A/N: Chapter 4 at last! Chapter 5 will take more time, it's not really advanced. Please let me know what you think, reviews of any kind always make me write faster!

I'm hoping to change your memories of the ending of Born This Way with this chapter... :D

Warnings: D/S themes and relationship, marking, self-harm (kind of).


Turns out anytime is quite often. Never mind the fact that nobody knows. Never mind the sneaking around, the hiding. Almost every day it's a new challenge, fueled by our ever-growing desire.

It begins with subtle steps that I don't even have to initiate anymore. He grabs my hand between classes, pulls me into a secluded closet and covers me in feverish kisses while I stay still. Until he pushes me, with his words or with his hands, to repay him a hundred times over, whenever we have enough time. Then, on the dirty floor, surrounded by the stale and musty scents, I use all my talent on him, until it's his turn to beg for release. It's a simple process: he demands, I comply, and we own each other as a result. It's only the first of many more daring escapades, because having him take the lead spurs me on.

Soon, I'm enticed to push it further. Nothing extravagant. Just wearing a much too tight white T-shirt and rehearsing our Born This Way number until it's drenched. No big deal. I know he's in the auditorium. I saw him earlier with Santana, deep in the shadows, watching. She left when everyone but me was done with rehearsal. He hasn't, I'm sure of it. Why not put on a real show since I have an audience?

I'm amazed at how enjoyable it is. The song is on a loop, my moves are too and I just let it flow. Stretch out, arm up, firm claw. Dazed eyes, dubious smile, chin up. Repeat. I use the whole stage, as well as every extent of my flexibility, for a full hour. I imagined it would take less time. Guess I underestimated the growth of his confidence.

Still, I succeed. He comes marching on the stage, grabs my forearm and pulls me to him. With decisive force he strings me along and brings me right on the edge of the curtain. A perfect spot, safe from possible prying eyes yet out in the open enough to add another layer of intensity.

He stares silently and my throat goes dry. Anticipation. I never know what I set free, I have to wait and see. And go along. The signal is his voice, thick and thrilling.

"It's not true, what that shirt says."

"You're right, David." Yes. I knew he'd picked up on that.

"You don't like boys, you like me. Just me."

"Yes David."

"You can't spread lies this way. It's very bad."

I nod slowly. I'm visibly shaking, trepidation so strong that my stomach is flipping at each of his movements. I'm not going to be able to wait much longer. A smile is being repressed as he takes the last step towards me. Now he's so close that his body heat warms me all over. Not for long, as he rips my thin shirt in half in one savage grip and the loose cool air hits my revealed skin.

I'm left with a ridiculous cotton collar and pangs on each side, floating casually around my chest.

"Much better," he mutters. "but still not enough. Get on there." He orders with a head gesture towards the auditorium speakers. I climb on, unsure whether to stand or stay in a crouched position. I stop, on all fours, and look at him over my shoulder. "Stand up." He says. "You're proud of yourself, of that display? Own up to it. Now you're going to do a show for me."

Walking up to the controls, he plays with the buttons, until the song is playing loudly but the lyrics indistinguishable buried under the amped-up bass. "Dance for me Kurt. Just for me."

I nod. Standing up proves to be a challenge, as I'm already flustered and shaky. Suddenly all moves are difficult and I can't figure out what to do. He's not helping me, leaning against the stereo, staring, waiting. Time to do him proud. He's right, I should be doing all of this just for him, and do it well too.

My hands get in play first. I run them languidly on my chest and allow them to linger on the newly created hem of this useless shirt. The shredded fabric is soft and teasing, it inspires me. My hips follow that lead, slide one way and the other in a rhythm of my choosing. Although I know he's approving, the way his tongue is darting out every few seconds to snake on his lips. I try to make it worth his while, get bolder with each pounding verse, bending up and down, my hands becoming more daring and no longer mere guides but teasing leaders. Still, I'm very careful not to come even close to touching the one part I want to the most. He has not said I can.

"That's enough foreplay." he interrupts, standing straight. I stop at once. "Sit down." I do, letting my legs dangle over the edge, fingers fidgeting on my thighs. He details me and I can almost see a plan forming in his head. This is not over.

"Open your pants." I nod and lean back, resting on the both cool and hot grainy surface of the speaker. I quickly unbutton and with one thrust of the hips slide my tight pants down just enough. His effect on me is amazing. He has not touched me, I don't even know where we're going with this and yet my cock is already hard, straining against my boxers. I can't let it free, not yet, but I hope I will soon. Because, while I won't get it without his consent, I need release more than anything at the moment.

"Slide it all down, to your ankles."

I smile coyly and comply. I can feel the speaker on a whole other level then. It was enjoyable before, the edge of metal cooling while the warmer center made for a pleasant, textured playground as I danced. But being almost completely naked on it is fantastic and I shuffle my backside around a little to take it in more. He ends his stare and goes back to the controls, this time setting them up so only the bass is coming through, throbbing and hypnotic, making the surface sizzle and tingle against my skin. It has a buzzing effect, unnerving and amazing. It pulses through the speaker, through me and shots to my groin. I can't wait.

He takes one step and stands right in front of me. When he leans forward, I'm confident he's going to touch me, kiss me, something. He doesn't. He stops an inch over my jutting cock and speaks. "Your hand on your dick. Now."

I reach for it immediately, gripping tight. God, it's so hard, so hot. Already so close, just with words.

"Don't move it. Just circle it. Good."

My response is a mere pant and my compliance is earning me a soft breath on my skin. I want to stay still, as he asked, but my hips betray me and thrust upwards, just once. He stops his breathing. Fuck.

Then again, his punishment surprises me. It's not so bad because he simply pushes my hips back down with his palms on each side of me. Hold me in place David, yes, like that.

"I didn't say you could fuck yourself, did I?"

"No. I'm sorry." I breathe. The pressure of his hands, of the hard surface against my back when he grounds me down make me snap out if it a little. He chuckles, somewhat scarily. What's next? I wonder.

"Move your hand up once, Kurt. I'll let you jerk off, if you need it so badly. On my terms."

I do as he says, groan at the light yet effective friction my sweaty fingers create on the taunt skin of my dick. "Stop." he says, just as my thumb goes over the tip.

"Down, slowly."

Down my hand goes.

"Up."

"Down."

"Faster."

"Let go."

"Grab it tighter."

"Up."

"Down."

"Stop."

Directions followed meticulously, despite them melting my brain, one order at the time. I'm shaking all over, my hand trembling erratically around my begging cock. "Hands off Kurt." he says and I let go. I have no choice. It does take a violent bite on my tongue to refrain my whimper. No sounds Kurt.

His hands curve on my hipbone. I can feel the nails digging deep and I know I'm going to have violet, crescent-shaped marks there for days. A signature of this new game, I like it. I bite my bottom lip and glue my eyes to his. He can see my gratitude, my frustration, all of me through them.

"God, I can really make you do whatever I want…" he murmurs. The amazement in his voice might soften the mood, but his moves let me know that this game is not over. I'm not to expect sweetness just yet. Left hand still kneading my waist, he makes his right one course higher. It lingers a second on my stomach, fingers flattening over my contracted abdominals (warm, so warm). Our eyes didn't stray and now his are so dark and intense I can't breathe.

"Time to rectify the facts." With a firm pressure of his thumbnail, he starts scratching on my skin. A vertical line, a horizontal one right at the bottom of it. Another vertical one, right next to it. I try to look down at his task and after a moment I figure it out: he's spelling LIKES. I resume breathing, shallowly, watching him write DAVE over my quivering stomach. I'm normally ticklish around that spot but not now. All it does to me is bring a deeper crimson to my cheek and a grunt out every time his nail goes too fast and strong, drawing to the surface minuscule droplets of blood that sting.

He contemplates his work for a bit before speaking again. I'm beyond words myself, in awe. More so when he talks. "That's the real truth. You like me, Dave."

"No I…"

His hand jumps to silence me, seals my mouth. "It wasn't a question Kurt, I'm stating a fact. You don't have a say in it."

"I love you." I finish mentally.

He lets go, his hand slides down my chin, circles my throat for a second, like a warning. Down again, the pad of his fingertips bumping over the raised and inflamed letters he just wrote. Foolishly, I think this road down my front will end with his hands on my cock when actually they stop on both sides of it. I groan, push my hips forward, throwing caution to the wind. I need him to touch me. He ignores me and starts pinching my stretched skin, occasionally adding a painful twist. Chuckles every time I cry out.

"You're really ripe for it baby. So ripe, in fact, that I might let you indulge."

I stop breathing, perfectly still despite my pounding heart. "You want release little Kurt? You want it?"

I can only whimper a vaguely agreeing response. He has no idea how badly I need it.

"Show me how much you want it. Jerk yourself off ." he says with a smile in his voice.

Thank God. I resume my strokes at once. My cock has not softened in the slightest; rather it has the rigidity and temperature of a marking iron.

"Faster."

I let out a high-pitched moan. So close. He leans up, hovering over me. His warm breath washes over me as he comes closer to my face. Again I can't help staring deep into his eyes.

"Show me how you come, Kurt."

A whine is all I can utter, what with the power of his words striking my mind hard and knocking out all sense. What remains is the tightening in my belly, my balls drawing up rapidly. I'm going to obey him, so soon now…

"Come, now."

Oh God. A simple brush of the hand on the tip, just when I feel his thumbs planting themselves deep in my flesh, and I show him. Thick milky ropes spurt, coat my fingers. It almost burns as they dribble along the back of my hand. I can't stop, still pump away in the same rhythm he imposed me. I tremble incoherently, even less comprehensible words and sounds escape me for what seems like a full minute until I'm destroyed. I finally let go with a finite sigh and turn to jelly. Splayed out, spent, finished.

Or so I thought. I'm done, slowly recuperating, but he's still holding me down, varying the pressure on my skin. Breathing fast, while my own respiration is decreasing in speed. I keep on staring. He doesn't.

Instead, his eyes roam; take me in, in this offered, surrendered state. "You can talk now Kurt. Tell me what you want." Words dropped like breadcrumbs, leading me on again.

The offer is too tempting. I was done seconds ago but this is waking me up. A second round, or something else entirely, it's a prospect I savor with eyes closed, to picture it more clearly. What my mind comes up with is indescribable and as a result I can just ramble. "Touch me. Again. Please. Hurt me, make me feel, again. Please. Or just… Let me touch you."

Yes, retribution. I know I can make him unravel like he did with me.

A soft laugh. I stretch, breathe in deeply and open my eyes. He's smiling, mischievous and I tingle all over. Such promises…

"Next time." he breathes out against my cheek before pulling away.

And just like that, he exits, swiftly, pausing only to switch the music off, and I'm left bewildered. How could he ever find the strength to not indulge? I was there, ready, he wanted it too. His arousal was glaringly obvious and yet he didn't do anything.

It hits me then: his satisfaction will come from denying me. Easily, he has taken over, grasped the power and kept the ball in his court. This is new, and exciting, a different kind of pain for me and a surprising display on his part. I didn't expect him to become the catalyst, not so soon at least.

"Kurt? Are you done?" The voice echoes through the deserted auditorium, accompanied by the sound of feet tumbling down the center alley.

Finn. Oh my God, he was still waiting for me? Just when I was counting on him getting tired of it, he has to be the patient brother? Shit.

"Ku-urt! Dude, we're going to be late for dinner!" I can hear him getting closer and the inquisitive tone tells me there's no chance he'll go away.

To say that I scramble to make myself presentable again would be an understatement. It's a stroke of luck that I have left my coat backstage. It allows, after having frantically put my pants back on, to simply button it over the ruins of my shirt. It's uncomfortable but it's the best I can do in such on such short notice. The come smeared on my hands is dealt with the help of the stage curtains. I allow myself a shameless smirk at the notion that I stained this room, in more ways than one, just before ruffling my hair back into its expected Gaga style. Done at last and in the nick of time too. Finn is already jumping the steps leading to the stage.

"Hey buddy." he greets me. "Can we get a move on? It's almost 6 and Burt already texted me twice. Also why aren't you picking up your phone?" He stops as he nears me, brows furrowing. I must not look as composed as I hoped. "Whoa dude, you're all red and sweaty, you all right?"

Take a deep breath Kurt, you can do this. "Sure. I guess I just rehearsed too vigorously." I said with a vague hand gesture.

He nods. "Right. I don't get why you wanted to practice, again. I mean, Schuester is gonna change his mind like 10 times and end up not using this number at all."

"True. But I'm a perfectionist and there's also something to be said for a good work out." I reply with a breathless laugh. I have to turn away quickly, using the pretense that I'm in a hurry to grab my things to hide my deepening blush. I can't believe I'm making a private joke in front of Finn. Oh well, it wouldn't be the most inappropriate thing I've done tonight.

My eyes stray up and I catch sight of the stains on the curtains, right above my book bag.I grab the strap with reluctance. I can't deal with this contrast, can't deal with how it brings me down either. Will it always be like this, intimate highs dampened by regular life?

"All ready, let's go." I say as I turn around, leading the way and Finn fall in behind me, no questions asked. I appreciate his instant obedience, especially the silent part of it. There's much to mull over, this is helping.

It's a quiet ride back as well, during which I pretend to be exhausted beyond conversation. Apart from a few random comments, Finn leaves me alone. He keeps looking my way though, and the underlying questions are weighing on me. I'm not singing along to the music, I'm not commenting on his driving. Even in worst state of fatigue I would still do those things. At the moment I can't force myself. With so many emotions mixed up, I can't straighten them out enough to be "normal". So I avoid making eye contact and flee downstairs as soon as we arrive.

I start to relax only once I'm back in my room. With the door closed and satisfying privacy all around, my thoughts are finally unchained. Here I can revisit the events at my leisure, push the worries aside and bring forth the pleasure, once more.

It has always been a talent of mine. When I concentrate hard enough, I can make every memory into a tangible sensation again. God knows what I just experienced is worth it. I shed my coat with a quick shrug of the shoulders and drop it on a chair on my way to my bathroom. I want to see his words again.

My reflection in the vanity mirror floors me. Here I am, changed, flushed, eyes brighter than ever. It's a transformation, a fantastic one.

I let my fingers dance lazily down my chest, flickering them over the LIKE. It causes a knowing smile to appear, until the tell-tale sound of Finn hurtling down to our room brings me back.

"Dinner in 20 minutes little brother, better get a move on!" he yells through the door.

"OK, I'm just freshening up." I reply. My hand stop but my eyes don't move. "I hate this." I mouth at my double. I'm finally about to appreciate the fallout and real life is back. Everything is dimmed, all of a sudden.

How am I supposed to conciliate this? Should I just bury my new-found complete self, because it clashes with my current life? I used to show everything, be open about myself. Not with this, never with this, even when it was just my own impulses and their satisfaction. It wasn't that important then. Now that it's shared and reaching new heights, it's even more complicated.

It was hard enough to come out, it's still hard to deal with the bullying, the insults and the general harassment. If anybody was to find out about David and me, not just that we're together but the dynamic between us, it would destroy everything. I can't lie and I refuse to hide but the step is too big, almost impossible.

As I'm staring at the bright scars on my torso, the solution appears to me. It's a matter of how you look at it. Maybe I have to hide it all. Also, maybe it's a good thing. That way it stays untarnished, impossible to judge or denigrate. How it'll compare to the other realms of my life can be a downer but can also make me cherish what we have more.

That's it. It shall be just mine and David's. Our own fucked up, perfect world, that can be rivaled with.

David's.

That gives me an idea.

I touch the letters lightly again. I like what they are, what they mean, but they're not enough. I look around, pick up my comb before setting it down immediately. Not sharp, this won't do. My styling scissors come into view. Yes, perfect. With a sure hand, I grab them, guide the pointy end to the right side of my sternum and start tracing.

The filaments of pain are acute and clear, reach deep and course on every level, physical and psychological. I never knew complete satisfaction like this. To have our game enrich my own old techniques is a surprising and lovely effect. I trace every letter carefully and methodically. The finished product is quite neat, thin and almost discreet compared to his ragged writing. I still prefer his work, however I might say seeing them combined is the best.

LIKE

BEING

DAVE'S

Finally, a complete truth.

I giggle because there's nothing else I can do. The low throbbing of the cuts, synchronized to my pulse, is like music in my skin. We both marked me. It's stamped, definitive. I've conceded and given him the reins. Mixed with the realization that I can deal with our secret, it's the most liberated I've ever felt. I've lost control, willfully. It's contradictory only in appearance.

I finally look away, grab the nearest sweater and put it on. Covering me doesn't feel so bad. It's temporary and soon enough David, not just me, will get to see that phrase.

I've surrendered and I can't wait to show him.