Author notes (more notes at end of story):
WARNING: There are no happy hearts or Klainebows in this story. If that's what you're looking for - even in a horror story - you won't find it here. Go no further.
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! 😉
Kurt groaned.
His head was just throbbing.
He really shouldn't be that surprised. He did really let loose last night.
Even with his eyes closed, Kurt could still see the insanity that was the new club Elliot had recommended to him hours before. He could still hear the thumping of the deep bass on the dance floor and smell the sweet drinks; Kurt could even taste them on his tongue. What was it he had last night? It was so delicious. He must remember to ask Santana and Elliott – maybe they could mix some up at the loft for post-rehearsal cocktails.
The club was fantastic. It was dark, loud, and so hot.
And so were all the guys there.
Kurt felt like he hadn't been that impulsive and wild in years.
He smiled at the memory of the last guy he was on the dance floor with. All dark curls, a gorgeous face, and a tight, compact body. To be honest, he was a little shorter than Kurt thought he would go for, but those hazel eyes were hypnotic – and he had an ass that wouldn't quit. With all the grinding and hands roaming all over each other that night, Kurt was surprised both of them didn't repeatedly come on the dance floor.
Not that he would have minded all that much. Dance Floor Hottie would have been fun to go home with.
"What was his name?" Kurt frowned, trying to recall more of last night, but the growing hangover headache was just not letting him. Kurt had hoped he got his phone number at the end of the night. He just couldn't remember.
If only this headache would just quit already.
"Ok," Kurt murmured to himself. "Executive decision. Get your ass out of bed, and find some aspirin and water, which you should have taken last night when you got home." He silently chastised himself for not remembering that. Ugh. He probably forgot to do his nighttime skincare regime as well. He did not recall doing that either.
"Just great," groaned Kurt. "Dehydrated, in pain, and less than satisfactory skin. Perfect."
Kurt took a few deep breaths, ready for the onslaught of pressure in his head when he changed positions.
He sat up.
Or rather, he tried to sit up.
And failed.
The clinking of metal, the sensation of tugging on his wrists, and the sheer inability to sit upright in bed made Kurt force his eyes open.
"What the hell . ." he said, confused.
Kurt looked around.
This wasn't his bedroom.
This wasn't even the loft.
He was in a basement.
He was, in short, handcuffed to a bed in an unknown basement somewhere.
"Fuck."
Kurt's mind raced as he tried to piece together what he had last recalled.
He could remember most of how last night went - aside from partaking in multiple dances and drinks. He had waved goodbye to Santana after she and Dani said they were heading back to their place. He recalled giving Elliott a playful nudge after he got picked up by an adorable blond on the dance floor. He remembers quite a few dances with some ridiculously good-looking guys before spending some time with Dance Floor Hottie, and then after . . after was kind of a blur.
He remembered not feeling well.
He remembered getting into a cab.
And that was it.
Kurt's heart now started to race.
No one knew he was here, wherever here was.
He didn't even know who brought him here – who handcuffed him to the bed.
What the hell was going to happen?
Kurt looked above his head at his wrists. They weren't the normal, run-of-the-mill policeman-style handcuffs. His wrists were encased in somewhat intimidating black leather cuffs with a thick chain running through rings in each of them. The chain was then threaded through a few posts in the rusted metal headboard. He gave them a few firm tugs, wincing at the sound of the metal clinking loudly again. The cuffs were secured tight, and the headboard seemed sturdy enough that Kurt knew he wasn't getting out of them by sheer strength. He'd need a blow torch, bolt cutter – or even the jaws of life. Any of which he was sure was nowhere in this basement or even within hands reach.
"Fuck," he muttered again.
Kurt wondered if he should start screaming. Maybe someone would hear him and come to help?
Or worse, maybe the person who locked him up down hear would hear him and come down and do something. He didn't know what, maybe bludgeon him to death? Skin him alive? Pour acid on him, disfiguring him horribly?
He silently cursed Santana for making him sit through too many horror flicks at their last shared movie night together. His brain wouldn't stop coming up with one gruesome scenario after the other.
And none of them made him feel any better.
Kurt scanned the room. All he could see were worn red brick walls all around him. A battered, brass lamp stood in the corner, giving off a sickly yellow light through its stained lampshade. Another dirtied lightbulb swung from a fixture above the bed. Deep shadows lurked right outside of each of these sources of light. No windows were visible – so he couldn't imagine any foot traffic would be able to peer down inside to see him. There was no way out.
"That's it." Kurt finally decided. "I'm not going to give myself an anxiety attack over this." He muttered to himself. "I can't get out of here without help, so. . ."
He took in a large gulp of air and was about to scream at the top of his lungs . . .
"Don't do that," a voice said.
Kurt gave a surprised cough as he was startled, and the breath expelled quickly out of his lungs like he was punched. He looked around frantically, trying to find the source of the voice.
What he got in return was the sound of hissing.
Hiss. Hiss.
Pause.
Hiss. Hiss.
Kurt shivered. He knew that sound. He prepared enough meals for his father, himself, and his friends to know the sound of a knife cutting through something solid.
Kurt started panicking and gave another rough tug at his wrists while the hissing began to get louder.
"Ooooooh," the voice said. "Don't do that either, Kurt. You'll hurt those pretty wrists of yours."
Kurt's dance floor partner walked out of the shadows from the far corner of the room. He was still everything Kurt remembered from the night before: devastatingly handsome with those thick black curls he still wanted to run his fingers through and tug, and that body that was more on display than it was on the dance floor. His former dance partner had divested himself of his clubbing outfit, choosing instead to remain in a tight pair of black boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination.
And as much as Kurt wanted to stare (and maybe lick) his way down those amazing washboard abs, his eyes were drawn to something else altogether.
The large, shiny knife the other man held in his hand.
A very large shiny knife with which Kurt observed that his captor used with much dexterity on an apple. He was peeling it, ever so carefully, turning the piece of fruit in his hand as a long, unbroken curl of peel began to stretch from it.
Hiss. Hiss.
Pause.
Turn.
Hiss. Hiss.
"You . . . "Kurt stuttered, "You know my name?"
The other man smiled knowingly. "Of course I do."
Hiss. Hiss.
Pause.
Turn.
Hiss. Hiss.
"You told me last night, Kurt, in the cab. You told me a lot of things, actually."
"You didn't tell me your name, "Kurt pointed out, slightly hypnotized again both by the other man's eyes and by the deft work he was making of the apple.
"Not true," the other man said, catching Kurt's eyes. "Think about it."
Kurt frowned as he tried to muddle through the haze still in his head.
"B . . Blaine?" he asked tentatively.
Blaine smiled. "There ya go. See, that wasn't too hard."
He triumphantly held up the peeled apple in one hand, and the entire apple peel he dangled off the tip of the knife he carried. "Look, got it all in one piece." Blaine boasted. "I'm quite skilled," he said pointedly.
"Um, I'm sure you are," Kurt said warily as he watched the knife glint even in the dimmed lighting.
Blaine dropped the apple peel on a bedside table that Kurt hadn't noticed before. Kurt couldn't stop focusing on the peel, his heart racing and wondering if he was about to be carved up as easily as that apple had been.
Hiss. Hiss.
At that sound, Kurt's eyes quickly returned to Blaine. He was now right next to the bed, looming over Kurt. There was nowhere to run.
Blaine was cutting a small chunk out of the apple. Kurt watched as Blaine brought the slice up to his lips with the knife and ate it, a devilish smile on his face. A bit of apple juice ran down Blaine's forearm. Kurt's breath hitched as he watched Blaine raise his arm and slowly lick the trail of juice back up to his palm, staring at his captive all the while.
Kurt swallowed.
Blaine grinned.
Hiss. Hiss.
Another chunk of apple was cut. This time Blaine speared the piece on the tip of the knife and held it up to Kurt to eat.
"Um, that's ok. I'm fine." Kurt said, shaking his head. "I'm not hungry."
Kurt's stomach rumbled in reply.
Blaine smirked. "Oh, it seems like you are. Come on. You wouldn't want to hurt my feelings, now, would you?" Blaine's face suddenly fell into a sad look, complete with a pout and puppy-dog eyes.
Kurt carefully took a bite of the apple, making sure to not touch the tip of the knife. The remainder of the apple fell onto his bare chest. Kurt swallowed his mouthful and froze, hoping Blaine wouldn't take this opportunity to spear the leftover bit with the tip of his knife. And maybe not plunge the knife into his chest in the process.
"Clumsy . . ." said Blaine, shaking his head in disapproval. "Wouldn't want to be wasteful, either, would we?"
Kurt shook his head quietly.
With a swift move, Blaine's arm moved downward, stabbing the bedside table next to Kurt's head so forcefully that the knife stood upright like a macabre sentry. It balanced delicately on its point, wobbling just slightly from the force it took for it to be slammed into place. Kurt flinched at the action, silently grateful the table took the brunt of that blow and not him.
Blaine moved an inch closer and picked up the piece of apple off Kurt's chest, and brought it to his mouth. Kurt tentatively took it, quickly chewing and swallowing it down. Blaine took a moment, staring at Kurt's mouth intensely. With his free hand, Blaine cupped Kurt's chin, gently caressing his lips with his thumb. It was so intimate, so sensual. Kurt's lips parted instinctively in response.
Blaine then let his fingers trail slowly down Kurt's neck, half holding him down, wrapping his broad hand around Kurt's throat. He closed his eyes as he felt Blaine's thumb stroking his Adam's apple. Blaine applied pressure ever so gently – just a quick firm squeeze around Kurt's neck and then a release. Kurt gasped, his eyes opening, the pupils dilating. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest. Kurt then watched Blaine as he felt those same fingers softly trail down to his chest where the apple had fallen. Blaine used his thumb to swipe up the bit of apple juice that had lingered there. Keeping Kurt's gaze, Blaine brought the thumb up to his own mouth and sucked it.
Kurt could feel his own cock twitch at the sight. He wondered what those lips would feel like around him.
"What," he whispered to Blaine. "What are you going to do to me?"
Blaine smirked again as he ripped off the blanket that was covering Kurt. He was naked underneath, his feet similarly bound as his hands. Kurt's ankles were encased with similar black leather cuffs and chained to the footboard of the bed. He shivered slightly at the loss of the warm blanket. He felt so exposed under Blaine's hungry stare.
"Oh, we're going to have some fun."
Blaine took another bite of the apple he was holding, more juices covering his palm. After swallowing, he placed the apple on the bedside table next to the knife and presented his palm and fingers to Kurt.
"Lick it clean," he said roughly.
Kurt craned his head and followed his order. The tart sweetness of the apple mixed with the taste of Blaine's skin lingered on Kurt's tongue. He thoroughly licked Blaine's palm, even took each of his fingers into his mouth, and sucked the juices off them. Blaine groaned and smiled in satisfaction.
Blaine took that hand and slowly moved it down Kurt's body, barely ghosting over his half-hard cock. Kurt whimpered, knowing those fingers were so close.
"Tell me, Kurt," Blaine murmured, leaning close to speak into his left ear. "Do you want me to touch you?"
Kurt nodded.
"Use your words, Kurt." Blaine teased. "Do you want me to touch you?"
"Yes. Please. Touch me." Kurt cried out, moaning as he felt Blaine's hand close around his cock.
Blaine tightened his grip and began slowly stroking Kurt. Kurt began panting, thrusting up into Blaine's fist, wanting more and more friction against his aching cock.
"So beautiful," Blaine whispered as he nuzzled Kurt's neck, sucking and biting the area just below his left ear. Kurt's eye's fluttered shut for a moment, drowning in the sensations coursing through his body. "I can make you feel good all night. You're here now. You're all mine." Blaine said, giving Kurt's cock a twist and thumbing the pre-cum that started to appear at its head.
Kurt moaned. "Yes. Yours," he said.
Blaine suddenly stopped and removed his hand from Kurt's erection. "But I can stop," he said. "If you want me to, I will stop and let you go."
Kurt gasped at being cut off abruptly. "Blaine, please . . ." he pleaded, thrusting up into the air, wanting his touch again.
Blaine looked directly into Kurt's eyes and stilled his hips with his hand. "I can play with your body all night," he growled. "I can fuck you and suck you and finger you till you beg for mercy. But I won't do any of that . ."
Kurt whimpered, pulling at his bonds.
" . . I won't do any of that unless I know you want it," Blaine smirked. "I want to hear it. Hear you beg for it."
Blaine stepped back from the bed for a moment and pulled off his underwear. His own cock sprung free and jutted out from his body, thick and heavy in his hand. Kurt's eyes widened as he watched Blaine slowly pump his own erection. Kurt's mouth started to water as he continued staring.
Blaine smiled, knowing the effect he was having on Kurt. "I'll let you go now," Blaine said softly. "Just say the word. I'll undo the handcuffs, dress you – promise not to lay a finger on you at all after that. Is that what you want?"
"Blaine . ." Kurt began to whine.
Blaine stepped over to the bedside table, pulled a bottle of lube and a condom out, and tossed it onto the bed next to Kurt. He crawled onto the bed and sat back on his ankles between Kurt's outstretched legs. Blaine continued to masturbate in front of Kurt, moaning.
"Last chance, Kurt," Blaine purred under half-lidded eyes. "Tell me what you want to do."
"Blaine . ." Kurt pleaded. "I want you."
"Beg."
"Please. I want you. I want you to touch me. I want you to fuck me. I want you." Kurt begged as he pulled against his handcuffs in frustration.
And with a smile, Blaine placed both hands on Kurt's hips, bent over, and sunk his mouth over his captive's erection. Kurt cried out, arching his back as he felt Blaine take all of him in, hitting the back of his throat. Kurt tried to thrust forward, but Blaine held down his hips firmly. He slowly sucked his way to the top of Kurt's cock, pausing at the top to swirl his tongue around the head. Blaine then pulled his mouth off and began crawling up Kurt's body.
"You're mine now, beautiful," Blaine said as he slotted their cocks together and began slowly grinding against Kurt. "All mine. And maybe I'll just keep you like this. Would you like that?"
"Yes," Kurt moaned breathily as he mirrored Blaine's actions. "Don't stop."
"Panting and moaning and chained to a bed in my basement, "Blaine went on as he bent down to take one of Kurt's hardened nipples in his mouth. His hand returned to Kurt's cock and began to jack it again. "Keeping you here so I can use you whenever I want."
"Blaine . ." Kurt's was now heady with arousal.
Blaine grinned as he reached for the lube, coated his fingers, and began to work Kurt open. Kurt kept moaning and making the most hedonistic sounds as Blaine stroked his prostate.
Blaine rolled on a condom and slicked himself up, admiring Kurt's body before him, writhing in anticipation. He quickly turned and freed Kurt's ankles. Blaine lifted Kurt's legs and wrapped them around his waist as he slowly rocked into Kurt's body.
Kurt pulled Blaine closer with his legs and began to push back against Blaine's thrusts.
"Harder," he panted. "Fuck me harder, Blaine." Kurt cried as he pulled at his wrist restraints.
Blaine was more than happy to comply and started fucking Kurt with wild abandon. The bed springs creaked and moaned. Both men were almost there; they could feel it.
Kurt tugged again at his handcuffs. "Please, I need to touch you," he begged. "I need to touch you. I'm so close."
Blaine paused a moment to release him. Once free, Kurt did what he wanted to do all the night before. He took a handful of Blaine's curls in both hands and tugged his head toward him. They exchanged dirty kisses: all tongue and teeth, nipping and hungry and possessive as Blaine continued thrusting into Kurt.
"Come for me, beautiful." Blaine hissed between kisses.
Soon enough, Kurt cried out, digging his nails into Blaine's back as he spilled between their bodies. Blaine shouted as he felt Kurt tighten around him and came soon after.
Blaine collapsed on top of Kurt, breathing heavily.
"You're so fucking good," he said, running his hands along Kurt's legs. "That was . . wild and crazy and . . .Everything you told me it would be in the cab. . . . just amazing. You're amazing." Blaine nuzzled Kurt's neck. He was sweaty and sticky and spent and riding a damn good endorphin high.
"Mmmm," Kurt murmured, playing with the curls at the nape of Blaine's neck. "Enjoyed yourself, did you?"
"God, yes," Blaine mumbled, getting a bit sleepy. "Role play's not usually my type of thing. But you converted me. That was hot. I'm so up for round 2 whenever you are." He yawned. "So glad I met you last night."
Kurt smiled into Blaine's curls as he slowly ran his fingers up and down the other man's back. Blaine shivered under his light touches.
"Well, you were special, Blaine." Kurt purred. "I noticed you the minute you walked into the club. There were so many guys there – but I knew I had to be with you. Knew you would be perfect . . . for this."
"Perfect . . ." Blaine agreed.
"Oh . ." Kurt began.
Hiss.
Thump.
"I don't think there will be a round 2."
Blaine cried out as Kurt plunged the knife from the bedside table into his back.
"I had fun, too," Kurt said innocently. "But I just don't think it will work out for us."
Kurt roughly shoved Blaine off him. "You did take suggestions and direction so well, though," he contemplated out loud.
Blaine screamed as Kurt tore the knife out of his back and plunged it in again.
Hiss.
Thump.
And again.
Hiss.
Thump.
And again.
Hiss.
Thump.
"Why . ." Blaine cried out weakly. He tried to crawl away, sobbing and bleeding profusely on the bed.
With a strength Blaine did not know he had, Kurt dragged Blaine to the top of the bed and fastened the handcuffs back on him. Blaine tried to struggle free but could not.
Kurt then straddled him, blood smeared over his pale skin. He loomed over Blaine like a terrifying avenging angel. Kurt placed one hand on Blaine's throat, holding him down. He leaned in close, his face mere inches from Blaine's
"Why not," Kurt said, a cool expression on his face. "I had an itch I had to scratch. Thanks so much for helping me with that."
Kurt's face broke into a sinister grin. He bent closer and pressed his lips against Blaine's.
Blaine's eyes widened as he saw Kurt raise the knife in his hands. He tugged at his restraints with a feeble attempt at escape.
"I'm good now," Kurt whispered, aiming for Blaine's heart.
Hiss.
Thump.
MORE AUTHOR NOTES:
The story title is inspired by this poem, The Spider and the Fly:
"The Spider and the Fly is a poem by Mary Howitt (1799–1888), published in 1829. The first line of the poem is "'Will you walk into my parlour?' said the Spider to the Fly." The story tells of a cunning spider who entraps a fly into its web through the use of seduction and manipulation. The poem is a cautionary tale against those who use flattery and charm to disguise their true intentions.
The opening line is one of the most recognized and quoted first lines in all of English verse.[3] Often misquoted as "Step into my parlour" or "Come into my parlour", it has become an aphorism, often used to indicate a false offer of help or friendship that is in fact a trap. The line has been used and parodied numerous times in various works of fiction."
Wikipedia entry - wiki/The_Spider_and_the_Fly_(poem)
So basically, in this AU, I've taken a sort of spin on the "black widow" trope. This version of Kurt preys on unsuspecting men in clubs, finds one and tricks them into some pretty kinky sexual acts, gets off, and then disposes of them.
I wondered what would happen if Kurt's Type A personality and his need to control situations – those types of character traits that are cannon – what they would look like ramped up and distorted.
For me, that turned Kurt into a cold, calculating person - one who has no problem orchestrating these deadly encounters – planning them, scripting them in his head, and manipulating others to do what he wants how he wants it.
Sadly to say, it didn't end well for Blaine.