A/N: Written for a prompt on the GAM. This is the first of five parts.
TRIGGER/WARNINGS: Rape/non-con, abduction, physical and emotional abuse.
FULL PROMPT (Contains spoilers for the story): Kurt is a Swan Maiden who decides to bathe in what he believes to be an isolated spring without his attendants. Blaine is a young prince who stumbles upon him and immediately falls in love with the beautiful creature. Knowing the nature of swan maidens he steals Kurt's robes and hides them in a place they will never be found. Kurt can't return home without the robes and begs Blaine to return them, but he refuses. Blaine forces Kurt to marry him, threatening to destroy the robes if he does not. He truly does love Kurt, and tries to be as understanding and gentle with him as he can be.
But nothing will chance the fact that Kurt is an unwilling spouse, a creature who does not belong with mortals, and that what Blaine considers making love is actually rape. They are together many years, and perhaps they even have a few children. Blaine believes that Kurt loves him now, and shows him the spot where he hid the robes as a sign of his trust. Kurt immediately snatches them away and flies him, not even hesitating for a second.
Chains Made of Love
Chapter 1
Kurt doesn't realize the moment it happens. The moon is reflecting off the lake and the water lapping over his bare feet combined with the feel of soft sand under his skin is so exquisite he finds himself lost in the beauty of the moment. He sings softly, voice clear and strong despite the volume. He is aware of the danger in resting so close to human dwellings, but the nearest is miles away and this oasis of his is tucked far from their roads, so he lets down his guard for just a few minutes.
He loves his voice – it is his only vanity –so he notices immediately when it starts to waver. He's singing his favorite song, a lullaby his mother sung before she died. It is familiar enough that a single sharp note jars him and he stops in the middle of a word. His hand rises to his mouth as if expecting to find something obstructing it.
"Please don't stop." There is a roughness in the voice, something felt more than heard that identifies the speaker as human even before Kurt's eyes can pick out his shape in the dark. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Kurt's eyes widen as he scrambles to his feet, never letting the human out of his sight. The man walks forwards, hands open with his palms facing Kurt in an offering that has no meaning to Kurt. The human's eyes flit along his naked, a strange red tinge coloring the small amount of skin not covered by fabric and a darkness clouding his eyes. "I…ah…I didn't realize you were…would you like to cover up?"
Kurt tilts his head to the side, still unsure of what he should do. Every nerve in his body is telling him to run, but he cannot go anywhere without his robe. The man turns around and Kurt's eyes rake the ground, searching desperately for what he knows he will not find. His robe is gone; spirited away while he was stupid enough to think himself safe. Its absence is a physical pain now that he is focused on it, and he falls to the ground keening his loss. He forgets he wasn't alone until the human is at his side.
"What's wrong?" There is real worry there and Kurt looks up at the human.
"Where is it?" Kurt asks. "Where did you put it?"
"Put what? I don't understand." The human looks around before his eyes settle back on Kurt. "Tell me what you need and you will have it."
"My robe," Kurt says desperately, his voice breaking off into a moan of agony. Perhaps this human is innocent. Maybe the stories have exaggerated human wickedness. It is hard to read human expressions, but the man seems so sincere and there is a beauty in his face that hints at an origin not fully human. So Kurt trusts him. "I cannot leave without my robe. I am…"
"A swan maiden. I though they – you – were just a story." The human's eyes widen and he seems to pick up on the urgency. "If someone has taken your robe then it is not safe for you to stay here. Do you know who took it? Where it is?"
"No. Please, help me find it." Kurt hates that he was pleading to anyone, let alone a human, but he feels as if he is dying. Every movement in this body suddenly feels labored; painfully awkward and absolutely unbearable.
"Of course I will help you," the human says, seemingly unaware of Kurt's agony. "But what can I call you?"
Kurt looks up at him, forcing his breathing to steady. This human will help him, and everything will be okay. He will not be stuck forever in this form, as the stories say will happen if a human steals his robe. "Kurt."
"Kurt." His name sounds ugly on the human's lips, and he wishes desperately that he had lied. If he could, he would take the moment back; recall his name from even being heard by a human. It was dirty now, even if this human was not evil. "You can borrow my cloak for now. You can't walk into a town without clothing."
It is so unlike his robe, though the way it twirls when he wraps it around himself is similar. When his robe settles, feather soft and light as a cloud, he shifts back in his true form. When his one settles, it scratches his skin and anchors him to the ground. He shifts it, trying to arrange it so as little of it touched him as possible. When he finishes he looks back up at the human who is gazing at him with a strange expression on his face, his forehead wrinkled and eyebrows drawn together. Kurt tries and fails to read it, settling on offering a slight tilt of his lips, something he had seen humans do one of the few times he observed them in the past. It works because the human seems to release the tension in his face and shoulders.
"I'm Blaine, by the way. Lord Blaine Anderson. I'll keep you safe Kurt, I promise." And then the human – Blaine – reaches out and touches Kurt, grabbing his hand and interlocking their fingers, tugging gently and making Kurt stumble into a walk behind him.
The moment their skin touched Kurt felt a chill pass through his core that had nothing to do with the rough texture of human skin on his own, almost feather soft. The chafing feeling of skin rubbing was no more than a passing discomfort to the flare of agony that echoed and rebounded through the past. He had felt those hands before – not on his human skin, but on his robe, even when he hadn't been aware of it. He cannot make sense of what game Blaine is playing, but what he does know without a hint of doubt is that Blaine is lying, and Kurt may never be free again. His anguish is so deep that he cannot even cry out, following his murderer complacently.
