Chapter 9

"Are you sure you don't need me to kill anyone for you?"

Sam smiled, and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of the large hands on his body for a moment longer before he answered. "I'm sure," He replied, nuzzling his cheek into the soft pillow he was resting against.

After Kurt had gone through a list of Sam's customers with him, and thoroughly questioned Sam on the way each one of them had treated him, Sam had been left with less than a handful of regulars. Dave Karofsky was one of the few that Kurt had permitted Blaine to keep for him.

Dave was only a few years older than Sam, but he was already co-president of a lucrative new construction company that was knocking down and rebuilding half of New York. Kurt would say he was a little big around the middle, but Sam didn't mind. Dave was gentle with him, always sweet and warm and Sam never minded sleeping with him. After dealing with some of his other customers, there'd even been times when he found himself looking forward to Dave.

Dave had always gotten a little worked up over his bruises, asking him in increasingly worried tones if he was alright, if he needed help. Sam had always assured him he was fine, it was all fine... but this time, Dave hadn't bought it.

"Really," Dave said. He was trying to keep his voice light, his tone humorous, but Sam could tell there was an edge to his words. He was upset, Sam knew that. "I can get a ton of different tools from the construction site. Wrenches, hammers, pliers, drills—blowtorch. At the very least we can take off a few toes."

Sam laughed, and shook his head. Somehow just knowing he had people willing to mutilate Katz for him made him feel better. "Really, Dave," He said. "It's taken care of."

Dave sighed, still running his hands over Sam's back. "I worry about you, Sam," He said quietly. "You know I do."

Sam smiled, and rolled over onto his back. He put a hand on Dave's face. "I know," He said. He reached up and kissed Dave lightly on the mouth.

Dave's fingers found their way into his hair, and soon the light kisses had turned hard and deep. Sam didn't think that had enough time left in their hour to fuck again, because they'd spent so much time cuddling and stuff. But he didn't stop kissing Dave, because it felt nice and Dave seemed like he needed to be kissed.

"Sam," Dave said, pulling back suddenly. He gave him a serious look and put his hand on Sam's face. "If... if you ever wanted to get out... I'd do whatever I could, to help you. I want you to know that."

Sam blinked a few times, shocked. "What?" He asked. Dave just looked at him. "Whaddya mean 'get out?'"

"You know what I mean," Dave said, sitting up in the bed. "Get out, away from Blaine and his whole operation, start over. If you wanted to, I'd just... I'd be there to help, is all."

Sam sat up too, and lifted up his knees under the covers. He rested his forearms on them, and turned Dave's words over in his head. "I... I have thought about it," Sam said quietly. He snorted. "Alright I think about it all the time."

"So do it," Dave said.

Sam shook his head. "I can't. I mean, first off I don't have anywhere to go," He said, smiling bitterly. "My parents don't want me, and trying to live on my own is what got me into this mess in the first place." He shook his head. "And even if I did... I could never leave without Kurt. And there's no way he'd walk out on Blaine."

Kurt flipped through the magazine, staring at the glossy pages and the glossy people. Famous lived glamourous lives and travelled the world, performed in movies, plays, television shows. They had record deals and fashion contracts... they were beautiful.

Kurt found his fingers clenching around the edge of the page as he thought about how, barely two years ago, it had been his biggest dream to be one of them. Glamourous, successful, beautiful... special.

A star. He'd wanted so badly to be a star when he'd come to New York, he remembered. A big, big star.

And what was he now?

"Hello, beautiful," Blaine mumbled, coming up behind the couch Kurt was sitting on. He wrapped his arms over Kurt's shoulders and kissed his neck. "What are you up to?"

Kurt frowned, and stared hard at an ad featuring a handsome male celebrity selling some cologne. "I'm still mad at you," Kurt said stiffly. He felt Blaine tense. "Go think about what you did and be sad some more."

Blaine grunted and withdrew, coming around to the other side of the couch. He sat down on the coffee table in front of it, and looked at Kurt with a set jaw. "It's been two weeks Kurt," Blaine all but growled. "When the hell are you going to forgive me?"

Anger boiled in Kurt's gut, and he ground his teeth a little. It's been two weeks. He didn't understand how Blaine could be so flippant about this. Sure, it had been two weeks since Sam had stumbled home with belt marks covering his body, scratches all over his back and bites on his shoulders. Two weeks since Kurt had spent hours running his fingers through Sam's hair while Sam stared lifelessly off at the wall with red eyes and black, dilated pupils. Later Sam had told him he'd stayed like that all night, staring at the wall, unable to sleep. And the next night after that. That was when he'd told Kurt about the drugs he'd been forced to take.

But it had been 14 whole days afterall, so Blaine expected to be forgiven.

Kurt took a moment before he answered to breath in through his nose. Then he calmly replied "When Sam's bruises all heal,"

"When Sam's—god dammit, Kurt you hate Sam!" Blaine shouted. "Why the fuck do you care so much?"

Kurt lifted his eyes up a little and gave Blaine a cool glare. "It's the principle of the matter,"

Blaine dropped his head, exasperated. Kurt heard him take a deep breath, and when he lifted his head back up the angry look was gone from his face. He looked like the calm, sweet boyfriend Kurt loved. "Alright, I messed up." He said quietly. Kurt wanted to roll up the magazine in his hand and smack him with it. Instead he just raised his eyebrow at Blaine. "Alright I messed up a lot," Kurt inclined his head in agreement. "But I'm fixing it. I've got a customer lined up for Sam tomorrow, and I promise he'll be upstanding."

Kurt raised his brows. "He will?" Blaine nodded. "How upstanding?"

"A perfect gentleman," Blaine promised. "And the money's great too. His name's Luc, he's come over from Toulouse on business."

Kurt's eyes lit up. "He's French? From France?" Kurt asked. Blaine smiled and nodded. "Does he have an accent?"

"A light one," Blaine said. "But he speaks English almost as well as he does French. He does a lot of business here."

"Do you think he's been to Paris? Do you think he's been to the Palace of Versaille? Oh!" Kurt jumped up a little, in his excitement temporarily forgetting his anger. "Do you think he's been to the Musée Galliera? Do you think I'll get to meet him for a little so I can ask? I don't have any customers tomorrow—"

Blaine laughed a little. "Oh, you'll definitely be able to meet him." He said.

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Why's that?"

"Well, see he's not just paying for Sam tomorrow," Blaine said. "He's paying for you both. Together."

"Together?"

Kurt nodded. He was lying on Sam's bed, and Sam was standing in front of him with his mouth hanging open. He'd been in a good mood when he'd come back from Dave's, and Kurt had been hoping he'd take this better than he was.

"Like, together together?" Sam asked, starting to pace. "Like at the same time together?"

"I believe the phrase is menage a trois," Kurt replied. "Please don't pace—"

Sam shook his head. "Pacing is necessary," He mumbled. He stopped anyways, and looked at Kurt.
"How are we going to do this?"

Kurt pursed his lips. "Well, Sam, that's a good question. I think a better one is how have you been getting a long this whole time if you don't know how to do it?"

Sam sighed and took a seat on the edge of the bed. "That's not what I meant. I mean how are we going to do this?" He asked, putting his hand over Kurt's. "You and me. That's not just fucking some random guy for money, that'll be us... y'know..."

Kurt sighed too, and nodded. "I know," He said quietly.

They were quiet for a moment, and Kurt felt Sam's hand tighten around his. "Things weren't supposed to work out this way," He mumbled. "Not at all."

"But they did, Sam," Kurt said. "This is the way things are, and we just need to deal with it."

"But we don't," Sam said, turning his head sharply and looking at Kurt. "We don't have to."

A lump formed in Kurt's throat, and he furrowed his brow. "Yes, we do." Kurt said firmly. He pulled his hand back from Sam's and sat up. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, alright. Tomorrow just... just let me take the lead. I'll tell you what to do. It'll be alright."

Kurt stood up and walked out of the room. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Sam sigh again.

Alone in the bedroom, Sam looked down at the floor with blank eyes. "No, it won't." He whispered to himself. There was silence for a moment, and on the other side of the door he heard Kurt's footsteps begin to walk away.

A/N: Musée Galliera = Paris Fashion Museum

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