Hello! I feel like I should preface this story is a short introduction. This is a D/s AU - meaning that the verse will be composed of Dom, sub, and switch characters that interact in relationships that are defined by domination and submission. It is not going to be particularly (or at all) sexual - and when we get to the smut, I will warn for it in those chapters ahead of time. Apart from that, the story is angsty, possibly triggery, so tread with caution. And as always, your input is invaluable. I write to an audience and it helps to know what throws you off and what lets you sink into this world.

Oh, and I obviously don't own Glee.

Mrs. Wallace did not tolerate nonsense. She squinted down 56th St at #127 and tugged a little harder on Missy's leash. It really was despicable, a house of subs, Doms, and switches living together and without claims like one big…orgy! Outrageous! And on such a respectable street! Why, Mrs. Bing lived just three doors down, and Mrs. Wallace herself lived just around the corner to these heathens. Her agitation grew as she approached the house, Missy trailing behind her and occasionally pausing to sniff her favorite flowers. Number 127 stood out from the rest of the houses on the street in many ways. For one, it was one of the only houses to have its lights glow bright well into the night. Even now, as the clocks ticked close to 2am, both stories of the traditional residence cast a haze of light across the sidewalk and into the trees. If she hadn't known that the house was full of unclaimed sub and Doms, she might have romanticized the scene – something about the view reminded Mrs. Wallace of a candle, flickering warmth and light through inhospitable darkness, welcoming and inviting. As she neared the steps leading to their front-door, Mrs. Wallace stopped. There really was something quite beautiful about it. Before she could articulate exactly what that was, one of the rooms went dark, startling her out of her thoughts.

Oh! Powerless to stop it, Mrs. Wallace was overcome with certainty that the occupants of the darkened room were stripping each other of their clothes, sliding on to their knees, submitting and dominating one another with fluid freedom of youth and independence. Shaking the thought from her greying head, Mrs. Wallace put a deep grimace into her face and sneered down at her Pet, "No respect. No respect for the Law. Well, let them rot Unclaimed." Missy looked up at her Mistress and gratefully tongued at her gag; she wouldn't have known what to say anyways.

However vividly Mrs. Wallace imagined the wild, unrestricted orgy taking place in Number 127, nothing of the sort could be observed inside. The house was quiet, a sleepy calm lulling its residence and tempting them to bed. Minutes ago, Laura Beck turned off the light in the library, having finally admitted defeat in her battle with Chapter 15 of her endocrinology textbook. With a yawn and a stretch, she closed the door behind her and let the thoughts of her upcoming exam stay locked in the dark room. With a slight stumble from hours of sitting over a desk, Laura entered the kitchen to find Lea and Mark still roaming about.

"Hey," Laura greeted her housemates before diving into the fridge for milk, "why are you still up?"

Mark hummed around a large bite of his mid-night snack and pointed to a stack of papers to his left, "Fuggen uddgads."

Laura glanced to Lea, standing over the over and waiting for the kettle to boil. "Fucking undergrads." She translated Mark's mooing. "Mark has conveniently chosen to forget that mere eight months ago, he was a fucking undergrad himself."

"Yeah, well, my papers weren't shit," Mark finally swallowed his bite. "I have to finish grading these by 4pm, and every paper that talks about the Law as God's will to protect all subs is driving me closer to the edge of insanity."

Whatever he was going to say next was interrupted by the shrill whistle of the boiling kettle. Lea quickly set it onto a cool burned and fixed the steaming pot with three tablespoons of her favorite Earl Grey blend. Laura watched as she poured water into the steaming pot, entranced and comforted by the Domme's confident control over every gesture. Laura had only lived in the house for two months, and frequently found herself nervous and skittish around her housemates. But not Lea, never around Lea. Something about her radiated control, strength…domination.

"You want a cup?" Lea asked, setting down her own extra-large mug on the counter.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." Mark mumbled into his hands as he ran them over his face in tired frustration.

Laura was ready to shuffle out of the room when Mark's voice stopped her, "Bring me the milk."

Ringing. Shrill ringing deafened her ears. The command vibrated through her body, quickening her heart and overwhelming her senses.

She shuddered and her hand instantaneously reached out to the carton she had just returned to the fridge.

"No! Shit, stop!"

Released from the command, Laura dared to look back up at Mark, anxious and tense. It was never comfortable for a sub to stand in a room with an agitated Dom. The room felt smaller, dense and heavy, brimming with nervous energy as Mark took a moment to suppress his domination and relax.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that." Mark said, looking straight at her.

His apology seemed to release Mark of his struggle. Standing up he walked over to Laura with slow measured steps, sure to give her plenty of time to step back.

"I'm really sorry. I lost control, and that's not OK. I don't dominate my friends."

Laura nodded and glanced at Lea – the Domme projected such calm, Laura couldn't help but relax under her gentle gaze. "Yeah Mark, I know. You're just stressed. Get some rest."

With a brief, forgiving hug and a goodbye, Laura left the warm glow of the kitchen in favor of the cool darkness of her bed.

"That can't happen. Whatever's going on – fix it."

It was hard. Remaining Unclaimed for so long was a struggle; Lea knew that as well as anybody. The domination, it bubbled in your veins itching to break free. When Lea had to explain what it was like to be an Unclaimed Dom, she always said, "If you picture the world as a puzzle, being a Dom is seeing the solution. Being an Unclaimed Dom is like seeing the solution and having no right to touch the puzzle pieces." The temptation, to take care of a sub, to bring them peace and certainty and guidance; it was strong. Sometimes, it overwhelmed even the strongest Dom.

"I know. It's nothing. I'm just tired." Mark made a show of warming his hands on his cup of tea.

Taking pity on the exhausted Dom, Lea chose to let it go, "We should all get some rest. I'm heading up, want me to turn off the lights?"

She saw Mark looking back over his stack of papers and stopped him with a hand on his arm, "Don't. Don't even think about it. You need sleep, and those papers will just have to wait."

"You're right." Mark nodded and huffed out a sigh, "You always are. But go on up, I'll follow in a minute. I think I just need some air."

For a breath, Mark felt her heavy gaze calculating him. He knew that she was worried; losing control like that, giving an order, dominating a friend – it wasn't a good sign. And Mark knew it. He had known for days that he was losing control, the stress making his weak hold over the domination all the more frayed. Sometimes he wondered whether he should start going to those clubs; however illegal and just plain wrong, they were a space to dominate, to be himself. Maybe, mistakes like this one, with Laura, could be avoided if he could dominate a faceless sub once in a blue moon.

Mark risked glancing up into Lea's eyes, hoping to see whether or not she caught the direction of his thoughts. But he could read nothing in her gaze; he knew from experience that it didn't mean she had read nothing in his.

"Alright." Grabbing a hold of her tea, Lea bid Mark one last goodbye before heading to her bedroom. He watched her progress with every dimmed light until her footsteps sounded on the steps.

Rubbing tension out of his eyes, Mark headed for the porch. Yes, that's just what he needed – some fresh air to cool his thoughts and a couple hours of sleep to clear his mind. The patio door swooshed as he tugged it, breaking the barrier between the warmth of the house and the breeze of the night. A wall of cold air hit Mark's face, making him feel feverish in comparison. Perhaps he was. Could he be getting sick? He wished that could explain his lack of control, but no, he'd felt this coming on for weeks. He knew the cycle well enough by now to know the signs; as an Unclaimed Dom, his domination would grow and fester, aimless and unused. He would grow tired, restless, weak, as the domination grew stronger and drained him dry, until one day, he'd find his second breath – the domination would fall back, collapse without a sub to act as target for its power. Sometimes, he wondered whether the domination could dominate itself, whether he could force it back from the forefront of his mind. But those were fevered thoughts of an exhausted mind.

Mark forced a deep, cold breath into his lungs, feeling the icy air freeze in his lungs. It was much colder than he'd thought. With a shiver and one last look into the night, he turned towards the door…

Something. There was something there. A shape, under the porch. Mark squinted, trying to make it out between the railings. The huddled mass shivered and he knew. It was a person.

Taken aback and driven forward, Mark took measured steps down the steps and only to the cold, dew-covered ground. As he approached, he saw the boy (for it was a boy, unruly, uncut hair curling in thick locks) tremble and pull tighter on a worn piece of cloth, so thin Mark could see the blue tinge of his skin right through it.

"Hello?" He called out.

No response.

The ground crackled with his steps until he came close enough to squat next to the boy. Even in the darkness, he saw the dark blue purpling of his skin around his wrists and ankles – this was a sub. A runaway.

"Hello?" He tried again. The boy convulsed, but made no indication that his mind was present. Gently, slowly, Mark raised his hand and let his palm guide the boy's face in his direction.

Pale. Deathly. Blue. The boy's face was gaunt; cheeks hallowed out and bone cutting his skin into flat planes. His lips were peeling and his eyes were shut. The only color on his face was a dark bruise. Without a thought, Mark wrapped his hands around his back and set his legs into the crook of his elbows. Lifting him, Mark knew this boy was close to death – if life weighed anything at all, it had already left him.

Cradling the frozen, quiver mass of bones into his chest, Mark rushed into the house. The boy's head lolled against his shoulder, strong tremors gosling his limbs. Underneath the cloth, the grime, the frostbite and the bruises, there was a boy, with muscles, nerves, and veins that pumped his blood. This was a human. No matter how little of him was left.

Sliding past the patio door, Mark toed it shut. There. That world, the world in which this boy had to survive, had suffered and had hurt was closed behind them. Mark hoped the thought would bring him some relief, but in that moment, a strong spasm nearly knocked the boy out of his arms. Fuck. Mark brought his arm to curve around his side, trying to protect the boy's head from colliding with the doorway corner as he shuffled further into the house.

Glancing to his right, where Laura and James were probably already tucked in bed, Mark nearly stumbled from the overwhelming sense of wrongness. How is it possible they were asleep? Was this boy's suffering not enough to wake them? Has nothing changed, has nothing shifted from bringing him into the house that never felt such pain?

He swayed. His mind grew fuzzy and his shoulders sagged as drums, drumming, thumping drums vibrated in his ears.

Thump.

Thump. Thump.

He blinked against a splotch of light and braced against a heavy, solid presence that leaned into his side.

It was the wall. Blinking against the fog of panic and hyperventilation, Mark struggled to gulp oxygen into his lungs and push the drumming of his heart out of his ears. Alright. He was alright. Now move your feet. One, then the other. Into the living room. Deep breaths. It was so easy to believe this was a dream, to let it pull him under. But the boy's sharp, icy edges cut through the haze.

Setting the boy gently on the couch, Mark shivered empathetically as the kid shook. Now on the couch, the boy looked smaller, thinner, paler than before, or maybe it was the couch that looked more plush, more thick than Mark had ever seen before. Hovering, hesitant, unsure, Mark couldn't help but think "Why me?" – could anybody else have found him? Would someone else just tell him what to do!

Lea.

Yes! Yes, she would know! Gratefully, Mark released the breath that sat hitched in his chest. Spinning in the direction of the stairs, Mark rushed out of the room for reinforcements. Rounding the corner, he threw on the switch and bathed the hall in light. Before his foot touched the first step, Mark heard a groan. A gasp. A thud.

He turned back in the direction of the boy until a pair of fevered honey eyes arrested him. The boy was up.

Thoughts?