(Author's note: This story has included D/s elements throughout, but this particular chapter is very intense, so you may want to make sure you have something or someone to hug. Also, this is the last chapter, and it does not exactly end happily, but there is more story to come, so I just want to reassure you things will get better for Finn and Blaine. And worse, but that's another story. -amy)


Chapter 11

Finn opened the door to Java the Hut with a jingle of the bell that hung there, and he paused to let the air conditioning cool his skin. The surprise heatwave made him glad that school was out; sitting in hot classrooms trying to take exams had been hard, and the distraction of Puck still being gone and Carl falling into . . . something . . . with Ms. P. He shook his head. He really didn't get that, but considering how many people he himself was juggling, he didn't have anything he could complain about.

Seeing Blaine there, waiting for him, should have calmed him down, but all it did was make him feel more anxious. He put a hand on Blaine's shoulder, in answer to his smile, and squeezed.

"There's something we need to talk about," he said quietly.

"Hello to you, too," said Blaine, quirking an eyebrow at him. "What's up?"

Finn pulled out the chair across from Blaine and sat down, leaning in close enough that their knees touched under the table. He dropped his voice even lower. "It's about what happened on Wednesday."

"I promised you it won't happen again, and it won't." Blaine's voice was defensive.

"I know," Finn said, resting his hand on top of Blaine's. "You're a good boy. But I think- you need something more than what I'm already giving you."

Blaine's eyes flicked around the half-empty coffeehouse. "Do you want something to drink?"

"You can't avoid having this conversation with me," Finn said with a wry smile.

"I'm not avoiding," Blaine replied. At Finn's raised eyebrow, he persisted. "I'm really not. I just think I need coffee, if we're really going to talk about this."

"Lime Italian soda, please." Blaine twisted his face and shook his head. "What? My mom's made them for me since I was a kid."

"I don't like lime," Blaine said with a grimace. "Too tart."

"More for me, then," Finn said with a shrug.

He drummed his fingers on the table while Blaine was busy at the counter, and he caught Irene giving him an odd look as she slid both drinks over to Blaine. Blaine set the Italian soda in front of Finn, and poked his straw into his iced mocha, taking a long sip.

"I think you need to come with me to Carl's office," said Finn. He watched Blaine's eyes grow large over his cup, then set his drink down, swallowing.

"Are you sure? I thought we were doing okay, just you and me."

Finn sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah. Me too, but... Wednesday, it was like, you were somewhere I didn't even know you could go, and it was all I could do to drag you back." He thought for a moment. "Remember how I was telling you about how what Carl does is different from what we do? How you... lose yourself, kind of, and be whatever he tells you to be?"

Blaine sighed and closed his eyes. Finn watched something clouded cross Blaine's features, he didn't know if it was relief or pain or . . . wanting? "Yeah," Blaine said, eyes still closed. "I remember."

"Well, I think you might... need that." Finn watched him anxiously. "There's nothing wrong with that, Blaine. I just don't think I can do it. Like, I don't know how."

"And you think he can help? You think . . . he could teach us both how to do that?" He sounded almost hopeful, and Finn just wanted to wrap him up and hold him for hours, because he really was such a good boy, so willing and trusting.

"Maybe." He smiled, feeling encouraged by Blaine's faith in him. "Yeah, maybe he can? He's a good teacher. I've learned a lot from him."

There was a snort from the vicinity of the counter, but Finn wasn't sure if that was about him or not, so he ignored it.

"Where is he, anyway? I thought you guys had been working on something new." Blaine nudged his guitar case with his foot. "You can sing with me, if you want."

"I'd love that." The tension between them was gone, now. "Carl has a - well, I guess it's a date. He's been seeing this client, and I think it's turning into something more." His voice dropped. "It's a girl. Uh, a woman. That's a little weird."

"I bet," Blaine said with a little wrinkle of his nose. "No offense to Rachel or anything, but girls are just gross."

Finn had to laugh at that, and he was pretty sure that, behind the espresso machine, Irene was laughing, too. "My boyfriend thinks the same thing about girls," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But - there was this one time... his dad's kind of a regular guy, and I think he thought maybe he thought his dad wanted him to be, like, a regular guy too?" He grinned. "He tried wearing flannel shirts and singing Mellencamp, and dating this friend of his, and... it was just..." Finn shuddered. "Really wrong."

"I kissed a girl, once, but only because she made me." Blaine made another face, and there was something dark in his eyes, like the memory surrounding the kiss was a bad one. He didn't want to ask in public, but to his surprise Blaine kept talking. "My parents were fighting a lot, in middle school, and my best friend came over one night when I was freaking out, and she kissed me."

"Huh." Finn tilted his head. "Why do you think she did that?"

"Because I get all tangled up in my head sometimes, and she always knows how to help me when I'm like that. And, she's kind of pushy and she really likes sex, and she sometimes does things without thinking them all the way through."

Finn hesitated before saying, "There were these girls at my school, back in January... they decided I needed... uh, to lose my virginity?" He shook his head at Blaine's expression. "I mean, with girls."

Blaine gave him a grimace. "Really? How did... um. Did you..."

Finn waited as Blaine trailed off, letting him flounder for a few seconds before rescuing him. "I did, but it was totally awful. I think she felt bad that they couldn't... you know. Get me off. Like it was some kind of failure on her part that I'm not interested in her that way?"

"Then why are you with Rachel, if girls don't . . . do it for you?" Blaine toyed with the wrapper from his straw where it was curled on the table.

Finn took a long sip of his lime soda before replying. "I used to date girls, before I realized what was going on with me, and I liked them just fine... but Rachel, we've always had something different. I'm not even sure how to explain why, but... when we sing together, there's something there. I kind of love her, you know?" He shook his head. "You're the first person I've said that to, besides her. Is that totally weird?"

Blaine shrugged. "I think I'm the last person you should ask about anything being weird. If you love her, that's great. If your boyfriends don't mind, why should anybody else care what it is that gives you those feelings?"

"They're not crazy about it, but they want me to be happy. And Rachel, she wasn't crazy about the idea of me being with them, either, but... I think she's okay with it now." He smiled. "She's kind of odd. Most people at my school don't really like her. I think sometimes I'm the only one who sees what's amazing about her. And everybody deserves that, right?"

Blaine smiled warmly at Finn. "Yes," he said in a whisper. "You're really good at that, seeing underneath and into people. And... if you think that we need Carl to help us - to help me... then I think we should go."

Finn couldn't help himself. He leaned over and took Blaine into his arms and hugged him tight. "That's my good boy," he whispered. "I promise, I'll take care of you."


Carl's office usually provided an oasis of calm Finn's busy life, but tonight his stomach was jumpy and he couldn't relax. Angela averted her eyes as Finn entered, and she smiled a little as he opened the door for Blaine.

"Good evening, sir," she said. "May I tell Dr. Howell you're here?"

"Sure," he said. His hand on Blaine's back guided him forward to stand before the desk. "This is... Blaine."

"Hey," Blaine said softly. Angela's smile stayed gentle and bland.

"Blaine," she repeated. "I have some paperwork for you to complete, if you wouldn't mind." She returned her attention to Finn, bowing her head just slightly. "Will you be signing for him, sir?"

Yes, I'll be giving Carl permission to beat the crap out of him, he thought, and swallowed his hysterical laugh. "I'm responsible for him," he said instead. He felt Blaine relax a little at the words, and he looked up at Finn in obvious relief.

"Take a look at the pictures on the wall while I read this over," Finn suggested, and gave Blaine's shoulder a squeeze. "They're... interesting."

It took Blaine about six images and less than two minutes before Finn heard the gasp. He grinned to himself. He's quick - my boy's smart. It was a remarkably heady feeling.

"They're, uh..." Blaine turned his head in to face Finn, blushing. "They're close-ups of things. That you'd hit... somebody with."

"No," said Finn. "Not somebody."

His hand on Blaine's back drifted down to brush the curving line above his ass, and Blaine made a strangled noise. They were standing like that when Carl came out of the office. He felt his hand tighten on Blaine's hip, pulling him closer. Possessive. Mine, he could practically hear himself say, just with that gesture, and he gazed across the room at Carl.

Carl paused, barely perceptibly, but Finn caught it. He was in scrubs today, and as always, it was impossible to tell whether they were props or the real thing. Carl made eye contact with Finn, and waited for him to look down before turning his attention on Blaine.

"Finn," he said. "Won't you introduce me to your boy?"

Finn knew it was a concession to protocol that he was acknowledging Blaine at all, but Finn had asked him to treat Blaine like an ordinary client, not like one of his subs. Even though he totally is one, Finn's inner voice nudged at him. I mean, look at him.

Blaine was frozen in place, his eyes on Carl's sternum. His breath was coming a little quickly, and when Finn's hand moved to hold Blaine's fingers, they were cold.

"Sir," Finn said, and he heard Blaine's breath catch at the word, his eyes flickering up to Finn's briefly. Finn smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "This is Blaine. He... uh, hasn't completed his paperwork yet."

"Not a problem," Carl said smoothly. "Why don't you take him into my office and sit there while you write? Angela can bring you anything you need. I'm going to get changed."

Finn nodded, and had to pull Blaine's hand a little before he would move, but after that Blaine followed docilely enough down the hall and through the second door on the left. He blinked a little at the fire crackling away in the stone fireplace, the muted decor, the couch and table with blatantly obvious O-rings fixed in the corners.

Finn set his bag down and guided Blaine to the couch, where he handed him the clipboard and a pen. "I signed all the parts that have to do with you needing permission. You should read them over and make sure there's nothing you're uncomfortable with, okay? And... you need to come up with a safe word."

Blaine nearly dropped the clipboard, but he managed to keep control of the pen, and his voice was only a little bit terrified. "A - okay."

"Does it ask for two? Sometimes you need one to slow down and one to stop... but I think Carl just wanted the one. So this would be a word that means I'm done now, and you should really go."

Blaine looked positively alarmed at this idea. "I don't think I'd ever want you to do that," he said.

"Well, then." Finn regarded him impassively. "You shouldn't ever say it to me."

Blaine nodded silently before returning to the form. Once Blaine was sufficiently distracted, Finn opened Carl's third drawer and took out the paper bag he'd stored there. It had been over a month ago that Carl had convinced him to buy it. He'd been so afraid to do anything with it that it had sat in Kurt's glove compartment for a week and a half before he'd brought it to Carl and asked his advice. Keep it here, he'd said. You'll want it eventually. There's no rush.

It was now or never, he knew, but that didn't make it any easier. Finn went to stand beside the fireplace, feeling the heat of the blaze on his back, and he took a deep breath. "Blaine."

Blaine looked up immediately, setting the pen on the table. Finn held out his hand. "Come here."

Blaine stood and walked to him, taking his hand. His expression was one of absolute trust, and Finn was rocked by the emotion that washed over him. He had to close his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Blaine was waiting in silence, looking anxious.

"You're such a good boy," he murmured, and touched his hair. Blaine's anxiety was erased, and he flushed, leaning into Finn's touch.

"I wasn't sure if it was really okay for me to... to be here," Blaine admitted. "You don't mind?"

"No," Finn said. "But you need something, before we do anything else. Something that's going to help you stay connected to me, through... whatever it is Carl wants you to do. Something you can hang on to, when you're scared, to know I'm always there with you."

Blaine looked so confused that Finn nearly smiled, but he wanted to keep the occasion a solemn one, just as his own had been. "Okay," he said at last. "Whatever you think I need, I'm okay with that."

Finn nodded. "Carl's going to... he'll want you to know how to stand, when he gives you certain commands. We should practice them now. Are you done with your form?"

"Almost," Blaine said, and Finn nodded again. Blaine picked up the clipboard and showed Finn where he'd signed. Finn flipped through, re-reading the clauses about indemnification against physical damage with entirely new eyes. He had another rush of fierce protectiveness, and he took Blaine in his arms, clutching him close.

"You're mine," he said, and Blaine sighed, resting his head on Finn's chest.

"Yours," he agreed.

Finn took the clipboard and set it on Carl's desk. "He'll ask you to rest," he said. "That means you put your hands behind you, like this... and your feet apart. You can look at the floor, but better to look at the wall across from you." Finn coaxed Blaine's shoulders up, his chest down, his back straight. "That's good."

Blaine smiled a little at the praise. "Okay. I feel like I'm in the military or something."

"Yeah, Carl was a lieutenant," Finn agreed. "That's where he met his Top. You'll meet her someday, I'm sure."

"Her?" Blaine blurted, and stared at Finn, but Finn put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Just keep that position until I tell you. He's... very particular." Finn circled him slowly, adjusting, and watched Blaine slip into a kind of light trance. So simple, he marveled. "Okay. The next one is on your knees."

He helped Blaine drop to the floor, his feet tucked under him, perched on his toes, knees together. He took his wrists and held them in his lap, touching the pads of his hands together. When he let go, Blaine didn't separate his hands, as though they were held together by invisible magnets. Finn nodded approval.

"When he asks you to kneel, do it like this. Are you all right?"

"Yes," Blaine said, and he did seem to be. His breathing was even, his shoulders relaxed, and as Finn went to stand in front of him, he tipped his chin up, blinking up at him. "Am I doing well?"

"Oh, yeah," Finn breathed. "You're doing so well."

He picked up the paper bag and opened it, drawing the collar out, and held it in his hands for Blaine to see. Blaine went as still as a statue, and Finn watched the pupils of his eyes grow huge and luminous.

"Oh," he whispered.

"I want you to wear this, Blaine," said Finn. He had to pause a moment before he could go on. "You're mine, but in this office, Carl makes the rules. He will ask you to do things - never force you - that you haven't done with anyone except me. And I want you to know it's okay. But at the same time, I need you to know that you still belong to me."

Blaine reached out a finger and hesitated before touching the ring on the front, the carefully tooled brown leather. "It's... " He looked up at Finn again, and there were tears in his eyes. "It's beautiful."

Finn let out the breath he'd been holding. "I'm going to put it on you now," he said. "But I should take your shirt off, first. Are you cold?"

Blaine gave a quick shake of his head. Finn unbuttoned his shirt, and as he slipped it off his shoulders, he could feel him trembling.

"Don't be afraid," Finn said, but Blaine shook his head.

"I'm not," he insisted. "I'm... I think I'm..." He gave a little laugh, and smiled, wide and amazed. "Happy?"

"All right," Finn said, smiling back, and buckled the collar around his neck. He held out his hand, and Blaine took it before standing, wincing a little.

"P - my boyfriend tells me his calves cramp up if he's in that position for too long," Finn said. "He might be able to give me some suggestions to help you deal with that."

"Does... does he know Carl, too?" he asked, and when Finn nodded, he looked a little overwhelmed by the idea.

"He's been to his office a couple times," Finn added. "But he doesn't visit regularly. His Top is in California. He wears his collar, there. And - well." He figured Blaine didn't need details about Kurt and Puck's relationship with Adam.

"But he doesn't wear your collar," Blaine said.

Finn shook his head. "We haven't done anything like that. Maybe... someday. I don't know."

He didn't want Blaine's attention to wander too far, so he reached into the bag again and pulled out a chain lead. Blaine's eyes widened as Finn snapped the hook onto the ring on his collar.

"You should follow a step behind him, to the right," Finn instructed, positioning Blaine and then standing where Carl would be. He tugged the lead, feeling Blaine lean in when Finn pulled, but then step right back into his original spot. Finn smiled. "That's a good boy."

The door opened, and Carl stepped inside, taking in the scene with one cool glance. "Finn," he said, holding out his hand, and Finn immediately transferred the lead to him. He watched Blaine to make sure he didn't panic, but Blaine just watched him do it with calm trust.

"Sir,' Finn said. Carl nodded to the couch, and Finn sat, watching his Top holding the chain attached to his boy's collar. It could easily have been a singularly disconcerting experience, but he wasn't worried any more than Blaine was. Carl's got this, he thought, and his shoulders dropped as he leaned back.

"You're going to be fine," he said, running a hand over Blaine's bare back. He knew Blaine's shiver had nothing to do with being chilly, and he knew Carl would know it, too. For all the things I see in Blaine, the things he needs, Carl probably sees a dozen more. He knows him nearly as well as I do.

Carl drew Blaine forward to stand in the center of the room. "Rest," he said, putting a hand on Blaine's chin. Blaine moved his body as best as he could to stand in the modified parade rest, and Carl had nothing more to say about it than, "Good." He didn't respond to Blaine's smile, or acknowledge him tracking Carl as he walked from one side to the other.

When he stopped, he put a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Kneel."

Blaine dropped immediately into a crouch, tucking his feet under him, and rested back on his heels, his wrists together on his thighs. His gaze went to the wall across from him. Finn wanted to tell him how well he was doing, how proud he was of him, but he wasn't going to confuse the boy. One voice was what he needed right now, and that voice was going to be Carl's.

Carl got down on his own knees, just barely taller than Blaine, which surprised Finn, because he always thought of Carl as being bigger than he was. He faced Blaine, who averted his eyes, but Carl's hand was there again, under his chin, guiding him back to look at him. Finn thought Blaine looked a little disconcerted by that.

"Here in this office, you're to take direction from me," Carl said, and Blaine nodded. Finn was pleased Blaine hadn't looked to him at all, but kept his focus on Carl. Carl raised an eyebrow. "You should respond aloud, boy."

"Y-yes, sir," Blaine whispered.

"That's a good boy." He reached out and disconnected the lead from Blaine's collar. "It's not necessary for me to have the chain on you for you to follow."

"No, sir," Blaine said. Carl smiled, and Finn saw Blaine take a moment to absorb the force of that expression. His smile is almost as dangerous as his hand.

"I can tell you want to obey." Carl considered him critically. "But I can also tell you want even more to let go."

Blaine's gaze slipped to the floor, and Carl snapped, "Eyes up." He locked eyes with Blaine. "Finn's been spanking you."

Blaine's cheeks went red, but he didn't stammer. "Yes, sir."

"And he's shown you the tools we use? Paddle, tawse, cane, those sorts of things?"

Blaine nodded, then remembered and said, "Yes, sir."

Carl walked to Finn and leaned in, next to his ear. Finn tried not to be distracted by the feeling of his breath on his cheek.

"Look in the top drawer and find the red-handled flogger," Carl murmured. Then he kissed Finn, gently. "You doing all right?"

"Yes, sir," Finn said. "I'm - this is fine." And, surprisingly, it was. Blaine, with his collar on, was unequivocally Finn's. Anything he did in this office, with Carl, was for him - Blaine's offering to Finn, to please him, to inspire him.

"He's doing all right," Carl said, keeping his voice low, "but he's a little dehydrated, and I'm thinking his blood sugar is low. We'll have to keep this short."

"May I give him some water, sir?" he asked, and Carl smiled at him.

"Of course, my boy. You go right ahead. Then find that tool for me, all right?"

Blaine drank the water gratefully, and he took a long, deep breath when Finn leaned against him, letting Blaine feel the warmth of his body, the shelter of his arm.

"You're doing so well," he said, knowing Blaine needed to hear it as much as he did himself. Blaine smiled at him, and Finn couldn't help it, he reached out and wrapped his hand around Blaine's neck, holding the collar tight in his grasp. Blaine stopped breathing for a moment, and when he started again, his next breath was a moan. "Just let him take care of you."

"Yes, sir," Blaine said, then stared at Finn, aghast. Finn stared back for the space of three heartbeats. Then Carl chuckled.

"No worries, boy," he said. "I'm clear who's in charge here, and I know you are, too. Finn, get that tool for me now."

Finn opened the top drawer to Carl's desk. It wasn't the first time he'd looked in there, but it was the first time Carl had let him rummage around in there unsupervised. He knew these were Carl's personal tools, and for him to use one on Blaine was... special, somehow. Finn touched several of the tools - all familiar to him, by now - with fondness before grasping the red-handled flogger and closing the drawer again.

He watched Blaine's eyes on Carl grow round as Finn handed him the flogger, but his posture didn't slip, and he didn't hesitate when Carl gave the order, "Up, boy."

Carl stood back while Blaine got to his feet, only staggering a little, and Finn had to resist reaching to help him up. His cheeks were flushed already, and he caught his breath when Carl said, "Pants, and shorts, down. Hands up against the wall, there. Move."

Blaine tugged down his pants, then stumbled over to the fireplace and placed his palms against the stone. Finn was arrested by the image, remembering his own first position against the wall in this very office. He could hear himself saying the words How do you want me? and Carl using the suede flogger on his bare back. But this tool wasn't suede, and Blaine's response wouldn't likely be sighs of pleasure. Finn's cock twitched, but he kept his hand carefully away from his leg.

Carl took his stance to Blaine's right, holding the red-handled flogger in his left hand. He used his right hand to touch Blaine's shoulder, moving it down his back, murmuring, "Relax." Finn could see Blaine's body give in to that command, caving a little in the middle, canting his hips up. Carl's hand made a long, slow slide down Blaine's spine, pausing on each vertebra, assessing with an expert hand exactly where Blaine held his tension. Finn knew just what he was doing, and he could almost feel it, as if his were the hand touching him.

Carl leaned in, speaking quietly into Blaine's ear, but his eyes were on Finn. "Do you know what you need?"

Blaine's response was slow to come. He turned his head to one side, and Finn could see him trembling. "I... I don't know. Sir."

"That's all right. I'll tell you, boy." He made his words low and gentle, almost hypnotic. "You need to feel someone taking control. Not just right now, but always, every moment. Someone to lift the burden of responsibility... to handle you, to tell you what to do. To take everything you can give, and hold you up when you can't stand any longer. To push you, push you further than you ever dreamed. Isn't that right, boy?"

Blaine's answer was a low moan, and Finn clenched his hands on the sofa cushion to keep from leaping to his feet. Blaine needed... but no. Carl would take care of him. He tried his best to relax.

Carl draped the tails of the flogger on Blaine's back. He jumped a little at their touch, but they were just feather-light, dragging on his skin, first up toward his neck, and then back down again, following the curve of his spine, back up onto his ass, and into the cleft between his thighs.

"This isn't a tool you've felt before," Carl said, still quiet, still kind. "It's not particularly forgiving. But there's no sense in using it at all if I'm not going to use it the right way. Are you ready?"

Blaine's head bowed slightly, and he leaned in to the wall, his hands pressing, the muscles in his back tensing. Carl quickly transferred the flogger to his right hand and planted one swift smack in the center of Blaine's behind with his hand. Blaine jumped again, and moaned, louder this time. "What was that?" Carl snapped.

"Yes, sir," he said, loud enough for Finn to hear him. Finn felt dizzy, even faint with pride and admiration for Blaine, for the way he let Carl's words affect him. Is he doing this for me? he had to wonder. Is this all just for me? The idea was almost too much to bear.

"All right." Carl took the handle back in his left hand, curling his fingers around the thick red leather handle. The black tails looked so good against Blaine's golden skin. "Tell me your safe word, boy."

"Ch-Charlotte," Blaine said.

"If you say that word again, I will stop. We won't go any further, and Finn will take you into the recovery room. We won't do any more tonight if you choose that. Do you understand?"

Blaine's hips shifted, so slightly. Finn couldn't see from where he sat if Blaine was aroused by Carl's words, but based on previous experience, he had a guess about that. "Yes sir."

Carl's hand went back to Blaine's shoulder. "Take a deep breath, and let it out."

As Blaine obeyed, Carl brought his left hand down, the one holding the flogger, and it landed on his skin. The sound was so loud, Finn thought for a moment Carl had dropped something. But the rug on the floor was thick, and the only flat surface was the empty coffee table. There was a two second pause after the impact, and then Blaine let out a cry of shock and absolute need.

"That's it, boy," Carl said, his smile grim and patient, and the flogger came down again. Blaine's skin was immediately red and marked with lines where the tails dug into the flesh of his buttocks and hips. Carl's aim was focused, and Finn knew the sensation, compounded, would be intense. Just what Blaine needs. He zeroed in on Blaine's harsh breathing, his moans, the movement of his hips. "You'll want to stay still, now."

Blaine's movement ceased, apart from the heaving of his back. The next five blows landed on his left cheek, each one producing as loud a noise as the first, but Blaine still didn't move. Carl's eyebrows went up, and the smile he gave Finn was like the sweetest words of praise. Finn smiled back, wide and breathless. My boy. Mine.

"Finn," Carl said. He held out the flogger, handle first. "Come here."

Finn stood before he realized why he was doing it. By the time he had the handle in his hand, Carl had stepped aside, and Finn was standing before Blaine, alone. He looked down at the flogger, as though he wasn't sure what it was for.

Carl reached up with one hand, curled it around Finn's neck and pulled him into a fierce kiss. Finn couldn't help the sound that slipped from between his lips, and Blaine made an echoing sound, equally unbidden. When Carl let him go, he held his gaze.

"This is your task," Carl whispered. "Your boy. He needs to feel your hand on him now."

"Yes, sir," Finn whispered back.

"He's going to try to hold out, for you," he went on. "Don't let him. You have to take him down. He's not permitted to resist. I'll talk him down for you, until you're ready to handle him."

Finn could feel the weight of the responsibility, somehow greater than any he'd ever felt before, even with Puck - but there was nothing scary about it, nothing more than precisely, exactly what he needed. "Yes," he said again, and held the red handle in his hand, feeling the balance. "I'm ready."

Carl stepped back two paces, giving Finn a slow nod that felt more like a bow. Then he crouched down along the wall, close to Blaine's head, which was suspended low between his shoulders. "Keep breathing, boy," he murmured, and Blaine's back rose and fell, once.

"That's my good boy," Finn said. Blaine took another breath, this one more ragged.

"Finn," he said, his voice cracked and broken.

"I'm right here," he soothed. He gave Blaine's red bottom an experimental swing of the flogger, and it landed with a gentle slap. Blaine barely moved, but his breathing intensified, becoming erratic.

"He doesn't need you to be good, boy," Carl continued in his intense, quiet voice. "He doesn't need you to be quiet. He just needs you to let go."

"I - can't," Blaine whimpered. All the time, Finn was getting the feel for the new tool. He knew each blow would be more powerful.

Carl's words were just a breath on Blaine's cheek. "You can, and you will. Either of your own accord - or the flogger will rip it out of you. You need to open yourself up to it, give in to it. Don't be afraid of the pain."

Blaine shook his head slowly, buoyed by the cushion of submission. "I'm not afraid of the pain."

Finn felt a stab of desire at that, a raging hot need to make him afraid, but he took the impulse and stuffed it down, back inside himself where it belonged. That's definitely not what Blaine needs, he thought angrily, and his next swing landed a little off center. He saw Blaine wince, but he didn't make one complaint.

"Not afraid?" Carl said. He stroked a hand up Blaine's spine, stopping short of touching the collar around his neck.

"No," he said, low and tense. "Not afraid. I need it. It keeps me... out of the dark places. Keeps me out here, where it's real." He shook under the impact, but he still didn't let himself move, not to twist away or to thrust into the blow.

"But you're not letting yourself be real," Carl countered. "You're trying to handle it. That's not what you have to do here."

"I can't," Blaine said again, and this time it sounded a little more panicked. "You don't know what you're asking me to do."

"Oh, but I do, little boy." Carl's gaze flickered up to Finn. He held up a hand, pausing the motion of the flogger, and touched Blaine in the small of the back. "Here. Let it swing freely, looping around, like this." He made a loose motion with his wrist; to Finn's single-track mind, it looked entirely familiar, and had nothing to do with a flogger at all. He colored and stared at the floor for a moment, regaining his focus. Blaine. This is about Blaine. You're not the one under his hand, today. You're giving him what he needs. He tried the motion that Carl had suggested, his wrist rotating in small circles, and the handle of the flogger carried the tails around. The impact was less, but Finn could feel his greater focus and quicker pace changing Blaine's energy. Carl nodded in approval.

Then he turned back to Blaine, standing there, tense and trembling against the wall, pushing like he was trying to hold the whole damn thing up with the force of his body. "I do, because every day, young men and women ask me for this, in my office, and I help them achieve it. You're no different. You can do this."

Blaine shook his head. "How?"

"Everything you know... put each piece down, like you're taking off your clothes. Your fears - abandon them. You're not responsible for them here. Your self-consciousness... your petty anxieties... strip them away, leave them here. Each piece you remove takes you closer to yourself, your core."

The rhythmic impact of the flogger, marking the sensitive skin of his back, seemed to be causing Blaine more agitation than anything else. Finn didn't think he'd increased the pressure any, but suddenly Blaine cried out, "God... oh, god..."

"Yes, boy," Carl urged, his voice becoming more insistent, beckoning Finn to continue. "Everything you have - you don't need it here. Lay it at my feet. I demand it. It's mine. Your voice, your desire, your very name. Let it go."

Blaine collapsed forward against the stone wall, his cheek crushing into the smooth surface, and Carl seemed to be expecting it, because he was there to catch Blaine as his knees buckled. The sobs tore out of him like they were bursting through seams in his skin, profound, raging cries that sounded like Blaine was being tortured, instead of being held in Carl's strong arms. Carl ran a hand over his hair, cradling him, making wordless shushing noises. Eventually his eyes met Finn's again.

"Come on," he said, nodding his head at Blaine's prone form. "He needs you for this, too."

Finn crouched down on the floor, kneeling as close to Blaine's body as he could, and gathered him into his arms. He felt so small, so helpless, and as Finn felt the sobs racking him, so lost. "You did so well," he whispered, pressing his face into Blaine's neck, clutching Blaine's head to his chest.

"It's not over," Carl cautioned him. "He's not going to be able to answer you. No questions, unless they're simple, direct, yes or no." He laid hands on his neck, his wrist, quick and efficient. "Keep him warm. I'll get a blanket."

Finn wasn't sure how to do that, exactly, but the fireplace seemed like a good place to start. He lifted Blaine onto his lap and seated himself in front of the fire, which had diminished, and reached out for the poker with his free hand. A few nudges at the coals and logs had it crackling and blazing up again. Finn cradled Blaine in the crook of his arm. "Such a good boy," he murmured, feeling the words land on his skin and make him tremble.

Carl was there, beside them, and draped a quilt around Blaine's shoulders. Finn was already as hot as the fire, himself, but he could tell that Blaine's skin was chilled, and he could tolerate a little sweat.

"What should I do?" Blaine mumbled, trying to lift his head, but Carl kept him still with one firm hand.

"Lie still," he ordered, and Blaine went limp against Finn. Somehow this hit him more powerfully than just about anything else that had happened that evening, and Finn clutched Blaine tighter, rocking him slightly across his body. Carl leaned in, one arm around Blaine from the other side, and pressed his lips to Finn's, once. "Don't do anything. Your only task is to do as you're told."

Finn could feel Blaine's suspicion, his fear beginning to awaken, and he quickly gripped Blaine's arm, saying, "Stop that." And just like that, Blaine was docile, his hand lightly stroking Finn's stomach in a far too familiar way. His face wasn't quite peaceful, though, and that wasn't good, it wasn't enough. Blaine needed to let that go, too.

"You're still not sure this is okay," Finn suggested. After a moment, Blaine shook his head, the sweat from his curls leaving a random pattern on Finn's shirt. Finn sighed. "What are you afraid of?"

To his surprise, Blaine answered promptly. "Being seen."

Finn paused. "You - don't want me to see you?"

He shook his head again, burrowing in deeper. "You'll see who I am."

"And... who's that?"

Blaine's sigh was sad and defeated. "Nothing special."

Finn waited for more, but that appeared to be the answer. "You think you're nothing special?" At Blaine's nod, Finn tried really hard, but in the end, he couldn't quite manage it. He laughed. "Blaine..." he began, but Carl cut him off with a frown.

"You're just what you were made to be," Carl said, silky and smooth. "A vessel, to be filled by others' desire. You're ready to become exactly what we demand you become. Perfectly open... perfectly giving."

"Yes," Blaine sighed. "Yes... please."

Carl rocked back on his heels and stood, snapping his fingers and pointing at the floor. "Kneel... right here."

Blaine didn't hesitate, but he moved a little slowly out of Finn's lap, slow enough to earn him a warning swat from Carl, which Finn knew from experience was not particularly forgiving. Blaine's response was muted, but he did speed up his movements after that. By the time he was in position, Carl had already reached into the second drawer down in his desk for the next set of tools.

Finn licked dry lips. This was new territory for him and Blaine. He wasn't particularly big on the props to begin with, preferring to use his hands and voice over other equipment, but he and Blaine especially hadn't done much in regards to restraints. Blaine liked being held tight, just as Kurt did, and if Finn let himself think about it - which he didn't - he would have guessed Blaine liked being handcuffed or tied up, too. But...

"Carl," he whispered desperately. "I can't."

Carl held out the cuffs to Finn, and tilted his head, directing his gaze into Finn's rapidly beating heart. "You can."

"No," he insisted. "It's - too much. I can't, not without..."

Carl wasn't letting him off the hook here. He raised one eyebrow, and glanced down at Blaine, kneeling, his eyes on the floor. "Without what, Finn?"

"Without sex," Finn hissed. "It's not... I can't do this to Blaine. He doesn't want that from me."

Carl held his gaze, firm and oddly calming. "I know you're not used to this not being sexual, but Blaine needs this. This," he said, low and hard, pressing the cuffs into Finn's hands. "Not sex, Finn. He just needs to let go, to go deeper than he can alone. He's still holding back on you. You can do this."

Finn shook his head, and tried to hand the cuffs back to Carl with shaking hands. Carl just looked at him sternly.

"It's time for you to take care of your boy, Finn. I'll help you."

Finn closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and nodded once. Carl kissed him softly, once, and lowered his voice to a whisper in Finn's ear. "That's my good boy. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir," Finn gasped, and he had to blink to clear his vision when Carl moved away and he opened his eyes.

Blaine was . . . beautiful, in the firelight, head bowed and chest rising gently with every breath. For a moment, Finn could scarcely believe Blaine was there, kneeling on Carl's lush maroon rug, for him. He's waiting for me, Finn thought. I'm the only one who can give him this. I'm the only one he trusts to give him this.

He unbuckled the leather tongue from each cuff and spread them open, then took Blaine's connected wrists and gently separated them. Blaine blinked up at him, as though he were waking from a dream. He opened his mouth, but no sound issued forth. Finn moved steadily, not pausing, and it only took a few tries for his fumbling fingers to manage to fasten the buckles around Blaine's wrists.

"Hook them together for now," Carl suggested, pulling the blanket off Blaine's shoulders. Finn did so, and when he was done, Blaine's hands were connected at the wrists - for real, this time. Blaine gazed at them for a long moment. Then he tugged on the cuffs, feeling the metal resistance, and - his expression was remarkable. He chuckled, and his smile was wide and grateful.

"Thank you," he said, brown eyes wide and liquid under long dark lashes. Finn gritted his teeth.

"You're -" he muttered, then caught Carl's quick head shake, and stopped himself, amending his words to, "You're all right."

"Yes," Blaine sighed. He held Finn's gaze, and whispered please, and the edge of desperation in his voice almost broke Finn.

Carl drew him to his feet without a word, and Blaine followed equally silently. They took the few steps across the room to the couch, and Carl pressed him down to his knees again, gently encouraging his head to rest on the cushion. Then he unfastened Blaine's hands, and before Blaine could even react, Carl had Blaine's hands behind his back, clipping them back together with the carabiners, forming an upward-pointing triangle with his arms and wrists and the angle of his shoulder blades.

"You'll keep your head there on the couch, boy," Carl said, one hand pressing on the flat of his back. "If you need anything, you'll tell me right away, but otherwise, you're not to speak. Nod if you understand."

Blaine's head bobbed up and down, his eyes heavy-lidded and somewhat glassy. Finn's hands itched to brush his hair out of his face. Then he thought, somewhat irritated, why not? Why can't I do that? He moved to sit beside Blaine, and with one hand he ran his fingers through Blaine's unruly curls. Not sexual, he told himself firmly, averting his eyes as he skimmed his hand over the triangle of Blaine's bare back, his arms in restraints. Not... god.

Carl caught his eyes and nodded slowly. "You know what to do, Finn. You know what your boy needs now, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Finn replied, because he did know. He could feel the energy in his hand, and guessed from the way things had always been between them that Blaine could feel it, too. He pressed his hand into the small of Blaine's back, and he almost shuddered when Blaine let out a low moan. He knew it wasn't going to take a lot of contact at all; Blaine's skin was surely incredibly tender from the flogger, and Finn didn't want to hurt him, but Carl was right. Blaine needed to give up the last of his fear.

Finn leaned over and settled his mouth next to Blaine's ear. "You've done so well, but we're not done yet. You need this. You need to let everything else go." He lifted his hand away and Blaine shifted, seeking contact. Finn kept close to his ear, kept talking. "Don't move." He dropped his hand in the gentlest smack he could manage, just enough for the sensation of it to ripple through Blaine's body.

Blaine groaned, and Finn let another blow land. "That's it. I'm here. I've got you. Give it to me, Blaine. Let me take it."

He kept this up, the gentle impact of his hand, the constant murmuring into Blaine's ear. Sometimes it felt like nonsense, but Finn thought he could trust his instincts, because it seemed to be just what Blaine needed. Before long he was crying silent tears, and Finn felt a tremor begin in Blaine's body that built higher and higher, until he was shaking all over. Finn thought for a moment that Blaine had finally completely let go - until he heard Blaine chanting over and over oh, god, I'm sorry so sorry so sorry and Finn realized that Blaine was shuddering with release, and that he had come, helplessly, against the front of the couch.

"Hold him," Carl hissed, his hands pressing firmly on Finn's back. "He thinks he did something wrong. You have to tell him it's all right."

Blaine buried his head into Finn's chest for the second time that night, but this time Finn was surrounded by Blaine's scent. The smell of him was everywhere, on the couch, Blaine's stomach and legs, on and for a moment, he couldn't do anything but steel himself, resisting the overwhelming urge to take Blaine in his mouth and - he wrenched a gasp out, and Carl growled, "Finn. Pull it together."

"Yes... sir." He breathed through his mouth, trying not to listen to the urges of his body, to focus as best as he could on the facts. Blaine's response... it was a natural reaction to stimulation. He's scared, and he thinks he did something wrong.

Finn wrapped his arms around Blaine. "It's okay, b- Blaine. It's okay. You're just fine. You did so well. I'm not mad, you're okay. You're so good, so good, and I'm so proud of - oh."

Because Blaine had crawled right into his lap, and even as he was feeling Blaine's warm, sticky thighs pressing against his pant leg, Finn was frantically thinking of the mailman, the mailman, god, the mailman... he moaned in desperate need.

"Finn..." Carl said gently. Finn's eyes found his over Blaine's head; he could feel his heartbeat accelerating wildly.

"Sir," he blurted, but Carl shook his head, not releasing his gaze. He was so kind, Finn could hardly stand it. Finn's cheeks burned with mortification.

"That's about enough of that," Carl murmured. "You're human, Finn, and you're seventeen - and believe me, not a man in his right mind could watch the two of you together and not be aroused. Don't blame yourself."

"He's - I'm - " Finn gulped as Blaine shifted in Finn's lap, tucking himself more firmly against Finn's stomach, directly against his rock-hard erection. "I think I'm -"

"I know, sweet boy," said Carl, still calm, "and if you do, it'll be okay." He didn't reach out to touch Finn, he just waited there, crouched on the floor next to Blaine. "You're giving him what he needs, and you're not doing anything inappropriate. Does Blaine look uncomfortable?"

It was the first time Carl had said Blaine's name since the session had begun, and to hear it on his lips, with Finn in this state, was a little disconcerting, but he forced himself to focus on the boy snuggled in his lap, as floppy and messy as a Great Dane puppy. Finn laughed nervously in spite of himself. "No. Not uncomfortable."

"Precisely. So... Finn. Look at me." Finn's eyes shot back to Carl's. "You've been such a good boy."

Finn moaned again, at those words from Carl, which never failed to send shivers down his spine - and which now were unavoidably linked to his throbbing cock, currently wedged against Blaine's bare ass. "God," he said, closing his eyes, but Carl's Voice called him back, his eyes forced open to meet his.

"Finn. You're my good boy..." His focus sharpened to blue, glittering points. "And I... am ordering you... to let go."

No, Finn wanted to cry, but there was no way he was going to go against an order from Carl. He let his eyes fall closed again, and his own hips bucked forward once, twice, and oh, oh, Blaine, this was not happening.

Carl reached forward and gripped Finn's hand, and it was a lucky thing, too, because otherwise Finn would have grabbed at anything within grabbing distance to rut against while he rode out his mindbogglingly massive orgasm. And that anything would likely have been Blaine's hips, had Carl's other hand not given him an alternative. Finn struggled to contain the movements of his traitorous pelvis. It was lucky that Blaine seemed too far down in the soft velvet morass of submission to care what was going on around him. I'm sorry, Blaine, he could only think, and pray somehow Blaine would hear him. I'm so sorry.

He panted and collapsed, twitching, against Blaine's sweet warm weight.

"It's all right," he heard Carl saying, and it was the strangest echo of five minutes before, with different people playing the same parts. "There's nothing wrong here. You're fine, my boy."

When they could move again, Finn helped Blaine stand and led him across the hall to the recovery room. It wasn't as pleasant as the light-filled chambers upstairs, but it was closer, and Blaine was nearly asleep already. Finn cleaned him up with a warm washcloth, pulled a pair of soft sweatpants on over his legs and his thoroughly warmed and well-striped bottom, and laid him on his side under the cotton blanket.

"I like the quilt," Blaine murmured, and Finn let him keep that - as though he could have pried it out of his hands anyway. He watched as Blaine curled around the hand-stitched panels, his eyes closed and his breathing evening out, and turned down the light before pressing a kiss to his temple and closing the door behind him.

And suddenly Carl was there, he was right there, his hands roving over Finn's body and pulling him back into the office and locking the door behind him, and Carl's eyes were hungry and he was oh, his hands were stripping off Finn's sticky shorts without any kind of permission at all.

"Let me be proud of my boy," he demanded, his hands tugging Finn's shirt off before bringing him before the fire. It was nearly out now, but that wasn't important; they were both of them warm past sweaty. Under the pressure of Carl's arm, Finn dropped to his knees, naked on the rug, not in any kind of formal pose, but simply desperate to be below Carl. He stared up at him with a sense of futile despair.

"God, how can you say that?" he moaned. "I was - that was a complete mess, the way I handled it... I can't believe I -"

"No, Finn," Carl said, gripping his shoulders. "No. You did so well. It's not easy. Whatever you thought it was going to be, it's not ever going to be easy to give that. You're part of it - it comes through you, and you have to just ride it out. And you did." He touched Finn's face with both hands and bent down, kissing him hard. "You gave him what he needed."

"He didn't need that," Finn protested, trying to turn his face away, but Carl wouldn't let him.

"It didn't hurt him. That's what I'm saying. You're allowed to have feelings."

"Not those feelings. Not about Blaine." The shame overwhelmed him then, and he crumpled forward, burying his face in his hands. "God, what am I going to do?"

Carl was silent for a moment. Then Finn felt his hands, strong and sure, stroking across his bowed back, and Carl's gentle sigh. "You're certain he didn't want it?"

"It's what he told me, again and again." Finn wasn't even sure how to answer that question anymore, not after what happened at the concert, but... "Yeah."

Carl's lips touched his neck, just behind his ear. "All right," he murmured. "Here's what you're going to do."


Blaine had been okay, really, through all of it. Trailing Finn into Carl's office, filling out all this paperwork with releases and personal information and a safeword. He'd been a little nervous, of course, but there were days he was even still nervous about Finn spanking him, so he just figured he'd roll with it, and things would be okay in the end.

Things were always okay in the end after Finn took care of him, after all. And he had no reason to expect things would be any different with Carl.

Blaine had even been okay when Finn pulled his collar out of the bag. That had been a surprise, but not an unwelcome one at all, and Blaine felt himself slip away just a little bit when Finn fastened the leather around his neck, like Finn had taken on a little piece of Blaine, was holding him protected in his hands. It was . . . different, but also good. Blaine didn't feel quite so heavy, then, with Finn keeping that part of him.

He tried to keep track of the part of him that belonged to Finn when Carl first started giving him orders, but he quickly got lost in the haze of Carl's voice and how simply good it felt to be able to follow Carl's instructions and know that he was doing everything right.

Until Carl asked him what he needed, and Blaine hadn't been able to answer. Not because he didn't know, but because he couldn't make the crazy jumble in his head make sense in words. It was just this mess of feelings and certainties that defied explanation. But when Carl told him that he needed someone to push him further than he'd ever been before, something clicked deep inside of him, and he suddenly craved that like nothing he'd ever wanted before.

He had to know what it felt like.

The flogger stung, sharp and hard and so good. Blaine had thought that the pain would be scary, but it kept him startlingly aware and out of the places in his head that he hated. The places that boxing and music and Finn also helped him stay away from.

He felt satisfied, pleased with himself, for being able to withstand the blows, first from Carl and then from Finn. He could do this.

Except . . .

Carl started asking him to let things go, and god, Blaine was so bad at that. Because letting it go meant that there was something wrong in the first place, and Blaine was so good at hiding the bad things, the problems, the things that needed fixing. The parts of him that needed fixing.

He couldn't let go, because letting go would mean admitting that there was something wrong with him.

And Andersons didn't have things wrong with them.

He tried to shut the bad things away, focusing instead on the sound of Carl's voice and the motion of the flogger across his lower back, and the beating of his heart. The white echo of his breath in his ears. Nothing but himself, Carl, Finn. Leather against flesh and-

He felt the first piece of himself fall, and then all the things he loved and hated and was so so afraid of were just dropping at his feet in a messy pile, and he was gasping and crying and fallingfallingfalling, and he was scared and sad and angry and all the things his father had never let him feel, and when he started to come back to himself breath by tiny breath, he felt . . .

Ashamed.

Embarrassed.

And so terrified of what Finn would see if he looked too close. Finn, who still held a piece of Blaine, safe and protected in his hands. Finn, who gave Blaine so much.

I'm not enough for you, Blaine thought, and struggled to get out from the cocoon of Finn's arms and the heavy quilt that Carl had laid over his body. Why was he so cold?

But then came the word, the first command: "Lie still." And he felt his body respond, without any conscious thought. He was pressed against Finn, snug and safe. It was a great relief, but it woke up another fear inside him, the one that said if I let it all go, I'll just be me, and he'll realize how much of a nothing I am.

Finn's grasp, and his immediate response of "Stop that," put the fear back to sleep, but it was still lurking there. The less he did, the more he wondered when Finn was going to get bored and send him home. He leaned his head on Finn's chest.

He couldn't not answer Finn's questions, and he couldn't be anything but honest. Yes, he was afraid. No, he didn't want Finn to see him. Because there wasn't anything to see. He heard Finn's laugh, and that hurt a little, but Carl's voice covered it over and gave him something else to be. An empty vessel. Perfectly open. That was... compelling.

"Yes," he said hopefully. Could he really have that? Could he become... whatever someone else wanted him to be? Was it possible he could satisfy someone else so completely?

He followed the orders given, and even when he felt the swat for moving too slowly, he didn't feel bad about that, because he knew he could do better, that it was nothing more than what he needed to improve. Waiting wasn't any effort; time passed without notice in this place of calm and quiet, where no one was expecting anything of him other than what was ordered. It was so easy to give in.

When he felt Finn's hands on his wrists, he wasn't sure what was happening at first, but there was a little irritation on his skin, and that brought him out of his perfect blissful state, just enough for him to meet Finn's eyes, questioning. Finn looked like he might be about to cry, and Blaine thought he might ask what was wrong, but no one had told him to worry about it, so he wasn't going to.

Then he looked down at his hands and realized he was handcuffed, his wrists hooked together. It was a little surreal, even in the midst of this whole bizarre experience, and for a moment he wasn't sure what to do with them. But then he pulled on them, just a little, and even as he did, he thought he didn't tell me to do that. It wasn't that he was trying to get out of them, he just needed to know if he could.

And he couldn't.

The wave of relief that washed over him was overwhelming, and even as he felt himself rocked by it, he giggled and blinked up at Finn. "Thank you," he said, and he meant it. This is exactly what I needed. How did you know?

Finn's murmured response was almost irrelevant, but Blaine wanted to show him his gratitude, and he watched and listened as carefully as he could, following his directions to the letter. I can be still. Please, put my hands wherever you want them. I can kneel right here, watch me. He was a little surprised by how much he wanted to be seen like this, wanted Finn to see what a good boy he could be.

Finn's hand was familiar at the small of his back, and it felt grounding to Blaine. He knew what was going to happen. He could feel the current of energy from Finn's hand into his body; it felt like it always did before a spanking, and even though Blaine was sore he absolutely wanted Finn's hand on him. When Finn moved his hand away, Blaine tried to follow it because he needed it, needed to know that he was Finn's boy, and he was always surest of that when Finn was spanking him.

Finn didn't spank him hard, but the sensation of his hand against Blaine's tender flesh, combined with all of the things Finn was whispering in his ear, was almost too intense. The energy rolled through Blaine, starting at his toes and curling in waves all the way up to his head. It was just like Carl had said; Finn was taking him further than he'd been before, and it was so good, too good.

It was everything, and Blaine just lost himself to the haze of almost-pleasure underneath the pain. He let it surround him, hold him up, and he wasn't really aware of anything.

Until he was aware. Until the energy that had pooled deep in his abdomen was gone and he was shuddering and suddenly, sharply sated.

Oh, god, he thought. I'm sorry, so sorry. It wasn't until he was cocooned in Finn's arms that he realized he'd been chanting those words out loud, and that Finn was both trying to talk him out of his panic and ragingly hard against his leg.

This was so not how things were supposed to happen. His own orgasm had been embarrassing enough. He'd told Finn over and over again that he didn't want anything more, but his body kept betraying him, and now Finn was . . . God. Blaine really wanted to do something, to help or get out of Finn's way, but he was limp and fuzzy, and his wrists were still handcuffed behind his back. He couldn't do anything but just sort of be there, draped over Finn like a blanket.

He was really only half-conscious of Finn and Carl speaking in hushed whispers, and of the way Finn was holding his body as still as he could even as he was trembling and gasping. I could help, Blaine thought, but he knew he'd be crossing the very line he'd demanded Finn establish.

He felt helpless; things felt confusing and complicated, but he couldn't seem to get a real handle on anything, especially not once Finn was still and quiet and Carl was helping them both to their feet. Finn led him into a different room, then, and cleaned him up carefully. The washcloth was soft, and the water was warm, but it still stung, and Blaine felt himself wince a little at the contact even though Finn was so careful. He let Finn dress him, moving Blaine's limbs for him like he was a doll, or a tiny infant, and by the time Finn was covering him with a blanket Blaine was just about asleep. He held tight to the quilt, mumbled about wanting to keep it because the weight of it made him feel connected to something other than the ghostly lightness of his body. Finn didn't fight him, just pressed a kiss to the side of his head and moved softly out of the door.

Blaine really had been almost asleep, but he suddenly felt Finn's absence like a shock, and he was lonely and scared and he needed Finn. But he didn't know where he'd gone, or why, so he swallowed around the tears he couldn't believe he still had left to cry, and clutched the quilt tighter, sniffing and wishing for a tissue.

Time was still meaningless, especially in the dim room, but Blaine had plenty of moments to panic before the door quietly opened and a figure slipped in, dressed in sweatpants identical to the ones he wore and holding a glass of water. "Blaine," Finn said softly.

"I'm here," Blaine said as calmly as he could, trying not to let him hear the tears, but he should have known Finn would be able to tell right away.

"Oh," he said unhappily, and set the glass down on the floor next to the bed. He sat on the edge, not touching Blaine in any way, watching him, just watching. "You... I shouldn't have left."

"I'm okay," Blaine assured him. "Really, it's fine. You have other things to do."

Finn stared at him, then shook his head a little. "No," he said softly. "I really don't. I'm... I wanted to come in here to tell you that I'm sorry about what happened, and -"

"What?" Blaine interrupted, sitting up. He winced as he leaned on his sore behind. "Finn, no."

"- and I'm not going to let it happen again," he went on, holding up a hand. "It's not fair to you, when you don't... I'm not going to do that to you. It's just not fair to you, or me."

Blaine tried to listen to Finn's words, but as soon as he heard I'm not going to do that to you, he felt the panic rise inside him, and he didn't have anything he could say other than "No... please, Finn... please, please."

"Hey... Blaine." Finn moved in a little, hesitating, then sighed and took him in his hands, holding him at arm's length. "What is it? What did I say?"

"You're going to leave," Blaine whispered. "You - you don't want this with me anymore."

"I - what? Blaine, no. That's not what I... god, no. I didn't mean that." Finn tried to pull him in, close, but Blaine winced again, and Finn stopped. "Okay... come on, lay back down. Let me... here. On the pillow, all right?"

Blaine was still shaking, and he let Finn pull him close, to wrap around him from behind, carefully putting space between them at the hip to protect his bruised bottom. "Shhh," Finn said, his arms warm and heavy around Blaine's body. Blaine let his eyes close again, feeling the heat and pressure of Finn's long frame.

"You're not going to leave?" he begged.

"No, b-Blaine. I'm not going to leave. Whatever you need, you've got it. I'm right here."

"Just stay. Stay here." Blaine sighed as Finn's arms held him even tighter. It never ceased to amaze him, the way that Finn always knew what he needed, what would make his brain go silent and his body still. He kept his eyes closed, and listened to Finn's breathing even out into soft and steady puffs on the back of his neck.

Later, Blaine wouldn't remember falling asleep, either.


Carl barely looked up when Angela came in to sweep out the fireplace.

"Sir?"

"Mmmm," he said, flipping a page over.

"It's getting kind of late. Do you want me to wake up Finn and Blaine and get them home? I could call a taxi, if you don't want them driving."

He'd already looked at the clock four times in the last five minutes; he didn't need to look again, but he did anyway. "They're fine where they are. I'd rather not disturb them. I'll call Carole myself if I have to."

She was silent for another minute, but she paused as she passed the desk. "Forgive my forwardness, but... you should take a break, sir."

Carl sighed. "What tells you that, Angela?"

Her hand touched his on top of the pile of papers. "You're holding that upside down, sir."

He slumped back in his chair, rubbing his forehead and grimacing. "Okay. I'm... maybe I should go wake them up."

"He's not your boy, sir," she murmured. Carl glared at her, but she just gazed back at him, and he nodded in defeat.

"I've tried everything I could think of, short of spraying them with pheromones and locking them in a room with stacks of porn, to get them to acknowledge what's going on here." He gestured at the closed hallway door. "Blaine's too scared, and Finn's not budging. I don't understand him."

"Yes, you do," Angela said. She stood close, but didn't touch him or say anything else.

Carl knew that she was right. Sometimes he hated that she knew him so well. He sighed, and scrubbed at his face with his palm. "He's trying to be good, to do what Blaine is telling him he wants. The problem is that he's scared, too, so he can't see the truth of things."

"You can't push this, sir." Angela's voice was soft, her body still, and her gaze solid on the closed door.

"You're pushing it," he snapped, and she bowed her head, moving into the position any contrite sub would take around him, when they heard that tone. It was just safer. He stood and stalked back and forth across the office, hands on his hips. "If Finn can't see what's happening right in front of him, with a boy he so obviously cares about, how can I trust him with R- " He cut himself off with a growl of frustration. "Fuck."

"You're telling me you don't trust him, sir?" Angela wasn't questioning him, just wondering, in her mild way, like the voice of his conscience. It did sound an awful lot like her, in his head.

"No." He sighed. "No. Of course not. There's no one I'd trust more to - no." He reached out and straightened the picture on the wall, a framed landscape of the grounds at Tessera, taken from the roof of one of the outbuildings. He'd woken up early to set up the shot, looking for just the right kind of morning light to illuminate the trees outside the stables. In the picture, there was an empty field where the greenhouses stood now. Seventeen years ago, he thought. A lot could happen in seventeen years.

"Maybe they need - some time apart." He tilted his head, staring at the picture. Funny how things could change, when you looked at them a little differently. "A little perspective."

"Finn and Rachel, sir?"

"No, Finn and Blaine. I mean, sure. Them, too." He wasn't even sure what to do about Finn and Rachel, but he wasn't going to interfere. There was nothing he could say, anyway, without breaking his agreement. "Finn's going away next weekend to his family reunion. They could benefit from some time to think about things. People miss each other, when they're apart. Feelings clarify. Yes." He gave a definitive nod. "That's just what they need."


Childhood living
Is easy to do
The things you wanted
Well I bought them for you

And graceless lady
You know who I am
You know I can't let you
Ah slide through my hands

Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
Couldn't drag me away

I watched you suffer
A dull aching pain
Now you've decided
To show me the same

No sweeping exits
Or offstage lines
Can make me feel bitter
Or treat you unkind

Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
Couldn't drag me away

I know I dreamed you
A sin and a lie
I have my freedom
But I don't have much time

Faith has been broken
Tears must be cried
Come on let's do some living
After we die

Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
We'll ride them someday

- "Wild Horses," The Rolling Stones