Elliot was leaning against the wall, the bare skin of his back glistening with sweat, making the colors of his tattoos glitter and shine.

Kurt stood behind him, panting with exertion, his carefully styled hair in slight disarray.

"A last one," Elliot said through gritted teeth. "Make it count."

"Why am I doing this again?" Kurt asked. He was starting to get tired and sweaty, and the important pat of the evening hadn't even begun.

"Just do it."

Kurt raised the whip and let it crack down on Elliot's back, raising a perfect red welt next to the two others already there.

"Fuck!" Elliot swore, then shook himself like a wet dog and stepped away from the wall, sitting down heavily on a chair.

"Fuck, that hurts." He shook his head. "I can barely take three. Chandler takes ten or twelve of those without complaining."

"They're stronger than we are, Elliot. I clearly remember you saying this to me all the time during training."

"And clearly I was right."

"So, why exactly did you want me to do that?"

"How long has it been since you wielded a bullwhip?"

"Some time? Not since my last failed attempt with Chandler."

"See? Your first stroke nearly wrapped. Don't forget your craft, Kurt."

"My craft is still designing clothes. But I see what you mean. I guess it can't hurt to stay in practice, even if I'm unlikely to do this for real anytime soon."

"You never know. Plus, it kept you from freaking out."

"Oh god. Thanks for reminding me. Can I freak out now?"

"No. Go freshen up. Santana texted me; they'll be here any minute. Oh, spray me first so I can get dressed? And don't forget, no one can ever know about this. Especially not Chandler. He'd laugh for years if he knew you whipped me."

…...

Kurt had messaged him other instructions, buzz after buzz on Blaine's phone announcing order after order. Go to my place. Get dressed in the clothes laid out for you. Don't wear anything else.

Kneel in the hallway. Wait for someone to get you.

What did he mean, "Wait for someone to get you"? Who would that someone be? Blaine wasn't too keen on anybody except Kurt seeing him in the submissive position, dressed in whatever clothes Kurt had chosen for him, but then again, he had knelt for plenty of people in his day, and he trusted Kurt not to send anybody who didn't already know about him.

So, the nervousness he felt was, seen rationally, about nothing, and still, he couldn't stop it.

But he had his instructions, simple tasks to follow, and the thought calmed him until he arrived at Kurt's empty apartment and saw the clothes laid out for him on the bed in the playroom.

At least he assumed that they were clothes.

A pair of pants that looked more like a wide belt with four long pieces of cloth attached to it, and it took a while until Blaine figured out that the pieces had to be laced together to become actual pants. No underwear, so he left on his own until, halfway through the lacing process, he remembered he wasn't supposed to wear anything but the clothes Kurt had chosen.

He didn't feel dressed when he looked at himself in the mirror. There was not enough cloth to the pants to really cover him, and everywhere skin could be glimpsed through the laces. Everywhere.

There was no shirt, no socks, nothing but a narrow, black scarf. Shrugging, he wrapped it around his neck, then went to kneel in the hallway.

He didn't have to wait long. Doing and redoing all the laces had taken some time, so he hadn't been kneeling for five minutes when he heard the key in the door. With an effort, he kept his head down until he heard laughter.

"Hobbit, that isn't a scarf. Well, it is, but in this case, I'm pretty sure it's meant to be a blindfold."

He couldn't help but laugh himself, though he blushed when Santana took off the scarf and tied it around his head.

"Rise, Blaine," Santana said, and then, "Ugh, these are parts I did not have to see."

"But he looks hot, Santana," a voice protested. Though Blaine couldn't see anything, he was pretty sure it belonged to Brittany.

"Of course you'd think that," Santana said, then relented, "You look hot, Blaine. Now put on some shoes and a coat, we don't want you to freeze on the way."

"On the way?" Blaine asked, nerves coming to the surface again. "Mistress Santana, where are we going?"

"I'm not telling."

Blaine had his suspicions. He decided to just go with it, closed his eyes under the blindfold and let Santana help him into his coat.

…...

Kurt sat at the bar, turning the collar in his hands. It had arrived this morning, after added nervousness and frantic phone calls to the artisan who had made it. But it was beautiful: a narrow stainless steel circlet made up of tiny puzzle pieces. It would sit low on Blaine's throat, easily covered up with a shirt, and was inconspicuous enough to be mistaken for a wider necklace. There was no lock; once closed, it would only open with a screwdriver if they should ever break up or, unromantic but necessary, if Blaine had to take a plane.

He was nervous, and he didn't even know why. Blaine had told him he wanted his collar; he wouldn't decline it now. But then, Blaine, who didn't know what was happening, by now probably consisted entirely of nerves. It was only fair for Kurt to feel a little jittery, too.

It was probably guilt, he thought. He felt bad that he had never said anything about collaring; Blaine must have thought he had forgotten or ignored his request.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself sip from his water and stood up. He went and briefly put his head on Elliot's shoulder, letting himself be pat on the back and then pushed gently away, an unmistakable reminder that it was time to 'Dom up'.

He straightened his back, lifted his head and waited.

…...

Blaine was pretty sure he knew where they were. It smelled of leather and sweat, a smell that no amount of cleaning could completely banish, but it made the place what it was. He used to feel at home here. It wasn't that anymore. Home was Kurt's apartment, but this place still held a lot of promise. Promise of excitement, of adventure, of surrendering himself to whatever Kurt had in store for him.

Blaine smiled. Slightly surprised, he realized that he wasn't scared, not even nervous. Whatever Kurt had planned, he trusted that it would be right.

Santana – or Brittany, he couldn't be sure – led him down the stairs and then took his coat and his shoes. He stood, blindfolded and dressed only in completely indecent pants, but before he could get nervous in spite of himself, someone took the blindfold away from him, and Kurt greeted him with a kiss. Although it could hardly be called a kiss, because Kurt used Blaine's gasp of surprise to immediately slip his tongue between his lips and thoroughly, completely devour him.

His hands took advantage of Blaine's state of partial undress and caressed, squeezed or pinched everything in their reach. As that was a lot, Blaine soon began to moan into Kurt's mouth when his cock started to press against the laces of the pants, making itself all the more visible. He held on to Kurt, taking everything he was given and just trying to not fall over.

Someone whistled, and finally, Kurt let go of him. Blaine looked around with wide eyes. There were people watching them. Not many; he had never seen the club so empty, but everyone's full attention was on him and Kurt.

"Holy shit," he whispered when he finally realized. "You're collaring me, aren't you?"

Kurt nodded. "I am."

For a moment, Blaine was angry. Kurt must have planned this for some time, he could have relieved Blaine's anxiety with just a word. Instead, Blaine had fretted for weeks, nearly managing to convince himself Kurt didn't want this kind of bond, this level of commitment.

Then he looked at Kurt, at his eyes shining with happiness and love, and realized – Kurt had planned this for some time. At least since Blaine's confession, probably longer, and to be fair, Blaine had been careful not to let any of his fears show whenever he was with Kurt. Apparently, he thought, he still wasn't that good at communication if he kept expecting Kurt to read his mind.

Kurt led him to the bar to greet their guests. There was Chandler, kneeling at Elliot's feet with a beaming smile that showed only happiness for Blaine. Santana and Brittany, grinning widely, and Blaine was pretty sure that Santana had been the one to whistle.

And Sebastian with an unfamiliar blond man at his side, his smile a little insecure, but genuine.

"I wanted to call you," he said after saying hello. "This is Adam, my boyfriend. I'm quitting the lifestyle. It's not...his cup of tea."

Blaine got over his shock quickly. Sebastian had never been that invested in the lifestyle; he could imagine him pretty well in a vanilla relationship.

"And still you're coming here?" he said to Adam. "You're a brave man."

"I keep blushing, but otherwise I'm good," Adam said in a cute English accent, trying and failing to keep his eyes only on Blaine's face. "I – I can leave if you prefer, but I promise I'm not here to judge."

"Stay, if you like. I 'd just advise you to keep away from Chandler, though. He might be a bit much as a start. He likes sharing information."

"Blaine."

Kurt's voice in his ear, authoritative, immediately demanding his attention, making goosebumps rise on his arms and neck.

"Kneel."

Blaine went to the spot Kurt indicated and knelt.

…...

This was it. Kurt looked at Elliot once more, thankful for the encouraging smile. Then he took the collar and went over to Blaine, who looked so good kneeling upright on the floor, his arms behind his back, his half-hard cock clearly visible behind the laces of the pants. The sight made Kurt want to skip the collaring and go right to the celebration sex, here or at his apartment, whatever was most convenient.

But no, this was important. And he really, really wanted to do it, and do it right. This might not be the most romantic of rituals, but it still had meaning. He put all his love for Blaine in his voice when he spoke.

"I offer you my collar. With it, I offer you my Dominance for your submission, my guidance for your trust, my protection for your obedience. I promise to respect you, your feelings and your fears. I promise to never push you too far, to always bring you back, to take you apart and put you together.

Do you consent to this?"

Without knowing it, he held his breath until Blaine, audibly touched, whispered,

"Yes."

Kurt swallowed and squeezed his eyes against the tears that threatened to rise.

"Do you accept my collar and my Dominance?"

"I do."

He put the collar around Blaine's throat, admiring its gleam against Blaine's olive skin before closing it with a click that felt final, but completely right.

"I am honored by your submission."