Warnings: Dominance/Submission themes, some light S/M action. Nothing too graphic.

This was (very) loosely inspired by some of the pivotal scenes of the movie Secretary. Those of you who have seen it will get the references. If you haven't it doesn't matter, it won't affect your reading.

He made one mistake. Just one. He said he'd do anything.

Anything. What a wonderful word, full of possibilities, of opportunities.

Had he formulated this any other way, the idea probably would have never crossed my mind. He did say it though. The idea did cross my mind. And one thing lead to another. Now we're standing here, in the guest bedroom of Rachel's house. He looks a little overwhelmed, understandably. It happened pretty fast for his groggy mind. After he let that fateful word out, I just replied fine, grabbed his shirt and dragged him here. I need to take a second to recollect how we got here. There's nothing to savor in retrospect, I just need to make sure it's what I want. And what he needs.

I guess Blaine's responsible. Or maybe Rachel. Whatever, it's not important. So they were making out like there's no tomorrow. In my face. I don't care.

OK, it bothered me.

Fine, I was pissed. Furious, jealous, whatever. So I went to get some air. It was either the night breeze or the Bacardi Breezers. I took the least damaging route and sat on the front steps, taking long, reasonable breaths. Trying to forget the stupid people downstairs. The stupid, stupidity of my life at that precise moment. Dull and dumb and stupid.

He popped out of nowhere a few minutes later, sitting down next to me on Rachel's porch. I should have run, shouted, called for help. The surprise of seeing him here prevented me from doing any of it right away. Then a few seconds of observation informed me that it would be useless. He was no danger to me. He wouldn't move or speak. The stale scent of beer that enveloped him like a cloud reached my nostrils, making me crunch up my nose in disgust. Normally, a drunk Karofsky would be the worst prospect. His slumped shoulders were the last comforting tell. This wasn't Karofsky, it was Dave. Sad, confused, harmless Dave. I'd never seen him but always suspected he existed.

I stayed motionless. Don't wake the sleepwalker they say. I grew restless after a while though, and gripped the wooden steps to push me up. His hand jumped over mine and I stilled while my stomach flipped.

His speech was slurred, of course, but heartfelt. Mostly coherent. "Don't go Hummel. I gotta tell ya.. I tried to-tonight. Tri-ed to try anyway. The rope was all, like, ready and shit, but I couldn't, couldn't put it…"

I stared, agape. He had to be kidding, right. When did it got so bad? I swallowed, tried to find something to say. Like there was anything to say… He continued, still grasping my cold hand with his sweaty one.

"Couldn't go on with myself, with this need. … I-I hate what I did to you. I just had to do it, always had that impulse, ya know? … Of course you don't. It's bullshit. Don't bother." He let me go, wiped his hands on his jeans repeatedly. He seemed clearer, all of a sudden. "I can't change me. But I want you to know that I'd do anything to make up for what I put you through. For whatever it's worth. Anything."

I didn't ponder on that confession right then. I thought it over while we crossed the hallway, climbed the stairs and entered the first unoccupied room I found. It didn't take me more time to figure things out, about us both. We don't just have our sexuality in common. The shadier side of our personalities is alike too. I guessed it when he talked about impulse. It wasn't about sex, it was his need to hurt me. Now whether it's too soon, or wise, to make him confront this right away, well, we'll find out, won't we?

So we're here, in this richly furnished guestroom. The noise of the drunken fiesta going on in the basement is barely audible, certainly dimmed enough to be ignored. The dark and somewhat sensual décor fits our mood perfectly. Mine at least. I let him stand by the door, while I rummage around for whatever contraption I can find. At the bottom of a drawer, my fingers encounter a lost tie, rolled up in a bunch. Perfect.

I pull it out, walk up to the canopy bed, removing my shirt and pants as I go. I link my eyes with his own bewildered ones. Never breaking contact, I circle the mahogany post and bind my hands together. I see him biting his lip when I pull the final knot tight with my teeth. He's starting to get where we're headed, finally.

I'll smash any uncertainties, on both sides. "Give in, Dave." I whisper, smiling. It should be enough, in his weakened state. I break the intense stare, rest my head on the cold post and close my eyes. Waiting. And waiting. Listening to our breathing, mine careful and attentive, his dangerously messy. But he's getting closer, from what I can hear. Soon the warmth of his body invades my surroundings.

His hands twitter on my hips, there a second then gone. Hesitation is an intricate part of everything he really is, so it's obviously here tonight. While it isn't the first time he'll do something of that nature to me, I understand why he needs convincing now. It's the first time I'm asking him to do it.

I get it, his reserve. Accepting this side of your personality is harder than coming out. It's similar though. In both cases, it comes with shame, at first. What makes it different, more arduous than being gay, is the look of others. Most people will accept your sexuality over time. Most people, however, won't comprehend or be OK with the fact that you thrive on pain. Whether it's giving or receiving it.

But why should pain be a bad thing, something you shy away from? Isn't it just another sensation, like warmth or coldness? Heat can both burn and be comforting. Cold can refresh or make you shiver. For me, pain has the same effect. I can sense the intention behind it. If you do it to put me down, belittle me, it does exactly that. When I do it, when I initiate it, it's a whole other story, a much more exciting and energizing one. A part of me always wondered if I would have that same exhilarating experience with someone else working me up, on my terms. How could I pass up that chance to test it then?

In my life, where everything is pristine, protected, perfected, this is what I need. What I want, no, crave. The shock of the slap, the reflexive revolt at the vile words he could say. No control or thoughts, pure, raw feelings only. On his end, he needs it too. The reassurance that it doesn't have to be a negative facet of him. The knowledge that the anger can be channeled, concentrated, purified. I can use it to make us both better.

He wants it, now I'm sure. Maybe he doesn't see the big picture but his primal instinct is taking over. Good enough for me. So I stretch my back, and glide my hands further up the pole, hoping that the sight of rolling muscles underneath my thin shirt entices him more. I know my ass is dangerously close to his groin, his scattered breath tells me he notices it too. It turns a switch in him and he speaks for the first time since we got here.

"Pathetic bitch, look at yourself, begging for it. You don't get to make demands like that, you need to be taught a lesson…" He's practically molded against my back and his humid breath darkens the words slurred in my ears.

"You threaten a lot, but you can't walk the walk." I hiss back.

I barely catch his "Oh yeah?" before the first slap lands on my butt cheek, with bruising force. Then another. Then another.

He's not there yet, he's still holding back. His hand slows down before reaching me and when it's not I hear him wince in regret. So I keep pushing him, taunts after taunts leave my lips. I can't help it, I have to bring him out. We both need it.

Soon though, slaps are raining down, alternating on each side of my ass. Gaining speed and strength at each passage, I feel them blur into a buzzing fire.

Within a minute, my heart is pounding in my ears, dulling the sound of Dave's administrations. I'm elated; my head is spinning from the multiple feelings, all too many and too intense to be processed correctly. I give up thinking. I'm just going to relish this. After each contact of his hand on my backside, there's this wonderful tingling heat that spreads up and down my body. It's like an infection of my nerves, tiny peaks of pain bursting in a million places, all over my lower back, my thighs, my waist. I'm flooded, speechless, breathless. Never been this alive, this elevated.

Then it's my turn to make a mistake. All this time I was holding back my moans, gluing my lips together to prevent those cries to get out. One slips out, after a critically enjoyable hit. Except it comes out sounding more like a protestation of hurt than pleasure. That's all it takes to shatter the moment. Worse, it makes him stop, instantly.

The now silent room showcases Dave's ragged, almost hysterical respirations behind me. I feel him step back, his hands retreating from my backside, where they have been resting for a mere second. Like a goodbye.

I hold my breath. Juvenile. Like it's going to preserve the moment. Forget it Kurt, it's over, finished. I can hear Dave's litany, "fuck, fuck, fuck!" he keeps saying under his breath. That's all the confirmation I needed to know that we're done.

My nimble fingers work the knob and I release myself from the tie. I slide my hands down the pole, savouring its smooth, polished texture while the silk garment falls silently to the ground. Strange, delicate ending. I don't want to leave the spot I'm in. This invisible shell that held his true nature and mine both. Yet I have to, so I turn around.

My wrists sting but there's no way I'll rub them in front of him. He's panicked enough as it is. It would only tell him that he went too far and he didn't. I don't need to be comforted.

He does though. As I detail him, it becomes ever so apparent. He's basically shrivelling up more with each passing second. I take a step in his direction and he just moves away, nearer to the door, nearer to an escape route. Fleeing again.

I walks up to him, quickly, firmly. He seems to give up trying to stand up to me. Good, he's learning.

When I reach out for his face, he shuts down. Literally. His eyes close, his hands ball into fists, every part of him seems to switch off, to leave even. I persist anyway and cup his cheek, my fingers digging lightly. I take a second to appreciate the tickly feeling of his stubble against my fingertips. Rough and hardened, yet the skin underneath the hairs is soft and supple. The whole Karofsky paradox showing up.

"Open your eyes and look at me." I order. I let some gentleness coat my words, with a softer tone and my thumb stroking his cheekbone. I know he's ashamed right now. He feels like he's failed himself, like he's devolved. When actually, this was a giant leap forward, toward true self and mutual acceptance.

He obeys me, eyelids lifting carefully. His brown orbs, fixed on the ground, carry so much hurt… It would be impossible to believe that he was the one inflicting pain moments ago.

I can't explain it but his distress is my sole concern. There's no doubt that I could do whatever I want with him. Destroy the last bit of confidence in him with a word. It crosses my mind, fleetingly. The desire for payback is hard to get rid of. But if I'm honest, tonight all I really desire is to relieve him.

"You did good, David." I say. Putting on what I hope is a reassuring smile, I tilt my head, trying hard to capture his gaze. He won't let me. It's enough to bring back a horrible feeling, helplessness. Like concrete invading me, filling me to my extremities, paralyzing me.

I take a deep breath, I can't let it win this one. "Really Dave, it was fine. More than fine." Firm tone, it's got to get through to him. Apparently it does, the wrong way.

Upon hearing me, he immediately snaps and swats my hand away angrily. "Listen carefully Hummel. You better forget whatever happened just now. And if you breathe one word of this…" he growls.

While he's saying threats, his face is begging for permission. I'm too familiar with the paleness, the wide eyes to miss the pleading behind his words. He wishes he didn't have to say that.

I move closer and press my lips against his. Wasting no time, I slip my tongue inside the warm cavern, gently exploring every inch. All protests die down on his part, his tongue slowly joining the dance, both our breaths becoming moans. It lasts a few seconds, but before it gets too much (or not enough), I detach myself, earning once again a whimper.

I contemplate, satisfied, his now much calmer face. I really should remember this trick in the future.

"Don't worry, no one will know. As long as you don't forget."

"What?" he murmurs.

God, I love how dazed he looks right now…

Focus, Kurt. "Don't forget who you are, who I am. Who we are. Who we just were. This is the truest we've ever been, right here, right now. I enjoyed it, so did you. And there's nothing wrong with that." I explain. I take a pause, considering the next step, how to phrase it right. "Consider us even. As fucked up as it sounds. You said you'd do anything I wanted. This is what I wanted."

We stare at each other, my hand slipping languidly away from him. I'm so sure of myself suddenly. Of what is to be done.

"Some others things I want. You stop shoving me around without purpose." I state. He nods, some color spreading on his cheeks. Guilt, showing its ugly face again. Damn it. I continue anyway. "You never, ever try to… whatever you tried earlier, it's not an option. Never. Finally, anytime you feel like you need to be… free, you give me a sign."

He blinks rapidly, obviously surprised. "What about Mr. Ivy-league downstairs?"

I can't help laughing at the reference. It's so…foreign, out of place. Blaine, in this situation? Please.

"Seriously? You think I could show this side of me to Blaine without him freaking out to no ends? No, you're what I need. And, dare I say, you need me as well."

He stares mutely at me, gives me a somber nod and storms out in a flash.

I remain alone, ears ringing from the sound the slammed door made. Alone maybe, but I feel surrounded, whole. He may have run away but he's still with me, probably against his will or his knowledge. I'm the guardian of his true nature, after all. Once he realizes it, this will have only been the beginning.