AN: This was posted on here under a different user name a while back, because it's really dark and I didn't want to freak out anyone who read my stuff.

I decided not to give a fuck, so here we go.

Warnings: Violence/Murder, probably bloodplay (light) and maybe BDSM-type stuff later.

Also there might be cannibalism, because Hannibal, but maybe not.

I'm open to suggestions.

"Do you love me, Kurt?"

His fingers pause their tapping against the bottom of the thick glass panel, the panel separating him from the intense, hazel-eyed boy on the other side. He makes sure to look him dead in the eye when he answers.


Blaine doesn't smile like he usually does when Kurt admits his feelings-which he doesn't often-, he just sits there motionless, keeping his stare unblinking. Kurt feels, well, not uncomfortable, but something close to it. He studies Blaine carefully. He's never seen this exact look, but it has enough familiar traits for him to gather that whatever's going on underneath that mop of hair is not innocent.

Not that Blaine's thoughts ever really turn out to be innocent, in most respects. Simple? Maybe. Innocent?


"What are you thinking?"

Blaine blinks, backing off the look a bit, putting back on his cool mask, the one that has most of America terrified.

The mask doesn't much scare Kurt. He's seen Blaine with several of his less pleasant expressions.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Why can I almost guarantee that that's a lie?"

Blaine smiles at that, his mask breaking for a quick second. He only ever smiles like that, with soft, gentle, genuine affection when he's looking at Kurt. At least Kurt's pretty sure it's the only time Blaine smiles like that. Blaine told him so, and well, Blaine's been on a streak of brutal honesty recently.

"Because you know me."

The bell rings then, the little, irritating one that Kurt both loves and hates. He loves it because it effectively ends his weekly, confusing conversations with Blaine for him, so that he doesn't have to worry about hurting Blaine's feelings by trying to end them himself.

He hates it for the same reason.

"I'll see you next week," he offers quietly. Sometimes he wishes he wasn't allowed to see Blaine every Tuesday.

Sometimes he wishes he could see him every day. It depends on whether he feels like he should want to get over Blaine or if he's let the idea go for the time being.

Blaine smirks at him a little. It's the same smirk he had when Kurt had first seen him. (He isn't sure what Blaine looked like when he'd first seen him. That happened before he introduced himself.)

"Yes. Yes you will."

Kurt shivers at his tone. It's the same tone. The one he always used before…


Blaine notices, his eyes sweeping Kurt's body hungrily.

"I still scare you, don't I?" His eyes return to Kurt's face, a small, tiny sparkle of what Kurt would like to think is regret shining amongst a blend of brown and green.

It probably isn't.

"Even through the glass I scare you, don't I, Kurt?"

"No," he answers honestly. "You don't scare me."

Blaine raises an eyebrow.

"Then what do you feel? Huh, Kurt? What do you feel when you look at me?"

Kurt pauses, taking a moment to let his own blue orbs roam across the boy sitting, waiting, on the other side of the glass.

"I don't know."

He walks away.

Blaine sits behind the glass, watching him go, following him carefully with his eyes. He'd seen one of the guards push Kurt on one of the other boy's first visits.

He'd lodged a toothbrush handle into the man's neck by noon the next day. His dental care has since been declining.

Kurt manages to leave without incident. Blaine smirks. He'd doubted the likelihood of anyone touching his boy after the toothbrush incident, but it always gave him a sense of satisfaction to know that even when imprisoned he controlled those around him.

Those other then Kurt, that is. Kurt could be heavily influenced and downright manipulated, but he was never a cut-out, someone Blaine could predict. Kurt always zigged when he thought he would zag. It was one of the things that had drawn Blaine to him.

That, and those perfect, pouty pink lips and those wide, innocent eyes held together with smooth, pale skin that showed off every little cut, bite and bruise…

He liked Kurt for a number of reasons.


He looks up, recognizing the voice and smiling politely.

"Hello, Charles."

The guard doesn't look amused. He never did though, the poor man. It must be awful to go through life without a sense of humor.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Your visitor left!"

"I have another one coming," Blaine states simply. He did. "Mr. Ryerson from Porcelain Perfection is due any moment now. I've scheduled him specifically after Kurt so I won't have to walk all the way back to my cell just to turn around and come back. There are way too many airtight doors that have to be taken care of between the two points for it to be energy efficient." He smiles winningly at the man standing over him. "We must all do our part in preserving the earth."

Charles just looks at him, slightly unnerved. Blaine allows himself a small chuckle at the larger man's reaction. You'd think that he'd have gotten used to an inmate that didn't communicate entirely through grunts and swear words, but apparently not.

The other man reaches for his radio, presumably to call for back up. Blaine sighs. He'd love to kick that damn ancient box of a radio out of Charles' meaty hand. He still has to have his feet chained to the ground because of the last time he did that.

"Yoo-hoo! Mr. Anderson! Cell block thirteen?"

Blaine grins up at Charles.

"That'd be my three o'clock. Send him on over, would you?"

To his credit, Charles lets it go. Blaine smiles. Maybe he is learning.

His business with Mr. Ryerson only takes a few minutes. He'd already had an idea of what he'd wanted, after all. Plans are kind of his thing.

"And you're sure you're comfy with charging this to a credit card? An awful lot of interest is going to be generated over two life sentences."

Blaine laughs a bit at that. So few people other than Kurt talk to him like a person and understand that this whole jail thing is a grand joke.

"Trust me, the money's good. Just make sure everything is exactly as I specified, on Tuesday at eleven, no sooner, no later."

"Tuesday at eleven. Got it."

"Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Ryerson."

Blaine let himself be led to his cell after that. He detested the place of course. Someone who thrives on attention like he does isn't cut out for solitary confinement.

It'll be okay though. He just has to wait until Tuesday.