After a particularly horrible day at work, Blaine comes home to an empty loft, forcing him to manage his own self-care.
Notes: Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompts "bucket" and "health", and dedicated to itallstartedwithharry. This takes place earlier in their relationship, when Blaine is still working as a substitute teacher, and highlights a few of the concerns that people ask me about having a dedicated, 24/7 D/s relationship. Warning for angst, anxiety, and kneeling on buckets.
Kurt isn't home when Blaine gets there, the loft cold and dark and quiet without him. And empty – too, too empty. But Blaine knew he wouldn't be. Kurt is working late. He told Blaine that this morning. And yesterday. And he texted Blaine to remind him a few hours ago, but still. The first thought in Blaine's head when he opens the door is Kurt isn't home.
Why isn't Kurt home?
Blaine needs Kurt to be home.
Because Blaine needs his Master. He needs his Kurt.
Today sucked. It just … it just sucked. And the worst part was that it wasn't simply one thing that sucked. It was a collection of suck, some of which he couldn't put into words. First, there was the fact that his first train was late, which he'd anticipated it would be since it had been the entire month, so he made it a point to leave the loft early - not to catch the train before his train, but the train before that. But that train broke down, so it never arrived, and, predictably, the train after that – his usual train – was late. He got to school only about five minutes tardy since he bypassed buying a morning coffee at the corner Starbucks and booked it the entire three-and-a-half blocks, but he didn't receive the same commiserating comments that the other teachers give one another when they bitch about the perils of the public transportation system. No. Blaine got a lot of sarcastic side glances and rolled eyes, scoffs and mumbled remarks about how, if he had cared, he could have made it a point to leave earlier in order to get there on time.
But the worst remarks are the ones that they save for when Blaine steps outside the room and they don't think he can hear.
The ones ridiculing his Master.
"Isn't he dating some hoity-toity exec over at Vogue?"
"Yeah! You'd think the guy would let Blaine use the company car or whatever they have so the poor jerk wouldn't be late all the time."
"Must not be that great a relationship."
"Yup. I betcha Blaine's not his only boyfriend. Ha! Probably not even his favorite if he's still lettin' him work as a substitute teacher in a public school!"
Blaine hated those comments the most because, not only are they not true, but because, now that he'd heard them, he'd have to tell his Master about them, which would open up a whole discussion about how Kurt didn't want Blaine to continue working as a teacher to begin with. And Blaine hated those discussions because Blaine won them, yes, but just barely, and even though he could get Kurt to see his side, he always felt like he was disappointing his Master by not simply giving in to his wants. It felt like a Catch-22 – Kurt respected Blaine's feelings with regards to having this job, and was proud that his sub was determined to pay his own way and contribute to their household as much as he could, but regardless, Blaine's decisions still weren't the right decisions in Kurt's eyes, which disappointed him.
Those were the feelings that Blaine had a hard time putting into words because, in his head, they contradicted Kurt's feelings. It wasn't as if Kurt's feelings, or Kurt's opinions, were more important than Blaine's in their relationship. It's because Blaine knows that, to a large degree, his Master is right. Blaine doesn't need this job. There are parts of it he enjoys, but those parts don't outweigh the things that he should prioritize, like his own health, his psyche, and his future as a Broadway star. Some days, Blaine's reasons for keeping his job seem so concrete, and some days they make no sense at all. Sometimes he feels stubborn for arguing his own way so vehemently. Being stubborn makes him a brat. And a brat isn't what his Master wants, not all the time.
It's definitely not what his Master deserves – not for all the wonderful ways Kurt supports him, looks after him, takes care of him, guides him. Blaine should just be a good submissive and give in, agree that what his Master wants is best. But will Blaine lose himself if he gives in that way? Again, Blaine has reasons. They're good, valid reasons. He has the right to want this job whether it's healthy for him or not … doesn't he? He has an identity outside of being Kurt's sub. He's allowed to have that, he's allowed to want that … isn't he? If not, what happens if he becomes a Broadway star? Are there things Kurt will expect him to give up just because he doesn't want Blaine to do them? Being on Broadway is Blaine's dream! Should he be expected to temper aspects of that dream because Kurt may not approve? Though Kurt hasn't said he disapproves of anything having to do with Blaine's dream. He supports him being on Broadway wholeheartedly.
Then does that mean that Blaine's dream is okay only because Kurt approves?
By this time, those thoughts, those questions, and the remarks of his co-workers to boot, had driven him into the bathroom, where, after a minute of hyperventilating, he lost his breakfast.
That's not where his bad day ended.
Not by a long shot.
There was the soup he spilled down the front of his shirt at lunch time, and the lecture he received for not having a replacement, even though he did have one in his locker. The vice principal stopped him on his way to getting it, and then wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise when he tried to explain.
He misplaced his grade book for the fifteenth time since the semester began.
He "broke" an overhead projector – one that was being held together by duct tape and universally agreed was twenty-three years past its warranty's expiration date, but since he was the one who flipped the switch when it officially blinked its last, he was the one whom everyone blamed, lamenting over the loss as if it were a beloved old grandparent, or the only overhead projector in existence.
He ended up with another urge to puke sometime after his second to last class of the day. The only men's room he could find on his floor was out of order, but in desperation, he used it anyway, vomiting into a toilet already clogged with two metric tons of wet toilet paper and an equal amount of urine and feces. When he'd emptied his stomach, he turned around to find a very disgruntled janitor standing behind him, plunger in hand, looking about as done as Blaine felt.
The scowl on the man's unfriendly face and the shake of his head told Blaine all he needed to know about how tomorrow was going to be for him once everyone in the school found out.
So, by the time he left work on his way for the loft, the fact that a bus hit a puddle, spraying him with filthy, oily water, no longer fazed him. That a homeless man tripped him out of anger when Blaine, too lost in his thoughts, hadn't seen him or offered him money; an aggressive, older woman shoved him to the ground on her way to the subway; or that a group of teens jeered at him, making fun of his wet clothes, didn't give him any pause.
He just added it to the pile.
It wasn't that he was beyond caring. He couldn't process it all. It overloaded his circuits, snuck between the wires and chewed its way into his brain. There it collected, creating a noise so loud, he could no longer focus. He needed to clean it out, but he couldn't do that on his own. He needed to have it driven away, beaten out of him.
He needed Kurt.
And Kurt isn't home.
So he does the next best thing, a thing he doesn't need to think of because there's a chart on the wall telling him what's within his power to do according to Kurt's rules of "self-engagement".
He chooses a coping mechanism and a corner, and he waits.
"Hello, Blaine! I'm ho-me!" Kurt sings cheerfully as he opens the door. He can't help himself - the singing or the huge smile on his face. He had a good day. A phenomenal day! And the best part? He gets to come home to his submissive – a gorgeous, loving, obedient boy he'll have the pleasure of defiling a dozen different ways before bedtime.
Considering the amount of adrenaline pumping through his body, which has built from excited simmer to full-blown frenzy during the subway ride home, he can't wait to get started.
Except, something's wrong. Nothing in the loft is as it should be.
Blaine isn't kneeling at the front door, waiting for him as commanded.
The lights are off. It's quiet as a tomb.
And the place is as cold as an ice box.
"Pet?" Kurt calls, slightly annoyed to have his sub's disobedience squash the fun he's been looking forward to all day. But Kurt isn't so shortsighted that he doesn't realize this is out of the ordinary for Blaine. Blaine wouldn't shirk Kurt's direct orders unless something was wrong.
Horribly wrong.
"Pet? Where are you, pet? Don't make me come find you …" Kurt switches on the light and scans the loft. There are no dishes in the sink, which is one of Blaine's responsibilities, but there is also no dinner on the table. Is there a chance that Blaine isn't home from work yet? Kurt considers as he puts down his bag and locks the front door. But, if that's the case, why didn't Blaine text, telling me he'd be late? Did his phone battery die? Is he stuck on the subway? Did he get jumped on the walk home? Did he get mugged … or worse? Is he lying in an alley, bleeding!?
Halfway into the loft, Kurt almost abandons his search and heads back out the front door when he catches a glimpse of something in a far corner, so brightly colored, bulky, and awkward, it screams for attention. Kurt stands back and stares at it, arms crossed and head tilted, confused because it doesn't make sense. It's elevated a few feet off the floor when it shouldn't be; slouched and unmoving, as if it's melting into the wall. It doesn't look real and yet, there it is – the crumpled figure of a human being, painfully disturbing, but also insanely beautiful, like an existential work of art.
It's Blaine.
He actually is kneeling, as per Kurt's orders, just not where Kurt wanted him – in front of the door with his mouth open, waiting to service his Master. He's put himself in the "naughty corner", where Kurt sends him on time-out. And he's not just kneeling. He's kneeling on buckets – two overturned, neon orange as-all-get-out five gallon buckets that Kurt had bought from The Home Depot, for those oh-so-fun autumn days when New York gets inundated by rain and the roof of his rustic little loft leaks like a sieve. Blaine is perched on them – knees dead center, the rest of his legs hanging over the edge - in a way that digs the lip of the buckets into his shins, and the circular ring in the middle into his knees. Kurt has kneeled on them once by accident, using them as a makeshift stool during the summer while he was wearing shorts.
He regretted his decision immediately.
Just the sight of Blaine in this position makes Kurt's legs sore.
"Good evening, pet," Kurt says, putting away the rest of his things, talking calmly as if finding his sub like this were an everyday occurrence.
"Good evening, Sir," Blaine says, his voice a lead blanket that wraps heavily around Kurt's heart when he hears it. "I apologize that I have not gotten to my evening chores yet, Sir. I did not anticipate being here so long. I acknowledge that I did so willfully, and accept any punishment you deem appropriate."
Kurt startles at Blaine's response – not in the thoroughness of his words, or his quick admission of guilt … but his complete and utter defeat.
Kurt gets the impression that whatever punishment he can dish out would not make the dent that whatever happened today already has.
"Why are you in the corner, pet?" Kurt asks. "I didn't send you there."
"I know, Sir. And I'm sorry, but …" Blaine sighs "… it's necessary, Sir."
Kurt waits for more, but Blaine says nothing. Kurt wishes Blaine would be a little more detailed in his explanation. He could tell Blaine to explain, but that might be better left for later, after Kurt gets his hands on him, ties him down, paddles him, and helps him heal. "I see. Alright. I'll give you few more minutes, then you'll come to me for a spanking, and we can talk."
"Alright, Sir," Blaine says, relaxing, his sick heart beating correctly for the first time all day. "Thank you, Sir."