A/N: From a GKM prompt: Cinderella AU where Sam is the prince and Blaine is Cinderella. The ball is a masked ball, and instead of just dancing together at it they fuck. Blaine tops. Sam makes it his mission to find the guy and marry him, and the only way to do that is to get fucked by everyone to find out whose dick fits him perfectly like the stranger at the ball.

Once upon a time there was a boy named Blaine whose father loved him very much. And Blaine loved his father very much, and although they both missed Blaine's mother, who died when he was very little, they were happy together.

But Blaine's father felt the boy needed a mother. And...he himself was lonely. And so he remarried.

"I don't like new mom," Blaine said as he watched his father adjust his tie before the ceremony. "She doesn't smell nice like my real mom." Blaine didn't actually remember much about his real mom except the private songs she used to sing to him that only the two of them knew and her clean, fresh scent. It was enough, though, to know that new mom was nothing like her.

"Shelby smells different, is all," his father assured him.

Blaine suddenly had a memory of his mother, clearer than any he'd had in a long time. "I remember my real mom smiling and laughing and holding me in her lap and kissing my head. Lots and lots of kisses, all over my head and face."

His father smiled at that memory before his face turned serious again. "Your new mother might not be that demonstrative yet, but she will take care of you and love you. Plus you'll have a brother and sister to play with now."

"She doesn't love me. And Jesse and Rachel are gonna be mean to me."

"I'll never let anyone be mean to you, squirt."

But they were mean to him. Right in the middle of the ceremony, right when Blaine's dad was saying, "For richer or for poorer..." that brat Rachel reached over and pinched him hard. And when he yelped, his new mom gave him this look like he was the one who did something bad.

And Blaine's dad didn't stop any of it.

He said later that he was sorry, that he was distracted by the wedding and didn't know what was going on. And usually he paid more attention and stopped Rachel from pinching or kicking him, and stopped Jesse from stealing his best toys and breaking them. But he couldn't pay attention all the time.

And then one day Blaine's father was gone. An accident, just like his mother had had. Blaine only got to see him one more time, in his coffin, and he couldn't talk or smile or move any more, ever again. And after the funeral Blaine had to go home with new mom, who never, ever stood up for him when Jesse and Rachel were mean to him. That very night, in fact, Jesse tore the head of Blaine's favorite teddy bear and best friend in the whole world, and he didn't even get in trouble for it.

.

Shelby knew there was something wrong with Matt's boy. She had always known. She didn't say anything when Matt was alive because he was so touchy about his son. But the stress of being a young widow left her with very little patience for the boy. Especially when her own two children were so demanding.

As well they should be, of course. They were both immensely talented and had the potential to go far. And, as she always taught them, you don't get anything in this life by waiting around for it. You have to demand your due.

Matt's boy, though. He was a pushover, which was a trait she had nothing but contempt for. And there was something else...

She realized what the other thing was when they were watching the royal wedding on TV. The fact that he begged to be allowed to watch with her and Rachel should have been her first clue: boys weren't usually interested in that sort of thing. Jesse certainly felt he had better things to do. But Blaine had begged, and he'd done extra chores all week, and so Shelby for once gave into him, on the conditions that he sit on the floor so she and Rachel could stretch out on the sofa and that he keep his mouth shut the whole time.

But he didn't keep his mouth shut. When Prince-to-Be Finn appeared on screen for the first time, dressed in the traditional regalia, Blaine squealed and gushed, "He's so handsome! Princess Quinn is so lucky!"

And that was it.

Blaine had no other family, and the law said Shelby was stuck with him. But if she'd felt any qualms about not treating him as an equal of her own children (as if he were even in the same ballpark!) they were gone when she realized he was a little queer.

.

Prince Samuel didn't want a ball.

The last three summers his parents had suggested one, and all three times he had successfully talked them into waiting another year. This time, though, it looked like they were really going to insist.

"You're almost twenty-one," his mother pointed out. "This is way overdue."

"No one gets married in their early twenties anymore!"

"Your sister was eighteen!"

Only because she was already pregnant, Sam thought but didn't say. No one thought he knew, just because he was only thirteen at the time. That, and people thought he was stupid. Instead, he argued, "Exactly! And she already has three little princesses, so succession is assured, so—"

"Samuel," his father interrupted, "walk with me."

The king and prince excused themselves to stroll through the gardens, followed at a discreet distance by their respective guards. Several hundred feet from the castle, surrounded by vibrant rose bushes, his father said, "No one is saying you have to find a bride at the ball."

"Oh!" Sam was taken aback and actually wondered whether his father was trying to trick him somehow. "But...isn't that what these balls are for?"

"Traditionally, yes. But you should know that I'm perfectly willing to change certain traditions to keep up with the times."

This was true. His father—and his mother—had fought tirelessly to change the kingdom's laws so that the crown could be passed down to the eldest child irrespective of gender, for example. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that there had been a complication with Quinn's birth and they didn't think they'd be able to have a second child, but in any case it was the right thing to do. Some in Sam's position might not be happy with the timing of the change, but he had no desire to be king. Being a prince was perfect: it came with all of the perks and none of the responsibilities.

Or, at least, not as many responsibilities. Going through with this damn ball, as his father explained to him, was one that he couldn't get out of anymore.

"Your mother and I know you're not...I'm going to be frank here, son."

"All right."

"We know you have no desire to settle down, as you're having way too much fun sleeping with half the capital."

Sam blushed. It wasn't much of an exaggeration, but he really thought his parents didn't know.

"And furthermore, we know that...we know that it's the male half."

"Father, I—"

"Let me finish. While I do wish you'd managed to be more...Anyway, that's neither here nor there. The important thing is that none of that has anything to do with the ball. The whole kingdom looks forward to it. It's the only chance most citizens have at setting foot inside the castle. Do you have any idea how many commoners dream that maybe one day they'll get to dance with a prince? Not to mention what a good ball does for the tourism economy? There aren't very many kingdoms like ours left, not in the whole world. It's a fantasy, for lots and lots of people. And you're doing it."

Sam argued and whined and pouted, but eventually he realized the ball was going to happen no matter what he said or did. "Can it at least be a masked ball?" he asked.

The king gripped his forehead as if he were getting a headache. "Why masked?"

"Come on! Masks are cool! We'll all be like superheroes."

Now his father was massaging his temples. "Fine. Masks."

The king went back inside, followed by his guards. Sam stayed in the garden, waiting for his own guards to catch up with him. "I'm having a ball," he told them.

"Are you being sarcastic, Your Highness?" Ryder asked. "Because it doesn't look like you're having that much fun, if you don't mind my saying so."

"No, I mean..."

"He means a ball like a party. A dance," Jake explained. When the prince wasn't looking he rolled his eyes at his partner and mouthed the word dumbass at him.

"Right. So I guess you dudes are gonna need some evening wear. And masks."

.

"Mom! Mo-o-om!" Rachel's blood-curdling cry rang throughout the house. Shelby ran to her daughter's room, while Blaine closed the door to the bathroom, cringing. He had a feeling he knew what this was all about.

Sure enough, he soon heard his stepmother bellowing, "Blaine! Get in here!"

Removing his cleaning gloves and setting them on the sink, he took a deep breath before answering the summons.

"Yes?" he asked as casually as he could, trying to ignore Jesse's sudden smirking appearance.

Rachel pointed an accusing finger at the poster of Prince Finn on her bedroom wall. Specifically, she pointed an accusing finger at a crease on one of the edges, and a tiny tear. "Care to explain this, Blaine?"

It was true. He had ripped her poster. It was totally an accident! Shelby had told him to change the sheets on Rachel's and Jesse's beds before they came home from the conservatory—all the schools in the kingdom were giving students a week's vacation in honor of the prince's ball—and he'd had his arms full with sheets and pillows and things and couldn't even see, really, and then Rachel's cat, Lucifer, had darted out between his legs (on purpose, he would almost swear) and tripped him and he fell against the wall where the poster hung.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. I was just—"

"Were you kissing my poster again?"

"No!" Honestly, Rachel had caught him kissing the Prince Finn poster once, and it was when he was twelve, and she and Jesse still brought it up regularly. Shelby too, sometimes.

"He was probably humping it!" Jesse interjected, sending the three of them into peals of laughter.

"I wasn't!" Blaine protested...pointlessly, because no one could hear him, nor did they care. But it was so unfair! He didn't even like Prince Finn anymore. That is, he didn't dislike him or anything—not that he knew him personally, obviously—but he didn't have a crush on him anymore.

No, for some time now he'd been much more taken with the dashing Prince Samuel. So gorgeous, so charming. Totally swoonworthy. Not that he ever let on how he felt about Prince Samuel in front of his stepfamily, for obvious reasons.

Blaine tried to back out of the room, but Rachel fixed her eyes on him before he could make his escape. "And you were just going to hope I wouldn't notice!?

"I was going to replace it."

Rachel scoffed. "Good luck finding a copy. They don't make this one anymore. It's vintage. I expect the replacement to be mint condition, which this one was until you ruined it."

"There's a vintage shop in the capital that I can try tomorrow."

"You can't go running off to the capital tomorrow!" Shelby told him. "We need you here!"

"Honestly, Blaine, like I'm not under enough stress already," Rachel said. "Between my upcoming duet at the showcase after break—"

"With yours truly," Jesse added.

"Oh!" Shelby squealed. She wrapped an arm around each of her children and gushed, "I'm so proud of you both!"

"And getting ready for the ball..." Rachel added.

Blaine still wasn't sure how Shelby had managed to secure invitations for Rachel and Jesse. The family wasn't wealthy, and despite the general assumption that Rachel and Jesse would be famous some day, they were completely unknown. They lived in a boring middle-class suburb and barely knew anyone in the capital, much less the royal court. But somehow the two invitations had shown up in the mail, just like Shelby had said all along they would.

And Shelby was determined that Prince Samuel would fall in love with Rachel at first sight and ask her to be his princess. "The ball is all I want you thinking about," she told her daughter. "If all goes well at the ball, you won't even need to worry about school anymore."

"But, mother!" Rachel crossed her arms. "I plan to have a career! Prince Samuel will just have to accept that!"

"Of course, darling!" Shelby stroked Rachel's hair. "But, just...spring that news on him after the wedding."

Rachel glared at her mother indignantly.

"I'm just saying...royals are very conservative. He'll see reason more clearly after you're married. And the king and queen certainly won't want a divorce in the family."

Rachel glanced longingly at the Prince Finn poster and sighed. "I wish he were the one looking for a bride."

"If he were, then marrying him wouldn't make you a princess," Shelby pointed out. "He married into royalty, remember? Just like you're going to."

"Yeah, I guess," Rachel said wistfully.

"Cheer up, sis. You'll still be living in the castle with him. And if you should happen to wander into his room by 'accident' one night, well, who would be the wiser?"

Blaine had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything. Who would even want to cheat on Prince Samuel? Certainly not anybody who deserved to be with him! It just made him so furious, that it was all he could do to remind himself that there was no way the prince would actually ask Rachel to marry him. He really had nothing to worry about.

Except for how Shelby somehow always managed to get what she wanted for her kids.

"I actually think this ball sounds like it's going to be a total bore," Jesse said.

Before he could think better of it, Blaine piped up, "I'll go! In your place. If you don't want to." The thought of being in the same room with Prince Samuel, maybe even shaking his hand, it sent literal shivers through him.

Of course he was shot down immediately. "You? At the ball? Don't be absurd," his stepmother said. She laughed dismissively and then turned to her son. "It might be a bore, but it's a great opportunity for you too. All the unattached young women from the best families in the kingdom will be there. Plus music industry executives I'll bet. You're graduating soon, and you need to start networking your butt off."

"Oh no!" Rachel clutched dramatically at her throat. "Oh no, I feel a tickle!"

"It's okay, honey," Shelby said, stroking her hair soothingly. "Don't panic."

"But what if the prince wants me to sing at the ball?"

"Oh my god, you're right. Blaine, get your sister some lemon water. Chop-chop!"

Blaine was happy, actually, to be sent from the room, even if it was on a bullshit errand for his "sister."

That small satisfaction disappeared, however, after Rachel took a sip of the water. "Are these Meyer lemons? No, I can't have that."

.

They did go into the capital the next day, not to the vintage shop, but to an exclusive and very expensive dress shop. As soon as Blaine saw someone getting out of a limo and walking in, he stopped in his tracks. "Shelby, I don't think we can afford—"

"Don't you dare ruin this for your sister with your petty provincialism!" Shelby snapped at him.

"Yeah, but..." But Blaine had already been forced to take a second job just to keep up the mortgage payments; all the money his father had left them was long gone, and most of Shelby's money was going to support Jesse and Rachel at the conservatory. And after Jesse graduated in the spring the student loan payments would come due, and Blaine somehow doubted that Shelby would expect Jesse to pay them back on his own.

"Do you expect her to snag a prince wearing something she got at the mall?"

"I could probably buy a used car with what one of these dresses costs."

"Look, do you want Rachel to marry the prince or not?"

No, of course he didn't! She would make poor Prince Samuel miserable. Of course, Blaine couldn't say this. Instead he said, "I'm just not sure an expensive dress is going to be the prince's number one criterion for choosing a bride."

"Just listen to yourself, Blaine! You keep saying dress, like she's just going to some sorority party. Your sister needs a gown for the ball, Blaine. A gown. I only let you come with us because your type is supposed to be so knowledgeable about fashion. I can see that thinking you'd be knowledgeable about anything was a huge mistake on my part."

"Apparently," Blaine agreed. Yes, he was gay, but he owned three pairs of pants, four t-shirts, and two sweaters. And if he ever thought of trying to get Shelby to allow him to spend money on himself, it wouldn't be for clothes.

"Just...keep your mouth shut when we get inside and don't embarrass us."

"Maybe it would be better if he waited in the car," Rachel suggested.

So Blaine was sent back to the car. Shelby neglected to leave him the keys, however, so he had to just stand there in the parking lot, leaning against it, shivering in his light sweater and wishing he'd worn the heavy one.

Suddenly—Blaine didn't see where he came from or anything—but suddenly there was a man there with him. Not just with him, but sitting on the hood of the car, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. "You're underdressed, poor thing," the man said.

"Who...what..." Blaine sputtered.

"I can't stand to see a handsome man underdressed."

"Are...are you from the dress...I mean, the gown store?"

The man laughed. "Hardly. I'm here to rescue you."

Blaine stared at him blankly.

"From the chill. Buy you a cup of coffee?"

Was this guy hitting on him? Blaine had never been hit on before—he really didn't get out much—but he was pretty sure it looked something like this. And yet, that didn't seem to be it.

While Blaine was continuing to stare dumbly, the man made a sprightly dismount off the car and started walking toward the parking lot exit. Over his shoulder he called, "Come on, Blaine. Shelby and Rachel are going to be busy for hours."

It was the strangest thing about the way this guy was walking. He didn't seem to be in any hurry—he seemed to be gliding more than walking—and yet Blaine had to run just to catch up to him by the time they were outside the coffee shop down the block. "How did you..." he had to stop to catch his breath.

The man patted his shoulder and led him to an empty table. "Sit," he said soothingly. "And I'll answer your very reasonable questions after I've gotten our drinks."

No sooner had Blaine settled into his chair than the man was back, two steaming coffees in hand. "Here, have a mocha. I know you don't normally drink them, but you should. They're delicious."

Blaine took a sip and burned his tongue.

"Sorry," the man said, passing him an ice water, which Blaine was pretty sure wasn't there before. "Should have warned you about that."

Blaine let an ice cube melt on his tongue, not taking his eyes off the man. He wanted to see how he did whatever impossible thing he was going to do next.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" the guy finally said.

"Ask you what?"

"The obvious."

"How do you know...How did you..."

"There we go! My name is Kurt, and I really must apologize for not coming to see you sooner. It's no excuse, given your level of need, but I really do have an awful lot of boys assigned to me."

"That doesn't really answer my question."

"You are a feisty one, aren't you? With me, anyway. I'm not sure why can't show this level of spirit with that awful so-called family of yours. Besides, technically you didn't really ask a question. But, yes, I know what you were getting at, of course, and so I'll skip to the answer. My name is Kurt, and I'm your fairy godmother."

"Fairy godmother," Blaine repeated, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Surely you've heard of fairy godmothers before."

"You're a man."

"Pfft," Kurt said with a dismissive hand wave. "Young people today. Always so literal."

"Oh. Oh," Blaine said, an embarrassed laugh escaping. "I'm sorry. I...yeah, I actually thought you meant, like, that you were literally a fairy. With, like, magical powers and stuff. Wow. I can't believe I thought you were serious for a second."

"No, no," Kurt said, taking one of Blaine's hands in both of his and looking at him earnestly. "By which I mean, yes. That part is literally true. The part that's only figuratively true is the godmother part. Because, as you've noticed, I'm male. Though I wouldn't say man per se, as that implies a human..."

"Okay." Blaine stood up. "This has been nice, but...how much do I owe you for the mocha?"

"Sit down, Blaine. If I'm not your fairy godmother, then how do I know about Rachel throwing a fit over her cheap poster and Jesse saying that you were humping it?"

Blaine froze. But then he realized: "Jesse must have told you. And now he's setting me up for some elaborate prank..."

"Then how do I know it's really Prince Sam who you like?"

"I don't. I mean, so what if I did? Everyone likes Prince Samuel. He seems like...you know, like a nice guy. Like someone who'd be fun to go get a beer with."

"Mmm, he is," Kurt agreed. "He's even more fun to do tequila shots with. But let's not get into that right now. How about this?"

Blaine waited. Kurt hummed to himself for a few seconds before he started singing quietly: "Salagadoola mechicka boola..."

He paused, and Blaine joined in with: "Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo."

Blaine fell back into his chair. "How did you..."

"I've been trying to tell you, Blaine," Kurt said gently.

"But my mom used to sing me that song, and no one else knows it. I always thought she made it up!"

"She did."

"So you..." It didn't make any sense, what Kurt was claiming. But he didn't know how else to explain how he could know that song. "So you've really been watching me my whole life?" he whispered.

"Yes!" Kurt said, smiling.

"I thought fairy godmothers were supposed to help their...their godchildren."

"Yes, exactly! That's why I'm here."

"If you're supposed to help me then why did you let them die?" Blaine shouted. Everyone turned to stare, but he didn't care. "What the fuck kind of fairy godmother are you anyway if you just watched them die? That's when I could have used some fucking help!"

"Oh, sweetie." Kurt tried to take Blaine's hand, but Blaine yanked it away. "Fairy godmothers' powers aren't nearly that strong. We can see everything, but when it comes to doing things, it's mostly just parlor tricks. Conjuring stuff, that kind of thing." A plate of buttermilk scones appeared on the table.

"You could have at least talked to me before now," Blaine said, through tears. "You could have been my friend or something, couldn't you? I've been all alone for almost my whole life."

"Ye-eah. I really am sorry, Blaine. I know I should spend more time with orphans who need me than with hot blond...but, Blaine, fairies have needs too!"

Blaine didn't even look up. If this jerk was just going to talk about his own needs, it was hard to see how he was any different than Rachel or Jesse. (Though they wouldn't have given him a mocha or a plate of scones, even if they could conjure them out of thin air.)

"Anyway," Kurt said chipperly, "I'm here to help you now. You have to listen to me, Blaine, and get out of that house. Your stepmother is awful, and she's killing your spirit."

Blaine waited. Kurt didn't seem inclined to go on. Finally Blaine said, "That's it?"

"Yes!"

"That's not even a parlor trick! That's advice. It's obvious advice. You think I don't know that she's killing my spirit? You think I don't know that I have to get out? Now I think the scones really were just a parlor trick. Were they up your sleeve or something?"

"They certainly were not!"

"You could at least conjure me a house or something, if you want me to move out so bad."

Kurt shook his head. "We can't do anything big and obvious. There are so many regulations...you'd be amazed."

"Regulations. Of course." Blaine picked up one of the scones and, out of curiosity more than anything, took a small bite. It was delicate and flaky and quite literally the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

Kurt grinned with satisfaction. "It's good, right? I know I'm a crap fairy godmother in a lot of ways, but when I'm good, I'm very, very good."

Blaine nodded and gulped down the rest of the scone. He took another and tried to savor this one, knowing he wouldn't eat anything this good again for a long, long time. If ever. He thought about asking his fairy godmother to conjure him some more to take home and put in the freezer. Shelby and Rachel and Jesse wouldn't even notice them—he did all the cooking, so they hardly ever went in the freezer anyway, and especially not now that they were so preoccupied with the...

"Conjure me an invitation to the prince's ball!"

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"That's not big or obvious," Blaine pointed out. "Lots of commoners will be there. And anyway, it's a masked ball."

"Yes, that would be well within the regulations. But, Blaine. How does going to the ball help you get out of your stepmother's house?"

"Well. There will be lots of single women there, some of them wealthy, and—"

Kurt chuckled. "Blaine, Blaine, Blaine. You forget that I know everything. You also don't seem to realize that boys who like girls don't get fairy godmothers like me."

"I just meant—"

"It's fine." Kurt drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table. It wasn't a long-term solution to Blaine's problems, but getting Blaine laid certainly couldn't hurt. In a way it was the least Kurt could do, after he really hadn't been there for him. "Okay," he announced. "I'll get you to the prince's balls."

"He's throwing more than one?" Blaine asked.

"Oh, you're too precious."

.

Sam never brought men to his own bedroom at the palace, so it was disorienting to be woken up before sunrise by another person in his bed. But just momentarily. "Well, if it isn't my favorite fairy godmother!" he said, pulling the sheets back to reveal a very naked and already very hard Kurt.

Kurt stretched, arching his back so his dick stood up even more. "I wouldn't want you to miss your weekly injection."

"Best part of my week," Sam agreed, his own dick starting to harden. It wasn't always literally the best part, but he did always enjoy it. The weekly injections had been going on for...well, since Sam started sleeping around a lot, so over five years now. The first time was at boarding school. Sam had made it back to his room just in time for curfew after sneaking into town with some friends to see a movie. He would have made it back sooner, but he stayed after the movie to hook up with the cute concessions guy.

And there was Kurt, sitting on his bed, waiting for him. Sam hadn't seen him in a few years, not since he first discovered he had a fairy godmother. He'd come that first time to explain to Sam that, yes, the feelings he was having meant he was gay, and, yes, that was perfectly fine.

Now he looked stern, though. Not comforting like the first time. "You're going to get yourself killed, the way you're going," Kurt informed him.

"Um." Sam glanced toward the door. Curfew check was any second, and being a prince really didn't get him any special leeway for stuff like having unauthorized visitors in his room (which totally sucked). "Can you hide or something?"

Kurt rolled his eyes, but he vanished just in time, just before Mr. Schuester knocked.

"I'm here!" Sam said, throwing open the door.

"You and who else?" his housemaster asked, peering around.

"Just me, of course." Sam stepped aside so Mr. Schuester could come in. "Everyone else is in their own room. I mean, I should hope so anyway. Otherwise they're breaking curfew."

Mr. Schuester came in and checked. He checked in the closet and behind the curtains and even under the bed. He knew the prince was up to something, but he couldn't prove anything, so he wished him a good night and went on to check the next room.

Kurt reappeared as soon as Sam was alone again. "You're a prince," he lectured. "You can't go around fucking strange men in movie theater restrooms.

"He didn't know who I was!" Sam protested. "I was wearing a trucker hat and sunglasses."

"Wow, that's almost as good a disguise as Clark Kent's."

"Better," Sam said. "Clark Kent wears regular glasses and no trucker hat."

"Just listen to yourself!"

Sam crossed his arms and flopped down petulantly onto his bed. "You told me it was okay to be gay."

"It is okay to be gay. It's okay to be gay and slutty. You just need to start using some common sense. You don't even use condoms!"

Sam scrunched up his nose. "I tried them and I hate them."

Kurt sighed and sat down next to him on the bed. "Yeah. I hate them too. Of course, fairies don't have to worry about STDs."

"Must be nice," Sam said.

Kurt looked Sam up and down. "I could help you, actually. Share my immunity with you."

Sam's face lit up. "You could? Do it, then." Kurt hesitated, so Sam added, "I command you!"

Kurt laughed. "I'm not one of your subjects. You don't get to command me."

"Oh. Right. Well, then...please?"

"You want my..." Kurt took Sam's hand and slowly brought it toward himself, giving Sam plenty of time to resist if he had been so inclined, and placed it over the bulge in his pants. "You want my fairy injection?"

Sam might have laughed at the words fairy injection, but there was nothing funny about what he was feeling. It was so hard and so big. Before tonight he had only slept with his schoolmates, boys his own age, and none of them were this big. He swallowed hard and asked, "Where would you, uh...give it to me?"

"You know where." Kurt spoke softly into his ear. "The same place you give it to your little school friends."

"But..." It was hard to deny that the idea was turning him on, but it didn't seem right. "But I'm royalty."

"So?" Kurt asked. Sam hadn't moved his hand away, and Kurt rubbed against it.

"So...a prince shouldn't take it in the ass."

"Well, that's your hang up. If you don't want it, that's up to you. But I will remind you again that to me you're just another human."

"That's true," Sam said.

"If anything, you should be kneeling before me."

And the suggestion was somehow so appealing to Sam that he found himself doing just that. He sank to his knees as Kurt stood in front of him and placed a hand on his head. Kurt's pants came open all on their own, and there was the prettiest cock Sam had ever seen. Not that he'd seen that many yet, but it was so pink and perfect and...big. Really, really big. Not sure which answer he was hoping for, he asked, "Will it hurt?"

"It'll feel amazing," Kurt promised, and Sam believed him.

Sam had sucked a couple guys' dicks before (never on his knees though!), but he knew he wasn't really good at it yet. He really, really wanted to be good for Kurt, though. Especially after he got his first taste! It was somehow sweet and meaty at the same time, even though it wasn't like food at all, it was like...like...the only thing Sam ever wanted in his mouth again, even if it meant he would starve to death. He sucked on it greedily until Kurt pushed his head away. "You can have an oral injection another time," he said. "But now I want your ass."

Sam peered up at him and nodded earnestly. He didn't even care about the STD protection or whatever, he just wanted Kurt's dick inside him. He clambered to his feet—vaguely aware that all his clothes had disappeared—and bent over the bed, the same position he liked to put his friends in before taking them.

He felt Kurt massaging his ass with something slippery, and then a strong, pleasant scent that he couldn't quite place hit him. "Dude, is that..."

"Don't ever call me dude, sweetie," Kurt said. "And it's coconut oil."

For a second that struck Sam as a very strange thing to be rubbing into his ass, but he quickly decided: "I like it!"

"Mm-hmm," Kurt agreed. "I find it much more sensual than lube." He slid an oil-slick finger up inside Sam's ass and added, "Of course, you can't use oil with condoms. Thank heavens that's not a problem for us."

"Fuck yeah," Sam gasped.

The finger in his ass became two. By the time two became three, he felt almost ready to come undone. When the fingers were removed he felt bereft, but then he felt that magnificent cock pressing up against his entrance instead. "Yes," he said. "Please."

Kurt pressed in slowly—the deflowering of a boy as beautiful as this prince was not only an experience to be savored, it was also a sacred responsibility. It had to be done respectfully, delicately...

"Harder, dude! Come on!"

Okay, then.

Sam didn't expect Kurt to start fucking him quite so hard quite so suddenly. It wasn't just his ass that was filled with cock, but it was like his whole being was consumed with it. It was, just as Kurt had promised, amazing. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," he chanted.

Kurt knew he should have gone easier on the boy, but he just couldn't. Not with how warm and tight and perfect he was. And certainly not with how desperate he sounded.

Sam felt a tension building deep inside himself. It didn't start in his dick, and so he didn't recognize what it was until the orgasm was ripping through him, rendering him a shrieking, trembling mess. Just as his tremors were dying down, Kurt's "injection" blasted into that sensitive, secret spot buried within, setting off a series of aftershocks.

Jake heard screams from the prince's bedroom next door. He sprang out of bed, grabbing his weapon from the night stand, and rushed through the connecting door. There he saw the prince, naked, face down on the bed, ass hanging over the edge. "Your Highness! Where's the assailant?" He knew, of course, that the prince had become sexually active with other boys of late. He also knew that the prince had a distinct preference for not being the one in this particular position.

"Jake," Sam muttered happily, not bothering to lift his head. "I'm fine. It was so good."

"So you're telling me this was consensual?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed.

"Where is...he?"

"I guess he disappeared. He's a fairy."

Jake didn't comment on the gay slur, guessing the prince meant it affectionately. He draped a blanket over the prince, who didn't seem inclined to move, and said, "Your Highness, may I speak frankly?"

"Go ahead, dude."

"If you're going to be doing...this...in the dorms, I'd suggest you try to keep the noise level down. I can protect you from a lot of things, but getting expelled isn't one of them."

Kurt reappeared as soon as Jake had gone. "He's right, you know. Also, I should warn you: don't let other guys fuck you that hard right away. I used a charm so it won't hurt until tomorrow, but—"

"Can you use the charm every time you give me my injection?"

"Um...yeah, of course, but I'm talking about with other guys."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. I'm not going to let anyone beneath me do that to me."

"Well, that's up to you. You sure seemed to like it, though."

"But I'm a prince."

Kurt thought the young prince would change his mind after reflecting on what he was missing out on, but he never did: Sam never took it in the ass from anyone else. Kurt, on the other hand, didn't have any hangups about bottoming for an inferior, so there was plenty of variety to what became their weekly assignations.

This week Kurt suggested, "I was thinking you might be due for an oral injection."

"Were you, now?" Sam knew Kurt had a thing for his mouth—lots of guys did—and he gave him his best flirty, crooked smile that showed off the fullness of his lips and just a little bit of tongue. "I'd be happy to take it in my mouth. But first..." He flipped Kurt onto his stomach and spread his legs apart. Sam liked blowjobs as much as the next guy, but it hardly seemed worth getting woken up this early without someone getting fucked.

Kurt groaned and squirmed against the mattress. For however many hundreds of years old he was—and Sam was never able to pin him down on an exact age—he was like a perpetual teenager in terms of horniness.

"Oil?" Sam asked.

Kurt gestured at the bedside table, where a jar of coconut oil, already warmed to body temperature, appeared. Sam dipped his fingers into the jar, gathering a generous amount to coat his lover with. He tended to drag this part out a little longer than necessary whenever he was preparing to fuck Kurt, just because he so loved watching the beautiful fairy writhe and wriggle impatiently on his fingers.

"Sam..." Kurt never begged. He was a magical being, for crying out loud. But the plaintive tone in his voice when he said Sam wasn't entirely dissimilar to begging.

He groaned, low and throaty, when the prince finally slid his cock into him.

And Sam groaned too. So it wasn't like Kurt was taking advantage of his own godchild. Or, at least, it wasn't entirely like that.

Sam knew that Kurt could take as rough a fucking as he cared to give. But it was early and he was still a little sleepy, and so he fucked him languorously. Slowly but deeply, hitting all the spots that drove Kurt crazy. It was enough to push him right up to the edge, but not quite enough to push him over it.

"Baby..."

"You like that, Kurt?"

"Yes, but...I need to come, sweetie!" Kurt tried to grind up harder onto Sam's cock, but Sam was holding him in place too firmly.

Sam sucked a spot on his neck before whispering in his ear, reminding him, "You can't come yet anyway. You have to save it for my oral injection."

Kurt groaned again, but this time it was in exasperation.

Sam knew not to push him too hard, or he would just disappear—literally—and get some other guy to take care of him, leaving no one to take care of Sam but his own hand. And anyway, Sam needed to come now too. Kurt's begging always did that to him.

Finally Sam started drilling him hard. Kurt bit down on and screamed into a down pillow.

"Oh, god, Kurt!" Something about Kurt's screams got him every time, and soon he was filling Kurt's ass with his come.

Limp and relaxed, he let Kurt push him off and roll him over onto his back. Kurt knelt over his face, and Sam compliantly opened his mouth to let Kurt face-fuck him.

He ended up unable to just lie there and take it, though. Kurt still had the nicest dick he'd ever tasted...and Sam couldn't stand to just let Kurt face-fuck him, he had to pull him closer and suck on it, hard. And Kurt's come...god, that tasted even better. He got a nice big blast, which he held in his mouth for a long time before swallowing it with a satisfied gulp.

Kurt climbed off and lay next to him, resting his head on Sam's chest. "You're so good at that," he sighed contentedly.

"Yeah, well. Lucky for me my weekly injection tastes amazing." He kissed the top of Kurt's head and closed his eyes.

"Don't go back to sleep, Sam."

"Why not?" the prince murmured sleepily. "It's early."

"Because I need to talk to you."

"'Bout what?"

"About the ball."

Sam pulled the covers over his head. "The ball is the last thing I want to talk about. Why does everybody want to talk about this stupid ball all the time?"

"I know, sweetie." Kurt patted his shoulder over the blanket. "But I have this godson, an orphan, horrible family life—"

"I thought he was an orphan."

"He is."

"Then how does he have a family life?"

"It's his stepfamily. May I continue?"

Sam answered with an affirmative grunt.

"He's completely hung up on you, and, long story short, he asked for an invitation to the ball."

"Fine. You didn't have to bother me with this, you know. My father's people are sending out invitations to anyone who wants them, practically."

"Yes, but that's not what I'm asking. It would mean so much to him if you would...show him a good time."

Sam peeked out from under the blanket and gave Kurt that crooked smile again. "Fuck him, you mean?"

"Yes, of course I mean fuck him. But gently. He's a virgin."

"Mmm..." Fucking a virgin was supposed to be the best thing ever or something, but Sam generally preferred guys with some experience. "Is he hot?"

"Very. Dark curly hair, beautiful amber eyes, and this ass that just makes you want to sink your cock inside it and—"

"Why don't you then?"

Kurt sighed. "I'd love to. But he's my godson, and—"

"I'm your godson too," Sam reminded him. "When has that ever stopped you?"

"If you'll let me finish...This godson, unlike you, is a romantic. He wants his first time to be with the man he's in love with. And that's you."

"But...he hasn't even met me. Has he?"

"No, not in person. But you have that effect on people."

"Because I'm just that charming?"

"You are, actually. It should be your name, in fact. Prince Charming."

Sam chortled. "Yeah, that'll definitely catch on."

"So will you do it, sweetie?"

Sam would have liked to say sure. Normally he would have. He trusted Kurt's opinion on the guy's hotness, and he wasn't exactly averse to fucking hot guys even if they maybe weren't that skilled yet. But it was the fucking ball, and so he had to answer, "I don't know, Kurt. My parents are, like...they're really serious about this ball and how I'm supposed to be a good host or whatever, and the king has specifically warned me not to wander off for any 'liaisons' because I'm supposed to mingle and shit, and dance with the girls, and..."

"Mmm, yes, I see the problem. Well, just introduce yourself to him at the ball, and then you can make a date for later, and—"

"No!" Sam sat up in bed. "No! Are you crazy?"

"What on earth is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? You're the one who's supposed to be all-knowing and you don't even get the genius of the masked ball!"

"You told your father it was because masks are cool. Like superheroes."

"Yeah, of course that's what I told him. And he bought it because he thinks I'm a huge dork."

"You are a huge dork," Kurt said. "But in the most adorable way."

"Yeah. Thanks. I still can't believe you don't get it."

"Enlighten me, then."

"He said he doesn't expect me to find someone to settled down with at this thing, right? But what if he really does? Or my mother, what if she's going to start in right after the ball with, you know, asking me about the eligible young ladies I met. But if I don't even know who anybody is because of the masks, then that's that."

"So you think your father just told you you don't need to find a bride so he could lull you into a false sense of complacency."

"Maybe," Sam said. "People tend to think I'm naive and then use it against me."

"Sam, your parents are the most honest monarchs I've ever met. Ever. And I've known a lot of monarchs."

"Maybe. I mean, yeah, generally they are, but...I mean, they did manage to convince everyone that Princess Beth was conceived in wedlock.

"That's not the same as plotting against their own son."

"You can't be too careful."

"Okay, you're being ridiculous," Kurt said.

"Am I." Sam knew what people thought of him. Usually they didn't have the nerve to say it right to his face, though.

"Yes. You can still have your little masks and you don't have to ask any of the girls' names. You don't have to ask any of the guys' names. Just, I'll have my godson tell you I sent him and then you can get his number...no big deal."

Sam got up and stood by the side of the bed. "I don't care for your condescending tone."

"Conde-...?" Kurt got up too. "Sam, stop being such a baby about this. What I'm asking you for is such a little thing. I don't like to bring up how much you owe me..."

"How much I owe you?"

"I mean...you're my godson and it's my pleasure to help you, of course, but where do you think you'd be without your weekly injections?"

"Oh. Wow. Are you even being serious right now?"

"Of course I'm being serious. Now, I'm not saying I find them disagreeable, but..."

"You have a lot of fucking nerve, Kurt." Kurt took a step backward, and Sam told him, "Sit down." Kurt sat on the edge of the bed. He was fully clothed again. Sam wasn't, but that didn't bother him. He laughed and said, "I can't believe you really don't remember...I guess you shouldn't drink tequila."

"Remember what?" Kurt asked nervously. The mention of tequila had him a little worried. He didn't always remember everything from nights involving tequila shots.

"It was...around a year ago, I guess. You get talkative when you're drunk, you know. And you let something slip about the weekly injections."

"Oh god."

"Yeah. So I know the first one is the only one that actually did anything to protect me. All the other times—all the fucking hundreds of other times—have been totally useless."

"Well, I wouldn't say they've been useless," Kurt protested.

Sam glared at him.

"Okay, I never lied to you," Kurt said. "I just...I never said the injections had to be recurring, you're the one who got that in your head somehow. I just...never disabused you of the notion."

"You sounded a lot sorrier the night you drunkenly confessed," Sam said softly. "You seemed so remorseful. You said you just couldn't help it because you liked fucking me so much, and you thought I liked it too, which I did, but you never meant to hurt me, and you asked me to please, please forgive you."

"I did never mean to hurt you."

"Yeah, well. That's why I did forgive you. Because I really thought you were sincerely sorry, and besides, you were right about me liking it too. So I not only forgave you, but I even agreed to keep playing along."

Kurt smiled weakly. "This is why you're my favorite godson ever."

"Why? Because I'm so easy to manipulate?"

"No! Because you're—"

"I agreed to play along. As in, both of us knowing it was just a game. Apparently, you've thought all along that I was still in the dark. And not only that, but now you're also trying to make me think I owe you for it? You're going to try to use it as leverage against me to get your new favorite godson laid?"

"No! It's not like that at all."

"Cut the bullshit, Kurt, it's exactly like that. So here's the deal. I don't care if this guy comes to the ball. I'm sure none of this is his fault, and I couldn't really stop you from getting an invitation for him anyway. But if you ever want me to forgive you again, you'd better make damn sure I can't tell who this guy is. That means he doesn't tell me his name or let me see his face the entire night. And you're not allowed to tell me who he is either. Understand?"

"I think you might actually really like him, if you'd just—"

"Do we have an understanding or not?"

"Sure. Okay."

"Now get out."

Kurt disappeared without another word. Knowing he was probably still listening, though, Sam added, "And in case you were wondering, our weekly date is canceled indefinitely!"