This chapter was originally a one-shot story; it has been collected with its sequel one-shots into this piece.

Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, depictions of abusive relationships.

I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.

Approximate words this chapter: 2,300

"You just got poked. Poked by the dagger."

Though the thrusting had stopped, Sandy Ryerson held his still rock-hard cock balls-deep in Blaine as they both slowly came down from the exhausting pounding Sandy had just administered to the young, eighteen-year-old glee-club soloist.

"I'm old enough to be your grandfather," Sandy sneered, sweaty as he lay exhausted, his weight supported by Blaine's back as Blaine, likewise exhausted, maintained the bent-over doggie-position, hands gripping the elaborate Victorian carvings on the headboard of Sandy's antique bed.

"This does mean I'm getting every solo, right?" Blaine panted through exhausted breaths over his clammy, sweaty shoulder. "I mean, I've done everything you wanted me to do. I got Schuester fired and put in jail. I got you back as the Glee Club coach. My candy-ass is yours whenever you want it, and I'll take forty-minute drillings like the one you just gave me."

"Ha!" Sandy laughed loudly as he lifted his sweaty chest from Blaine's sweaty back; it made a slick peeling-sound as he did. "It won't be a candy-ass for much longer."

Sandy spoke the truth, and Blaine knew it. Sandy's cock was thicker than a can of Red Bull and slightly longer, bumpy and heavily veined with a slight downward curve and between seven and eight inches when hard. The older man had stamina and could literally maintain a firm erection for hours, capable of climaxing multiple times. If Blaine wanted those solos, which he did, he'd offer the use of his young ass to Sandy Ryerson at Sandy's whim. That is, until Sandy got bored with it or it began to feel worn-out. Hopefully, that wouldn't happen until the legend of Blaine Anderson, show-choir front-man extraordinaire, was sealed.

For the time-being, though, Sandy slid his horse-sized penis out of Blaine's well-used, well-stretched anus, and a trail of semen and mucus followed it out of the wet, gaping hole as he did. It felt to Blaine like his asshole had been permanently enlarged, like it might not tighten again. He was momentarily worried that there might be some truth to the hollow threat Sandy had just spoken, but his senses returned in time to call the older man on his bluff as both of them stood from the bed, joints slightly stiff and bow-legged. "You can't threaten me, Mr. Ryerson," Blaine confronted with a cocky attitude.

"That's Daddy Ryerson to you," Sandy corrected. "Or Daddy Sandy, if you like," he added more accommodatingly.

"Okay, Daddy Ryerson," Blaine spoke sassily, "You're in no position to threaten me." Blaine slid his briefs on while keeping accusing eye-contact with Sandy. "All I have to do is spill about how you've been fucking me, and you will be in deep shit!"

"Oh, you won't do that," Sandy dismissed, ever so effete, as he slid his boxer shorts over his shaven crotch, his baby-smooth scrotum and huge, now-flaccid dong flopping as he did. "You have just as much to lose with your well-cultivated matinee-idol image and spotless reputation, not to mention your precious boyfriend Kurt Hummel."

"Don't drag Kurt into this," Blaine raised his voice. "He and I are in love. I'd do anything to protect that!"

"Ha!" Sandy shouted. "'In love'? That's a laugh. People who are in love do not turn their partners into needy sycophants, but that's exactly what you've done to Kurt. And, I know for a fact that you and him have never even had sex. So while you were seducing that shy little girl, making her come-on to Schuester so you could take those damning pictures of him which resulted in him losing his job, losing his wife, and being incarcerated; and while you were banging that Sebastian boy to soak him for information on the Warblers' ultra-secret program for the Regionals competition; and while you even brought Sebastian here so we could both go at him from each end and secretly record the event for blackmail material, him gagging on your pee-pee while I wrecked his smooth, creamy ass from behind; through all of that, you still have Kurt believing that you're some angel, that you're old-fashioned or something, that you're saving it for when you and he get married, all the while holding your affection over his head, threatening him that if he doesn't support you in every way, you'll throw a tantrum and leave him. And, of course, perfect little Kurt always comes crawling back to Blaine with tears in his eyes. That's not love, and don't tell me you don't have much to lose, Blaine. We're both just lucky that the little shy girl you soiled and that Sebastian-muffin were both eighteen years old, or we'd literally be in hot water. Don't forget, I've lost it all before. It's nothing new to me. You, on the other hand, would have to answer to your family, the pre-teen girls who mindlessly adore you, and your precious Kurt Hummel. He'd probably have a nervous breakdown if he found out what you were really up to behind his back. Word of our little scandal getting out would fuck you up permanently, like what I just did to you cute little ass."

Blaine was almost completely dressed, a scowl on his face. He was in a hurry to leave because he knew Sandy was right. For the time being, Blaine had every solo he wanted and was the featured face of the New Directions, but all that came at a price: Blaine was Sandy's toy, and Sandy had him right where he wanted him.

Sandy had slipped on a pair of sweatpants and, still shirtless and flabby, watched Blaine hastily make for the door, past the glass cases of weird and creepy dolls which Sandy collected obsessively.

"I think I see a wet spot on the seat of your trousers," Sandy teased as Blaine reached for the doorknob, turning back to silently scowl at the older man once more. "I think your ass is still leaking," Sandy added with a chuckle before punctuating in a high-pitched, mocking tone, "You just got poked by the dagger."

Blaine slammed the door as he exited Sandy's house. He hastily made his way to his car, touching the rear of his pants to see if there was any truth to Sandy's teasing words; to his relief there wasn't: it felt moist, but wouldn't be visibly wet, well-hidden given the black jeans he was wearing.

As he climbed into his car and began on his way, he recounted the events described by Sandy before he left. He remembered the rage and disillusionment he felt when Mr. Schuester awarded Tina and Artie with solos which should have been his. He remembered coming to Mr, Ryerson for help with his predicament. He remembered Celia, the shy little senior girl that became enamored with him, the girl he got drunk with and deflowered in order to exercise his control over her, to compel her to stage an elaborate set-up which resulted in the damning photos which rendered Mr. Schuester jobless and in prison, his marriage in wreckage. Then there was the seduction of Sebastian. By that time, it was easy. Blaine had the upper-hand and teased Sebastian shamelessly. It was easy to get the Warblers' setlist, and just as easy to get Sebastian to agree to that bizarre threesome with Sandy Ryerson. By that time, Sandy had taken over the New Directions and made wild promises to Sebastian that he'd use his influence to make a teen-idol out of him just as he had with Blaine. How Blaine was able to accomplish all of this without giving himself away to Kurt was not miraculous, but it was a great deal of work. When Blaine left Celia heartbroken after taking her virginity and using her to destroy Schuester, he mentally abused her into being quiet. It wasn't long before she suffered a breakdown and her parents had to pull her out of McKinley altogether. Sebastian was silenced by Blaine's threats of posting a video of the Sandy-Blaine-Sebastian threesome online, with Blaine's and Sandy's faces digitally obscured, of course. The only person left to talk, the only part of the web of deceit who hadn't been taken out of the scheme, was Ryerson himself, and he had just as much to lose as Blaine did. They were locked in a pact of mutually-assured destruction should either go public. It wasn't an ideal situation for Blaine, but it worked well enough for the moment.

Blaine drove into the lot of the coffee shop and parked; he saw that Kurt was inside the coffee shop waiting for him. Kurt had Blaine's coffee already at the table. Upon seeing Blaine, Kurt stood up to greet him, smiling happily. Blaine returned the smile, but when Kurt approached to hug him, Blaine's face soured, and he snapped away from Kurt.

"I can't have you doing that, Kurt," Blaine warned. "What would happen if one of my fans saw so obvious a flamboyant sissy-boy as you hugging me in public?"

"I'm sorry, Blaine," Kurt hung his head. "It won't happen again."

Blaine softened and held his hand upward, patting Kurt's shoulder gently. "It's okay," Blaine began, "It's just my career; we really need to watch what we do in public."

"I know," Kurt said quietly as he still faced downward toward the linoleum. "I'll try not to let it happen again." Kurt waited a moment before he spoke, almost whispered, "It's been weeks since you last kissed me."

"And it's going to be even longer," Blaine said, uncaring, as he shook his head. "It's bad for my image. I can't be doing that, especially in a public place."

Both boys sat at the table, and sipped their coffee. Blaine grimaced.

"What is this?" he spat as he pulled the paper cup away form his mouth, an expression of profound distaste.

"It's your coffee order," Kurt said softly, "A mocha latte with a shot of espresso."

Blaine's face became tough and he shook his head in disgust. "My coffee order is a mocha latte with a double-shot of espresso. Can't you ever get anything right, Kurt?"

Kurt frowned and remained silent, eyes focused on the formica-topped table before him.

"Let's change the subject," Blaine finally said, pushing the coffee away from him, "What were you doing before you came out here to meet me?"

"Well," Kurt's face formed a small smile, "I went to visit Dave Karofsky."

Blaine's expression remained sour. "Why would you do that?"

"Dave and I are friends, and he really doesn't have many people around," Kurt answered. "Most of his old friends don't want anything to do with him, and his mom left. Aside from his dad and a couple of other friends, he's really alone. When he was in the hospital after he tried to kill himself, I told him we'd be friends, so I went to visit him."

Blaine rolled his eyes and, with a stoic face, spoke with extreme sarcasm. "Oh, that's just sweet, Kurt. If I played the violin, I'd play a sad, sad song for Karofsky. What did you and Karofsky do while you were visiting him?"

"Well," a small smile and laugh returned to Kurt's face after he showed confusion to Blaine's initial reaction. "We were watching a college football game. You know how I never really understood football, and you'd always want to watch the college games? Well, Dave said that we'd watch a game together and he'd explain some things so I'd have a better understanding of them, and I'd enjoy them more if you and I watched one together."

Blaine's face remained firm. "I don't want you hanging out with Karofsky any longer."

"Why?" Kurt voiced high-pitched through a pained expression. "He doesn't have anyone, and he has nothing but good things to say about you, and he respects the relationship you and I have together."

"I don't want you hanging around him anymore, Kurt." Blaine's eyes were hard and his tone of voice was stern and strict. "I am glad you're back from New York, at least."

"Oh, that's just temporary," Kurt said. "Now that Rachel and I have a place picked out, I'll be moving up there permanently in about two weeks."

"Like hell you will," Blaine spat out at Kurt.

"But Blaine," Kurt's tone was almost hysterical, pleading at this point. "You encouraged me to move there. Part of this was your idea!"

"That was before I realized that I couldn't keep an eye on you there. No. You're going to stay right here in Lima. I don't care if you have to get another crappy job here at the Lima Bean again. This is where you stay if you want me, and I know you want me." Blaine's face was smug and vindictive. "This is your life now, Kurt."

Kurt sniffed, beginning to cry. "Well, I am thankful to have such a great boyfriend in you, Blaine, someone who puts me first and looks out for me, someone who'd do anything to protect what we have." Kurt's last words were almost indecipherable as he completely broke down into a sob.

"That's right," Blaine nodded, voicing smug agreement. "It's good that you know your place, Kurt Hummel."