Fic -- Collared
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 902
Pairing: Blaine/Kurt
Warnings: D/s relationship (does that constitute a warning?)
Summary: The skin of Kurt’s neck is sensitive, picking up on every movement of Blaine’s hands, every breath the other man lets out as he works. When the soft leather of the collar touches Kurt for the first time he freezes in place, keeping as still as he can as it is wrapped around his neck.
A/N: Inspired by a certain picture of CC kneeling before DC. UNF. And I couldn’t bring myself to write RPS (although I do read it), so I went with Kurt/Blaine. :D
EDIT: I added the picture to the top of the post. If you are the person who took this pic I hope it's okay that I'm kinda in love with it.
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The floor beneath Kurt’s knees is solid, the hardwood a dark mahogany covered in a shining finish, its expanse devoid of any dirt or dust. He has been in position for a while now, long enough that his knees have stiffened and his back aches. He knows that it will get better with practice, that he will be able to wait for longer and longer, and he can’t wait for the day when he can relax into this without a thought.
As it is now, though, his heart is beating a hard staccato in his chest and a thrill of excitement and anxiety rides over his spine like an electrical pulse. His hands tremble in their position on his knees, causing him to divert a considerable amount of attention to trying to still them.
When he hears the sound of the door opening Kurt feels a jolt of something deep within him; something that makes him want to lay prostrate on the floor and soak in the contentment. The underlying unease, that of an insecure boy, takes a backseat in the plethora of emotions going through him.
Kurt doesn’t move when footsteps sound just outside the room, keeping his eyes glued firmly on his spread knees. He wants to look up, wants to go to Blaine instead of staying here and waiting, but he doesn’t move.
Soon the footsteps come into the room with him, approaching him and stopping so that Blaine’s black socks are visible in his peripheral vision. A slight noise, a gentle clink that barely registers in Kurt’s ear, comes from above. Curiosity and excitement race through Kurt’s veins, pumping through him in a way that he knows is visible in the slight shaking of his shoulders.
The sound of rustling clothes replaces all other noise as Blaine moves to crouch beside him, all but his knees just out of sight. Kurt waits for any spoken commands, any touch of skin on his own.
All is still for a while, Blaine watching Kurt as Kurt waits, and Kurt uses the time to focus on his breathing and relaxing his muscles.
Kurt feels comfortable in Blaine’s presence, any hint of self-consciousness about his body or his position in Blaine’s life long-since dissipated, and he wishes he could be like this always. He loves the man more than he thought was possible.
Blaine leans forward, bringing a hand up under Kurt’s face and to his neck as he does so, allowing Kurt a first glance at what he is holding in his hands.
It’s a black leather collar, thin and smooth with a thick silver buckle on the front.
Kurt’s heart skips a beat and then picks up speed fast, sending his breathing into a flurry of shallow barely-controlled intakes and exhales. He knew this was coming, has known for a long time, but it still makes him buzz with excitement.
The second Blaine’s hand touches his neck, tracing the back of his knuckles down and over the hollow of Kurt’s throat where it is exposed by the dress shirt he is wearing, Kurt feels his muscles relax. It is as though Blaine’s touch is sapping the tension from him and leaving him soft and pliant.
The skin of Kurt’s neck is sensitive, picking up on every movement of Blaine’s hands, every breath the other man lets out as he works. When the soft leather of the collar touches Kurt for the first time he freezes in place, keeping as still as he can as it is wrapped around his neck. The buckle is cool against him, but Blaine’s hands are warm and callused, soothing its adjustment as he threads the ends of the collar together.
When the buckle is in place, the leather snug but not tight on Kurt’s neck, Blaine lets his hands rest on Kurt, petting over the sign of his ownership. Kurt leans into the hands, loving the feel of them on him, touching the collar, the symbol of their differing places in this relationship.
Blaine’s fingers trail over the buckle, checking its seal deftly, and Kurt closes his eyes and lets his mind drift. This is where he wants to be, how he wants to feel; safe, relaxed and loved. Owned.
Kurt opens his eyes and uses every ounce of willpower to keep them averted when those fingers make their way from his neck to his face, tracing down his hairline, over his cheekbone and to the corner of his mouth. When the digit traces the pout of his lower lip slowly, obviously revelling in the feel, Kurt can almost feel his tongue’s urge to slip out and pull the finger into his mouth. To suck on it and trace the blunt edges of it.
After a moment where Kurt can feel Blaine’s eyes scouring his face and neck, another hand comes to rest under his chin, urging his face upward. At the unspoken command, Kurt allows his eyes to connect with Blaine’s, with his Master’s, and it makes him want to gasp from the intensity.
It is everything he had hoped it would be, everything he has been dreaming of for months. Years.
“Good boy,” Blaine says, running a hand through Kurt’s hair carefully.
Kurt doesn’t protest the disruption of his styling, instead relishing the wave of pure contentment that has filled him to the brim, spilling over with every confident stroke of Blaine’s hands.