessly filing out, the
last in line, when a light bulb flickered on in his brain. He grabbed Mike's
arm.
"Wait, can I talk to you real quick?" he asked lowly.
Mike stopped short, surprised.
"Guys, we're gonna be late," protested Finn, hanging at the door.
"This'll just take a sec," said Sam, waving Finn on.
"What's up?" Mike asked as Finn left them behind.
"Prom," blurted Sam.
After a pause, Mike asked, "What about it?"
"Uh."
Now that he was actually trying to talk about it, Sam too stopped short. He had
the words in his brain, but they got stuck in his throat, even though he knew
Mike well enough to know that Mike probably knew who he wanted to go with and
probably didn't care.
Sure enough, Mike prompted expectantly, "Are you gonna ask someone?"
"Maybe, unless it's just... obvious...?" Sam tried, squinting.
"Obvious?" Mike repeated.
With a sigh, Sam sacked up. "I wanna take Kurt, okay!"
"Oh. Yeah, I guess that's pretty obvious," Mike said.
"It is?"
"From where I sit at lunch every day, yeah."
"Oh. Well. Yeah. I know that." Probably no one outside of Kurt saw him so
openly subby as much as the crew he sat with at lunch. "What I mean is, did you
ask Tina, or was it just obvious you guys were gonna go, since you're
together?"
"Both," said Mike, which Sam did not find helpful. "When posters started going
up, I was like, 'You wanna go?' and she said she did and that was that. No big
deal. If you want to take him, just ask if he wants to go."
"So that's okay? I ask him? Even though he's my Dom?"
"Sure. I guess. Unless he forbid you or already said he didn't want to go, or
something."
"He hasn't said anything! That's kinda the problem! I don't know how it works
here. If it was Quinn, I would know already. I would know if I was supposed to
ask. It was my job to be chivalrous. I always opened doors for her. I was
always a gentleman. I mean, I tried. But with Kurt – it's just a different
vibe. He doesn't need me to be a knight for him. Sometimes I open doors for him
and sometimes he opens them for me, but it just depends, so I don't know! How
do we even dance? Who leads? Help, man! Dirty Dancing didn't prepare me for
this!"
Mike considered Sam's manic eyes and wild gesturing for a second, then offered,
"Want me to ask Tina if Kurt's mentioned anything about prom to her?"
Sensing that Mike didn't know any better than he did about all this guy-on-guy
stuff, even if he was the best dancer in New Directions, Sam nodded reticently.
"Consider it done."
Sam exhaled. "Thanks."
"You should buy tickets just in case," Mike added. "That way, whatever happens,
you're prepared. You can just return them if he doesn't want to go."
"How much are they?"
"I think, like, sixty bucks now."
"Sixty bucks?? Each?"
"Yeah. They started at twenty, but they go up in price ten bucks every week, so
you should get 'em soon as possible."
"Damn," Sam said, flabbergasted. He'd vaguely known buying tickets for a formal
dance was a thing, but dropping over a hundred bucks to go to a junior prom
held in the gym seemed expensive to him. He'd been planning to take his
birthday off work so he could spend it with his family and with his Dom, but
maybe it would be smarter to take the shift and be able to swing two tickets.
There was dinner to consider, too, and corsages. Wait, were those a thing for
guys? Mike probably wouldn't know any better than Sam did about corsages,
either, so he just sighed, "All right. Thanks, man."
"Sure," said Mike. "Speaking of help, do you need a refresher course on your
basic granny knot?"
"What?"
Mike laughed and crouched in front of Sam.
"Here, I'll just do these up really quick, or they're gonna bug me."
"Oh, hey," said Sam, his ears flushing hot as Mike tugged at the tongue of his
left shoe. "You don't – you don't have to do that –"
"Don't want you to trip and fall on your face or anything," said Mike. True to
his word, he was quick, efficiently pulling Sam's laces then working them into
a tidy bow. "One busted nose is enough for any show choir, and you know how
competitive Rachel is. If she feels threatened by you, she might bite."
Sam looked away awkwardly, feeling his face turning a deep, dismayed red, and
said, "One time I bit my lip open tripping over my shoelace."
"Well, this will ensure there won't be a dramatic re-enactment," said Mike,
straightening. He grabbed at his hat and adjusted it. "Now let's go proclaim
our insecurities in front of a non-existent audience!"
 
*
 
Glee had scarcely been dismissed for a second before Sam's Dom pounced.
Well, he didn't literally pounce, but it still felt like he did, because he
whirled around on Sam with all his attention, grabbed him by both hands in
front of everyone and pulled Sam in close to him, right in the bustle of
everyone departing from their gathering around the piano for the post-"Born
This Way" every-one-of-you-is-special and that-was-great-guys-but-Nationals-
are-in-three-weeks pep talk.
Sam blinked; Kurt was being really... physical. It was so unusual for him that
it really caught Sam off-guard. They were usually incredibly sparing with
public displays in glee, in light of Quinn and Finn and Santana and all the
broken relationship drama. But Santana had skipped glee, and Quinn and Finn
weren't taking it easy on Rachel so there was drama anyway, so Kurt and Sam
showing restraint in front of others had become more, like, just their personal
comfort level. Usually Kurt just touched his cheek or held his elbow. Every now
and then he fussed with Sam's hair or gave him some petting in study hall.
Holding hands was still sort of a new thing. But today, Kurt must've felt
different. He'd lead Sam around by his hoodie and grabbed him by the hips
and... stuff.
"Cutie," he said in a low voice. "I wanna take you home."
"My, um... 5:05..."
"No need to catch a bus every day, is there? I can take you home every now and
then, since I know where you live. Can't I?"
"If you really want... Is that okay?" Sam wondered, not oblivious to Puckerman
smirking at him as he trailed along after Zizes in his I'M WITH STOOPID t-shirt
that was probably sort of accurate.
"Mm-hm," Kurt hummed. He leaned in so close his nose brushed Sam's before he
simply smiled and gave Sam a strong tug stage left.
Several other glee clubbers were heading back to change into their street
clothes, but Kurt and Sam just booked it. They made cursory stops to retrieve
the jackets they'd ripped off as part of the number to reveal the words printed
on their tees, and to grab their bags, and then Kurt was leading him by the
cuff out the auditorium door towards the parking lot. Kurt was carrying the
folded stack of their clothes. Sam just tried not to trip as Kurt pulled him
all the way across the parking lot. His heart was starting to pound; were they
in a hurry? Or was he nervous to have Kurt take him home? Or was it that he
felt a little like he might be in trouble, even if he wasn't? Kurt's grip on
his cuff was so authoritative, he felt kind of squirmy.
"Give me your backpack and stuff, then get in the back seat," Kurt told him
over his shoulder.
Sam handed his hoodie and backpack to his Dom; it piled Kurt's arms full, and
he wanted to help carry that junk and pack it into the trunk, if that was what
Kurt wanted. But it wasn't. Kurt wanted him to get in the back seat. So he did,
climbing into the passenger side and shutting the door obediently. He wondered
if he should fasten his seat belt.
After a minute, the trunk slammed, and Kurt rounded the driver's side. Sam
watched him out the window with unblinking, laser-focused eyes. Kurt's arms
were extremely bare and pale in the late afternoon sunlight. They were rarely
bare, Sam realized. Kurt usually had on at least two layers, if not three, and
usually wore long sleeves. His Dom in simple jeans, a t-shirt, and Chuck
Taylors was something Sam had never seen before. Kurt's sleeves were even
rolled up twice, showing off a couple inches more bicep than Sam was showing.
He had some nice muscles, Sam was somewhat startled to see. They weren't
defined, but they were so guy-ish.
Kurt popped open the back door and climbed in, somehow graceful. He grinned at
Sam, hips flexibly lifting in a way that actually got Sam kinda boned as he
shoved his car keys into his pocket. He dropped into the seat again and pulled
the door shut behind him, sealing them into relative quiet from the noise of
traffic on the main street nearby.
"I know what you're thinking," he announced, looking at Sam and twisting on the
spot, one ankle tucking up under his thigh and his knee touching Sam's thigh.
"I promised to let you service me."
"Oh," said Sam, heart beating hard in his chest. Truthfully, he was hardly
thinking anything, and he'd actually completely forgotten about that – of
course, the one time the offer of service hadn't been at his request, he
forgot!! He was so dumb! They were in the car and everything, too, where Kurt
seemed to be more open to it. But before he could say anything else, Kurt went
on.
"I'm still going to let you, but not right now."
"...But – please," Sam managed, injured, the disappointment making his stomach
sink.
"Later, sweetie. I promise, I'll let you service me for as long as you want,"
Kurt told him, reaching over. He had his left hand under Sam's t-shirt, slowly
and clumsily undoing the button on his black jeans, before it fully hit Sam
that was what he was doing. He sucked in an alarmed breath. "I was a little
worried, letting you go off to Spanish after taking you on that little trip –
which I know I shouldn't have done. When I saw you trailing into the auditorium
with Mike, you looked so... I don't know. Lost. I was worried you'd forget the
steps to the number. But you stuck to Mike's cues and got through it, didn't
you."
Sam's zip came open.
Kurt whispered, "I know I shouldn't do this here, either – play with my sub
some more. Should I stop?"
"You – you can do anything you want," Sam groaned dizzily, slumping. There
wasn't a head rest in the back seat, so his abruptly heavy head fell back till
his chin was jutting.
Kurt had barely just gotten his fly down, fingers only brushing against the
pouch of his jock, but Sam's whole body felt like it was plunging, being
forcibly submerged, and no part of him even wanted to fight it. It didn't even
make sense, how Kurt could put him all the way back in his place so fast.
Probably the only reason he didn't mess up was that Mike had tied his laces for
him; muscle memory had done the rest, and he seemed to recall not doing the
steps correctly several times and just bumbling on, as usual. It was almost
like he'd been sleep-walking through the last half of the day, including the
Lady Gaga number, but now Kurt was pulling his scattered, foggy senses in
tight. At the same time, Sam's knees were falling open wide in surrender, his
ankles overlapping clumsily in the foot well. His body was just Kurt's
playground.
And if Kurt playing with him some more meant anything like earlier, he knew
he'd be struggling not to come again. He didn't think he could dare to wonder
if Kurt would let him come or keep him from it again. He just hoped Kurt would
let him obey and help him be good, even if he just wanted to bring Sam to the
edge and watch him teeter again. If watching Sam try really hard to be good
pleased him, it was more than Sam could have asked for to have another chance
to behave.
Kurt hummed at him and said, "It's so easy for me to get your dick right out of
this strap, isn't it, sweetie."
"Yes, Kurt," Sam responded, dazed. It really was as easy as going commando; the
pouch just nudged right aside, undemanding, and he was in Kurt's hand,
stiffening by the second with raging tugs of blood.
"Is that why you boarding school boys like 'em so much?"
"Mm," admitted Sam, dimly embarrassed. Well, that was one of the pros, for
sure.
"Look at this," Kurt muttered, stroking him from root to tip slowly. "You've
been hard all day long, huh, wearing your jock strap for me."
Groping for the door handle so he could have the equivalent of a safety rail to
squeeze, Sam managed to nod.
"I know," said his Dom. "You were so hard this morning! First thing. Remember
what you said? That you were gonna die? Oh, Sam. I loved it so much. I thought
about nothing else all morning. Then later," Kurt continued, speaking right
over Sam's whimper, "in the soft room, you bent over for me – showed off your
ass in that strap. You know what that did to me, right? And you took your
little spanking so well. I was so amazed. I think you were, too. You almost
came when I touched you. You kept getting harder and harder for me. Redder and
redder. Till I had this pretty sub dick of yours so swollen. Totally rigid.
Dripping wet. I could feel it in you, a second away, if I would just let
you..."
Kurt's thumb nudged his glans, his fingertips sliding right up over his knob
till it just slipped from them and thumped against Sam's belly. Just like that,
his touch was gone, taken away again.
Sam was almost right back there in the nurse's closet, able to feel it in his
muscle memory like his body had felt the dance routine. The more Kurt talked
about how hard he'd been and how much he'd wanted to come, the more he felt
exactly like that right now. He knew the feeling fairly well anyway; he'd taken
a lot of cold showers after dates with Quinn. But he'd never let it get so
extreme, and even though she'd dry-humped him a couple of random times and
gotten him teasingly close, Quinn certainly hadn't actually tested his limits,
either. Usually if he pushed it back, that was that, until the next time his
hormones flared up on him. Sam had never almost come and yet forced it back so
many times in a row.
"And I almost let you," Kurt whispered, and unexpectedly leaned in to kiss
Sam's cheek, nudging his nose against it and nuzzling in until he had Sam's
head turning away and was kissing his neck with warm, gentle lips. Sam was
barely anything but a puddle and a hard-on. "I almost gave you permission. I
wanted to see you come on your abs. I wanted to see if you'd blow it really
hard after all that teasing. But you wanted to obey so bad! And you were being
so good, letting me do whatever I wanted to you. You gave me all of your trust
and obedience, just like last night, and followed directions so well. I had you
right where I wanted you." Kurt's hand crept around him again, jacking him
loosely, lips still freely pressing in small kisses up and down the column of
his throat. "And you don't know what I wanted to do to you."
It took Sam several seconds, especially because Kurt was kissing his neck and
he was, again, trying to hold the tide back.
"You spanked me," he breathed. Kurt had just said so, but Sam still felt
uncertain somehow.
"I did," drawled Kurt. "And you sure asked for a lot of spankings, didn't you,
cutie."
Sam didn't even know what to say.
"Guess Catcher finally piqued your interest. Who knew all it would take was
giving you a pat on the rear? You're such a jock. It kills me."
"Please, 'm gonna –" Sam huffed, on edge.
Kurt casually paused with Sam's dick propped in his fingers, breaths warm and
intimate in Sam's ear.
"Should I let you?"
"Please," Sam said immediately. As Kurt's sub, he wanted to tell Kurt that he
would do anything Kurt wanted and that it was his decision, but the word came
out of him from a more needy, suffering place.
"Oh?" Kurt asked, sounding interested. "Have you had enough of my teasing?"
"Honestly – I want – I wanna keep being your sub – I wanna – be good for you!
But I'm not gonna be able to choke it back anymore if you keep getting me so
close, and I don't wanna... jizz in my sleep. I can't do that. Please. I wanna
be good, but I'm –" Sam was so mortified just mentioning it, he let go of the
door and stretched his arm over his face, hiding in the crook of his elbow like
an idiot. His voice was muffled as he made himself finish, "I don't know what
would happen – I don't want to mess up my sleeping bag like I messed up your
furry thing. Please, please don't make me do that. I'll do anything else you
want. I just can't –"
"Okay, Sam," Kurt reassured him. "I won't make you cream your little sleeping
bag, sweetie. Arm down, please, so I can see your face."
Without the protective covering, Sam's face burned openly, and he found that
hot tears were pricking in the corners of his eyes as he obediently turned his
face so Kurt could see it.
"It was smart of you to tell me that," Kurt murmured. "You can always be honest
with me, Sam, and it's okay to have limits. It's good for me to know things you
don't like. I promise I'll take care and make sure you can be a good boy when
you're all tucked in."
"Thanks," said Sam, although the swelling in his chest that followed wasn't
relief and gratitude so much as a weird, nonsensical letdown. It was so acute
that it informed him cruelly that some part of him did want to cream his
sleeping bag, even though the idea was beyond bad. Some part of him had felt
that wrench of disappointment Kurt had stopped teasing him with Catcher in the
bathroom that morning. And some part of him right then did want to be so subbed
out and so teased by his Dom that he couldn't help his own state, and even if
he was sopping wet in his own warm load, wheezing on the motel floor, it wasn't
his fault. He was just a sub.
He didn't know what was wrong with him.
Tears raced hotly down his cheeks, even though he wasn't so disappointed or
relieved he was crying about it. There was just so much in him he didn't even
understand, and Kurt always easily found it and brought it to the surface. The
amount of times tears had started to spill while he was just talking on the
phone with Kurt was pushing double digits.
He became aware after a moment that Kurt was gazing at him, and he focused,
lifting his lids to meet his Dom's eyes reluctantly, ashamed.
"I'm going to let you come before I take you home, Sam," said Kurt, giving him
a smile. "I don't want you to worry about your sleeping bag."
Nodding reluctantly, Sam lowered his gaze.
"By the look on your face, I can tell you think you don't deserve to. But I
think you deserve it. You wore your jock strap like a good boy and let me tease
you all day and you've been honest and tried your best and given me so much
trust. Won't it feel good to come, finally? I love your come, Sam. If I say you
can come, it means I want your gorgeous load."
Sam squeaked.
"Where do you think I should let you blow it?" Kurt asked, biting his lip in a
way that didn't conceal the mischievous quirk of his mouth.
Was that a serious question? Sam didn't know, but for a few seconds, he tried
his best to think of a place, like the soft room, or the mall parking lot
instead of this parking lot...?
But Kurt had his jeans open and his hard-on out so blatantly already... he must
have meant where Sam's actual load should wind up. Sam could think of a few
places, like his own abs, with his t-shirt pulled up. Or not. Maybe the tall
black letters that said TROUTY MOUTH could stand a dousing. Or maybe... in his
jock strap... even though he had to go home in it, and it would soak his black
jeans – which he needed to return to Tina, since they belonged to the glee
club, technically. But maybe he could come all over them and ask for some time
to take them to the laundromat before turning them in.
All those options seemed kind of masochistic.
"On myself? That's all I can think of," he finally mumbled, awkwardly plucking
at his t-shirt. "But I'll come anywhere you want. I would be so lucky to come
anywhere you let me, Kurt. Anywhere you say."
"Mm, sweet boy. I know exactly where I want your come," said his Dom, and
kissed the collar of Sam's tee before leaning into his lap and shocking him by
sinking Sam's length into his warm, wet mouth.
Sam's loose fist smacked clumsily against the door in three places as he
grappled for – he didn't even know what. He was wracking in the seat. He
finally got his fingers around the plastic assist handle above the window and
fisted it for dear life, extremely unsure and almost embarrassed, as he had
been when Mike had decided to tie his shoes for him.
But Kurt hummed at him, sounding satisfied, mouth sucking all around the head
of his dick, and that noise was all it took to pin Sam into abrupt submission
and render him motionless. His whole being narrowed down to the hard pulsing in
his belly and the hot pulling of Kurt's mouth around his shaft, at odds with
those pulses, and he existed in unexpected nirvana of it for an amazing few
seconds before the tension broke almost painfully and he was coming with a
wounded groan.
Kurt emitted a surprised grunt, but it was only just beginning. And Sam was
helpless. Every wad that shot out of him and into the heat of Kurt's mouth felt
crazy; he'd held it back so many times now, and he never in a million years
would have guessed that when Kurt finally let him come it would be like this.
In his mouth.
The quick, spastic fluttering and flaring of his balls and dick seemed separate
from the slow-mo supernova of feelings blossoming through his body. He let the
wave crash over him repeatedly with mixed ecstasy and guilt, the feeling of
emptying a distant backing beat. He wasn't worthy, and he knew it, but Kurt was
allowing him this anyway. Kurt was taking his come right in his mouth. Oh, God,
he wasn't worthy! But he was Kurt's sub. It wasn't his say. How he could feel
so deeply submissive with Kurt doing this for him, he didn't know.
Everything had whited out a little, faded and become the world as viewed
through frosted glass, when Kurt sat up again, one hand clutching Sam's knee
firmly for balance.
Sam's eyelids were almost totally closed, but he could still see Kurt's mouth
bowed gently and the shiny smear of jizz racing down his jaw from the corner of
his mouth, oozing quickly down his pink neck towards the collar of his LIKES
BOYS t-shirt.
Sam didn't think at all. He let go of the assist handle and swiped at Kurt's
neck with heavy, inarticulate fingers; his arm was shaking like he'd just
lifted weights for way too long. There was no way he was going to mess up his
Dom's clothes. Unthinkable. Unpardonable.
His fingers caught a copious gob, which clung between his knuckles as he tried
to gather it up.
Even though he could have just wiped them off on his shirt, he didn't even
think of that. He jammed three fingers into his mouth and sucked hard to get
them clean, staring at Kurt's jaw, where there was still the wet smeary track
that thick little wad had left behind. He went back for it the instant he
could, acting on pure instinct.
"Mmh," Kurt sighed, staring at him hazily and tilting his head to allow Sam to
clean him off. Sam wiped at the shiny trail desperately, thinking maybe he'd
lean forward to just lick Kurt completely clean from the throat up.
But then Kurt let Sam's dick go, still wet with spit and twitching stupidly
like his body never intended to stop now that it been allowed to start, and
reached up and nudged at Sam's lower lip with his thumb, pushing a wet-feeling
smear into his mouth. Sam knew that in trying to help Kurt, he'd probably just
made a mess of himself, shoving sloppy jizzed-up fingers between his lips, but
he was more than happy to suck Kurt's thumb. His heart soared in his chest at
the feeling that he could still be obedient.
He lifted his eyelids to look to Kurt in abject admiration and gratitude for
allowing him to not only come, but to help clean it up. Kurt met his eyes,
arched a brow, and stuck his tongue out.
Sam let out a dazed puff through his nose, Kurt's thumb still in his mouth.
That clever tongue was sloppy with come, visibly clinging over it in a shining,
cloudy-white film. Sam had just enough time to register what it was and that
Kurt hadn't swallowed it before the tongue slipped from sight coyly and he was
left dumbfounded.
And after a beat, Kurt shifted his hand, clutching Sam's jaw to tilt him, and
kissed him on the lips.
Sam immediately succumbed without thought; he was confused about why Kurt
hadn't spit or swallowed or anything, and could feel his gut attempting to
twist weakly. His lips were big, but he eased them up against Kurt's carefully.
But instead of a smooch, Kurt had other plans. He opened up Sam's mouth with
his own and gave him a hot dart of his tongue, pushing bitter flavor into his
mouth.
Sam wasn't taken aback. Not at the taste, anyway. It was his own, and therefore
familiar. But beyond it was the heat of Kurt's mouth and the softness of his
tongue, the taste of his mouth, new and bright to his taste buds. He felt
himself blinking, everything a meaningless blur in comparison to the wet
contact that was so sharply real, as he automatically lapped back, taking even
more of his own jizz into his mouth.
As weird as it was, some part of Sam automatically understood that Kurt was
making him take his own load, and he just took it, reflexively, stupefied
beyond thought and acting on instinct. He got it. He was the sub, here – he was
the one whose mouth should be full of come. Last night, it had definitely been.
He heard Kurt let out a soft hum and tilted his head submissively, keeping his
mouth open, hoping Kurt would understand that he could do whatever he wanted;
Sam would do whatever he wanted, take anything Kurt wanted to give him. The
warm clash of Kurt's tongue against his even felt good, as thickly sloppy as
they were with mingled spit and jizz.
Without warning, Kurt broke from him with a wet noise, and Sam closed his mouth
with a pinch. He waited a second, not sure if he should swallow what was
sitting on his tongue. It wasn't much, but nothing would feel like much after
holding Kurt's entire load in his mouth for a whole minute last night, he
thought, if not longer. He'd struggled against his impulse to down his Dom's
come neatly, fighting the rather demanding reflex every second so he could be
good. Kurt had really made him taste it, feel it so slick and warm, sliding
under his tongue and clinging to the roof of his mouth. He'd made Sam show it
to him, and made him feel so good and obedient to have it in his mouth.
Remembering that, Sam opened his mouth so Kurt could see, if he wanted, that
Sam could do it again. Spunk slid over his tongue, slippery and heavy, and he
pushed the small amount forward, feeling it stick to his lower lip.
"Hmm," Kurt growled in response, leaning back in and over Sam. He pushed
himself up onto one knee, shoulder warm and solid against Sam's, and bent in to
seal their mouths together again, hand pulling Sam's face up.
Sam felt another useless, almost painful tug of arousal, meeting Kurt's mouth
obediently and waiting for more. Now that he understood so plainly what Kurt
was doing and felt like there was a good chance he knew what would please Kurt,
he wanted to keep going; he knew he could do it.
He was rewarded with a gentle push, warm jizz flooding his mouth and Kurt's
tongue flicking at his, beyond smooth. He grunted pleadingly, trying to get
more off Kurt's tongue, and Kurt exhaled, breath gusting hot and rough on Sam's
cheek. His tongue slipped away, shy, then dipped back in after a beat, nudging
Sam's but reluctant to stay for long enough for Sam to do anything but
enthusiastically meet it for a hot second and come away with more of his own
load, thrilled half to death. He pushed come into Sam's mouth gradually, and
swooped after it like he was going to take it back, but didn't; like he was
going to rub his tongue against Sam's for more than a flash –
Kurt was teasing him, Sam realized, and flat-out groaned. His Dom obviously
wanted to drive him crazy. And he could do it, too.
His response made Kurt sever them again, panting for a few moments before he
swallowed audibly. Sam realized he probably still had jizz in the back of his
mouth, even though he'd passed a good amount to Sam.
"Show it to me," Kurt commanded breathlessly.
Eagerly, Sam rolled his tongue around in his mouth, trying to get the wet load
all over it before obediently opening his mouth for Kurt.
Kurt exhaled, the air catching in his throat and pulling out a gentle whimpery
noise.
"Perfect," he whispered, and abruptly straddled Sam's lap, smooth and easy.
Sam's thighs were splayed widely. He could have fit one of his siblings on each
of them. He closed his mouth again and pulled his legs together so Kurt could
settle on him, feeling like steam was shooting out his ears as Kurt put willowy
but solid weight on him, leaning right up against his chest, and pulled heat
through him in a massive wave. "You shot off so much, Sam. I couldn't keep up."
"Mmh," Sam grunted.
"Mm, good boy. Your mouth's full of come again." Kurt waited a few seconds
before adding, "Swallow it."
Eyes closing momentarily, Sam gulped down the wad.
"Still like to swallow for me?" Kurt asked him, low and flirty.
He nodded, and Kurt eyed him, hands sliding over Sam's shoulders. He was
leaning in tight to Sam from pelvis to pecs, the two of them hardly fitting on
the seat with the ceiling of the car curving low. Even though the layers of
their jeans were awkward, they were pressed so close, Sam could feel Kurt hard
against his hip. Kurt's body curved against Sam's, fitting in a way that had
Sam touching his sides with careful hands, awed at how sexy he felt. Kurt let
out a pleased sigh that sounded like a purr.
"I've never had a guy's come in my mouth before," he said. "Or a guy's dick. Or
a guy's tongue."
Sam could feel his eyes focus and widen seriously. That other stuff, he could
understand. But Kurt had never frenched before? His first time swapping spit,
and it wasn't spit, but Sam's come?
"Was it okay?" he found himself asking.
This made Kurt chuckle softly, his mouth pulling in a teasing smile. "Mm-hm.
Was it okay for you?"
Again, Sam nodded. He had to admit, it had felt good to be in Kurt's mouth. And
he hadn't made out with anybody since Santana and was actually staggered by how
much he missed it, even if he apparently wasn't very good at it. It just felt
so good. But now that he actually was considering it, he realized that Kurt
hadn't really even kissed him so much as used his tongue to pass him come; the
catches of tongue Sam had gotten were all because he'd licked for it, wanting
to get more and feel Kurt's tongue and taste everything.
"I liked it," he added in a slow whisper, a bit embarrassed at what an awkward
kisser Kurt probably thought he was.
"You liked it?" Kurt repeated. He sounded doubtful, but he was smiling.
"Yeah."
"Because if it wasn't something you liked, I don't have to ever do it again..."
"Please," Sam groaned pathetically.
"Mm? Please what?"
"Gimme another chance –"
There came a tap at the window, and Kurt and Sam both turned their heads with a
jerk to see someone standing by the door. The someone was wearing a gray
sweater over a white t-shirt with tall black lettering mostly hidden under the
zip.
"Oh my God," Kurt muttered, and fumbled for the door handle. Sam grabbed around
Kurt's thighs awkwardly. His fly was still open, and his dick out; it mostly
soft now but still sort of stupidly insistent that it couldn't be totally soft,
whether it was just because he had been hard all day or because he couldn't
help but feel an interest in Kurt on top of him, making Sam take his own load
and everything. He didn't even have room to feel worry about that, though. He
felt really safe, actually, with Kurt's weight on him.
Kurt opened the door a good crack, still perched on Sam's lap.
"Mr. Schue," he said, falsely pleasant.
"He-e-ey, guys," said. Mr. Schue with an awkward grin, lifting his hand in a
wave. Sam stared at his butt chin rather than look at him in the eye,
disconnected except for some vague annoyance. "What's up?"
"I'm giving Sam a ride home," said Kurt. Sam didn't know how he could be so
cool and collected, but he was grateful Kurt had the ability to sound normal.
"Really? Ha ha." Mr. Schue laughed slowly. "I guess I can see that. Um, you
might want to go ahead and get him home, then. I'm not trying to cast
aspersions, but it looks like what you're up to might qualify as
inappropriate."
"We're just making out," Kurt claimed, sounding defensive. Sam felt his blank
stare shift guiltily to the side. Maybe it was incredibly obvious that Kurt was
in the middle of domming him. Maybe it was clear he'd just submitted to
swallowing his own come. He licked his lips slowly while Kurt said, "Straight
kids do it all the time!"
"I believe you! But, um, Kurt, you are on top of Sam, so it looks like
something a little more serious than making out, even if it's not. I mean, not
all teachers are as cool as me... and there are plenty of them still here at
school, not to mention Principal Figgins. And you don't have tinted windows,
so. You're not in private."
"Fine. We'll just be on our way, then."
"I'm just looking out for you guys. I'd tell Mike and Tina the same thing if I
saw them in your position," said Mr. Schue, sensing that he'd offended Kurt.
"The last thing we want is for anyone to get suspended right before Nationals.
You okay, Sam?"
"Wha'? Uh – yeah. Totally," Sam managed.
"Okay. You had your head down the whole last half of Spanish, and frankly, you
looked kind of woozy during our big number, so I was hoping you weren't coming
down with something. Especially if you're kissing Kurt. Germs, fellas. Don't
forget, quiz tomorrow. Use your flash cards!"
"'Kay."
"See ya tomorrow," said Kurt, capably ending the exchange.
"Hasta mañana," said Mr. Schuester, giving the roof of Kurt's car a couple of
friendly pats and moving on, probably feeling like he'd changed their world
with his wisdom or something.
Letting out a sigh, Kurt pulled the door shut again and repeated, "Oh my God.
Sorry about that. If I hadn't climbed on you, he probably wouldn't have noticed
us."
"If you hadn't, he would have seen my junk," said Sam.
"Oh!" Kurt let out a startled chuckle. "My goodness, you're right. Let me fix
that for you."
He reached between them for Sam's dick to tuck it back into his strap, Sam
hoping Mr. Schue wouldn't double back to talk to them about arts funding or
dance steps and yet excited that a teacher had seen his Dom so all over him. It
didn't really make any sense to feel that way, since basically they'd just
gotten busted and could have easily actually gotten into trouble if Mr. Schue
wasn't so, uh, totally awesome. He didn't want Mr. Schue to come back, or for
Figgins to catch them or anything. He just really felt like Kurt's sub. His own
words came back to him over and over: More than ever.
"Is it just me or did Mr. Schue insinuate I was riding you?" Kurt asked.
 
*
 
At the motel, Stevie and Stacey were out in the parking lot, riding their bikes
around in circles. His mom was sitting on the porch keeping an eye on them, and
stood when Kurt pulled in to give him a friendly wave. Stacey pedaled over,
too, when she saw Sam in the front seat.
"Hi, Sammy! Hi, Kurt," she cried through the window.
"Hi, Stacey!" Kurt said, punching Sam in the arm excitedly.
After thanking Kurt for the ride, tugging his backpack and hoodie out of the
trunk, and making sure Stacey was well out of traffic's way, Sam headed for his
happy place for a much-needed twenty minutes or so of utter floating.
He was waylaid on the porch by his mom, who had a couple of questions about the
t-shirts he and Kurt were wearing, about whether Kurt would be taking Sam home
more often or coming in to tuck Sam in, and what that was all about, anyway.
Maybe Kurt was actually right about all that being bewildering, or whatever.
Sam hadn't even thought about it, but he'd been so subbed out, he'd just
gratefully deferred to Kurt's offer to take him home, even though he'd always
insisted on taking the bus before.
"It's nothing weird," said Sam. Although, maybe it was. "He just talks to me,
focuses me. Helps me sleep."
"I see... Sam, I think Kurt is a sweet kid, and I can tell he's very
enthusiastic to be your Dom –"
"But you don't want him here?"
"No, I don't mind if he comes over," she said, crossing her arms. "We may not
have much space or anything to offer guests in the way of amenities, but you're
still welcome to have company. Kurt, Quinn... whoever. But I think it'd be nice
if you notified us in the future. If you have a friend over, I don't want to be
hanging around in a mumu with my hair in curlers, trying to get Stacey to
sleep."
"You don't have a mumu and curlers," Sam said, but he knew what she meant.
Privacy was so skint already, and personal space non-existent. None of them
needed to feel like what little stability they did have could be taken from
them, just like their home. "Sorry, Mom. I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinking
about you guys, and that was rude. I was just really happy he said he'd come
tuck me in. I'll call next time and make sure it's okay."
"That's all I ask." She patted him on the shoulders, happily ignorant of the
fact that Kurt's hands had been sliding over them in a way Sam could only
remember as super sexy. "You were happy, weren't you. You had on such a space-
face."
"Space-face?" repeated Sam. "What, did I look stupid?"
"No! You looked just like you did when you were six and seven and I'd read you
those Harry Potter books before bed. You'd lie so still, with your eyes wide
open. It was so unlike you, Mr. Fidget. You were just as bad as Stacey is now.
We had to train you with Goldfish to stay at your desk instead of wandering all
over the classroom. I used to catch you up out of bed, playing with Legos or
that old erector set, butt naked. Remember that? I couldn't keep you tucked in
for the life of me. Now you've got your driver's license and a job and a Dom
and you're just about to turn seventeen, and suddenly you're getting tucked in
by this guy..."
Her voice trailed off, throaty, and Sam saw a suspicious glimmer in her eyes.
"If you tear up, I'll tear up!" he protested.
"I'm not!" she said quickly, even though she totally was.
"I'd still play with Legos naked if I thought I could get away with it," Sam
told her, smiling crookedly. "But teenagers need, like, a million hours of
sleep."
His mom smiled back, understanding. "You want your after-school cat nap, don't
you."
Sam knew his mom had no idea how bad Sam actually needed the chance to crash;
he'd had a pretty overwhelming day. He just nodded, though.
"Go enjoy some peace and quiet, honey," she said. "And put a different shirt
on. Between the giant letters and those cuffs, it looks like you're advertising
for something. I don't want pervs on the highway pulling over."
 
*
 
Later that night, after an extra-long, heavy fog-out session, forcing down a
couple of chapters of The Catcher in the Rye, and a few hours driving hot
pizzas around Lima, Sam went on break and climbed into his family's van,
dialing Kurt.
He always looked forward to checking in with Kurt. Before Kurt had collared
him, their phone calls were always when his Dom said the most to him, asked him
questions and teased him a little and made him feel the most submissive. Now
that he was collared, they were even better.
"Hi, beautiful!" Kurt cooed when he picked up.
"Hey! I'm on my break," said Sam, lighting up inside.
"Ooh, you're mine for fifteen whole minutes, then! So how's work tonight?"
"Okay. I made another run out to Dalton."
"Oh, really? The Warblers again?"
"Guess so."
"Did you see Blaine?"
"Nah. I think the guys with the credit card are, like, seniors, so I just saw
them. I don't get why they keep ordering from Nice Slice. Don't they have pizza
in the Westerville area?"
"They might have pizza, but they don't have delivery boys near as hot as you."
"I don't think they're all gay, though," said Sam. "But they do seem to have a
lot of rehearsals or whatever when I work."
"Well, Blaine probably has a pretty firm sense of your schedule, since I'm
friends with him," said Kurt. "Maybe he asks for you, or something. How's it
been, besides driving out there to that fancy-pants school?"
"Fine. Just boring. Uh, I heard 'Addicted to Love' on the radio on my last
delivery! Now it's stuck in my head."
"Ah, a classic with a music video that still speaks to aspiring fashionistas
today. Do you know, it's always struck me as having incredibly subby lyrics,"
remarked Kurt.
Sam knew the tune pretty well, but without the song playing, he could only
remember a bit, and it was the bit stuck in his head: Your lights are on, but
you're not home; your will is not your own. Something about sweating and
grinding? It sounded pretty on the mark.
"I can see what you mean," he said. "But it's from a Dom's perspective."
"'Another kiss and you'll be mine,'" Kurt sang, his sweet voice picking up a
bit of a growl. Sam thought it was effective, but Kurt hurried on. "But anyway!
Did you have a good dinner?"
"Just soup. I'm gonna eat the rest of the chips you made me," Sam admitted,
reaching for his backpack. "I've been saving them for my break. Sorry if I
crunch."
"You're pardoned. I'll talk for a bit while you crunch, how 'bout that?"
"Mm!"
"I'm so annoyed with Mr. Schue," was what Kurt had to say. "I've been thinking
about him interrupting us. 'Born This Way' is an ode to self-truth and honesty,
and I, more than most people, appreciate the sentiment behind this week's
lesson."
Privately, Sam agreed. Rachel's nose might have been the inspiration for the
performance, but Kurt had been the centerpiece. He'd owned that number.
"And you know I worship the Gaga," he continued. "But I can't get over just how
much it was none of his business what I was doing with you in my own back seat.
Kids kiss all the time in the hall. Girls are always sitting on their
boyfriends' laps. Why was he so quick to assume we were being inappropriate?
'Cause we're guys? He would stop Mike and Tina, my ass. Sure, if they were
making out during glee, he would. But if he saw them swapping spit in Mike's
back seat, do you really think he'd go out of his way to warn them they should
stop being inappropriate? Fat chance. He'd probably just go on home. The more I
think about it, the more convinced I am that he, like so many others at this
school, just isn't as cool with PDA between two guys."
"Maybe people just need to get used to it," Sam offered mid-chew. He was not
going to point out the fact that they were actually being inappropriate. He
didn't want to jeopardize any future inappropriateness, even knowing they might
get in trouble.
"They do!" fumed Kurt.
"Maybe you should sit on my lap during glee," he suggested, before he sort of
thought better of it. "Um, or the other way around! Or not at all. I was just
saying. Whatever you want is good."
He shut himself up by cramming a chip into his mouth.
"Well, I am a bit lighter than you," said Kurt, amused. "The idea of you
sitting on my lap is kind of funny and cute, though."
"I don't wanna crush you," Sam said, nervously talking with his mouth full.
"Please. I'm pretty sure I wear a size above you in jeans."
"No way," mumbled Sam. Should he reassure Kurt he wasn't fat, or something?
"Well, either way, you still like it when I'm on top of you, don't you, cutie?"
"Yeah," he said, relishing the relative privacy of being alone in his van. It
was much better than sitting outside of his family's room, trying to keep quiet
so they wouldn't hear or so he wouldn't bother the neighbors. "Actually... I
kinda like it even more 'cause you're not as light as a girl."
"Really," Kurt said. Sam wasn't sure how to read his tone of voice. "Hm! Well,
I'm just getting to know you more and more. Another interesting thing I found
out today is just how much you really do like jock straps. You weren't kidding
about that, huh?"
"No! I mean, I do, but –"
Sam hesitated, poking at the corner of his mouth with the point of one wheat
chip. He couldn't really deny it, but he had liked wearing the one he was still
sporting under his jeans even more than he'd liked the casual way he and all
his buddies at boarding school had worn them. At Brookside, it had made him
feel like part of the team, and he missed that feeling enough to find where he
could get it at McKinley – with Finn and Mike and Puck and Artie in glee,
rather than the football team. Once he'd just accepted that he had submissive
reactions, he had also realized that he reacted to some other stuff on a weird
level he'd virtually ignored before then. It had receded into a non-issue when
his family moved and he started fresh at McKinley and there were hot Cheerios
walking around the halls in skirts that barely covered their butts. But anyway,
he'd been almost crazily oversensitive all day.
"I'm not normally that bad," he finished, lame.
"I bet not," said his Dom. "But I got you all worked up last night, and it made
you have an exceptionally subby day."
Blinking repeatedly, Sam bit off the tiny point of his chip. That was true.
Everything else had just been white noise in comparison to everything he was
feeling and to his constant thoughts about Kurt, or the strap, or the way his
ass felt, or behaving himself. He probably hadn't been so distracted since the
first day he'd worn his cuffs at school.
"It's okay, Sam," Kurt said. "You know that, right?"
"Yes," Sam said. He did logically know how forgiving Kurt was, and that if his
behavior hadn't been permissible, Kurt would have warned him or corrected him
and helped put him on a track towards behaving better. He was just kinda
embarrassed. He put away his chip noisily.
"How's your bottom? Have you been uncomfortable?"
"No, it's... fine," said Sam.
"Yeah? It doesn't feel weird, or anything?"
"No. I mean, I can... feel it, kinda. Still. I probably won't even feel it
anymore tomorrow."
"You can feel it right now?"
"Yes," Sam said. He'd sort of gotten used to the feeling, but with Kurt making
him pay attention to it, he shifted in his seat, the box of chips on his lap.
"I bet you're still wearing that jock strap, too."
"Yeah," he admitted.
"How would you say your day was?"
"Good. But... blurry," said Sam. "I tried to concentrate and do work. I did do
some work. I'm pretty sure. I did it, like, on autopilot. But I felt good.
Like, I did what you told me, so I felt really..."
"Was it good, being so obedient?"
"Good – but – like, deeper – like... I can't find a way to say it out loud.
More than good. But 'awesome' isn't right either... it doesn't come any closer.
All those words that mean 'good' just don't fit right. Like, it was good, but
it was kinda hard, too..."
"It wasn't too hard, was it?"
"No!" Sam said quickly. "Not at all. I mean. It's a lot, but I can take it!"
"Subspace is difficult to define, or so I've read," said Kurt.
Sam guessed so.
"It seems like it varies a lot," Kurt continued, when Sam didn't say anything
more. "From person to person, and between guys and girls. And it can be
different every time it happens, too, and last for different lengths of time.
And for some subs, they never really go into what people consider subspace. But
I think you do. What do you think?"
"No idea," Sam answered, puzzled.
"No? Do you know what I'm talking about?"
Sam looked at the meters set into the dashboard behind the steering wheel, not
really taking in any real details or noting the information they offered, but
seeing them and their shapes because they were in front of him.
"Not sure," he said, although he wondered if Kurt was talking about him being
in sub heaven, and he couldn't help but think of his mom calling him space-
face.
"Well, bear with me, here, because my understanding of this has been gleaned
from romanticized movies, chirpy pamphlets, disturbing websites, and just
watching you – which is my fave. You know how you said your day was blurry?
When I'm domming you, sometimes you seem to go somewhere... I mean, you're
still with me, focused on me, obeying me, and I can feel that you're with me,
but it's on another level than, say, this conversation. It feels a lot
different when you're that subbed out. Sometimes it's like you're sedated, or
I'm your hypnotist and I have you deep under my command. Maybe to you it feels
like you're high, or floating. Is that... kind of right? Does it seem familiar
to you?"
"Um. ...Yeah," Sam said under his breath, biting into a chip.
"Did you feel like that today?"
"Yeah," Sam repeated obediently. It felt a little naked and scary in some way,
for Kurt to be able to actually put words to something Sam couldn't have
described. Sam never would have been able to start.
"Did you feel like that last night?"
"Yeah."
"That's what I thought. I didn't know for sure," Kurt told him. "But I took you
there on purpose today. Twice. You were practically there already. You might
have gone there even if I hadn't given you a nudge. You've spaced out like that
before."
"This is kinda freaking me out," Sam whispered.
"Oh, honey," Kurt responded in a sympathetic tone. "Why?"
"Dunno," he managed.
"We don't need to talk about it right now, if it's making you uncomfortable.
You are at work, and you've had quite a day already."
Sam dropped his half-eaten chip back into the tupperware box.
"Did I overwhelm you just now?" Kurt wondered.
"I dunno," Sam mumbled.
"Aw, Sam. I did, didn't I. I'm sorry, sweetie. Like I said, it's okay to have
limits. Everyone has them. And it's good for me to know your limits. You can
tell me when you get uncomfortable. It helps me be a good Dom for you, and I
want to be the best Dom I can be."
Sam struggled to swallow against a throat drawn tight.
"It's not, like, a limit," he wheezed. "I'm not, like... backed up against a
wall. Just embarrassed, or... something. I'm like that all the time – but I
didn't – I don't know. It's wrong of me to be like that all the time –"
"No, it's okay," Kurt told him gently, easing him out of the babble loop he'd
gotten stuck in. "I like it when you're just being yourself, however you feel,
subby or not. If you feel subby a lot, that's perfectly okay."
"Sometimes I'm like that when you're not with me, though," Sam said weakly.
"That's okay, Sam! That's okay. Take a nice, deep breath for me."
Despite the knot of unexpected anxiety in his throat, Sam obediently sucked in
a breath and let it out in a huge sigh, expelling tension forcefully.
"That's good," Kurt said, his voice soothing. "It's okay if you're having subby
feelings when I'm not with you, or thinking subby thoughts at any given time.
It's not wrong. It's a part of being a submissive. And it's extremely
intriguing to me, actually. I want to know more. But I bet it's a pain to have
me prying all the time. I know I ask you so many questions."
"Everything you said was just really right," Sam said, pushing himself to be
honest even though he felt so naked anyway. "It kinda wigged me to hear you say
it. Like you can see inside my head. I dunno. You always ask how I feel and I
always tell you. And you see me in a way no one else ever has. I'm not scared
that you do, but it's still... I don't expect it. I don't know why I'm
embarrassed. Like, I mean... I trust you."
"It's intense for me, too," Kurt told him slowly. "I don't know if this is
really a thing, but I have kind of a Dom space – a Dom mode, at least, even if
it's not the exact same kind of thing you experience. It's like a groove I get
into where it's totally second nature for me to come on strong and want to –
oh, do totally inappropriate things with you at totally inappropriate times.
Drag you somewhere private and watch you squirm. Tie your hands behind your
back. I almost never second-guess myself when I'm in the groove. It can be hard
to keep in check, because it feels so good to dom the ever-living bejesus out
of you. I just never want to stop playing with you. God, I was so pissed off at
Mr. Schue for interrupting me!"
Again, Sam gulped, but the nerves in him seemed to shift at once into that
weird sense of arousal that made him feel like he was really overstimulated,
mixed up and feeling everything all at once. He wished Kurt was there; he would
curl over and bury his face in Kurt's lap and let himself burn up with desire.
"I don't even know how much more you could have stood, anyway, so maybe it was
for the best. Uh, but... sometimes, after I've had certain thoughts or done
certain things or certain Spanish teachers bite my groove, I do come up for air
and I can feel weird, I guess. Sometimes I wonder about what I did or said. If
I had somebody asking me questions about what I was thinking when I was in that
zone, I'd probably feel kinda wigged, too."
"What about me?" Sam asked. "Would I wig you out if I asked you questions?"
"Well, maybe. But only because I want you to think I'm perfect, even though
it's obvious I'm ridiculously inexperienced."
"Experience doesn't matter to me, like, at all," said Sam, not missing the
self-deprecating tone of his Dom's voice. This was his chance, though. "Can I
ask you a question before I get back to work, then?"
"Oh, damn. It is about that time. Sure, you can ask me whatever you want! I
like your questions."
"Okay. Well, still, please don't get wigged out. Have you really never frenched
anyone before?"
After a pause, Kurt said, "I have. But not a boy."
"You frenched a girl?" Sam said, astounded. It was such a foreign concept, that
Kurt would ever be that way with a girl. Immediately, he asked, "Was it
Rachel?"
"Rachel??" Kurt asked, sounding just as incredulous. "Rachel Berry? No!"
"Sorry! It's just that you guys are friends!"
"So are me and Mercedes!"
"Was it Mercedes?"
"Oh my God. Sometimes I forget how much you missed, not being here last year."
"...It was Mercedes."
"No, angel face, it wasn't Mercedes," said Kurt, amused. "It was Brittany."
"Oh," said Sam, his slight prickle of jealousy fading. Everybody had made out
with Brittany. "That's okay, then."
"Is it."
"Yeah. I'm not, like, threatened by her."
"Are you saying you'd be threatened if I'd sucked face with Rachel or
Mercedes?"
"Rachel, no," said Sam frankly. "Mercedes, a little. Sorry, Kurt, I have to go.
My manager's, like, standing in the window pointing at his watch."
"Well! Have a great rest of your shift, cutie. I hope they play some more
classics for you on the radio. And I'm sorry I embarrassed you. I didn't mean
to."
"It's cool," Sam said. He felt dumb about his weird reactions to everything,
and he didn't want it to be a big deal. "Sleep tight and stuff."
"I will. Night, Sam."
"Night, Kurt."
 
*
The next day, Sam wore boxer briefs. Kurt hadn't told him to wear anything in
particular.
Similarly, Kurt didn't give him a jock check; he just walked Sam to his locker,
smiled mysteriously, and told him he'd see him at lunch.
Sam had spent his bedtime sub-out sleepily wondering if he still would have had
a blurry day if Kurt hadn't told him to wear a jock strap. Maybe he would have.
Maybe he would have worn one anyway, even if Kurt didn't tell him to, and maybe
it would have been just as boner-inducing... but he didn't know if that was
even possible, because Kurt wouldn't have given him that insane jock check.
Kurt wouldn't have spanked him with his book. Kurt wouldn't have used his hand
like he had.
He didn't know what had made Kurt up and spank him in the first place. It
wasn't because Sam had done anything wrong; he got that. And he understood what
Kurt had said about being in a zone. It happened to athletes and artists, and
it definitely happened to him. It was that perfect combination of focus and
energy, that out-of-body involuntary magic. He could see it happening to a Dom.
But Kurt had never been Dommy like he'd been yesterday, teasing Sam at every
turn and playing with him all day – and making him sub out on purpose, if Sam
had understood him right, until Sam had pretty much begged for mercy.
Now Sam wasn't sure how he'd ever again wear a jock without spontaneously
creaming it.
On his way down to the cafeteria, he spotted Brittany at her locker, talking to
Mercedes. Wow, he had a hard time imagining Kurt making out with Brittany. She
was really hot (and he knew from that game of spin-the-bottle that she was a
good kisser), but he had a hard time imagining Kurt making out with anybody.
Despite what Kurt had told Mr. Schue, they hadn't really been making out in the
back seat. After months of doing nothing but make out with Quinn, and then
Santana, Sam knew his way around a make-out session. His curiosity was super
piqued, now.
But all the things Santana had said about his lips haunted him. And she wasn't
the only one who had something to say about his ginormo, bloated, fishy,
smothering glory hole of a mouth. Quinn, Puck, Zizes, Stoner Brett, Coach
Sylvester, guys on the team, guys back at Brookside, his dentist; they'd all
felt the need to comment on the size of his mouth, how wide he could open up or
how weird his lips looked.
It was a good thing he had a big mouth, though, he told himself. Those
Brookside guys were right, after all. As soon as Kurt would let him, he would
use his blow job lips to please. The thought put a warm pit in his chest.
At lunch, Kurt stood with his tray and peered around the cafeteria for
Mercedes. Even though Sam had just seen her in the hall, she wasn't anywhere in
line and they couldn't see her at any table, so they took their seats with Mike
and Tina, as usual.
Upon seeing Mike, Sam realized he'd totally forgotten about prom tickets and
bringing the issue to his parents. Next week, they'd be up to seventy bucks
each...
But now that he wasn't in a perpetual dream haze or completely preoccupied with
his hiding his wood, Sam could see how unrealistic he'd been, thinking about
trying to get tickets and a corsage, or whatever, and dinner. Even if he only
paid for one person, he couldn't afford all that. Paying for two would be
almost his entire paycheck, and he was still covering the cost of his family's
stay at the motel. It just wasn't feasible. He swallowed with some difficulty,
forcing himself to let the idea of prom go.
"Guess what," Tina breathed.
"You bought your prom dress!" Kurt exclaimed, making Sam worry the corner of
his mouth with his canines.
"No! I'm going to be on Fondue For Two."
"Brittany's show about feeding cheese to her morbidly obese cat? Internet fame
is surely just around the corner," said Kurt sardonically.
"The internet loves cats of all shapes and sizes, Kurt," snapped Tina. "And it
won't just be ten minutes of Brittany talking to her cat. We're going to be
special guests there to weigh in on all the issues."
"You and the cat?"
"Me and Mercedes."
"Oh! Well, when you see her, tell her I say hi and I miss her and to please
stop avoiding me and ignoring my texts. Just because Rachel and I have buried
the hatchet and I now have a sub whereas she remains subless, it doesn't mean
she and I won't still have plenty of shared pain. Tell her that, won't you?"
Meanwhile, Kurt had been opening up a rather large container of rice pudding,
which he placed in front of Sam. "This is dairy-free. And I made way too much,
so don't feel like you have to eat it all."
The pudding smelled sweet and was absolutely lousy with cinnamon and raisins,
so along with his own small lunch, Sam wolfed it down. He'd hardly eaten
anything the previous day.
During study hall, Sam read Catcher. Kurt gave him such a thorough looking-at
that he did get kinda stiff in his jeans, but compared to yesterday, it wasn't
too bad, and he played it cool even though he was pink with pleasure, reading
the book in front of his Dom.
Though he probably would have remained totally ignorant about it before their
conversation last night, he noticed Kurt seemed to have stepped out of that Dom
mode he'd been talking about. He was being really casual – sitting with him,
but not pushing him or leading him or instructing him. He wasn't up in Sam's
space. It felt more like the days after Kurt had taken him into consideration
but hadn't collared him, and just wanted him to do homework but made no other
real demands, and Sam had no idea what to do, so he simply waited for
instructions and made mental notes of small things like the kind of pen Kurt
was using and what Rihanna song he was buying off iTunes and what weird thing
he was wearing. Today, Kurt was wearing a crisp black button-down and vest, on
which was perched a pewter brooch thing: a detailed and scary-looking bat with
glittering eyes. He had a clicky pen with purple ink.
When they parted before Spanish, Kurt simply caressed his cheek, smiling, and
walked off without a word, leaving Sam to watch him strut down the hall. He
felt weird and almost bummed for a minute, watching his Dom leave him. He knew
it would be bad to have extra subby days all the time and to be wandering
around in a fog, bare-assed under his jeans and secretly waiting to be
inspected, but it didn't keep him from feeling an acute pang of longing. Sam
wondered if maybe Kurt was giving him a chance to concentrate more on school.
That meant he should try his best to pay attention and do his work. Maybe if he
earned a good grade, he could show Kurt.
Right outside of Mr. Schue's classroom, Mike caught him and told him, "I talked
to Tina. She said Kurt's been shopping for something he could wear to prom, but
hasn't bought anything or said he's going. He said he was looking 'just in
case.'"
"Thanks, dude," said Sam, his mood taking another dip. "But I don't think I can
actually go."
"That sucks."
"Appreciate it, though," said Sam, and offered Mike a fist bump. Mike took it,
smiling sympathetically at Sam, and headed off.
Afterwards, on his way to the last class of the day, Sam spotted Mercedes. He
went right up to her without any extra thought.
"Hey, Mercedes!"
"Hey, Sam," said Mercedes, more interested on the contents of her locker.
"Hey, so, Kurt thinks you're mad at him and don't want to be his friend
anymore," Sam said.
"Well, Kurt is a drama queen," she said with a roll of her eyes. "No offense,
but I doubt he really cares."
"Why wouldn't he care?"
"Look, you don't get it. You're in the shining spotlight of his attentions
right now, so. Just enjoy it while it lasts."
"Please don't say that," Sam managed. "I know I'm not worthy of all the
attention."
Something made Mercedes finally look at him, and when she saw his face, she
sighed. "Sorry. That was petty of me, and petty ain't pretty. I wasn't trying
to diss you or say you aren't worthy. You're a nice guy – I'm sure you're
plenty worthy. But that spotlight isn't big enough for the two of us. I don't
think Kurt has room for me in his life anymore."
"He totally does!" said Sam.
"You think that because he makes all the time in the world for you. And Blaine.
And Rachel, all of a sudden. Even Quinn! I thought he hated her after all that
drama, but now they're hanging out, putting up prom posters and junk."
"He's trying to be nice to Quinn 'cause I still see her all the time, like in
church, and she baby-sits for my little brother and sister. But he really wants
you to answer his texts and said he wants to share pain with you and stuff,"
Sam pressed. "He wanted to sit with you at lunch but we couldn't find you
anywhere in the cafeteria."
"I've been sitting with Artie and Brittany out in the courtyard," Mercedes said
softly, closing her locker. "They're the only couple in glee club that don't
make me feel like a third wheel. Maybe 'cause there's already a bunch of
wheels..."
"Well, um. I can't make you talk to Kurt, or anything." Something probably
totally brilliant came upon Sam, and he found himself going off the cuff. "But
my birthday's coming up, and I was hoping maybe you'd come hang out with us
this weekend to celebrate it. It's just me and Kurt and, um, Quinn, and maybe
my little brother and sister. No presents or cake or anything. Just, like,
maybe we could see a movie or go bowling or go to Color Me Mine or something. I
know that's not really cool, but it'd be a lot more fun if you were there. If
you have plans Saturday, we could do it Sunday. What do you say?"
Mercedes was looking at him funny, but she had a genuine smile on her face,
too.
"Bowling?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"I'm down. Saturday's fine. What time?"
"Like, two, I think?" said Sam, choosing randomly. He dug into his backpack's
front pocket for his cell, which was off. He didn't really use it at school.
Everyone else had iPhones, and his cheap disposable phone was both cheap and
disposable. He flipped it open anyway. "Here, give me your number so I can call
you if the time changes."
"I'll just write it down," she said, taking a pen to her notebook and doing so
quickly. She tore the number out for him. "Here."
"Awesome, thanks," Sam said gratefully. He saw the numbers were in purple ink,
just like Kurt had been writing with. "I'm stoked you'll come."
"Lucky for you, I love bowling," she said. "I gotta get to biology, Sam. See ya
in glee."
"See ya!" said Sam, and pumped his fist once Mercedes' back was turned.
Maybe he couldn't take Kurt to prom, but he could give Kurt time with Mercedes,
and that would help their friendship get back to normal. That was important.
That would make Kurt happy. And it might make Mercedes happy, too. He knew how
it was to want someone's attention – especially Kurt's. It was super addictive.
He hustled, too, humming "Addicted to Love" under his breath.
 
*
 
"Bowling?"
Sam couldn't tell if Quinn was interested or skeptical; she was doing that
squinty thing.
"Yeah. Saturday. Just Kurt, Mercedes, and you. And me. And I kinda want to
bring Stevie and Stacey, if they promise to be good. They'd be so bummed if
they knew I'd gone bowling with you and didn't bring them."
"And Kurt's okay with you inviting me?"
"Yeah. He told me I can be friends with whoever I want," said Sam, glancing at
something that momentarily distracted him. It was Jacob Ben Israel, he thought,
by the rainbow striped sweater and puffy hair, but he booked it around the
corner in a flash of fro and Dockers.
"So we are friends," she said, breaking into a smile.
"Of course," Sam replied.
Actually, he'd sort of been reluctant to be friendly with Quinn like this. It
was like some sliver of his heart would always belong to her, even if he didn't
want it to, and therefore she would always wield power over him. It felt like a
betrayal to Kurt to have any leftover feelings, even though Kurt had said it
was okay, and it felt like a betrayal to Quinn to not want to go out of his way
to please her. The other day, he'd called to assure her that he'd taken down a
bunch of those Lucy Caboosey posters and that he'd take down all the ones he
saw, but she'd been so upset at the time that she'd told him it was pointless
and not to pity her. He'd had to tell himself not to take her response
personally. She wasn't his Domme anymore and it wasn't his job to serve her. It
still disgusted him to know that Jacob Ben Israel was creeping on her, though.
"Can I bring Finn?" she asked.
Sam frowned. He hadn't expected that, for some reason.
"Normally I wouldn't mind, but what with everything going on with my family, I
don't want to invite a whole bunch of people..."
"You don't want anyone else to find out," said Quinn, stating a hard truth for
him. She didn't seem like she thought it was too prideful or snobby, though.
She just took out a tube of lip gloss, the slick kind that Sam knew smelled
like sugary fruit punch, and dabbed some onto her lower lip.
"Mercedes doesn't know," said Sam, as it occurred to him. "So if you don't
bring it up, that'd be great."
"You know I won't tell anyone your secret. Why are you inviting Mercedes,
anyway?" she asked, lifting a finger to smooth out her lip gloss. "I personally
adore that girl, but I didn't know you two were even friends."
"I guess we're not very good friends. We sit with the same people at lunch
sometimes, but that's it. But I really want her to come 'cause she's friends
with Kurt."
"Hmm, are you sure about that? Last I heard, Kurt was breaking plans left and
right with Mercedes to spend time with that guy from Dalton... the short
Warbler whose name sounds fake."
"Blaine."
"Right. He kept ditching Mercedes for Blaine. Then the one time she hung out
with them, Kurt just ignored her the entire evening. He was so caught up in
this guy that he didn't even try to involve her in the conversation. Then he
told Mercedes she was substituting food for love and substituting him for a
boyfriend. It really hurt her feelings," she said, glancing up at him with some
ice in her eyes then looking back to her locker mirror. "And now he's got you,
and he's set aside his differences with Rachel. They used to be a united front
against her. Try as she might, Mercedes can't have an honest competition with
Rachel and win, even though she's just as good – if not better. It bothers her.
It bothers me! It bothers everyone who has ears. Can you blame her for steering
clear of more insults and broken plans?"
Sam sighed heavily. He hadn't known about any of this competitive diva
friendship stuff before. It seemed like it wasn't just a Quinn and Santana
thing. It was kind of rich that Quinn was acting all concerned about Mercedes'
hurt feelings, when she hadn't cared about hurting his. But that was just a
thing Quinn did.
"I can't blame her if she's mad," he said patiently. "But hurt feelings aside,
I know Kurt misses Mercedes. He said he keeps trying to text her. Maybe he's
trying to make it right, or maybe he doesn't know he hurt her feelings, so he
doesn't know he should apologize. I think they just need to talk it out. But
anyway, I invited her already, and it'd mean a lot to me if you'd come, too,
especially since Stevie and Stacey always behave for you."
"I'd be happy to come," said Quinn, with the impeccable manners his parents had
always liked.
"Awesome," said Sam, relieved. "No presents or anything – I mean, you already
gave me a great present, so – duh. And don't tell anyone, okay? It's not a
party. I just want to hang with you guys."
Quinn rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Somehow I'll manage to keep our illicit
visit to the Lima Lanes on the down low. Wanna walk to glee with me?"
"Sure," said Sam.
 
*
 
"I thought of something I want to do for my birthday," Sam said nervously. Kurt
was taking him home, which he still wasn't used to.
"Ooh, tell me!" said Kurt, fastening his seat belt and smiling expectantly as
he adjusted the belt so it wouldn't get into a fight with the bat brooch pinned
over his heart.
"I wanna go bowling."
"Bowling!" Kurt repeated, like he was marveling at the vast wonders of the
universe. "My gosh! Okay! If that's what you want, that's what you'll get!"
"There's more than that, though."
"Do you want cake?" his Dom asked eagerly.
"No, no cake!" Sam said, not missing the exaggerated nose-scrunch his Dom
responded to that with. "I wanna invite Quinn and Mercedes."
Kurt tilted his head. "Quinn and Mercedes...?"
"And I want to take Stevie and Stacey, too. A lot of places let kids bowl free
during the spring and summer, so it'd be cheap and maybe fun. I was talking to
Mercedes when I came up with the idea, so I invited her already, and I talked
to Quinn before glee and she said she could come and help watch my brother and
sister. Please, Kurt..."
"What's the 'please' for, sweetie? I'd love to take you bowling for your
birthday. Is there anyone else you want to invite?"
"No, no one else," said Sam decisively.
"Not even Mike and Tina?"
"No. It's not, like, a party. I just thought it'd be cool if you and Mercedes
could have a reason to hang out and stuff."
Kurt, who had just backed out of his favored parking spot, stepped on the
brakes and sat there for a moment, blinking. Sam craned to see if there was
anyone else pulling out or waiting on them or if Mr. Schuester was standing
there or something, but there wasn't anybody.
Kurt said, "Sweetie. You didn't put this together to try and get Mercedes to
give me the time of day, did you?"
"Yeah!" said Sam. "And Quinn likes Mercedes, so in case Mercedes felt awkward
being with just us, she'd have someone else there to talk to! And in case you
felt awkward having to hang around with Quinn or vice versa, Mercedes would be
there!"
"Honey," said Kurt. His tone was reproachful.
"I think it's cool you can get along with Rachel," said Sam loudly. "Just
think! You can patch things up with Mercedes and you guys can have, like,
sleepovers, and get all sprung whenever Taylor Lautner takes his shirt off!"
"Oh my God," said Kurt, chuckling ruefully and staring out the driver's side
window.
"Listen, Mercedes is just bummed you haven't spent time with her. She doesn't
wish you were her boyfriend or her Dom." That got Kurt to look back his way,
though dubiously. "She just wants to hang out with you and not feel left out,
and now you guys can hang out and bowl. And Blaine and Rachel won't be there,
so she won't have to compete with them! And Finn and Mike and Tina won't be
there, so it won't be all coupley and make her feel like a third wheel! Quinn
and Stevie and Stacey will be there, so if it's still weird after all that, we
can just bowl and call it a day!"
"Sam..."
"Please say you'll come," begged Sam. Maybe Kurt thought the whole idea was
hilarious or awful. He knew there might be a couple of ways it could go bad,
but he'd tried to shore up against them by strategically picking his party
members, RPG-style.
"On one condition."
"Name it."
"I get to make you a cake," his Dom declared. "Cupcakes. Petit fours. One of
those giant cookies. Whatever! Something to put candles in! I want you to blow
the candles out and make a wish! You don't have to eat any of it, but I get to
send all of what we don't eat home with you!"
"Okay, that's, like, technically more than one condition – but you have a
deal," Sam agreed, relieved.
"And I am bringing my own bowling shoes."
"You have bowling shoes?"
"I do, in fact. I used to bowl a lot with my dad, but I quit in eighth grade. I
also have my own ball. It's clear glitter with a striking purple plastic skull
in it." Kurt grinned at him. "Bowling pun. I thought it might be up your alley,
but if not, I'll spare you."
"You'll really go bowling with me?" Sam asked, elated for reasons that had
nothing to do with Mercedes or pretty good puns.
"Of course I will, cutie. If that's what you want, that's what I want."
As Kurt pulled them out of the school parking lot, those words rang in Sam's
head. Giving Kurt a chance to make up with Mercedes was something he wanted,
because he knew Kurt wanted it. But it wasn't the first thing that came to
mind. Selfishly, he truly only wanted to be Kurt's sub. He wanted to go to
Kurt's room. He wanted Kurt to tell him where to sit or stand or kneel, how to
be dressed, how to be good. He wanted the constraints of school not to matter
and for them not to be interrupted – and most of all, he wanted to please, and
be allowed to service his Dom's cock.
Sam's gaze crept to the left, where Kurt was sitting, steering them around a
corner. The seam of his muscle-hugging gray jeans displayed the arc of his
thigh and knee butted casually up against the driver's side door. His boot ran
all the way up his calf, and just looking at it, Sam had a strange moment of
being incredibly jealous of that boot. He couldn't imagine being allowed to
hold Kurt's calf or touch him for hours.
He could ask, maybe... they were in the car. Maybe Kurt would pull over in some
empty parking lot and let Sam serve him. It seemed unlikely, though. Sam was
constantly asking him for one thing or another... bowling, church, touching,
servicing, forgiving...
"Kurt?" he found himself asking anyway, timid but helpless.
"Hmm?"
"I read two chapters of Catcher in the Rye."
"You did? Good job, sweetie!" Kurt said.
Sam sat up straighter in his seat. "I'm about to finish another one, in a
couple pages."
"My, aren't you the voracious reader."
"Does that mean I suck?"
"No, no. 'Voracious.' It means you're hungrily devouring that book."
"Nah. I'm more – voracious about your dick," said Sam, staring at Kurt's
profile.
Kurt giggled under his breath, darting Sam a smirk. "I've noticed."
"Um. Can I do that?" asked Sam.
He could hear the steep breath Kurt took, and see it lifting his rib cage
underneath his vest and pewter bat. It was emitted again as a thoughtful,
"Hmm."
Blood crept into Sam's face as he waited.
"Ask me again," Kurt finally said.
"Can I service you, Kurt?" Sam responded quickly, phrasing it much better.
"Please."
Kurt didn't answer right away. Finally, he pulled up behind a P.T. Cruiser at a
stop light and gazed over at Sam thoughtfully, then returned his eyes to the
red light.
"I'm such a meanie," he commented, "always making you wait."
Sam slumped, his heart sinking. Regardless, he pledged, "I'll wait for it
however long you want."
Sensing his disappointment, Kurt reached over and gave the meat of his thigh
one of those affectionate squeezes. "I'm flattered. I want to let you soon,
especially since you were such a good boy yesterday. But right now, I don't
know where I could take you. And I want you to have a chance to recover from
yesterday. I know it was a blurry day for you."
"I like blurry," Sam whispered, leaning his head on the rest. Even though he
knew the touch was meant to comfort, it made him want to bow.
Kurt looked touched. "You do?"
"I wanna be your sub all the time," Sam mumbled.
"You are, honey," Kurt told him, and shifted his hand to squeeze at Sam's
wrist, warm fingers covering Sam's camo-print cuff. "You're the sweetest sub,
and you're all mine. Why don't you close your eyes for me? Just relax and let
me take you home."
Sam obeyed. "Thank you, Kurt."
 
*
 
With its door opened, the Lima Lanes blasted them all with cool air
conditioning, the smell of dirty carpet and cleaner and hot dogs, and the
synthy siren song of 80s classics.
"Ooh, is that Journey I hear?" chirped Kurt as Sam held the door open for his
Dom and his motley guests. He was carrying a white box, which Sam knew held
some kind of homemade birthday dessert. "Only the Young" was playing somewhere
under the thunder of rolling balls and crashing pins. "Promising! Journey's
kind of a New Directions thing," he added, speaking towards Sam.
"It'll promise you second place at regionals," said Mercedes dryly, following
Kurt inside.
"At least this one was never handed over to Finn and Rachel," said Quinn.
Stacey was happily holding her hand, and had Pinky Wigglenose tagging along
under her arm.
"Thank God," said Mercedes. "Why can't Mr. Schue have an Adele phase?"
Stevie carefully shepherded the Mylar balloons Mercedes had brought in lieu of
a gift through the doorway. He was quiet and self-contained these days, and
seemed very preoccupied with the task. Sam got it totally, which made him idly
wonder if Stevie might not be a sub someday, too. He, personally, was carrying
Kurt's bowling bag, which apparently looked designer or something. It was fancy
brown leather and plaid. He followed Stevie in.
"Well, it looks just like how I remember it, and I don't mean that in a rose-
tinted nostalgia goggles way," said Kurt.
Sam had never been to the bowling alley in Lima, but it felt older and more
like a local hole in the wall than the gigantic one he'd been to with his Cub
Scout troop and stuff in Tennessee. The walls were green and covered in an
endless diamond pattern. Green, gold, and white diamonds crowned each polished,
numbered lane. Monitors mounted above the lanes displayed an ancient scoring
system that looked like it had been coded in the 80s and then awkwardly updated
at some point in time with the annoying paperclip from Microsoft Word as its
inspiration.
It was moderately crowded with a gathering of old men in matching league shirts
in one lane and some families with kids around Stevie and Stacey's age in
others. In the corner, a sparkly party store backdrop hung limply behind a
karaoke machine. Some red metal dividers with circles cut out of them stood on
top of the racks of bowling balls, separating the lanes and their seating from
a small, run-down dining area and some stuff like candy machines and crane
games. Neon lights in the shape of bowling pins decorated the walls at random.
"I haven't been bowling since I was Lucy Caboosey," said Quinn, smiling
tightly.
"Be on my team!" piped Stacey, who was happily ignorant of all the drama, and
also how to bowl.
"We're all on the same team," Sam told her. "Six people can all bowl on the
same lane."
"Do we want bumpers?" Mercedes asked in a friendly way. She seemed to be in a
good mood, even though she hadn't said much to Kurt. Sam thought there was
hope.
"What do you say, Stace?" he asked, tugging at a pigtail. "You want to play
with the gutters covered so you can't get a gutter ball?"
"Why are you asking Stacey? I bet she's better at bowling than I am! I
definitely need bumpers!" said Quinn.
"Cool, bumpers it is," said Sam. "Let's grab a lane. Stevie, you pick the best-
looking lane and we'll ask for it."
"The one on the end," said Stevie. "It's not crowded over there."
"Whose birthday is it?" asked the heavy-set man behind the counter, smiling at
Stevie.
Sam lifted his hand sheepishly. Mercedes giggled.
"Oh," said the guy. "Okay. Here it's bowl one, get one free on your birthday,
so. Enjoy an extra round on us."
Sam requested lane 18 and bumpers, and Kurt, whose arms were full, had Sam take
his card carrier out of his bag to pay.
Asking his Dom to go bowling for his birthday had sorta snowballed. There was
little Sam could do to convince Kurt it wasn't a party and didn't need to be
the social event of the season. He'd talked Kurt out of decorating the lane,
even with stuff that Kurt claimed was supposed to be tasteful, but Kurt was so
good at planning, he just naturally took the helm from Sam. He'd called the
bowling alley to inquire about birthday packages and make sure it was okay for
him to bring a cake and light candles. He'd tweaked the time to one. He'd asked
if Sam was allergic to gluten. On the phone, he'd start to go over details,
then he'd change his mind and say it would be a surprise.
It was way more than Sam had bargained for.
Still, at least it was less than half the cost of one single prom ticket. And
if Sam was honest, his vague depressed longing to be instructed or inspected or
something had eased since Kurt had taken control of the gathering.
"Let's bowl a game, break for birthday cake, and bowl another game," Kurt
suggested brightly, leading them to lane 18.
"We need to tie these down or they'll go up to the ceiling," Stevie said,
balloons fisted.
"Look who's smarty," said Mercedes. "Too bad we can't tie them to a bowling
ball. They're everywhere and totally heavy."
"Just tie them to the handles of my bag," Kurt said. "Even without the ball
inside, it's more than heavy enough to keep them from floating off."
"Let's do it," Mercedes told Stevie, pulling the bag from Sam's arm.
"Okay, we need to get the right shoes before we can bowl," Sam told Stacey.
"Quinn, you wanna come with?"
He took the girls to the rental window, picking Stacey up so she could tell the
guy her size. It took a minute to explain to her that it wasn't a shoe store
and there weren't any pink or purple shoes – just brown. Quinn smiled at him,
and he smiled back, feeling less uncomfortable than he'd felt around her in a
long time.
When they got back to the lane, the bumpers were in place, and Kurt was tying
up a pair of shoes that looked exactly like saddle shoes, black and white. As
simple as they were, they were completely him, distinctly styled and tidy.
Also, the handles of Kurt's bag had gotten two balloons each tied to them, and
Stevie was tying on a fifth. Mercedes was still holding a sixth. One of them,
he noticed, had a gaggle of Disney princesses smiling on it.
"Hey, thanks for the balloons," Sam said, sitting himself down with Stacey next
to him. "Especially the princess one."
"I picked that out just for you," Mercedes jibed.
"The Mother's Day one is nice, too. Kind of early, but I appreciate it."
"Should I have worn jeans?" Quinn asked out of nowhere, frowning. Her lacy sock
looked pretty fancy paired with the rental shoe.
"Your skirt's pretty full. I don't think it'll be a problem," Mercedes said.
"After all, we show choir girls are used to whirling and twirling in fancy
dresses."
"You're right!" said Quinn gamely.
"Now that the balloons are safe, let's grab us some shoes," Mercedes said to
Stevie, who followed her in his cooperative manner.
Sam concentrated on tying his laces, which were thick and blue. Something told
him they'd be slipping open two rounds in.
 
*
 
It turned out that Mercedes and Kurt were extremely good bowlers. Kurt had his
own gear – including a glove that was just weirdly, weirdly hot on him – and
Mercedes threw a powerful strike her very first frame. Neither of them even
remotely got near to grazing the bumpers. Kurt seemed to warm up within a few
frames, and Sam was surprised to see he had form and control and actually
looked athletic and strong as he sent his ball towards the pins, even with
saddle shoes and a jauntily-knotted neckerchief.
Sam could bowl pretty okay when he really tried, but he wasn't practiced, and
the bumpers saved both him and Quinn repeatedly. Stevie was actually out-
bowling them both. Stacey set her small lilac ball down in the lane and pushed
it rather than throw it, and with the bumpers, she was actually doing okay,
too, even though the ball tended to travel slowly.
They were seven frames into their game (and Sam's laces were, indeed, untied)
when Mercedes turned to Kurt and said, "I've got you beat! Even if you throw
solid strikes. Bow to your queen!"
"Two out of three, Mercedes!" Kurt shot back, grabbing his sparkly ball.
"You're gonna be kissing my rental kicks!"
"In your dreams!"
"I will beat you till you're begging to suck it," Mercedes said cheerily.
"Whoa!" said Sam, fiddling with his shoelaces. He was quite aware that Stevie
was quietly shadowing Mercedes, and that sounded kinda naughty. "Tender ears!"
"Oops. Sorry," said Mercedes, grinning unrepentantly. She cupped her hands
around her mouth and booed Kurt instead, who ignored her and squared his
shoulders.
"Looks like we might just have ourselves a diva-off," Quinn murmured, brow
perked.
"Oh, no," Sam muttered. That was the last thing he'd intended. But Quinn seemed
to be right. Instead of talking it out or just hanging around being friendly to
each other, Mercedes and Kurt had immediately locked into competition, leaving
the rest of them in the dust points-wise.
By the end of the first game, Mercedes had the high score, and Kurt said,
"Don't congratulate yourself yet! I'm just getting warmed up, and your over-
confidence is going to be your downfall!"
"You are the one who's gonna be going down," Mercedes informed him. "Reigning
champ, right here!"
"For the record, this is why I stopped bowling with you!"
"'Cause you can't take all the losing!"
"Guys, there's cake!" blurted Sam.
To his relief, Kurt dropped the trash talk and enthusiastically headed for the
table.
"You eat cake now, do you?" Quinn asked, an accusatory note in her voice.
"I eat stuff if Kurt wants me to," Sam replied, watching Stacey hop
enthusiastically up into one of the small seats flanking the oblong table.
Kurt's bowling bag was standing on one end, those shiny balloons hovering above
it and swaying in the air conditioning. Kurt unzipped it and produced a small
plastic-wrapped package of black paper plates.
"How can you not eat cake on your birthday?" Mercedes demanded, seating
herself.
"My thoughts exactly," said Kurt loftily. "Hey, Stevie... can you give
everybody a plate?"
He looked a tad uncertain as he handed off the plates to Stevie, who got
started on the task immediately. Black napkins printed with tiny white stars
followed, but Kurt just set them in the middle of the table.
"Stacey, let's not stand on the chair," said Quinn, gently taking her by the
arm. "You might fall."
"I want to see the cake," she protested, although she sat for Quinn obediently.
"Oh, you will!" said Kurt. "The box comes right apart. Good thing, too. We're
gonna need lots of room."
Sam smiled at Stacey's owlish eyes and took a plate from Stevie.
"Here, Kurt," Stevie spoke up, giving a single plate to Kurt, then the rest of
the package.
"Thank you, Stevie. Perfect job," said Kurt, making Sam smile even more.
Kurt certainly held the small group in the palm of his hand when he popped the
box open. There wasn't a cake inside, but there were a dozen colorful globes on
the ends of white sticks that had been stuck in a block of some type, holding
them all up straight. They were decorated, and Sam immediately recognized they
were planets, and so did everyone else; Stevie let out a breathy, "Oh!"
Although they were all the same size, there was a peachy-orange and red marbled
one that had to be Jupiter; it even had the Great Red Spot. Saturn was a light
purple, with its rings piped on and doused in sparkly crystal-like sprinkles.
Neptune was a brilliant blue streaked with white. Uranus was green with a
yellow ring, and Venus was canary yellow, made stormy-looking with green
sprinkles. Mars had been absolutely coated in red. There were some other
planets, too, that Sam guessed Kurt had just taken artistic liberty with. One
looked like a rainbow.
Mercedes was the first to speak. "Kurt, these are awesome!"
"Thank you, thank you!" said Kurt happily. He'd reached into his bag again and
had pulled out a slender but tall box.
"Do they go on the cake?" Stacey asked.
"Ah, they are the cake. They're little mini cakes on a stick. They're called
cake pops!" Kurt explained. "You can pick out whatever planet you want! But
first..."
He delicately pierced a tall, skinny green candle that looked like a piece of
twisted wire into Mars, pulled a barbecue-style lighter out of his bag, and
hummed in a single sustained, clear note, "Mmm, are you ready to s-i-i-ing, and
Sa-a-a-am, are you ready to make a wi-i-i-ish?"
Sam threw his hands up in surrender. Those planet cakes were the coolest cake
he'd ever seen in his life, and as Kurt lit the single candle, it went off like
a sparkler. It was really cool. He grinned sheepishly as Kurt and Mercedes lead
the round of "Happy Birthday." Their voices were so good that he knew the whole
place could hear them singing, "Happy birthday, dear Sa-am..."
When it came time to make a wish, Sam thought, I want to be worthy of this. I
wish I was worthy.
 
*
 
In the parking lot, Sam walked Mercedes up to her car.
"Thanks for inviting me, Sam. I had a great time. A great time kicking Kurt's
ass!" she laughed.
Bewildered, Sam laughed too. "Glad you could make it. Congrats on beating all
our pants off, all three games."
She took a few seconds to get the cackling out of her system, then dug into the
back pocket of her unnaturally bright cerulean blue jeans. She pulled out a
small envelope and handed it to Sam. "Here. For you."
"Hey, you already gave me awesome balloons!" objected Sam.
"Yeah. I knew you'd like the Dora the Explorer." She smiled. "I just thought
it'd be funny."
"You thought so, but you saw Stevie and Stacey. They loved 'em. I told you no
presents, though..."
"Yeah, you did! But you also said no cake, and there was cake."
"Well... Kurt," said Sam. He offered the envelope back to Mercedes.
"Yep. It's Kurt's way or the highway," Mercedes said. "And don't even try to
hand that back to me. It's just an iTunes gift card. Don't spend it all in one
place!"
Sam eyed her. "... You mean, like, on iTunes?"
Mercedes shook her head and laughed, walking off towards her car. "Happy
birthday, Sam."
"Thanks, Mercedes!"
 
*
 
"I wasn't good at bowling when I was a kid, and I'm not any better now," said
Quinn, opening her car door back in the motel parking lot. She'd given Stevie
and Stacey a ride, as the precious cake pops had taken up one of Kurt's back
seats. "Good to know some things never change."
"Thanks for coming. It was a big help. Sure you don't want a planet? One for
the road?"
"I'm sure. They were hard to eat without making a mess."
Sam shrugged sheepishly. He'd gotten icing on his cheek and chin nomming on
Jupiter, and Kurt had dabbed him clean with a moist towelette. Stacey had
needed the same treatment. But while they'd all eaten their chosen cake
planets, Kurt had brought up Mercedes' appearance on Fondue For Two, and they
had gossiped about some kind of scandalous news in a way Sam couldn't follow,
and didn't really care to anyway. Even though Mercedes had carried through with
soundly defeating Kurt every round, they had talked and even taken a picture
together.
"Well. See you in church," said Quinn.
"See you, Quinn."
 
*
"So what did you wish for?" Kurt asked him playfully. He was sitting on the
picnic table bench next to Sam. They were sharing Uranus – or, rather, Kurt was
letting Sam take little bites off of it. Despite the extra calories and
impending sugar crash, Sam was soaking up each second of being alone with Kurt.
He had about an hour before he had to scoot off for the busy Saturday evening
shift at Nice Slice. He really didn't feel like going to work. He wanted to
just sit there all evening with Kurt, or maybe go somewhere with him. But he
had to be content to wait till Tuesday.
"No way, I'm not telling," said Sam with a grin.
"But I'm your Dom," Kurt said, feigning hurt. "You can tell me anything."
"I want my wish to come true!"
Kurt batted his eyelashes. "I bet if you tell me, I could make your wish come
true."
"You already do too much for me," said Sam, and obediently nibbled the cake pop
when Kurt offered it.
"Not possible." Kurt thumbed Sam's chin, nicking a crumb or something away and
attentively watching him chew. "What if I guess your wish? Would you tell me if
I guessed right?"
"Nope," said Sam. "My birthday magic needs to work!"
After a thoughtful pause, Kurt said, "What if I ordered you to tell me?"
"Then I would tell you," Sam conceded. "But my wish might not come true."
"Okay, I won't break the birthday spell," said his Dom, plucking a piece of
moist cake off Uranus before it could fall off, heavy with green icing, and
popping it into his mouth. "I'm sure whatever you wished for is something
you'll get. Unless it's a rocket ship. And I don't know why you'd wish for one
of those. You've already seen the solar system in all its cakey glory."
Icing, not holding up too well in the late afternoon sun, was sticking to his
fingertips; Sam watched him stick his thumb between his lips to clean it off.
Then Kurt caught his eye and apparently reconsidered doing it himself, offering
his index finger to Sam, a small smile spreading.
Sam let out a soft, happy hum. He opened his mouth for Kurt's finger and sucked
the overly-sweet icing off it. It took several licks to get it clean, and he
lapped at the soft pad slowly, wanting to savor the fleeting service Kurt was
allowing him.
"Well, I can't wait to give you your present."
Sam paused with his lips clinging around Kurt's finger, his eyes widening. His
Dom just chuckled at him affectionately, then kissed his cheek.
"Cutie-pie. I haven't even begun to celebrate your birthday yet!"
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