Title: On the Edge
Words: ~3,500
Rating: R (dub-con)
Summary: Blaine is trying to convince himself that having a sex slave isn't wrong. But he's having a lot of trouble with that...
Disclaimer: As per usual. Not mine. I make no claim to them.
A/N: Sorry it's been so long since the last update. I was on vacation, and had NO INTERNET! So this next update is a little longer to make up for it.

When the slave came out of the bathroom, he looked marginally better, but only just. He held the brown towel – all of the slaves in the Anderson household used brown towel, at least they still went with the décor – in a fist, wrapped low around his hips. His mouth was adorned with small holes every millimetre or so, and his wet hair was plastered haphazardly to his head. He nodded at Blaine where he sat at his computer. "I'm done." His voice was high and quiet, slightly melodious. The way he spoke, slowly and stiffly, it seemed as though it was a chore to say anything at all. Still, the soft musicality of his voice made Blaine that much more pleased that he had chosen him from the compound. There was beauty emanating from this poor soul's every pore.

"I can see that." Blaine's response was a little delayed, but the boy didn't seem to mind. He stood stock still, unmoving, waiting for his master to make the first move. "Are you hungry?" Blaine asked, he wasn't sure how often the slaves were fed while they were at the compound, much less the new arrivals whom had just had their mouths sewn shut: how did they feed them, anyways? The boy looked as though he was considering the best way to answer the question. He was probably starving, but was afraid of being punished for an honest answer. Blaine held out a hand, prompting the younger boy to take off his towel and drop it in the outstretched palm. At least he wasn't stupid. Dropping the towel into the garbage can, Blaine turned back from him. "I won't permit you to back talk, or to speak inappropriately of your own accord. However, if I ask you a question, I give you permission to always answer me honestly, without fear of rebuke. Do you understand?" That sounded close enough to what he had read in the pamphlet: straight forward, and to the point, but detailed enough that nothing would be left out.

The boy nodded and looked quickly at the trash bin where Blaine had just dropped the towel. "I am very hungry, yes. For food."

Blaine found the qualification odd, but tried not to consider the underlying meaning of the boy's need to provide it. "I'll have Jessa bring you something up. When's the last time you ate?" he asked while walking to the wall, pushing a button and waiting for the responding beep.

"Two days ago. They don't want us to have anything to vomit up when they sew us shut, so they don't feed us for –" the slave cut himself off, looking mortified for having spoken out of turn.

"Yes, master Blaine?" the speaker on the wall buzzed with Jessa's voice, and Blaine's slave jumped, staring at the wall.

"Jessa," Blaine said, choosing to ignore his slave's slip up. He would give him some time to adjust before being too harsh on him. "Can you bring up some food for my new slave?"

"Yes, master Blaine. I'll be right up." Blaine nodded, even though she couldn't see him before turning to his slave.

"What is your name anyways?"

The boy shifted and looked out the window, a fierce yearning painted clearly across his face. "The name by which the Alliance wishes me to be called is here on my tag." Slowly his hand rose to softly touch the silver piece of metal that sat just by his small Adam's apple. He moved towards Blaine, holding out the tag for him to take and read it.

"No," Blaine shook his head and backed away. "That's not what I meant. What's your real name? Your birth name?"

The boy glanced nervously at Blaine for a moment. He looked as though he was still unsure whether he may be punished for being honest with his new owner. "Kurt," he finally said, letting the word come out on a tense breath.

"Kurt?" The terse name didn't really seem to fit the beautiful boy standing in front of Blaine: Pale, smooth skin, supple lips, light, soft hair, slim, feminine hips and an air of grace. He walked over and fingered the tag at the boy's neck. Blaine's family had always called slaves by their Alliance assigned names, but Blaine wasn't sure how he felt about that tradition. Even though they weren't real people, it wasn't as though slaves were dogs. You couldn't really just rename a human being, at least not as far as Blaine was concerned. A person's name was a part of them – it was the only thing that belonged to the slaves anymore, and it didn't feel right to him to take that away, too. He wanted to call Kurt by his birth name, but he was still tempted to see what name the Alliance had chosen for him. Perhaps it was more fitting. Finally he looked at it. Gabriel, it read. Well, Blaine certainly didn't like that. For some reason, the Alliance seemed to have a fondness for religious names. Most slaves were named after people from the Torah, Koran or Bible. But Gabriel was not a fitting name for this angel standing anxiously in front of him. He would call the boy Kurt until he could find a more fitting name for him, one that Kurt would have to agree to.

All while Blaine had been thinking and deciding, the boy stood, unsure of what was expected of him, unwilling to move unless told to do so. Blaine walked back to his computer and plopped himself at the desk. "You can sit over there," he pointed to the mat in the corner of his room. When Kurt wasn't in his bed with him, that would be his sleeping place. However, Blaine wasn't really sure how often Kurt wouldn't be in bed with him. The boy's divine beauty prompted him to believe that those times would be few and far between. Kurt walked slowly over to the mat, and sat down, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall – all the while staring desperately out the window. "Your food will be here, soon," Blaine told him, unsure of what else to say.

To be honest, now with all of the introductory and precursory things taken care of, Blaine wasn't sure what to do with Kurt. He had read the manual, sure, but he didn't really want to do any of that. Okay, he did. But he didn't want to force Kurt. He didn't want to push himself on something that wonderful – he wanted Kurt to want him, too. He wondered about all of his friends at school who talked about their D slaves, if they just had sex with them, or made them perform fellatio on them. Blaine shuddered at the thought of Kurt on his knees, bright blue eyes looking up at him through those thick lashes. At the thought, though, Blaine shook his head. He wasn't sure where it had come from. He had been educated on sex as far as school would allow, and of course his older buddies at school had told him everything they knew. Obviously, he wasn't sure how much he could trust their knowledge. Still, Blaine hadn't thought much about sex before his parents told him he was going to get a slave for his birthday. At 14, Blaine assumed he was strange for not having a wet dream every night.

He sighed and propped his head on his hand, turning on his computer. He was going to look up names and see if he could find anything fitting for the boy who was sitting silently across the room from him, burning a hole through the window with an intense stare. Shortly after he began his search, Jessa opened his door and brought in a tray. She set it on the desk – it was up to Blaine to decide when, how, how much – even if – Kurt ate. He looked down at the almost clear broth and rye bread. "Come here," he called to the boy, who promptly responded and padded over quietly, feet pressing into the cool hard-wood floor. Kurt kneeled appropriately next to the desk, hands on his thighs. He looked at the food and Blaine could see a burning hunger in his eyes, even more fierce than the longing to be outside of the window. He ran a hand through the boy's hair, it was still damp and a few stray strands clung to his fingers.

Kurt bowed his head and waited. Both of them ignored the low rumbling of his stomach. Blaine ripped off a piece of the bread and dipped it in the broth. He wasn't sure how Kurt would have liked to eat it, but this would have to do for the boy. He held out the food, holding one hand underneath to catch any soup that might drip off. Kurt leaned forward slowly, taking the bread in his mouth with a practiced patience. Blaine could tell that the boy's stomach was greedy, and he had to fight every instinct to keep from wolfing down the food, and perhaps Blaine's hand with it. But after chewing slowly, and swallowing the piece of bread, Kurt waited, patient as ever, for the next piece, his stomach grumbling even louder now at the prospect of being properly filled.

Blaine continued to rip the bread and soak it in the broth, feeding Kurt bite sized pieces. When all of the bread was gone, he picked up the bowl and pressed it to the boy's pink lips. Kurt opened his mouth slightly, and swallowed obediently as Blaine tipped the last of liquid into his mouth. He found Kurt's display of obedience oddly arousing, and try to ignore a slightly new feeling of stimulation. He fought against the thoughts in his mind as he looked down at the smiling boy who was kneeling next to his desk. Kurt reached up to wipe at a small amount of soup that had escaped his mouth. "Thank you, Master Blaine," he said. And Blaine could tell he meant it.

The next morning found Blaine waking next to Kurt in bed, Blaine in his satin pyjamas, and Kurt unclothed as usual. Blaine traced a finger down the boy's defined spine, trying not to imagine the way in which his vertebrae had become so prominent. Kurt shivered and arched his back before rolling over. His eyes were still full of sleep, and his hair was mussed from what Blaine could only assume was a night of restlessness. "Good morning, Master Blaine," he said, letting his mouth gape open with a loud, long yawn. "Is there anything I can do for you?" The words were all right, but there was a blazing behind the boy's eyes that Blaine just couldn't ignore. This one was definitely going to be hard to tame.

Blaine rolled over onto his back and looked up at the high ceiling above his bed, placing his hands on his stomach. "Kurt," he asked thoughtfully, "how did you become a slave? Did you do something wrong?"

"You don't want to know," Kurt said, watching Blaine closely.

"Do not presume to tell me what I do and do not want, Kurt," Blaine said stiffly, the amicable mood dissolved quickly, only to be replaced by an ice cold animosity. "Now answer my question…properly." He turned to glare at Kurt, and saw, to his surprise, not anger or sadness there, but a desperate humiliation in the boy's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he stammered his apology quickly and reached out to touch Blaine's shoulder tentatively. When Blaine didn't pull away or reprimand him, Kurt let his hand fall more heavily on the shoulder. Blaine felt as though electricity was running through him at the touch and wouldn't have been able to pull away even if he wanted to. "It was a year or so ago," Kurt began, and Blaine remembered dully that he had asked the slave a question. "I was…taken."

"How?"

"They found me and took me." His answers were short and curt, clipped as though he was leaving something out. While his answers were irritatingly vague, he was doing as Blaine asked and was being honest, so he really couldn't be punished. Blaine nodded and pushed himself out of bed.

"I'm going to take a shower. Come with me." It wasn't a request, but it also wasn't an order. Blaine really didn't want to push himself on Kurt, but since his dream last night, he was hoping the boy would come with him. And either Kurt was interested in Blaine, too, or he had been trained very well, because he followed obediently and climbed into large shower while Blaine stripped off his pyjamas. Kurt reached out to turn on the water and stood, shivering, under the cold spray of water. Blaine reached out and turned up the temperature of the water. "For God's sake, Kurt, you can change the temperature of the water without me telling you to."

Kurt nodded but didn't respond otherwise. Blaine clambered into the shower, trying not to be embarrassed or feel modest about his body. He had seen Kurt naked for a whole day, and then some, so why should he feel nervous about what the stupid slave thought? Blaine glanced down against his will to compare his cock to Kurt's. He had never really consciously taken measure of his size but now found himself concerned that he might not measure up, and Kurt would be mocking him in his head. Once more, Blaine tried to shake the thoughts. It didn't matter what Kurt thought – it only mattered what he did and how he acted. Kurt, for his part, seemed to be enjoying the warm water. He was practically melting under the spray, just standing there with his eyes closed and his mouth turned up in a half smile.

"My shampoo's in the blue bottle." Blaine hoped Kurt would take the hint so that he wouldn't have to give the damn command outright. As he had noted before, the slave was smart, and Kurt reached for the blue bottle of shampoo and squeezed an ample amount of the substance into his hands before rubbing his palms together and working up a bit of a lather. His sleight height advantage was perfect for this. Just standing on tip toe, he was able to scrub Blaine's hair and work the shampoo through his curls, scratching just the right amount at his scalp.

"Master, you may want to close your eyes." It wasn't until Kurt warned him against the threatening sting of shampoo in his eyes that Blaine realized he had been staring at Kurt's lithe torso and limbs all while his hair was being washed. He clamped his eyes shut immediately and heard Kurt re-directing the shower head so that the spray of water fell onto him. Kurt worked out the shampoo and began running his hands over Blaine's back. "Where is your conditioner, Master?"

Blaine let out a groan when Kurt took his hands away, but somehow managed to get out a few words. "Over there. Brown bottle." He pointed with a limp hand and wished Kurt would hurry up. He had never felt so good.

"Is this other one your body wash?"

Blaine couldn't help blushing a little. Not many people knew that he had body wash in his shower. "Yes," he finally said. "I'd better never catch you using it on yourself."

"No," Kurt said flatly, and Blaine heard the cap of a bottle being snapped open. He hadn't bothered to open his eyes yet, enjoying the relaxation of the shower far too much. He was going to have to ask his parents to have one of those water proof sound systems installed in here – that would just be the icing on the cake. "I would never do that." Suddenly Blaine felt warm hands on his chest, running in small circles. "Do you like this?" Kurt's voice was knocked down an octave as ran his fingernails over Blaine's nipples, just scratching the sensitive flesh there.

Blaine tried to say yes in reply, but all he really managed was an indecipherable "Ungh…" However, Kurt seemed to understand, because he continued to rub the body wash over Blaine's upper torso, up and down his arms, deftly massaging the muscle there. He gently pressed on Blaine's chest to manoeuvre him back under the water. Once all of the soap was gone, his tongue lapped at Blaine's nipples, encouraging the pink flesh to harden and peak. "Is this good?" he asked, letting one hand trail down to Blaine's hip, the other grasping the back of his head to steady the both of them.

"Oh, God, yes," Blaine muttered, trying to manage to say something moderately coherent.

There were hands on his pelvis and then there weren't, but there was a pop of a cap and Blaine knew what was coming next. Of their own accord his hips bucked forward, longing to meet Kurt's hands. Suddenly soapy palms rubbed over his tense thighs, massaged the muscle of his ass, and reached down to his feet. "Please tell me to stop if I'm upsetting you." Blaine merely rocked his hips forward a second time and reached behind, feeling for the bench so that he could hold onto something and support himself. Kurt's palm wrapped around his cock and he let out a guttural moan, this was nothing like he expected. It was 10,000 times better. But suddenly Blaine flushed and pulled away, slipping on the tile and landing hard on the bench. His eyes fluttered open and he saw Kurt kneeling in the shower, his hands on his mouth.

"I'm so sorry," he was worried, not that had hurt Blaine, but that he had upset him and would be punished for it. "What did I do wrong? I'm sorry, I'm just learning." He shuffled over to where Blaine sat, limbs loose like jelly, unable to move. Kurt was still on his knees and brought his head to rest on Kurt's thigh. "Please, let me fix it."

Blaine pushed impatiently at Kurt, trying to get away from him. He felt nauseated, he was going to vomit. He stood quickly and pushed his way out of the shower, falling in front of the toilet just in time, pulling the lid open and expelling the contents of his stomach into the bowl. His insides tightened and clenched, emptying once more. He rocked back onto his heels and wiped at his face before turning to see Kurt standing near him, dumbstruck. Kurt ran his fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at it. His muscles were visibly shaking. "Please, Master," he said walking over to sit by Blaine, "don't send me back there, I'll be better. I can't go back."

Not willing to lose the upper hand, Blaine placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "I won't send you back, Kurt. How embarrassing would it be to admit I chose the wrong slave? We'll work on everything, it will be okay." He pushed himself up from the floor and left Kurt there. He still felt sick to his stomach – how could anyone do that? Let a complete stranger do that with them just because they "owned" them. It had felt so good, and Kurt didn't really seem to mind, but Blaine still couldn't manage to rationalize it in his head. He stepped back into the shower, but when Kurt moved to follow, he put up a hand. "Go dry yourself off," he ordered before shutting the door to the shower and effectively blocking Kurt out.