This is a Klainofsky story (Kurt/Blaine/Karofsky), but it starts as a Blainofsky story. The first four chapters are exclusively Blainofsky and then a Klaine storyline begins to develop. This IS a love story, though at times it may not appear to be. Every chapter contains some form of sexual encounter. This story is NOT for readers with weak stomachs or impressionable minds.

Featured in this story: BDSM, sub/Dom relationships, spanking, snuggling, stalking, dirty talk, sexual violence, crazy/stalker/slut/sub!Blaine, Dom!Dave, (eventually) teddy-bear!Dave.

CHAPTER TWO - LOVE MARKS

When Dave started to come back to the world of the living, he was happier than he remembered being in a long time. He woke slowly, feeling the sheets beneath his hand, seeing the red glow of the sun through his eyelids, smelling the faint scent of Blaine's hair in his bed and smiling. He stretched and then curled onto his side like a happily slumbering puppy, hugging his pillow tight to his cheek. Everything was different. Everything was wonderful. Even the air felt cleaner - fuller in his lungs. Then it happened - realization dawning. The bed was too comfortable. He had too much room to stretch.

His eyes snapped open to confirm his suspicion. Blaine was gone. Dave sat up and looked around, breathless. There was no sign of him.

Blaine's clothes were gone. His shoes were gone.

He was gone.

Dave felt panic set in on him. He got up and hastily looked over the whole room. He stuck his head through the bathroom door - empty - and then rushed into the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen where his dad was making breakfast.

"Morning, David." The smell of bacon hit his nose and the sound of it crackling in the pan hit his ears. That usually was enough to catch Dave's whole attention, but nothing in that moment mattered as much as finding Blaine.

"Dad, have you seen..." Dave breathed and thought quickly. "...anything unusual this morning?" He tried to mask the panic in his voice.

Paul paused and looked at him. "No. David, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just... lost something." Dave hurried back out of the room and up the stairs, to avoid having to explain himself. Oh, God. I dreamed it. Oh, God.

He ran into his room, feeling like he was about to hyperventilate, then he saw it - a pair of black boxer briefs laying on his bed, right next to the pillow.

Dave sprinted across the room and grabbed them, bringing them to his face and breathing in the bitter scent of sweat. It should've been disgusting but he didn't even care. He let out a strangled sigh.

It was real.

He almost laughed. The high came flooding back to him and he lay back on the bed. It was real, and Blaine left him a little token - a promissory note of more to come, or so he thought.

Still, it was shitty of him to just leave like that.

Dave tried to imagine it – Blaine getting dressed in the early morning hours, watching Dave sleep, and deciding to put his underwear right next to him on the bed. Maybe it was a thoughtful thing - getting out before anyone could catch him there. Doing it for Dave's sake - protecting him. For a moment, Dave was in ecstasy at the thought, and for the whole day he was happy, excited for the next time that little freak showed up in his rear view mirror.

But he didn't.

Days passed with no sight of Blaine, and every day, Dave got angrier.

#

"Okay, dude, what's up?" Az asked.

Dave looked up, mouth full of his second hot dog, and saw real concern on Azimio's face. Dave swallowed. "What?"

"We're supposed to be having our traditional welcome back dogs."

"We are." Dave rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but you don't look happy to see me."

"I am."

"You gave me a half-assed bro-hug and then started shoving dogs in your face like you're in a competition. Dude, I know you. You only eat like this when you're pissed."

Dave grumbled and licked mustard off the corner of his lips. "It's..." Dave sighed. "It's stupid. It's nothing."

Az gave Dave a look.

Dave sighed loudly. "Okay... this... this bitch was all over my dick, right? Fucking stalking me."

Az laughed.

"So finally, I give the bitch what she wants, right? I fuck her. I fuck her good. Then she disappears! Puts her fucking underwear on my bed and leaves while I'm still asleep."

"And?"

"And... I don't know. She didn't even leave me her number."

Az laughed. Hard.

Dave stared at him. "Dude. It's not funny. I'm freaking pissed."

"She's playing you, dude."

Dave grabbed his hot dog and shoved the rest of it in his mouth, chewing sloppily. He felt horrible and he knew eating wasn't making it better but he couldn't stop himself.

"It's classic chick shit."

"It's fucking confusing," Dave said through a mouthful of food.

"Girls like it when you work for the pussy. She got you all into her and then left you to realize how bad you want it so you have to go after her."

Dave furrowed his brow, and swallowed. That sounded plausible. Gay guys are like chicks, right?

"So, what're you gonna do?" Az asked with a smirk.

"I don't know. Nothing. Fuck her. I wasn't even into it until she..." Dave sighed. "Nothing. I'm just gonna forget her."

Az slapped Dave's shoulder. "Dude. No. You're not. Who cares if you were into it to begin with? You're into it now. And you've got her in your pocket. I mean... was she into it, when you did it? Did she get off?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, so you didn't fuck it up or anything?"

"I... no. I don't think so." Dave hadn't thought of that. Did I do something wrong? Something to turn Blaine off? "Maybe? Dammit, Az. Now all I can think is that I did something wrong."

Azimio laughed. "It has been too long since we got you laid, dude. You're a stud. Stop worrying about it. She was into it, right?"

"Dude, I don't know."

"Was she like, writhing around and shit?" Az asked leaning forward over the table, grabbing both sides with his hands. "Was she comin' her brains out on your cock? Was she, 'ah Ah AH AH.'" He rocked in his chair and made a ridiculous O-face, making Dave cover his face with his hands and laugh. "'DAVE FUCK DAVE FUCK ME DAVE!'"

"Dude. Don't. Don't do that in a fucking restaurant," Dave muttered, glancing at the cashier who was glaring at them from the other end of the otherwise empty Dog Shack. He couldn't help grinning.

"Well, was she?" Az asked, leaning back and taking a bite of his hot dog, smirking.

Dave shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Not exactly."

"No?" Az asked like he couldn't believe it. "Come on. Your dick is bigger than mine and you're a white boy. You can't tell me she wasn't lovin' that shit."

Dave grinned, and then leaned in and whispered, "She wasn't exactly like that because she had a gag in her mouth."

Az laughed out loud and hit the table. "Damn, boy. That's fucked up."

"It was hot," Dave said with a smirk and a shrug.

Az shook his head and then smiled up at Dave - that smile that only Az had. "But she was into it, right?"

"Yeah. All the other shit. Writhing. Coming. Yeah."

Az threw up his hands. "You're a stud dude. She's gotta still want it, and if she DOES, and she's not doing anything about it, she IS playing you. So it's gonna be easy now. You know she wants it. You just gotta play the game."

"How?"

"You do what she did." Az laughed. "Shit, dude. This is GOOD. You've been so hard up for pussy, I was starting to think you were gay."

Dave glared at Azimio, feeling heat rush to his face and hoping it wouldn't show.

Az held his hands up. "I know. I know. If anyone knows you're not gay, it's me." He grinned. "Look, bitches are crazy. You wanna get with her? Out crazy her."

Dave's lips twisted as he thought about it. He COULD out crazy Blaine. he started to smile meanly down at his third hot dog. "Okay."

Az grinned wider. "That's my boy."

#

Blaine washed his hands, staring down at them and not at his reflection in the mirror. It was the end of the day - one more day gone after what happened in Karofsky's bedroom. He sighed and grabbed a paper towel out of the dispenser, drying his hands and finally looking up at himself.

The bruise was still there, still dark and angry. Explaining it to his parents... friends... Kurt had been difficult. Explaining the hickey on his neck had been worse. He'd managed to hide it for a few days but Kurt's attention to detail was impeccable and, of course, Kurt couldn't let it go.

So they were decidedly not hanging out today. Just like they hadn't hung out the day before. Every time they were in the same room, Blaine could see Kurt getting sour and sour-er, eyes stuck on that lovely red mark peeking out from under Blaine's collar. He felt guilty about it, but it was out of his control. He'd done what he'd done because he had to, hadn't he?

Blaine tossed the paper towel in the trash and leaned forward, touching the bruise gently and wincing.

He couldn't bring himself to hate it. In fact, for the first few days, when he saw it, it made him smile. It made him feel triumphant. Against impossible odds, he'd gotten what he wanted.

I got what I wanted, he thought, and it's enough. It'll be enough for a while.

It was that indeterminate "while" that nagged at him. How long would it take for Blaine to dissolve into a mess of lust again? How long would it take before he was ready to do something crazy again?

But he was determined to keep his agreement with Karofsky.

'This happens once, and only once,' he'd said.

Blaine smiled into the mirror, trying to be pleased that it had happened at all. And he was. Really, he was. It had been everything he'd wanted.

And now you can stop being a clingy bitch, he thought. Now you can stop being a creeper. It's done. Over. Out of my system.

But it wasn't out of his system. Not by a long shot. He'd spent most of the Warblers' meeting wondering if he could talk Kurt into topping. Wondering if he could talk Kurt into not just topping, but topping hard and mean. But the sexual positions weren't the problem with Kurt. The problem was the emotional pressure. Kurt always wanted things to be perfect. He wanted something sweet and delicate and constant. He wanted promises.

Blaine really wished he could be that kind of guy, but his attention span for love was about as long as the circumference of a coffee cup. His attention span for pain... that was something else entirely.

He ran his fingers through his hair, grabbed his school bag off a hook, slung it over his shoulder, and left the bathroom.

He was still stuck between thoughts of Karofsky's hands, eyes, jaw, chest, and Kurt's attitude, grace, composure, and sarcasm as he walked through the halls. Maybe he could find a way to convert Kurt's bitchiness into something real - something dark and twisted and wonderful. Maybe he could find some way of blending all the best things about Kurt and all the best things about Karofsky into one perfect boyfriend. Maybe he could train Kurt. But he didn't really have the patience for that.

He walked all the way out of the school and across the parking lot so lost in thought that he didn't notice Karofsky's all too familiar truck parked on the other side of the street.

Blaine got in his Charger, dropping his book bag in the passenger seat and checking himself again in the mirror.

His nose wrinkled in disgust. Bruises are so temporary. In a week it'll be gone and I won't have anything to remember it by, Blaine thought. He thought, only vaguely, of breaking the agreement to leave Karofsky alone before starting the car and backing out of his spot. No, no. I can't do that... he thought. But why? Blaine had already done plenty of unconscionable things in his pursuit of cock. But he couldn't just ignore Karofsky's request. He actually - and it came as something of a surprise - wanted to obey him.

He put his iPod on shuffle and drove home with Gaga blaring so loud the people in passing cars could hear it. He didn't care. He didn't care and he didn't notice anything other than the road in front of him.

He was gone - lost in an ocean of thoughts, some nasty, some hopeful, some tragic - and he didn't notice that truck following two cars behind.

#

Blaine stood in the kitchen, chopping lettuce and dropping it in the salad spinner. It felt good to be destroying something - even if it was just produce. He started singing absentmindedly.

"I want your ugly. I want your disease. I want your everything as long as it's-"

The doorbell rang, and Blaine dropped the knife onto the cutting board, angry at the disturbance. Everything makes me angry now, he thought, stalking into the front hall. If it's the damn Jehovah's Witnesses, I swear...

He composed himself - plastered on that perfect smile - and pulled the door open. The fake smile quickly turned into a frown when he realized that no one was there. His eyebrows moved in toward each other and he looked around. Did I imagine the doorbell ringing?

A breeze blew by and rustled the corners of a slip of notebook paper sitting under a dirt crusted rock on the porch right in front of him.

Blaine licked his lip and bent down to grab the piece of paper, tugging it gently out from under the rock. Scrawled across it in a messy but legible hand were the words: "good girls leave their #s, not their panties. are mommy and daddy home?"

Blaine's heart sped up and a grin spread across his face. It had to be Karofsky. He hadn't left his underwear for someone ever before. Hell, at the time that he did it he wasn't even really sure why he was doing it. He just couldn't bring himself to leave without doing SOMETHING.

He hurried back inside and closed the door, heart racing, then rushed into the kitchen, dirty note in hand, and rummaged in a junk drawer for a pen. On the blank side of the page he wrote: "nobody's home but me."

He ran back to the front door, sliding on the hardwood in his socked feet, then very briefly composed himself before opening it. He walked out, casual and cool, and slid the note back under it's rock before turning back to the house. He walked in, and almost closed the door - but not quite - and as soon as he was hidden from the outside world he was running again, up the stairs and into his bedroom.

He slammed the door behind himself. Not much time, he thought. He'd spent a week prepared for sex, when he was expecting it - ready to be taken at a moment's notice - but after what happened, after Karofsky gave his ultimatum and Blaine agreed to it, he'd stopped thinking of it as an impending possibility, and he'd stopped perpetually prepping himself.

Blaine opened the bottom drawer of his dresser and dug underneath his folded pajama pants and other miscellaneous articles of clothing for his secret stash.

He pulled out a bottle of lube and the pretty purple butt-plug, just the right size for pre-coital stretching. After placing the contraband on his desk, Blaine undid his belt and fly and dropped his pants and his red boxer-briefs to his knees. He popped the cap on the bottle of lube and poured a glob onto his fingers.

Bending over the desk for support, Blaine ran two lube slick fingers over his asshole and pressed them slowly in, groaning at the sudden intrusion, but only a little. He ran his fingers around the inside, coating it and only pressing very gently at his prostate, eliciting a whine from his own mouth, before pulling his fingers out.

He poured lube over the plug and spread it around with one hand before reaching back and pressing it to his entrance. Then slowly, but not too slowly, he pressed it in.

He heard the front door open downstairs and squeaky footsteps on the floor.

Licking his lips he pushed the toy all the way over the threshold until it sat in place and then straightened up, wiggling a little as he adjusted to the feeling of being full. Then he grabbed a babywipe from the still opened bottom drawer and quickly cleaned his hands.

He pulled his pants back up, and zipped up his fly, and he was about to fasten his belt buckle when he heard a creak from the stairs. His breath caught in his chest, and his fingers paused.

It's not enough time... I'm not ready, Blaine thought, breathless. I'll pick a fight with him. Buy time. Oh, God. He was so hard already.

Blaine fastened his belt buckle and heard another creak in the hall, right on the landing at the top of the stairs. He checked himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it back down. Then he heard a click - a door closing.

For a moment, Blaine did nothing, then he walked to his door and opened it slowly, leaning out to check the hallway. It was empty.

Blaine's heart raced. He stepped out and tried to breathe slow. "Is someone there?" he called out to the empty hall.

A silent moment passed and then Blaine heard a creak of floorboards to his right. He's in the guest room, Blaine thought, taking a step toward the door and then stopping. A grin spread across Blaine's face as realization washed over his mind. Cat and mouse, Blaine thought. And yes, he wanted to play.

"Hello?" Blaine called out, playing along, and he made for the stairs, taking them at a slow and steady pace, imagining that he was acting "normal," and trying not to make any noise to give away the pangs of ecstasy as the plug moved with every step. When he was halfway down the stairs he heard the guestroom door open.

Humming and smiling, Blaine took the last few steps at a bit of a skip, and he walked into the kitchen.

He went back to making his salad, as though everything was totally normal. He hummed happily and watched the lettuce crunch and split under his knife. When he was finished he tossed some handfuls of spinach in the already half full spinner and then took it to the sink, filling it with water. He heard movement somewhere in the house and his heart thumped. His head was too full of excitement to think much of anything except, it's happening again.

An idea hit him. I'll sing! The sound of his voice might lead Karofsky to him faster and it might cover the sound of his approach adding to the thrill of the impending attack. He sang the first thing that came to mind.

"I want your psycho, your vertigo stick. Want you in my rear window, baby you're sick. I want your love." Blaine pressed down the plunger on the salad spinner and watched it spin. "Love, love, love. I want your love. You know that I want you, and you know that I need you. I want it bad your bad-"

It happened - big arms closing around Blaine's lithe body. Blaine yelped just a little as Karofsky grabbed him, one hand at Blaine's waist and one hand over Blaine's mouth, just like before.

God, just like before...

"You've been bad," Karofsky whispered.

Blaine groaned as Karofsky's hard-on brushed against his ass and then suddenly, the bigger boy was dragging him backward, away from the kitchen. Yesssssssssss, Blaine thought, whining against Karofsky's big, calloused hand.

Blaine kicked and struggled against Karofsky's grasp, wanting it to feel real and horrible and filthy and wonderful, and then suddenly Karofsky threw him down on the sofa.

Blaine found himself on his back, awkwardly sprawled across the cushions, breathing hard, face red from the exertion. He stared at the jock, all decked out in his letterman jacket and jeans, and Blaine's eyes went dark with lust so hot it looked like hate.

"What?" Karofsky asked, "You don't want this anymore?" He grabbed his crotch and glared at Blaine.

Blaine stared up at him, pulse racing. "I do," he insisted.

"Then why didn't you leave your number, Princess?"

Blaine gaped. What? My number? But he didn't want it to be a continuing thing. He... "I... but you..."

But Karofsky was unbuttoning his pants, and Blaine couldn't think of much else. Like he was in a trance, Blaine crawled down off the sofa, onto the carpet, giving Karofsky reason to pause and breathe. Blaine knelt in front of him, hands on the sides of Karofsky's thighs, mouth open. He stared up at him, at his face, thinking, do with me what you will, though he couldn't manage to say a thing.

Karofsky laughed - a real laugh, not a mean one. "Oh, shit, you really do want it." He looked down at Blaine's face and for the first time Blaine saw something soft in his eyes. Karofsky's eyebrows spread, and his face smoothed out as his tongue snuck out for just a moment over his lower lip.

Blaine melted. The game was over.

He leaned in and closed his eyes, and nuzzled the fly of Karofsky's jeans, breathing in gently. "Yes," he murmured.

"Shit," Karofsky muttered again, unzipping his fly for Blaine.

Blaine reached up and put his fingers in Karofsky's waistband, pulling his pants and briefs down in one movement so that his cock bounced up and hit Blaine in the chin.

Blaine pulled back, breathless, and looked at it, thick and hard and red. Fuck, he's big. Bigger than I thought in the dark... Blaine opened his mouth and took the head in, sucking and bobbing and licking. He stroked the shaft slowly as his mouth teased the head - tongue running over and over the slit.

He pulled back and pressed a kiss the tip of Karofsky's cock, gently, to see how he would take it - not really sure if he wanted the bully to accept the teasing tenderness, or reject it and force himself into Blaine's throat.

He heard little whimpering noises from Karofsky, but he didn't look up - afraid of making it too intimate, afraid Karofsky wasn't ready.

Leaning in, Blaine slid his lips halfway down Karofsky's cock and started rocking back and forth. His ass clenched with every backward movement so that the pressure on his prostate started to come in a rhythm. Blaine moaned loudly around Karofsky's cock and he felt the bigger boy shudder.

Through his eyelashes, Blaine saw Karofsky shed his jacket, and toss it at the sofa.

Blaine rocked harder back and forth, moaning all the while, and taking him deeper and deeper into his mouth.

"Fuck me," Karofsky muttered.

Blaine smiled to himself at the slip, thinking, maybe, one day, I will. Then he pushed all the way down, until his throat was full of Karofsky's dick, and tears were wetting his eyes, and his nose was pressed against the fine, soft hairs of Karofsky's happy trail.

He paused briefly, trying not to gag, and swallowing gently, letting his throat muscles squeeze the head. Blaine heard a low groan from the the other boy's throat and felt a tear run down his own cheek. He brushed it away casually. Useless byproduct. He wasn't about to let any bodily reaction interfere with his work.

Then he started to rock back and forth again, taking Karofsky deep every time, and feeling the plug stretching him every time.

Precum rolled down Blaine's painfully hard cock and he moaned loudly, suddenly shifting to a higher speed of motion, like he was fucking his own throat on Karofsky's cock.

Blaine slid his hands to Karofsky's ass and started pulling him, forcing him to move, willing him to come deep down his throat. Blaine whined around Karofsky's cock. The sound came out stuttering as his head moved forward and backward, over and over again, rapidly. Come for me, Blaine thought and then he slid one hand across the taught skin of Dave's hip and down to the inside of his thigh and cupped his balls, squeezing gently

Karofsky released a low and desperate whine and Blaine felt his cock twitch against the inside of his throat.

Blaine swallowed over and over and glanced up to see Karofsky's face twist in orgasm and his eyes close.

For a moment, Blaine just took him in, staring up at Karofsky's muscled chest and arms - clothed in a lose polo shirt that didn't do them any kind of justice - and his round boyish face - beet red and frozen in a soundless scream. It was just a moment, and then Karofsky grunted, and the tension in his face disappeared, and those soft eyes opened and Blaine averted his gaze like a pious worshiper, unworthy of looking.

Slowly, Karofsky pulled out, and as the head left Blaine's mouth Blaine snuck one last lick at it, which made the bigger boy laugh - another sweet little laugh.

Karofsky sank to his knees on the floor in front of Blaine. He smiled. A real smile. A smile that could melt and evaporate an iceberg.

He looked like a little boy who'd just won his first football game.

Blaine smiled, daring enough to look him in the eye, shy enough to do it through his eyelashes.

Then Karofsky was grinning like an imp and reaching forward and undoing Blaine's fly and belt. Blaine gasped, and leaned forward, closing his eyes.

"Karofsky," Blaine murmured as Karofsky's big, muscular hand slid around Blaine's already slick cock.

The bigger boy laughed. "It's, Dave," he said.

Blaine smiled at that. "Dave," he moaned, already deeply enjoying the sound of it, and then laughed softly as a kind of relief washed over him. God, he had wanted to know that name.

Dave started to stroke Blaine's cock and Blaine grunted at the friction of those calluses rubbing against the tender skin of his head.

Blaine reached down and guided Dave's hand lower, trying to get him to stick to the shaft. He chanced a look at Dave's face and saw him staring down at Blaine's cock, brow furrowed in a kind of weird intensity. He felt like he could hear Dave's voice - barking out a clipped explanation for his actions. 'Wanna do it right,' he imagined Dave saying.

There was something so bizarrely sweet about the moment. Blaine felt his heart flutter. He bit his lip and leaned in just a little, thinking about kissing Dave, staring at those lips.

Suddenly, Dave paused. Blaine whimpered as Dave's hand released his cock but then those hands were on his hips, pulling him forward and forcing his legs wide. Blaine groaned as his muscles moved and shifted the plug inside him. And then Blaine was straddling Dave's knees, and Dave's hand was back at his cock and their bodies were so close together.

Breathless, Blaine leaned in and slid his arms around Dave's neck, resting his chin on Dave's shoulder.

Dave's hand moved faster up and down Blaine's cock, careful not to run rough over the head.

Blaine moaned and started to bounce up and down just a little, ass clenching and squeezing the plug tight. As he bounced his cock moved through Dave's hand, slippery with precum and Dave squeezed the head tight accidentally, eliciting a whine from Blaine's mouth and an increase in the speed of his bouncing. So close. So painfully close.

"Fuck," Blaine muttered, fingers digging into Dave's shoulder blades as cum spurted onto Dave's hand. "Daaaave," he moaned, mind, briefly, going a complete and fabulous blank. Emptiness.

He gasped for air once or twice, and when he came back to his senses he was leaning like a ragdoll against Dave's sturdy frame.

Dave laughed tenderly, sitting with his slippery hand palm up in his lap.

Slowly, Blaine came down from the high, awareness coming back to him bit by bit. He felt Dave's clean hand cupping his thigh. He felt Dave's lips on his neck and his heart raced. Over and over, Dave pressed little kisses to Blaine's skin making him squirm.

He's such a cuddler, Blaine thought with the corners of his eyes wrinkled in joy. He let his fingers slide into Dave's hair, holding him against his neck, wanting more. Such a perfect blend of sweet and sour - hard and soft.

"You've still got a mark from Saturday night," Dave said softly.

Blaine remembered the hickey and realized that that was what Dave was kissing. "Sunday Morning," he corrected, voice soft and happy. Impossibly happy.

Dave laughed. "Whatever."