AU – Set during Senior Year on the run up to Christmas. Kurt never transferred; after a few run ins he and Dave found an interesting way to deal.
Rated M only.
Warnings: Boy on boy only, Dominance & Submission, Bondage, Smut, Puppy Dog Kurt and a little sprinkling of plot. Not your thing, please move on.
I own nothing, literally.
Good Boy Kurt
Taking a deep breath I settle the collar around my neck making sure the ID tag is noticeable. A silver coloured bone with the name "Kurt" on the front, and on the back "Property of David Karofsky." I'm proud of my new collar, I made it myself, black velvet with little black sequins, it sits flush against my neck. If Dave decides he likes it I can easily make more in different colours to accessorize the few outfits I have.
Double-checking the ankle and wrist cuffs are on correctly I quickly check the full-length mirror. I still can't believe I have been reduced to wearing mass made, off the hanger clothes. We shop at places like Wal-Mart where I am able to buy five t-shirts in boring colours for less than one pair of socks used to cost me. Oh how the mighty have fallen. My reflection echoes my bitter smile, which I work to remove.
Once I am in the correct submissive frame of mind I pad on bare feet down the darkened hallway to the kitchen. My master is sitting at the battered table picking at the last of the food I made him,
I pause in the doorway, I want this, I need this, and it's been over two weeks since he's touched me. But he calls the shots, he decides when and how, not me. I'm getting desperate, I've tried wearing things for him, being extra submissive, trying to be understanding and patient. I know he's had football and hockey practice, and that the jocks have been picking on him, all because I'm living with him now and because he came out against his will.
Damn that Jacob Israel, it's bad enough he has the worst hair cut imaginable, but he blogs about any gossip no matter the cost to others.
I just really need Dave.
Tentatively I walk over to him and hover to one side. He ignores me. I step closer; my heart is hammering in my chest. He doesn't acknowledge me at all. One more step and I'm right next to him, I can smell the clean scent of soap and shampoo from where he's showered before coming home. Screwing up my courage I reach out and let my hand rest on his thigh.
The cheap jeans hide the power and strength I know are under my hand, there is rough hair covering sinew and muscle, just enough hair, not too much. Watching him walk around naked or in shorts drives me crazy. Plus he's made me hump his leg on a few occasions, and then punished me for coming on him and making a mess. Heat floods my face at the memories of being made to kneel and lick his leg clean.
Reminded of why I am here and daring this I slowly, very slowly, move my hand up his leg towards his groin. His muscles stiffen under me and I freeze, terrified.
"Kurt," he says. "What the fuck are you doing?"
He doesn't sound angry, "I… I thought that it's been a few weeks, and that you might be interested…" I trail off unsure.
A big hand catches my wrist and yanks it up and off his leg. Then he exposes the wrist cuff, "And why the fuck are you wearing this? Did I tell you to wear this Kurt?"
"No, I… I thought…" I whisper and can't finish.
"Is that so, you thought," he says sarcastically. His other hand grips my hair and forces me to look at him, oh Gaga he's angry now. I must remember in future to not follow through on half-baked plans. Why on earth did I think I could seduce him? Oh that's right because I am clearly an idiot with an overblown sense of illusionary grandeur and brilliance.
Hand tightening in my hair he brings us face to face. His eyes darken and my knees start to shake and not in a good way. "And did you think that maybe you'd touch yourself, that you'd jerk off without my permission too?" The question is quiet and full of meaning.
Shaking my head the words tumble from me, "No! No, I swear I've not touched myself. I promise I've not jerked off. I've not done anything, please believe me, please!" I beg him with my eyes.
Abruptly he lets me go and I collapse huddling on the floor by his stool. "And what's that around your neck? I don't remember that before."
It takes three goes to take my new collar off; my hands don't seem to work. I hold it out to him, "I…I made it, f…from scraps, nothing expensive."
Turning it over in his hands he grunts and hands it back. I put it back on and look up at him. He's still angry but a smile is tugging at his lips. Taking a risk I smile hesitantly back.
He carries on eating. I don't dare move and try to keep my breathing quiet so I don't disturb him. Once finished he stands up. "Kurt, I'm tired and just not fucking interested. I'm going for a shower and then I'm going to sleep."
His footfalls sound in the hall then the bedroom door closes. Only then do I move. Carefully I remove the cuffs and go to the garage to put them away, I step back into the kitchen and wash up his plate, cutlery and glass. Then I put them away and stare down the hall.
Does this mean I can sleep in the bed tonight? He didn't say I couldn't; only that he wasn't interested, that he wanted to sleep because he is tired. And that he wanted a shower, even though I could clearly smell the soap from his earlier wash. I guess he just wanted to get away from me.
Acting as if everything is normal I head to the closed door and knock. Then I anxiously shift from foot to foot. "What?"
"May I sleep in here with you tonight?" I ask politely, meekly.
Silence. Bone crushing, heart-rending silence. What could possibly be worse that this as I wait for his answer?
"Whatever," the answer floats through the door and I discover what is worse that the silence, indifference.
Opening the door I find him sitting on the edge of the bed, naked, with his head in his hands. Without talking he lies down and pulls the covers over himself.
I creep about the room getting ready for bed. My nighttime routine is drastically reduced, the creams inferior but cheap. Since dad kicked me out all of my things are cheap now, I still dream about my old walk in closet and my vanity table with various lotions scattered across it.
All the time Dave tosses and turns. Naked, I'm not allowed to wear nightclothes; I kneel beside him, "David?"
"What?" he grumbles.
"I could give you a massage; just on your back, to help you sleep." Belatedly I remember, "After all you have a big football match tomorrow and tests." Coach Sylvester strikes again, I have no idea how that woman got the Ohio Football and Hockey boards to move the matches so they each fell on the worst days, all filled with tests and assessments. Luckily the hockey match was last week and the team stomped the opposition, I believe Dave was called "Lethal Poetry on Ice," not that I was allowed to go and watch, I was ordered to stay home.
No wonder he wasn't interested, he has a lot to do tomorrow, and needs all his energy. I'm being selfish; he still wants me. That's what I tell myself and I hope it's true.
Getting on my side of the bed I peel the covers down exposing his back. There are a couple of healing bruises from the hockey match. Calming myself I put my hands on his shoulders and start the massage. It's been too long since anything physical happened between us, and I'm forbidden to ejaculate without him. It's a struggle to keep it to relaxing his muscles, but I manage it.
I feel him slowly unwind, and before I'm finished his breathing has evened out and he's asleep. Pulling the covers up and tucking him in, I turn off the light and get back into bed. My erection catches and rubs on the fabric, I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle my whimper.
Hard, aroused, scared, lonely, desolate, and rapidly losing hope I lay back and watch Dave in the light from the nightlight Dave bought me when he found out I was afraid of the dark. Rainbows twinkle on the ceiling and I stare at David sleeping peacefully, my vision blurs time and again as silent tears stream down my face.
In my head the words "Not interested," "Tired," and "Whatever," circle round and round banishing sleep. I know I'm a drama queen, I know I can get things wrong, that I just need to be patient, but it's like he's slipping away from me, and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to survive that, not after everything else I've lost recently.
A/N: Sorry for any and all mistakes, I've tried to catch those I could, but I'm only human (and really bad at spelling and grammar).
Ah poor Kurt.
Yes there will be more back-story so you can find out who/what/how/when happened to reach this point.
And yes I'm supposed to be in the middle of written another fan fiction story but this one kept annoying me and demanding it get written. I am still working on the other one, it is not forgotten.