It had been possibly the longest week of Kurt's life. Monday and Tuesday had been pure, undiluted frustration. Blaine missed no opportunity to touch him, everything from long, soul-searing kisses that left Kurt dizzy and melting to quick and dirty fondling against walls, counters, or any other available surface, that just left him horny as hell. He'd fucked Kurt both nights, hard and hot, attacking all of his most sensitive places until Kurt was reduced to begging to make him stop. And then he'd slept, while Kurt lay awake for what seemed like hours, listening to the soft whistle of Blaine's breathing and willing his desperate dick to just settle the fuck down.

But Wednesday had been different. Maybe it had been the accumulated lack of sleep, maybe his horniness had reached some kind of critical mass during the night, but when his alarm went off Wednesday morning Kurt hushed it then turned without thinking and curled himself around Blaine's bed-warm, naked body, his erection growing against the swell of Blaine's ass, and everything was different. He was still desperate, the desire hadn't lessened, but it felt banked, like an hours-old fire, burning just as intensely, maybe even more so, but deeper somehow, white hot coals searing in his core but without the violent crack and show of the bonfire that had been the previous two days.

Too long away from immediate contact with Blaine's body, though, and the fire would come to life again, sparking along Kurt's limbs and out through his fingers and toes, filling him with a jumpy energy that made his skin feel too tight. So their roles had reversed and it had been Kurt who now couldn't get enough of Blaine's body. He was the one grabbing, pulling, desperate to taste and touch and smell. Thursday night he came home early and waited for Blaine just inside the door, naked and on his knees, and Blaine had barely managed to choke out a "Jesus Christ, Kurt!" and slam the door before he was tearing his own clothes off and flinging them every which way. They'd fucked right there on the rug and Kurt hadn't needed to beg that time. Every stroke had seared through him but the fire was power and strength and Blaine and the sounds Kurt could hear ripping from his own throat were more animal than human, primal cries that he'd never imagined he was capable of. "God I love you like this," Blaine had whispered in his ear just as his orgasm slammed through him and he spilled into Kurt with a force Kurt could feel from his toes to the roots of his hair.

Kurt hadn't even realized he was crying, lying under Blaine, riding the pounding waves of his desire and waiting for it to tamp itself back down into his core, until Blaine opened his eyes and immediately the glow of contentment in them shifted to concern. He rolled off onto the rug next to Kurt, wrapping him tight in his arms.

"Is it too much? Do we need to stop?"

It was an invitation, Kurt knew. An invitation to safeword. The tears kept coming, strange, because Kurt didn't feel like he was crying. There were no gasping sobs, not even a tiny bit of tightness in his throat. Yet water continued to course down his face.

"It is too much," he said into the muscles of Blaine's chest. But that was all he said.

Friday morning Kurt had woken up before his alarm with Blaine's morning erection pressing against his thigh and he was under the covers before he had time to make any conscious decision. He needed and he took, nuzzling into Blaine's groin, inhaling his scent, taking his thickening cock into his mouth and as far down his throat as he could. He stayed there, still, an odd lump between Blaine's legs, not licking or sucking but just holding Blaine's dick in the warmth of his mouth while his own throbbed and flexed in empty air.

Eventually Blaine began to move in tiny thrusts; Kurt didn't think he was even really awake at first, but then the even rhythm of his breathing was replaced by little moans and grunts and finally his hand snaked under the blankets to caress through Kurt's hair. "Good morning to you too," he said quietly before abandoning himself to the expert ministrations of Kurt's mouth.

That should have been enough, Kurt had thought, to hold him through breakfast, showering and getting out the door, but then their asses had grazed each other when they were crowding into their closet at the same time and before either of them even realized what was happening Kurt was on his knees, turning Blaine around, clawing at his briefs and swallowing him again. Blaine was midway through an "I don't know if I can..." when his dick took the decision out of his hands and started to lengthen and he groped at the overhead shelf for something to hold on to as Kurt attacked him. Kurt licked and sucked and swallowed like his life depended on Blaine's orgasm and soon Blaine was thrusting with abandon, deep into Kurt's throat; Kurt clasped his hands behind his back and the room started to feel to like it was growing bigger, the clothes hanging behind Blaine began to blur into a drippy rainbow of primary colors, and he was whining every time Blaine pulled back, begging for him to come, desperate for it. When Blaine finally came for the second time, spilling hot into the back of Kurt's throat, Kurt felt the strangest sensation of pleasure radiate through his body, so intense that he could have sworn that he'd come too. He expected, as he drifted back down through the haze that had taken over his brain, to hear Blaine chastising him and promising punishment. But Blaine was just sitting on the floor, holding him, caressing gentle fingers up and down his arm, and he found himself as hard and horny as ever.

Blaine stared at him for a while, evaluating, it seemed, although Kurt couldn't understand why, then he'd pulled Kurt up and settled him on the chaise in the corner, disappeared into the kitchen and come back with a glass of orange juice and an offer. He would let Kurt could come early, come tonight instead of waiting until Sunday, if Kurt would agree to do everything Blaine said today. Obey every command without complaint.

And that was how Kurt had ended up here, behind his locked office door, shifting constantly to try to find a sitting position that didn't add more pressure to his aching balls and staring unseeingly at sketches that he'd been so excited about just last week. At least no one in the office was complaining that he'd sequestered himself. He'd been so irritable and snappish all week that he was sure the general response to his locked door was overwhelming relief.

He reached for his headphones, plugged them into the computer and his ears, and for the fourth time that day accepted Blaine's call.

Blaine's face, so fresh and smiling and exactly the opposite of how Kurt felt at the moment didn't help his state of mind at all. "Seriously?" was Kurt's only hello. "Again?"

Blaine's happy grin took a decidedly evil turn. "Is that a complaint, Kurt?"

"No," Kurt sighed. He reached automatically for his fly. At least opening his pants gave his dick a little room to breathe.

"I want you to use lube this time," Blaine said from the laptop screen.

"I don't keep lube at the studio, Blaine."

"Look in the back pocket of your bag."

And sure enough, there in the pocket was a small bottle of Astroglide. Kurt groaned. It had been bad enough edging himself dry. The lube was going to make it all feel so much more amazing. He'd be able to go slower; tease himself more. There was no way Blaine wouldn't take advantage of that.

He straightened back up and gave Blaine his best pleading look, but Blaine only laughed. "That's not going to work on me, Kurt. Puppy dog eyes are my trick, not yours."

Kurt decided to give sincerity a try. He dropped the pleading animal act and leaned closer to his computer. "Just listen, okay? This isn't complaining, not really, but God Blaine, you're torturing me here. I've done everything you asked me to do. My dick has been hard for half the day and my balls feel like they're on fire. Please don't make me do this again."

The playfulness left Blaine's face and he too leaned forward, so that his face took up most of the frame of Kurt's monitor. "When is it best?" he asked simply. "When do you fly the highest and come the hardest and feel the most perfect afterward?"

Well fuck. The answer to that was obvious. It was when Kurt put himself in Blaine's hands and let Blaine push him beyond what he thought he could endure.

With a heavy sigh as his only protest, Kurt popped the top of the little bottle and squeezed some of the slippery liquid into his palm, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Maybe someday you'll learn to give in without a fight." Kurt could hear amusement in Blaine's voice.

"Please. You'd hate that. You like the challenge."

"You know me so well. Now get going."

Kurt had been right about the lube. The warmth of his hand combined with the slippery slide was complete perfection and the pleasure began to build immediately. He could tell it was going to peak so much faster than it had the other three times Blaine had talked him through an edging.

"I want you to get really close this time then just keep yourself there until I tell you to stop."

Kurt groaned and sped up his strokes, shifting at the same time to try to find a position that didn't have his tightening balls screaming in protest.

"Stop fidgeting," Blaine chastised him.

"You try not coming for a week and see how still you can manage to sit!"

"I'm not the one who wants to be controlled. You made this bed, Kurt. Now sit up straight and don't move again."

Kurt practically growled his frustration, but he did as he was told, pushing himself back into the position that put the most strain on his balls. Of course, his stupid cock throbbed even harder at the pain and it seemed like only seconds later that the looming orgasm was right there, almost too close, and his hand slammed to a stop and tightened instinctively around his erection.

There was no way Blaine could see into his lap from the camera in his monitor, but he must have known Kurt had stopped stroking because his voice in Kurt's ears was immediate and implacable. "Keep moving, Kurt. I don't care how slow you go, but I want to see that hand moving until I tell you to stop."

Kurt slid his hand as slowly as he could down the length of his shaft and back up again, not daring to go anywhere near the head, but even so the orgasm was back almost immediately, sitting heavy and hot in his balls and shooting splinter waves of sensation down his legs, up through the pit of his stomach and along the length of his cock. Each wet slide sent another frisson of pleasure through his body and tiny shudders erupted in odd places: his shoulders, his ass, the balls of his feet. "How long?" he breathed, and he could hear his voice tremble.

"Five minutes," Blaine said.

Kurt moaned out loud, too far gone to care about whether he could be heard in the outer rooms of the studio. He couldn't do it. Five minutes might as well be five hours. After all he'd been through today, this week, it was too much. He needed to come. He deserved to come. And to sit here and feel it right there, just two or three hard strokes away, for five minutes then let go and let it fade away was going to break him.

"I don't think I can," he finally said, quiet and sincere. "Please, Blaine, I need it. I've never needed anything like this."

"You can do it, Kurt."

Kurt shook his head. "If you were here, if ... if I could touch you maybe. I can't do it by myself."

"Open your eyes," Blaine said and Kurt forced his eyelids up and focused on Blaine's image on his computer screen. Blaine was smiling, all trace of command or dominance gone. It really wasn't fair, Kurt thought, that he was so beautiful. And his eyes. Blaine's eyes were more eloquent on the subject of love than all of Shakespeare's sonnets put together. Those eyes, looking at him like that, made Kurt want to prostrate himself on the floor at Blaine's feet and beg forgiveness for being so weak and lose himself in worshipful awe.

"I know," Blaine said, "what you need. I know where you want go and how to get you there. But Kurt, you have to trust that. You have to believe that I would never ask you to do something that I didn't think you were capable of. It's scary to let go, I know that, but it's going to be so amazing. I promise. You just have to let go and trust me."

"I do, I trust you, you know that," Kurt nodded as he spoke, hand still clutching his cock, which pulsed against the restraint. "It's just really hard." He hated the whine in his voice, but Blaine didn't seem to notice.

"It has to be hard. You're the one who told me that."

They were both silent then, for a moment, and Kurt knew that Blaine was waiting, as he had before, for him to safeword. When Kurt didn't speak again, Blaine's smile grew wider. "Close your eyes. The five minutes starts now."

Kurt gave himself a fresh drizzle of lube and leaned back, eyes closed, to stroke again. He didn't shortcut this time. His hand moved ever so slowly, but he didn't neglect any part of his cock, thumbing over the head, letting his fingers tease past the frenulum and opening himself up to every sensation.

"You're so incredible, Kurt," Blaine said and his voice through the earbuds made it feel almost as if he was inside Kurt's head. "You were perfect to me before we ever started doing this and then you gave me this incredible gift, when you'd already given me everything I could have ever dreamed of. I wish you could see how hard I am right now."

The pleasure was building again, pushing toward completion in swells that took Kurt's breath away and felt like they were lifting him right off of his chair. Kurt knew, though, he'd always known that he needed to feel them. The pleasure and the denial and the aching frustration. This was his choice. He'd chosen this. He'd asked for it. And Blaine's voice was an anchor, keeping him tethered.

"I don't even know how it's possible, after this morning. You blew me twice, Kurt. But looking it you, God, you are the most erotic thing I've ever seen. If I didn't want to actually come with you tonight I'd be jerking off right now. I have no clue what I ever did to deserve any of this - to deserve you in the first place - but whatever it was I'm so fucking glad I did it. God, I love you so much, Kurt..."

And so it went on, forever, it seemed to Kurt, and whenever he slipped and it all started to feel out of control Blaine would talk him down, the perfect voice in his head telling him that everything was going to be okay. And the desperate urge to push his body over the edge, no matter how acute it became as he stroked and teased himself, was endurable, and the pain in his balls settled into a kind of deep, hot ache that was wonderful and terrible at the same time. He managed to stay in control, somehow, until Blaine finally said stop. Kurt had to force his hands off his cock, but when they were firmly wrapped around the arms of his chair he finally gave in to the rip tide of frustrated sensation. Shudders wracked his body and his hips pumped and pumped, but with no friction orgasm was impossible.

And Blaine just kept talking.

Eventually the spasms relaxed and it got easier to breathe. Kurt's hands unclenched (he was sure he'd left fingernail crescent holes in the leather) and he opened his eyes to see Blaine's still staring straight at him, still speaking volumes of love and desire.

"See. You survived."

"Fuck you," Kurt said, but he managed a smile when he said it. "Please tell me that was the last one."

"That was the last one."

"And please tell me I can come home now so we can finally end this."

Blaine's smile widened. "You can come home now."

"Thank God." Kurt was already shoving his still-hard dick into his pants and fumbling for his bag where he'd dropped it after fetching the Astroglide.

"But first ..." Blaine's voice pulled Kurt's attention back to the laptop screen.

"Fuck! What now?"

The evil glint was back in Blaine's eyes and the sight of it sent Kurt's stomach into freefall.

"I put something else in your bag this morning. Front pocket. I want you to wear it home."

Kurt groaned and reached reluctantly into the front pocket of his bag. "Wear it" could only mean a few things and none of them were good. His fingers snagged on soft velvet and he pulled the black drawstring bag out into the light, holding it between two fingers like it was something dangerous.

"Open it," Blaine said.

The polished black stone butt plug dropped from the bag into Kurt's palm and sat there, gleaming in the glare from the overhead light.

"No way." Kurt stared incredulously at Blaine. "You're crazy. I can't wear this home."

"Well, if you want to wait to come until Sunday ..."

"On the train, Blaine? I can't. I'll be hard the whole time."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you have a coat."

Kurt's jaw clenched and he glared at Blaine's face in his monitor, searching for something to say that would get him out of this. But Blaine was implacable. "It's very simple Kurt. Unless you come through that door wearing that plug, you're not coming until Sunday. It's your choice, just like always. See you soon."

The connection ended abruptly and Kurt wrenched at the earphones and flung them onto his desk. No. No. It wasn't fair. Blaine had no right to ask him to do this. On the train. The fucking train! He'd jumped through so many hoops this week and he was tired and desperate and his balls hurt and he just wanted to fucking come.

Kurt ranted in his head, cursed and fumed and bitched silently at Blaine until eventually he ran out of words and anger and indignation and was left right where he'd started. Horny and desperate. He heaved a sigh and reached for the plug and the little clear bottle of Astroglide. Because he really had only ever had one choice.