Kurt/Sebastian: Tear Down My Reason (NC-17)- Part One
Title: Tear Down My Reason
Author: flyblckbirdfly ( LJ / Tumblr )
Artist: ninjalights (Tumblr)
Rating: NC-17 (fic), R (art)
Word Count 15,228
Warnings: Underage drinking, drunk sex, unprotected blowjobs, depression-like symptoms, mild slut shaming, Kurt/OC
Summary: Following the soul-crushing agony that Blaine’s admission brought into Kurt’s life, he drifts into something even more dangerous than the sadness that has been consuming him. He finds himself numb to everything and everyone around him, existing in a mere shell of the person he had so very recently been. Desperate for a way to feel, Kurt finds himself reaching out to the one person he probably shouldn’t, because he knows Sebastian can give him what he needs. What he finds isn’t what he was expecting, but what in his life lately has been?
A/N: This fic was written for the Kurtbastian Big Bang. A million thanks to my amazing beta, the wonderful Kit. This fic would not exist without her constant support and encouragement and all of the flailing/screaming/talking she let me do at her. Please consider this fic canon up through The Break-Up. At that point, we didn't know what Sebastian was doing this year, so I made up my own story. Thank you!
Art Link: Click here
Kurt runs out of tears to cry somewhere around Day Twenty-Nine.
The first twenty-eight are miserable and sniffly, every little thing setting him off because everything reminds him of Blaine.
Everything.
The houndstooth scarf Kurt had received for his birthday, the rug they’d made out on when going all the way to Kurt’s bed had seemed the epitome of ridiculousness, the pad of Post-It notes that still bears the imprint of Blaine’s handwriting saying: Good luck, babe. New York is lucky to have you! <3. The taste of raspberry sorbet they’d shared on countless sticky summer nights and the sound of ninety percent of the music in Kurt’s iTunes.
It’s all Blaine, all them, and as he’d told Finn back when the wound had been blood red and freshly carved, every second of every day feels like he’s dying. Part of him, he knows, has. The part that had believed in romance, in first loves, in promise rings. That part of him is dead, the hole it was yanked out of raw and open and refusing to heal for every single second of those first twenty-eight days.
Kurt muses on more than one hurried walk to the subway station near the loft he shares with Rachel that the media seriously needs to stop romanticizing falling in love with your best friend. Because as it turns out? Not so wonderful. Once the relationship sours, you lose not one person but two. Not just a lover, but a companion. The keeper of your secrets. The knower of your stories, your nuances, your likes and tastes and favorites.
All of that is gone.
Blaine is gone, as firmly out of Kurt’s life as the note he’d dropped into the trash, as the flowers he’d handed off to the girl down the hall, as the texts he’d deleted and the pictures he’d transferred to a hard drive he forced Rachel to hide from him at all costs, because if he knows its location, he’ll probably smash it to smithereens just because its very existence hurts too damned much.
Yes, Days One through Twenty-Eight have been horrible. But Day Twenty-Nine is even worse.
He showers and styles his hair and gets dressed and eats a breakfast he can’t taste and rides the subway to work. Absently, he feels the brush of others’ clothing against his own and hears the garbled voice of the conductor squawking out stop after stop. After an entire work day that may or may not have gone well-- honestly, Kurt has no idea --he rides the subway back home and climbs the stairs to find Rachel cooking dinner. Well, burning dinner.
“Hello,” Kurt says, pulling the leather strap of his bag over his head and setting it on the table. Quips fill his brain, comments about how unappreciated blackened tofu is in the culinary world or how he’s heard that eating charred food is supposed to be good for plaque removal, but they all die on his tongue, his brain lacking the drive to fuel the thoughts to his mouth. So instead, he just leans against the counter and watches her poke at the food with a wooden spoon.
"How was your day?" she asks, finally lifting her gaze to look at him. Something she sees causes her to pause, the hunk of tofu sizzling angrily and severely testing the pan's ability to remain 'non-stick.' Kurt shrugs instead of answering, because honestly, he doesn't know what to say.
"Okay," he tells her, shoulders shrugging out of habit as he picks up a flavorless carrot from the cutting board on the counter and pops it into his mouth.
"Kurt."
"What?"
"Are you okay?" Her eyes are wide and concerned, her previously ruined supper burning further into ash in front of her. Kurt shrugs again.
"I'm fine."
"Well, I need to work on a song for school and could really use to harmonize with someone who isn't actively trying to beat me out in every class. After dinner?"
"I'm just going to take a shower and go to bed," he says, making up the answer on the fly. Bed sounds amazing.
"You're not crying today," Rachel says as Kurt starts to walk away.
Kurt freezes.
She's right.
He goes to bed with his eyes dry and his mind fuzzy while Rachel belts out something Barbara Streisand made famous three decades earlier.
---
Day Thirty starts with a raging case of morning wood.
Kurt can tell that he's been hard for a long time, cock aching with the strain of it as he rolls over and tries to get more comfortable. It doesn't work. Every little motion he makes brushes the fabric of his pajama pants against his dick and it becomes more and more apparent with every passing second that no amount of ignoring is going to make this go away.
He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling, the sounds of Rachel's soft snoring drifting across the large open area, the whir of the heater beside his bed filling up the spaces in between. The fact that she's still snoring shows she's still deep asleep, that he has some time. Even though he hasn't had even the slightest inclination to get himself off since the break-up, it seems as though his anatomy is taking control.
A huff spilling from between his lips, Kurt licks across his palm, too frustrated and lazy to reach under his bed for the lube he keeps tucked there, and shoves his hand down his pants. The second his hand curls around his cock, he sucks in a hissing breath and starts to stroke himself in short, rapid jerks just beneath the head, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. But as soon as he starts, heat blooms through his entire body and a shudder rakes down his spine.
"Oh," he gasps because fuck, it's been so long he's actually forgotten how good this feels.
Almost immediately, he lengthens the movement of his hand, stroking all the way from his balls, up and over the head of his cock, smearing the precome there down and around. Everything feels hot, from the pulsing heat in his cock to the friction of his hand working himself over to the suddenly too-close-too-snug fit of his shirt against his torso. His hips thrust up, the bed squeaking beneath him, and he freezes with his hips arched off the bed away from all telltale springs as he pumps himself hard and fast.
All he can think about is the way his body is feeling, the strain on his thighs and the material of the sheets beneath his feet. Soon, so embarrassingly soon, Kurt comes, his orgasm slamming into him so suddenly he can't help the groan that pours out of him or the fact that his body falls slack against the mattress, the protesting noise his bed lets out immediately silencing Rachel's snores.
As Kurt lifts his hand to take in the streaks of come across his fingers, he feels his heart thudding and his cheeks stretch as his mouth splits into a wide smile.
He expects the feeling to last with him through the day, that awareness of everything, the thereness of it all. But, by the time he's finished showering, it's gone. He catches a glimpse of one of Blaine's favorite songs on his phone and deletes it. He eats a granola bar that tastes like cardboard. He sits through a meeting that somehow ends with Isabelle being excited about hot pink mesh fingertipped gloves and can't even find it within himself to be revolted.
That night at dinner, Rachel tells him a thirty-five minute long story that he doesn't remember a word of, but apparently he reacts at all the appropriate times because she just keeps going and leaves the table with a smile on her face. Kurt shoves some peas around his plate for a few minutes after she's gone. At least they aren't burnt.
His gets a phone call he ignores. He lays out a brown belt and black shoes for the next morning. He forgets to tell Rachel goodnight.
"Kurt," is the sound he awakens to the next morning, yanked abruptly from the middle of a rather amazing dream featuring a nameless Jake Gyllenhaal lookalike who was giving him the best blowjob in the history of all blowjobs. He startles, registers that Rachel is sitting on the edge of his bed, and becomes distinctly aware of the extreme hardness of his cock. In that order.
"Yes?" he asks, tenting his legs in an effort to hide his condition. Thankfully, her gaze seems to be concernedly focused on his face, so there's at least some semblance of hope that he'll get out of the conversation without being permanently scarred for life.
"I'm worried about you," she says. "You were so upset and crying all the time and now you're... you're just there, Kurt."
"I'm fine," he tells her. "Really."
"But you're not. And what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't-"
"Rachel. Really, I'll be fine." He plasters on a smile and nods, wanting nothing more than to get her as far away from him and his still hard cock as possible. Memories of wrapping a hand around himself, of feeling, wash over him, the sensation so present and vivid that he almost moans just at the thought.
"If you need anything, please let me know. I love you and I'm really worried," she says, giving his knee a pat before offering him a weak smile and heading for the bathroom.
A rush of breath whooshes from between his lips the second he hears the shower turn on, fingers immediately circling his cock and stroking hard and fast with his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to beat the sound of the water spray shutting off.
He wins with a chuckle on his final exhale, hand warm from friction and come and he wipes the mess on his extra pillow before hugging it against his still pounding heart. It's exhilarating, even more than it always had been ever since he was thirteen and first touched himself to fleeting, flickering mental images of tan skin and strong hands and kissable lips.
That afternoon at work, Kurt is in the middle of a forty minute staring session with a errant eraser shaving on his desk when his phone buzzes against the hard surface, announcing that he as a new Facebook message from Blaine. He almost ignores it, wants to, but he swipes it to life instead.
It's the same old thing, the same apologies and the same promises, and Kurt erases it without hesitation, feeling nothing when it's gone. Mail gets dropped into the basket on his desk and he vaguely hears someone tell him hello but ignores it, still staring at the illuminated screen of his phone.
"Kurt, let's go!" one of his coworkers shouts out as they bustle past, finally pulling him out of his haze and out of his seat.
-
Things continue on in roughly the same manner for weeks, Kurt jerking off and living high on the rush of euphoria for a few glorious moments before dropping right back into the pool of cotton batting he's been swimming in--everything safe and comfortable but dull. He starts doing it in the evenings when Rachel's out of the apartment, on breaks in a bathroom stall, palms himself beneath the messenger bag on his lap on the subway for the added thrill of being caught, just to feel, because the second he's done it's over and he's back to... nothing.
It's not enough, though. The touch of his hand, the slick, thick slide of his dildo, they just aren't enough. It's not enough to sustain, and because of that, on a Friday evening exactly forty-five days after his relationship with Blaine ended, Kurt finds himself leaning against the bar top in a gay club, half a Mai Tai already sucked down as he stares into the crowd. The place isn't really his style, though to be fair, this is only the second bar he's ever been to and there are enough negative memories connected with Scandals that he's half surprised he isn't turned off of them completely.
He doesn't want to be the only one to bring himself to that better place anymore, he wants someone else to get him there. After everything he's been through, both in the last month and a half and always, he likes to believe that he deserves it. Maybe, if it's someone else's hand instead of his own, if there are kisses and touches and skin and panting breaths, the feeling will extend.
Maybe, just maybe, he can be Kurt again.
Once his drink is gone, he moves to the dance floor. His hips roll, his eyes shut against the dark room, flashes of brightness blinking stars into existence on the backs on his eyelids as the strobes and laser lights streak across the sea of undulating bodies. It feels good to dance, to let his body take control and just move with the music, to be a slave to the beat.
Hands slide into place on his hips, curling around the bones they find and pulling him close. There's a body behind him, all firm and hard and grinding against him in perfect counterpoint to the swiveling of his own hips. Kurt sags against it, against the feeling. Against the fingertips digging into his skin, the hand that drags up to map out the flat plane of his stomach through his thin shirt, leaving shocks of electricity in its wake. Lips brush over the side of his throat as that same hand slides down to stroke over his cock through his pants, already half-hard without his even realizing just from those initial touches.
Kurt's hips push back, letting out a moan that's swallowed up by the thumping bass at the realization that the guy who's touching him so damned well through his jeans is hard too. The lips on his neck latch on in a sucking kiss and Kurt reaches up to fist a hand in the guy's hair, holding him close and silently begging for more.
"I want to blow you," a voice says in his ear and a thrill creeps up Kurt's spine. This is exactly what he needs. This is what he's been craving. Every nerve ending in his body is awake and tingling and he turns to face the guy with a smile. One that promptly dissolves as they face each other.
Standing in front of him, hair disheveled from Kurt's fingers, lips red from kissing Kurt's neck, cock hard from grinding against Kurt, is Sebastian Smythe.
"You," Kurt says, feeling a little outside of himself with shock. He stares at Sebastian and waits for the feeling to slip away. He waits for the thrill to slip away, to sink back into the dull, lifeless ether he's come to know and loathe, now that he knows that the guy who had been making him feel so good is the person he used to hate more than any other, but it doesn't. It actually gets stronger the more he looks at Sebastian.
"Well well well. I didn't recognize you. The smell of your Estée Lauder Beautiful must be masked in here," Sebastian says, grinning and looking every bit the arrogant prick Kurt had known the previous year. Kurt swallows and looks Sebastian up and down.
He's still hard.
Kurt has a choice to make. He can walk away and try to find somebody else, someone less obnoxious to make Kurt feel hungry and sated and wired and feral and something. He can leave Sebastian standing there. Or... he can not.
There is a certain amount of comfort there, actually knowing the guy who was pressed up against him, who was touching him and wanting him. Even though he hates Sebastian, he can't deny that he's attractive. And wants Kurt. And is... there. Terrible person or not, he's Kurt's best choice for the night and if his constant bragging is anything to go by, Sebastian will be able to get the job done.
Kurt fists a hand in the front of Sebastian's shirt, hauling him in close and throwing Sebastian's eyes open wide.
"Don't you have a better use for your mouth?" Kurt asks before kissing him roughly, long fingers immediately lacing through Kurt's hair, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome tongue swiping across his lips. "Do you live close by?"
"Around the corner," Sebastian nods. "I go to Columbia."
"I don't care," Kurt states, already turning to walk away. "Let's go."
True to Sebastian's word, he does live right around the corner and after a silent but somehow mostly not awkward walk and ride up the elevator, Kurt finds himself standing in a small but nicely decorated loft apartment.
"Not that I care, but what would Blaine say if he knew you were grinding up on guys in a bar?" Sebastian asks as he pulls his polo shirt over his head, smirking a little as he watches Kurt take in the tanned, muscled lines of his torso.
It's a nice body. One that Kurt wishes housed anyone other than Sebastian, but it does and all Kurt cares about is getting more of that feeling, no matter who brings it about. Even if it’s him.
"Do we have to talk?" Kurt replies, pulling off his own shirt before bringing Sebastian in close by the belt loops.
"I'd really prefer if we didn't, actually," Sebastian says. "Your girly voice doesn't exactly get my dick hard."
Kurt grips Sebastian's cock through his jeans without warning, dragging the heel of his hand up the hardened length as he looks challengingly up at Sebastian.
"Really? Because I could beg to differ."
"I thought we weren't talking."
Raising an eyebrow, Kurt makes quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping Sebastian's jeans, pushing them down along with his boxer briefs to reveal long, thinly muscled legs and a pretty spectacular cock that he immediately coils a hand around.
"Lube?" he asks.
"Going to get yourself ready for me?" Sebastian asks, a little breathless from the light, teasing strokes Kurt's applying to his dick. Kurt laughs at him.
"No. I'm going to get you ready for me."
It isn't even something Kurt was aware of before that moment, but yeah, he definitely wants to fuck Sebastian. He likes bottoming too and had done a pretty equal split of the two in his time of sexual activity with Blaine, but that isn't what he needs at the moment. Images flash through his mind and he can barely hold back the whimper in his throat at the thought Sebastian on all fours in front of him, begging for more after so many months of living to make Kurt feel like complete shit.
"I only let guys fuck me if they have a big dick," Sebastian shrugs, fingers reaching out to flick at the button of Kurt's tight black jeans.
"I don't think I'll disappoint," Kurt says, releasing Sebastian and putting on a bit of a show of getting his own pants and briefs off, kicking them to the side as Sebastian steps out of his own.
"Definitely not," Sebastian says, looking more than a little impressed as he takes in Kurt's cock. "Still want me to blow you?"
"No. Just get the lube," he answers, standing there with his arms crossed across his bare chest until Sebastian produces a bottle and climbs onto the bed. "Turn over."
"Well aren't you a bossy little bitch." Sebastian rolls his eyes, but he's already complying, visibly rutting against the mattress as he gets comfortable on his stomach.
Kurt climbs onto the bed, pushing Sebastian's legs open and settling in between them as he lubes up his fingers. As he rubs the tip of his middle finger over Sebastian's hole, he leans in and whispers. "Bossy, yes. Little bitch? Not even close."
It should feel strange, touching someone new like this, but it doesn't. It feels... exciting.
He pushes that finger inside and works it in gently until Sebastian asks for another. Kurt doesn't wait for permission to add a third, angling and thrusting until Sebastian is panting. By the time he's prepped and ready, Kurt's cock is so hard it hurts and all he wants to do is bury himself in the heat that's been gripping his fingers. Sebastian hasn't said much, has only moaned lightly and worked his hips against the steady thrust and push of Kurt's hand.
"Are you ready?" Kurt asks, spreading Sebastian's cheeks wide and trailing a thumb over his now stretched and well-lubed asshole.
"Yeah. What are you waiting for?" Sebastian asks, looking over his shoulder and nodding toward the nightstand. "Condoms are in there."
Kurt finds one easily and climbs back onto the bed, giving the side of Sebastian's firm ass a pat as he tears it open with his teeth.
"Hands and knees," he says, flicking the wrapper over the edge of the bed and rolling the condom on.
Sebastian looks incredible, so lean and stretched out before him on the bed, the line of his spine expansive and strangely beautiful, and Kurt can't help but lean down to lick a light trail up and over the ridges as he lines up his cock and starts to push inside.
A moan sticks in his throat at that very first thrust, slow and steady as he slides inside until he’s buried balls deep and shaking a little from the tight hot grip around the base of his cock where Sebastian is squeezing purposefully around him.
“Stop that,” Kurt grits out, thrusting lightly as he gives Sebastian’s hip a little swat.
“What? Going to come already?”
“Not even close,” Kurt says, taking a deep breath and widening his stance on his knees a bit before starting up a slow rhythm.
He watches Sebastian from behind, shifting the angle of his thrusts just a little with each forward movement, searching for the ones Sebastian likes best. With Blaine, Kurt had long ago learned all the tricks and moves that got him off. But, Sebastian is a new partner, the only other guy Kurt had ever touched like this, been with like this, seen like this. Sebastian feels so good and Kurt tosses aside his usual instinct to build up slowly, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the force of his thrust rocking Sebastian on his knees.
“Oh,” Sebastian says, fingers splaying on the dark gray sheets as he starts to match Kurt thrust for thrust, his hips rocking back to slam into Kurt’s thighs.
Kurt’s head tips back, eyes fluttering shut against the ceiling as he focuses on nothing but the tight, hot friction around his cock. Sebastian’s ass is firm and clenching beneath Kurt’s hands, one on each cheek as he uses it as leverage to yank Sebastian back onto his cock.
“Fuck,” Sebastian whispers, body dropping forward to rest on his forearms, head falling to rest on the backs of his hands and Kurt takes advantage of the change in position to slide his hands forward, gripping onto Sebastian’s lower back and increasing the arch of Sebastian’s spine and grinning at the low moan it earns him.
He fucks Sebastian hard and fast, the slap of skin against skin the only thing Kurt can hear aside from the low moans Sebastian keeps letting out. His own he keeps locked inside his chest, his breath held tight, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth as he chases that feeling he’s been so desperately searching for. As Sebastian rises up onto his hands again, back arching as he gets the angle of Kurt’s cock right where he wants it, something inside of Kurt snaps.
With a firm grip, he grabs hold of Sebastian’s shoulder, hauling him back against his chest, wanting to feel more of that warm, smooth body against his. Sebastian barks out a laugh that ends with a moan, his hips rolling in a lazy circle as he situates himself in Kurt’s lap.
“No fucking way,” Sebastian whispers, reaching one hand over his shoulder to fist in Kurt’s hair.
Kurt says nothing, just grunts at the closeness, at the feeling of Sebastian’s back against his chest, at the flush scorching his throat and face. He slings an arm around Sebastian’s middle, pulling him tighter and bucking up with his hips in rapid little thrusts that make Sebastian laugh again, the sound raw and shocked and more than a little wrecked. With his free hand, Kurt fists around Sebastian’s cock, stroking him hard and fast.
There’s a pressure building at the base of his spine, heat blossoming through his hips and all he wants to do is come. He slams up into Sebastian twice more before coming hard, his hand squeezing up the length of Sebastian’s cock in one final stroke that leaves Sebastian shouting and curling in on himself as he comes all over the sheets.
Kurt whines and smoothes a hand over Sebastian’s back, grinning as Sebastian’s entire body shakes with an aftershock.
“Holy fuck,” Sebastian says.
“Mmm,” Kurt hums, sliding his hand down to Sebastian’s hip and urging him to move off of his cock, which Sebastian does, flopping to the mattress and grinning up at him.
“That was hot.”
“It was,” Kurt agrees, standing and tying off the condom before tossing it in a garbage can he spots beside the bed.
“I never would have thought you’d have it in you.”
“I’m pretty sure that I’m the one who had it in you,” Kurt says, fixing Sebastian with a raised eyebrow and pulling on his briefs. Sebastian laughs and throws an arm behind his head, watching as Kurt gets dressed.
Kurt’s pulse is still racing, the phantom feeling of Sebastian all around him still vivid and perfect, and he doesn’t hold back when all of his instincts tell him to kiss Sebastian goodbye. He leans onto the bed on one knee and gives Sebastian a final deep and dirty kiss before again standing.
“Thanks,” he says, backing toward the door with a smile on his face at the sight of Sebastian still flushed and sweaty and naked on the bed.
“Sure thing, Princess.”
“Fuck you,” Kurt says, but he’s still smiling.
“Anytime.”
The last thing Kurt sees before shutting the door is a surprised look on Sebastian’s face.
---
When Kurt wakes up in the morning, he takes a shower, humming the harmony line to “How The Other Half Lives.” He makes banana bread pancakes and sings along with his ringtone for thirty seconds before picking up when Isabelle calls, asking him to pick up coffee on his way to the office. It isn’t until Rachel launches herself at him in a needy, squeezing hug that he realizes the change. He stops, arms trapped at his sides while she clings to him in excitement, and let’s out a little “Huh.”
Rachel, bless her, doesn’t ask any questions during breakfast. She just eats her pancakes and keeps nudging Kurt’s foot with her toes and is smiling so big Kurt can’t help but find it contagious. When he’s sweeping out the door just in time to catch the subway, Rachel calls out to him.
“I missed you.”
“Me too,” he says seriously, nodding at her before sliding the door shut. He wonders as he heads down the stairs if she knows that it’s himself he was missing.
---
Two mornings later, the feeling is still there, and he uses it to propel himself through a rushed masturbatory session in the shower. As he watches his come circle the drain before slipping out of sight, he remembers how great it’d felt to do that inside of Sebastian. How much better. He leans his forehead against the cool tile wall and feels the water, still warm but not hot anymore, wash away the rush and the tingles and the redness from his skin until he’s shivering.
He towels off and heads for his closet where his outfit is out and ready. His fingers skim the scarf draped around the neck of his jacket, the same scarf he’d worn the night he’d hooked up with Sebastian and his face flushes at the memory, at the term hooked up. But that was what they’d done and it had been… hot.
Two years earlier, Kurt never would have imagined himself as the type to hook up, to have sex with someone he wasn’t in love with and leave the encounter feeling okay. Good even. Back then, he’d hardly been able to talk about sex, let alone have it, but here he is. Days out from it happening, Kurt still feels good. But, not as good as he had.
No longer does he remember how Sebastian’s mouth had tasted, the detailed memory of the feeling of Sebastian’s asshole taking his cock no longer as vivid. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s getting out his laptop and opening Facebook. He pulls up Sebastian’s profile. They’re not friends on the site and he makes no efforts to fix that, simply sends him a message that says ‘Are you free tonight?’ and hits send.
Less than two minutes later, a response comes through.
‘My place. Nine o’clock.’
---
As he approaches Sebastian’s apartment, he starts to get a little nervous. But even that is good. It’s different. He hasn’t felt nervous since before the break-up. Not even when he’d taken off his clothes in front of Sebastian or kissed him or made that very first thrust inside. Now, though, his palms sweating, his pulse quickening, and his feet stride him down the hallway in manner of false confidence.
He no more than raises his hand to knock and the door is swinging open, revealing a shirtless Sebastian. His jeans are tight and only halfway zipped, treasure trail giving way to the neatly maintained pubic hair that Kurt hadn’t gotten nearly enough time to appreciate in their previous encounter.
“You’re late,” Sebastian says, standing there and waiting for Kurt to enter.
“Is that why you were staring out the peephole waiting for me?” Kurt counters, stepping inside and finding himself immediately pressed into the wall.
There’s a light switch digging into his back and his coat is too hot in the warm apartment, but Sebastian’s lips are eager and his body is hard. Kurt links his fingers into Sebastian’s belt loops and tugs, pulling him closer and opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.
“I think I owe you something,” Sebastian whispers, tongue darting out to lick at the dip below Kurt’s bottom lip.
“Oh?”
“Mmhmm,” Sebastian grins, palm cupping Kurt’s cock through his pants before lowering the zipper and dropping to his knees.
“Oh,” Kurt says, the word breathy and practically moaning as Sebastian yanks his pants down to mid-thigh and licks up the exposed skin just to the side of Kurt’s cock. “Tease.”
Sebastian grins up at Kurt and shakes his head.
“Patience, Princess,” he says. Kurt lifts a hand, fully prepared to flick Sebastian on the nose for the name, but then Sebastian’s sucking Kurt’s cock into his throat and all Kurt can do is fist a hand in his hair and hope that his legs don’t give out.
“God I hate you,” Kurt breathes out, biting down hard on his bottom lip and allowing himself to get lost in the feeling of Sebastian’s lips working over the sensitive skin of his cock with more practiced ease than Kurt really wants to think about at the moment.
Sebastian’s mouth is wide, perfect for spewing out mass amounts of barbs and filth, and as it turns out, equally perfect for accommodating Kurt’s dick. His tongue is eager, always moving, stroking, flicking, and Kurt tries so hard to keep up with it all but fails miserably. There are strong hands on his thighs, fingertips digging in and for a fleeting moment, all Kurt can think is how badly he hopes that they’ll leave marks on his delicate skin. It’s improbable, something he would know if he wasn’t out of his mind with pleasure, but as it is, he gets an image in his head of seeing them in the shower the next day, little purple dots on his skin, a physical reminder of what they’d done, what Sebastian’s doing right now.
It’s that, the imagined sensation of pushing his own fingers onto the bruises the next day, coupled with the hot, near frantic, slurping, sucking, torturing rhythm of Sebastian’s mouth that knocks Kurt over the edge.
He comes with a gasp, the kind that preludes a shudder that drags all the way down one’s spine, everything tight and shocked and overwhelming before all goes calm. The lips around him go softer but don’t let up completely, not until Kurt’s pushing them away, chest still heaving as he comes down from his frankly fucking amazing orgasm.
“Jesus,” Kurt sighs, sagging against the wall as Sebastian stands. There’s a body in his personal space without warning, crowding into him and nosing along his cheek. Kurt’s eyes are closed, senses still fuzzed and blurred from the force of his release, but he can smell Sebastian and god, he smells amazing. The hard press of Sebastian’s cock against his hip makes him smile a little. “Just give me a second.”
“Yeah, I really don’t have a second,” Sebastian says against the shell of Kurt’s ear, grinding harder into Kurt. “I have a test at eight in the morning and need to study tonight, so if you could be so kind as to-“
“Fine,” Kurt interrupts, eyes opening against their will to glare at Sebastian. If he’s not going to be nice enough to give Kurt thirty seconds to recover from his blowjob then Kurt is happy to return the favor.
He doesn’t want romance. He doesn’t want to curl up in bed together afterward and stare into each other’s eyes and kiss and touch gently the way he and Blaine had whenever they’d been gifted with enough time to do so. All he’d wanted was to get off, to extend the feeling of normalcy, and maybe to see Sebastian naked again. Maybe.
Kurt spins them around, shoving Sebastian against the wall and unzipping his pants the rest of the way. There’s nothing underneath but skin, that long hard cock Kurt had thought about when he’d jerked himself off in the shower before work in the days since their last meeting. He’s no expert in the field of blowjobs, but Blaine had always been very appreciative of his skills, especially when he’d employed a few extras that Kurt hopes will knock Sebastian off of that oft-desired, pleasurable cliff. And maybe, if he keeps looking impatiently at Kurt, a real cliff as well.
Before dropping as gracefully as he can to his knees, Kurt tucks himself back into his jeans and zips them up, wanting to be able to execute his plan as fully and swiftly as possible.
“Would you get to it already?” Sebastian asks, eyes already closed as he settles back against the wall and laces his fingers in Kurt’s hair, urging his head forward until Kurt’s nose is bumping against his cock. Glaring up at him, Kurt grabs a pinch of skin an inch or so to the side of Sebastian’s cock and twists hard just before swallowing it down whole. “You little fu… fuck.”
If he wasn’t so busy, Kurt would smile with pride, but as it is, he has a job to do. He sucks hard, noisily, messily, keeping Sebastian’s cock in as deep as he can for as long as possible. The fingers in his hair tighten and he can feel Sebastian start to nudge his hips forward into the tight, purposely intense heat Kurt is providing for him.
“Shit. Slow down,” Sebastian groans, forcing Kurt’s head down further on his cock. He sucks harder in response and bobs his head faster as he slides a hand between Sebastian’s legs and massages his thumb hard into his perineum. “Jesus fuck!”
Sebastian comes with a shout and Kurt doesn’t slow down, just keeps going until Sebastian is whining his name. Swallowing one last time, Kurt stands and heads for the door.
“Thanks,” is all he says as he opens it, the sight of Sebastian sinking to the floor filling his peripheral vision as he leaves.
He knows that he should be irritated with Sebastian, that the parts of himself that had once craved loving, passionate sex with a partner he was head over heels for should be screaming in protest. But the truth is, they’re not. Not really. He’d booty called Sebastian, after all, and given what he’s inferred about Sebastian’s sexual past, he really can’t be surprised at the rushed nature of this encounter.
When he arrives at home, Rachel asks if he was with a friend. Kurt thinks for a moment, shrugs, and says no before helping himself to a couple slices of cucumber from the plate of sliced veggies beside her on the couch. It’s juicy and sweet and washes away the taste of Sebastian in his mouth.
“Is he cute?” Rachel asks, poking lightly at his arm as she grins at him.
“When he isn’t careful, yes.”
---
Two weeks pass without event. Kurt goes to work and cooks dinner with Rachel. They sing along with whatever pops up on Kurt’s phone and when he sleeps, it’s deep and void of dreams. He feels so much like himself, like Kurt, is so lost in that familiar feeling that he misses the warning signs.
He skips lunch a few times and doesn’t notice. He wears a hat more than once because he doesn’t feel like fussing with his hair. It isn’t until he almost leaves the house wearing the same outfit twice in the same week that he’s shocked into self-awareness, turning on the spot and rapidly changing, his heart thudding in his chest. It’s happening again, but it can’t. He won’t let it. Not when he knows the solution.
The day passes by in a blur of fantasy, his mind consumed with thoughts of naked bodies and moans and touching skin that isn’t his own. He could call Sebastian again, but he doesn’t. That would be three times and while yes, Sebastian is someone he knows, someone safe, he doesn’t want to give the wrong impression.
He lives in New York City for god’s sake. It’s his for the taking, and he tells himself this as he gets ready that night, dressed in black jeans it takes him five minutes laying down on his bed to wiggle into and a thin gray shirt that clings to his chest and arms in all the right places. He’s one scarf wrap and the donning of a coat away from being out the door when Rachel stops him.
“Where are you going?” she asks, physically blocking his path as he coils the crimson scarf around the collar of his shirt.
“Out,” he tells her, sidestepping and finding himself again stopped in his path. “Rachel.”
“Who are you going out with?”
“Nobody,” he says, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice as he yanks his coat over his shoulders.
“It’s late,” she says.
“Yeah, it’s late on a Saturday night. Exactly when people go out.”
“If you’re not meeting someone then why are you going out?”
“To meet someone? That’s what people do. They go out to clubs and bars and they meet people. You should try it sometime. There’s actually a whole world out there that has nothing to do with NYADA,” he spits out, buttoning his coat and nudging her out of the way when she again tries to stop him.
“Kurt, do you really want to meet someone in a bar? I mean, think of what you’ll have to tell your children someday when they ask how their dads met!”
“For god’s sake, Rachel, I’m not looking for a husband, I’m looking to get laid,” he says before he can stop himself, raising a threatening finger at the disappointed look in her eye. “Don’t.”
“Kurt…”
“Just stop,” he says. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do and I appreciate that, but I’m an adult and if I want to go out, I’m going to go out. So here I am, going out.” He brushes past her, ignoring her furrowed brow and shoving down all of his annoyance. That’s not going to do him any good where he’s going.
- - -
The club looks the same as it had a few weeks earlier. If Kurt didn’t know any better, he would think that it was all the same people, the same music, the same night. But, he does know better. Like for example, how the bartender had not been nearly so cute the other time, nor had that guy been there.
He looks a little older than Kurt. Tall, blonde, thickly built in a way that sets Kurt’s brain a-twitter, imagining what he looks like without that t-shirt in the way. Halfway through his Long Island Iced Tea, Kurt is devising a plan. Dancing first, followed by another drink, and then more dancing, hopefully leading to something more. He’s happy with his plan and is sucking down the rest of his drink so he can execute it when a body sidles up next to him.
“Well well well, if it isn’t-“
“Go away, Sebastian, I’m busy.” Kurt gives Sebastian a fleeting side look, just enough to see his eyebrows fly high on his forehead.
“Busy with what? With him?” Sebastian asks, nodding in the direction of the guy in question before taking a sip of his drink.
“Hopefully,” Kurt says, preparing to push off the bar and go put his plan in motion.
“He’s hideous.”
Kurt stops.
“He is not.”
Sebastian laughs and points, prompting Kurt to grab his arm and pull it down, not wanting to draw any attention.
“He is too. And I mean, if you want to fuck someone who looks like a failed experiment in abstract art, then by all means, go right ahead. I just thought you had more self-respect than that.”
“I think it’s pretty clear given the fact that I slept with you that I don’t,” Kurt says before he can stop himself.
Sebastian looks him, unreadable and blank look on his face, sets his now empty glass on the bar, and walks away. Kurt swears to himself, fighting against the urge to go apologize, an urge that vanishes the second he sees that Sebastian is heading straight for guy Kurt had been ogling.
He wastes no time, sliding in close, one hand on the guy’s hip, the other dragging up his arm as they move together. The guy looks impressed, a little lovestruck even, and Kurt rolls his eyes. Their bodies are grinding against each other, moving to the music, and every so often Sebastian glances over in Kurt’s direction. Kurt watches, unable to do anything else because he’s so furious, and as the song changes, Sebastian leans in close, mouth clearly touching the guy’s ear as he whispers into it. A memory flits through Kurt’s brain, of Sebastian whispering in his own ear on that very same dance floor:
I want to blow you.
Kurt turns away and leans against the bar, flagging down the bartender for another drink since he has to do something to bide his time while he comes up with another plan.
“You’re welcome.”
“Excuse me?” Kurt asks, turning to find Sebastian standing beside him. Alone.
“I got rid of him for you,” Sebastian explains as if the answer should be blatantly obvious.
“And why did you do that?”
“Well, as we already covered, he was hideous. But he was also a terrible dancer-seriously, no rhythm. He probably fucks like Frankenstein’s monster hit with a stun gun.”
Kurt snorts and rolls his eyes again, sipping his fresh drink through a straw, feeling Sebastian’s eyes on him.
“Well then I guess I should thank you for completely ruining a chance at getting my dick sucked,” Kurt says, glaring at Sebastian as he throws up his hands in mock defense.
“Whoa there, Elrond. Are you carrying the proper permit to be using those big boy words?” he asks, taking Kurt’s glass from his hand and helping himself to a long drink.
“Give me that,” Kurt demands, grabbing it back and turning his attention back to the crowd and away from his annoying leech. He scans the dance floor as he downs the rest of his drink, smiling as the warmth from the alcohol spreads through his chest just as he spies another guy who definitely lives up to Kurt’s admittedly high standards.
“Dibs,” Sebastian says.
“Dibs? Are we in middle school?”
“You can be as pissed as you want, but I totally called him,” Sebastian says.
“And what if he doesn’t want you?”
Sebastian snorts and leans an elbow against the bar, waving a hand to gesture at his body. “Kurt. Please.”
“Right, because no one can resist you,” Kurt deadpans, finishing his drink and feeling the room give a drunken shimmy around him.
“You couldn’t,” Sebastian says, shrugging and turning back toward the crowd.
“Yes, that’s exactly what happened. I saw you and was overcome with the urge to jump your bones,” Kurt says, “More like you were there and I’d already gotten you hard so-“
“I thought you were someone else.” Sebastian pauses and glances at him, looking him up and down. “Anyone else.”
“And yet it was apparently good enough for you to agree to a second time.”
“I was horny. The timing was convenient,” Sebastian shrugs, watching the guy he’d earlier called dibs on dancing and making out with someone else. “Looks like I dodged a bullet there. It looks like he’s trying to eat that guy’s lips off.” Kurt cringes as he watches and nods.
They stand in silence for awhile, each of them searching the crowd, but honestly, Kurt can’t find a single guy that he wants to approach. They’re all too drunk or too sweaty or, god, wearing those hideous mesh fingertipless gloves. Isabelle must have been on to something. Too bad it wasn’t something good.
“Well this place is officially dead,” Sebastian says, words almost lost in the thumping wail of the music.
“Still looks alive and kicking to me,” Kurt lies, leaning back against the bar on his elbows and trying to ignore Sebastian as he slides over until their arms are pressed together.
“There might still be people here, but not a single one of them is worth fucking. Too bad. I really felt like burying my tongue in an ass tonight.”
Kurt looks at him with a raised eyebrow and shakes his head. “Always so crass.”
“Whatever. You like it,” Sebastian says, voice louder and closer than before. Kurt feels Sebastian’s breath hot against his ear, his tongue licking a feather light line up the shell. There’s a hand cupping his cock and he tries so valiantly not to react, not to give Sebastian that satisfaction.
“Not particularly.”
“Hm,” Sebastian says, thumbing up and down the line of Kurt’s zipper. “You sure about that? I think you do. I think you want your ass to be the one I’m licking tonight.”
Kurt’s knees weaken, his body leaning more aggressively against Sebastian’s arm and he lets his eyelids give in to the need to slide shut. Sebastian’s thumb is still stroking him so, so lightly, the touch such a terrible tease Kurt reaches for Sebastian’s hand on instinct, pressing it tighter against him before he even realizes what he’s doing.
Sebastian clucks his tongue in Kurt’s ear and yanks his hand away, leaving Kurt whining despite himself. The two drinks he’d consumed far too quickly have left him drunker than he’d intended to get, but everything is warm and pleasantly buzzy except for his cock which is now unattended and feeling dishearteningly cold.
“So what do you say?” Sebastian asks, beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Kurt finds himself consumed with the desire to lick it away. “Want to go back to my place?”
Kurt’s head starts shaking before he responds, knowing without a doubt that he absolutely does not want to go to Sebastian’s.
“No,” he says, and Sebastian guard doesn’t come up fast enough. Kurt sees the look of disappointment that washes over his face, notices the half-step back he takes, feels the air change around them. “I want to go to my place.”
Sebastian is faster this time, and Kurt seriously questions on the subway ride to his and Rachel’s loft whether or not Sebastian started to smile at the suggestion.
Part II
Author: flyblckbirdfly ( LJ / Tumblr )
Artist: ninjalights (Tumblr)
Rating: NC-17 (fic), R (art)
Word Count 15,228
Warnings: Underage drinking, drunk sex, unprotected blowjobs, depression-like symptoms, mild slut shaming, Kurt/OC
Summary: Following the soul-crushing agony that Blaine’s admission brought into Kurt’s life, he drifts into something even more dangerous than the sadness that has been consuming him. He finds himself numb to everything and everyone around him, existing in a mere shell of the person he had so very recently been. Desperate for a way to feel, Kurt finds himself reaching out to the one person he probably shouldn’t, because he knows Sebastian can give him what he needs. What he finds isn’t what he was expecting, but what in his life lately has been?
A/N: This fic was written for the Kurtbastian Big Bang. A million thanks to my amazing beta, the wonderful Kit. This fic would not exist without her constant support and encouragement and all of the flailing/screaming/talking she let me do at her. Please consider this fic canon up through The Break-Up. At that point, we didn't know what Sebastian was doing this year, so I made up my own story. Thank you!
Art Link: Click here
Kurt runs out of tears to cry somewhere around Day Twenty-Nine.
The first twenty-eight are miserable and sniffly, every little thing setting him off because everything reminds him of Blaine.
Everything.
The houndstooth scarf Kurt had received for his birthday, the rug they’d made out on when going all the way to Kurt’s bed had seemed the epitome of ridiculousness, the pad of Post-It notes that still bears the imprint of Blaine’s handwriting saying: Good luck, babe. New York is lucky to have you! <3. The taste of raspberry sorbet they’d shared on countless sticky summer nights and the sound of ninety percent of the music in Kurt’s iTunes.
It’s all Blaine, all them, and as he’d told Finn back when the wound had been blood red and freshly carved, every second of every day feels like he’s dying. Part of him, he knows, has. The part that had believed in romance, in first loves, in promise rings. That part of him is dead, the hole it was yanked out of raw and open and refusing to heal for every single second of those first twenty-eight days.
Kurt muses on more than one hurried walk to the subway station near the loft he shares with Rachel that the media seriously needs to stop romanticizing falling in love with your best friend. Because as it turns out? Not so wonderful. Once the relationship sours, you lose not one person but two. Not just a lover, but a companion. The keeper of your secrets. The knower of your stories, your nuances, your likes and tastes and favorites.
All of that is gone.
Blaine is gone, as firmly out of Kurt’s life as the note he’d dropped into the trash, as the flowers he’d handed off to the girl down the hall, as the texts he’d deleted and the pictures he’d transferred to a hard drive he forced Rachel to hide from him at all costs, because if he knows its location, he’ll probably smash it to smithereens just because its very existence hurts too damned much.
Yes, Days One through Twenty-Eight have been horrible. But Day Twenty-Nine is even worse.
He showers and styles his hair and gets dressed and eats a breakfast he can’t taste and rides the subway to work. Absently, he feels the brush of others’ clothing against his own and hears the garbled voice of the conductor squawking out stop after stop. After an entire work day that may or may not have gone well-- honestly, Kurt has no idea --he rides the subway back home and climbs the stairs to find Rachel cooking dinner. Well, burning dinner.
“Hello,” Kurt says, pulling the leather strap of his bag over his head and setting it on the table. Quips fill his brain, comments about how unappreciated blackened tofu is in the culinary world or how he’s heard that eating charred food is supposed to be good for plaque removal, but they all die on his tongue, his brain lacking the drive to fuel the thoughts to his mouth. So instead, he just leans against the counter and watches her poke at the food with a wooden spoon.
"How was your day?" she asks, finally lifting her gaze to look at him. Something she sees causes her to pause, the hunk of tofu sizzling angrily and severely testing the pan's ability to remain 'non-stick.' Kurt shrugs instead of answering, because honestly, he doesn't know what to say.
"Okay," he tells her, shoulders shrugging out of habit as he picks up a flavorless carrot from the cutting board on the counter and pops it into his mouth.
"Kurt."
"What?"
"Are you okay?" Her eyes are wide and concerned, her previously ruined supper burning further into ash in front of her. Kurt shrugs again.
"I'm fine."
"Well, I need to work on a song for school and could really use to harmonize with someone who isn't actively trying to beat me out in every class. After dinner?"
"I'm just going to take a shower and go to bed," he says, making up the answer on the fly. Bed sounds amazing.
"You're not crying today," Rachel says as Kurt starts to walk away.
Kurt freezes.
She's right.
He goes to bed with his eyes dry and his mind fuzzy while Rachel belts out something Barbara Streisand made famous three decades earlier.
---
Day Thirty starts with a raging case of morning wood.
Kurt can tell that he's been hard for a long time, cock aching with the strain of it as he rolls over and tries to get more comfortable. It doesn't work. Every little motion he makes brushes the fabric of his pajama pants against his dick and it becomes more and more apparent with every passing second that no amount of ignoring is going to make this go away.
He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling, the sounds of Rachel's soft snoring drifting across the large open area, the whir of the heater beside his bed filling up the spaces in between. The fact that she's still snoring shows she's still deep asleep, that he has some time. Even though he hasn't had even the slightest inclination to get himself off since the break-up, it seems as though his anatomy is taking control.
A huff spilling from between his lips, Kurt licks across his palm, too frustrated and lazy to reach under his bed for the lube he keeps tucked there, and shoves his hand down his pants. The second his hand curls around his cock, he sucks in a hissing breath and starts to stroke himself in short, rapid jerks just beneath the head, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. But as soon as he starts, heat blooms through his entire body and a shudder rakes down his spine.
"Oh," he gasps because fuck, it's been so long he's actually forgotten how good this feels.
Almost immediately, he lengthens the movement of his hand, stroking all the way from his balls, up and over the head of his cock, smearing the precome there down and around. Everything feels hot, from the pulsing heat in his cock to the friction of his hand working himself over to the suddenly too-close-too-snug fit of his shirt against his torso. His hips thrust up, the bed squeaking beneath him, and he freezes with his hips arched off the bed away from all telltale springs as he pumps himself hard and fast.
All he can think about is the way his body is feeling, the strain on his thighs and the material of the sheets beneath his feet. Soon, so embarrassingly soon, Kurt comes, his orgasm slamming into him so suddenly he can't help the groan that pours out of him or the fact that his body falls slack against the mattress, the protesting noise his bed lets out immediately silencing Rachel's snores.
As Kurt lifts his hand to take in the streaks of come across his fingers, he feels his heart thudding and his cheeks stretch as his mouth splits into a wide smile.
He expects the feeling to last with him through the day, that awareness of everything, the thereness of it all. But, by the time he's finished showering, it's gone. He catches a glimpse of one of Blaine's favorite songs on his phone and deletes it. He eats a granola bar that tastes like cardboard. He sits through a meeting that somehow ends with Isabelle being excited about hot pink mesh fingertipped gloves and can't even find it within himself to be revolted.
That night at dinner, Rachel tells him a thirty-five minute long story that he doesn't remember a word of, but apparently he reacts at all the appropriate times because she just keeps going and leaves the table with a smile on her face. Kurt shoves some peas around his plate for a few minutes after she's gone. At least they aren't burnt.
His gets a phone call he ignores. He lays out a brown belt and black shoes for the next morning. He forgets to tell Rachel goodnight.
"Kurt," is the sound he awakens to the next morning, yanked abruptly from the middle of a rather amazing dream featuring a nameless Jake Gyllenhaal lookalike who was giving him the best blowjob in the history of all blowjobs. He startles, registers that Rachel is sitting on the edge of his bed, and becomes distinctly aware of the extreme hardness of his cock. In that order.
"Yes?" he asks, tenting his legs in an effort to hide his condition. Thankfully, her gaze seems to be concernedly focused on his face, so there's at least some semblance of hope that he'll get out of the conversation without being permanently scarred for life.
"I'm worried about you," she says. "You were so upset and crying all the time and now you're... you're just there, Kurt."
"I'm fine," he tells her. "Really."
"But you're not. And what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't-"
"Rachel. Really, I'll be fine." He plasters on a smile and nods, wanting nothing more than to get her as far away from him and his still hard cock as possible. Memories of wrapping a hand around himself, of feeling, wash over him, the sensation so present and vivid that he almost moans just at the thought.
"If you need anything, please let me know. I love you and I'm really worried," she says, giving his knee a pat before offering him a weak smile and heading for the bathroom.
A rush of breath whooshes from between his lips the second he hears the shower turn on, fingers immediately circling his cock and stroking hard and fast with his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to beat the sound of the water spray shutting off.
He wins with a chuckle on his final exhale, hand warm from friction and come and he wipes the mess on his extra pillow before hugging it against his still pounding heart. It's exhilarating, even more than it always had been ever since he was thirteen and first touched himself to fleeting, flickering mental images of tan skin and strong hands and kissable lips.
That afternoon at work, Kurt is in the middle of a forty minute staring session with a errant eraser shaving on his desk when his phone buzzes against the hard surface, announcing that he as a new Facebook message from Blaine. He almost ignores it, wants to, but he swipes it to life instead.
It's the same old thing, the same apologies and the same promises, and Kurt erases it without hesitation, feeling nothing when it's gone. Mail gets dropped into the basket on his desk and he vaguely hears someone tell him hello but ignores it, still staring at the illuminated screen of his phone.
"Kurt, let's go!" one of his coworkers shouts out as they bustle past, finally pulling him out of his haze and out of his seat.
-
Things continue on in roughly the same manner for weeks, Kurt jerking off and living high on the rush of euphoria for a few glorious moments before dropping right back into the pool of cotton batting he's been swimming in--everything safe and comfortable but dull. He starts doing it in the evenings when Rachel's out of the apartment, on breaks in a bathroom stall, palms himself beneath the messenger bag on his lap on the subway for the added thrill of being caught, just to feel, because the second he's done it's over and he's back to... nothing.
It's not enough, though. The touch of his hand, the slick, thick slide of his dildo, they just aren't enough. It's not enough to sustain, and because of that, on a Friday evening exactly forty-five days after his relationship with Blaine ended, Kurt finds himself leaning against the bar top in a gay club, half a Mai Tai already sucked down as he stares into the crowd. The place isn't really his style, though to be fair, this is only the second bar he's ever been to and there are enough negative memories connected with Scandals that he's half surprised he isn't turned off of them completely.
He doesn't want to be the only one to bring himself to that better place anymore, he wants someone else to get him there. After everything he's been through, both in the last month and a half and always, he likes to believe that he deserves it. Maybe, if it's someone else's hand instead of his own, if there are kisses and touches and skin and panting breaths, the feeling will extend.
Maybe, just maybe, he can be Kurt again.
Once his drink is gone, he moves to the dance floor. His hips roll, his eyes shut against the dark room, flashes of brightness blinking stars into existence on the backs on his eyelids as the strobes and laser lights streak across the sea of undulating bodies. It feels good to dance, to let his body take control and just move with the music, to be a slave to the beat.
Hands slide into place on his hips, curling around the bones they find and pulling him close. There's a body behind him, all firm and hard and grinding against him in perfect counterpoint to the swiveling of his own hips. Kurt sags against it, against the feeling. Against the fingertips digging into his skin, the hand that drags up to map out the flat plane of his stomach through his thin shirt, leaving shocks of electricity in its wake. Lips brush over the side of his throat as that same hand slides down to stroke over his cock through his pants, already half-hard without his even realizing just from those initial touches.
Kurt's hips push back, letting out a moan that's swallowed up by the thumping bass at the realization that the guy who's touching him so damned well through his jeans is hard too. The lips on his neck latch on in a sucking kiss and Kurt reaches up to fist a hand in the guy's hair, holding him close and silently begging for more.
"I want to blow you," a voice says in his ear and a thrill creeps up Kurt's spine. This is exactly what he needs. This is what he's been craving. Every nerve ending in his body is awake and tingling and he turns to face the guy with a smile. One that promptly dissolves as they face each other.
Standing in front of him, hair disheveled from Kurt's fingers, lips red from kissing Kurt's neck, cock hard from grinding against Kurt, is Sebastian Smythe.
"You," Kurt says, feeling a little outside of himself with shock. He stares at Sebastian and waits for the feeling to slip away. He waits for the thrill to slip away, to sink back into the dull, lifeless ether he's come to know and loathe, now that he knows that the guy who had been making him feel so good is the person he used to hate more than any other, but it doesn't. It actually gets stronger the more he looks at Sebastian.
"Well well well. I didn't recognize you. The smell of your Estée Lauder Beautiful must be masked in here," Sebastian says, grinning and looking every bit the arrogant prick Kurt had known the previous year. Kurt swallows and looks Sebastian up and down.
He's still hard.
Kurt has a choice to make. He can walk away and try to find somebody else, someone less obnoxious to make Kurt feel hungry and sated and wired and feral and something. He can leave Sebastian standing there. Or... he can not.
There is a certain amount of comfort there, actually knowing the guy who was pressed up against him, who was touching him and wanting him. Even though he hates Sebastian, he can't deny that he's attractive. And wants Kurt. And is... there. Terrible person or not, he's Kurt's best choice for the night and if his constant bragging is anything to go by, Sebastian will be able to get the job done.
Kurt fists a hand in the front of Sebastian's shirt, hauling him in close and throwing Sebastian's eyes open wide.
"Don't you have a better use for your mouth?" Kurt asks before kissing him roughly, long fingers immediately lacing through Kurt's hair, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome tongue swiping across his lips. "Do you live close by?"
"Around the corner," Sebastian nods. "I go to Columbia."
"I don't care," Kurt states, already turning to walk away. "Let's go."
True to Sebastian's word, he does live right around the corner and after a silent but somehow mostly not awkward walk and ride up the elevator, Kurt finds himself standing in a small but nicely decorated loft apartment.
"Not that I care, but what would Blaine say if he knew you were grinding up on guys in a bar?" Sebastian asks as he pulls his polo shirt over his head, smirking a little as he watches Kurt take in the tanned, muscled lines of his torso.
It's a nice body. One that Kurt wishes housed anyone other than Sebastian, but it does and all Kurt cares about is getting more of that feeling, no matter who brings it about. Even if it’s him.
"Do we have to talk?" Kurt replies, pulling off his own shirt before bringing Sebastian in close by the belt loops.
"I'd really prefer if we didn't, actually," Sebastian says. "Your girly voice doesn't exactly get my dick hard."
Kurt grips Sebastian's cock through his jeans without warning, dragging the heel of his hand up the hardened length as he looks challengingly up at Sebastian.
"Really? Because I could beg to differ."
"I thought we weren't talking."
Raising an eyebrow, Kurt makes quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping Sebastian's jeans, pushing them down along with his boxer briefs to reveal long, thinly muscled legs and a pretty spectacular cock that he immediately coils a hand around.
"Lube?" he asks.
"Going to get yourself ready for me?" Sebastian asks, a little breathless from the light, teasing strokes Kurt's applying to his dick. Kurt laughs at him.
"No. I'm going to get you ready for me."
It isn't even something Kurt was aware of before that moment, but yeah, he definitely wants to fuck Sebastian. He likes bottoming too and had done a pretty equal split of the two in his time of sexual activity with Blaine, but that isn't what he needs at the moment. Images flash through his mind and he can barely hold back the whimper in his throat at the thought Sebastian on all fours in front of him, begging for more after so many months of living to make Kurt feel like complete shit.
"I only let guys fuck me if they have a big dick," Sebastian shrugs, fingers reaching out to flick at the button of Kurt's tight black jeans.
"I don't think I'll disappoint," Kurt says, releasing Sebastian and putting on a bit of a show of getting his own pants and briefs off, kicking them to the side as Sebastian steps out of his own.
"Definitely not," Sebastian says, looking more than a little impressed as he takes in Kurt's cock. "Still want me to blow you?"
"No. Just get the lube," he answers, standing there with his arms crossed across his bare chest until Sebastian produces a bottle and climbs onto the bed. "Turn over."
"Well aren't you a bossy little bitch." Sebastian rolls his eyes, but he's already complying, visibly rutting against the mattress as he gets comfortable on his stomach.
Kurt climbs onto the bed, pushing Sebastian's legs open and settling in between them as he lubes up his fingers. As he rubs the tip of his middle finger over Sebastian's hole, he leans in and whispers. "Bossy, yes. Little bitch? Not even close."
It should feel strange, touching someone new like this, but it doesn't. It feels... exciting.
He pushes that finger inside and works it in gently until Sebastian asks for another. Kurt doesn't wait for permission to add a third, angling and thrusting until Sebastian is panting. By the time he's prepped and ready, Kurt's cock is so hard it hurts and all he wants to do is bury himself in the heat that's been gripping his fingers. Sebastian hasn't said much, has only moaned lightly and worked his hips against the steady thrust and push of Kurt's hand.
"Are you ready?" Kurt asks, spreading Sebastian's cheeks wide and trailing a thumb over his now stretched and well-lubed asshole.
"Yeah. What are you waiting for?" Sebastian asks, looking over his shoulder and nodding toward the nightstand. "Condoms are in there."
Kurt finds one easily and climbs back onto the bed, giving the side of Sebastian's firm ass a pat as he tears it open with his teeth.
"Hands and knees," he says, flicking the wrapper over the edge of the bed and rolling the condom on.
Sebastian looks incredible, so lean and stretched out before him on the bed, the line of his spine expansive and strangely beautiful, and Kurt can't help but lean down to lick a light trail up and over the ridges as he lines up his cock and starts to push inside.
A moan sticks in his throat at that very first thrust, slow and steady as he slides inside until he’s buried balls deep and shaking a little from the tight hot grip around the base of his cock where Sebastian is squeezing purposefully around him.
“Stop that,” Kurt grits out, thrusting lightly as he gives Sebastian’s hip a little swat.
“What? Going to come already?”
“Not even close,” Kurt says, taking a deep breath and widening his stance on his knees a bit before starting up a slow rhythm.
He watches Sebastian from behind, shifting the angle of his thrusts just a little with each forward movement, searching for the ones Sebastian likes best. With Blaine, Kurt had long ago learned all the tricks and moves that got him off. But, Sebastian is a new partner, the only other guy Kurt had ever touched like this, been with like this, seen like this. Sebastian feels so good and Kurt tosses aside his usual instinct to build up slowly, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the force of his thrust rocking Sebastian on his knees.
“Oh,” Sebastian says, fingers splaying on the dark gray sheets as he starts to match Kurt thrust for thrust, his hips rocking back to slam into Kurt’s thighs.
Kurt’s head tips back, eyes fluttering shut against the ceiling as he focuses on nothing but the tight, hot friction around his cock. Sebastian’s ass is firm and clenching beneath Kurt’s hands, one on each cheek as he uses it as leverage to yank Sebastian back onto his cock.
“Fuck,” Sebastian whispers, body dropping forward to rest on his forearms, head falling to rest on the backs of his hands and Kurt takes advantage of the change in position to slide his hands forward, gripping onto Sebastian’s lower back and increasing the arch of Sebastian’s spine and grinning at the low moan it earns him.
He fucks Sebastian hard and fast, the slap of skin against skin the only thing Kurt can hear aside from the low moans Sebastian keeps letting out. His own he keeps locked inside his chest, his breath held tight, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth as he chases that feeling he’s been so desperately searching for. As Sebastian rises up onto his hands again, back arching as he gets the angle of Kurt’s cock right where he wants it, something inside of Kurt snaps.
With a firm grip, he grabs hold of Sebastian’s shoulder, hauling him back against his chest, wanting to feel more of that warm, smooth body against his. Sebastian barks out a laugh that ends with a moan, his hips rolling in a lazy circle as he situates himself in Kurt’s lap.
“No fucking way,” Sebastian whispers, reaching one hand over his shoulder to fist in Kurt’s hair.
Kurt says nothing, just grunts at the closeness, at the feeling of Sebastian’s back against his chest, at the flush scorching his throat and face. He slings an arm around Sebastian’s middle, pulling him tighter and bucking up with his hips in rapid little thrusts that make Sebastian laugh again, the sound raw and shocked and more than a little wrecked. With his free hand, Kurt fists around Sebastian’s cock, stroking him hard and fast.
There’s a pressure building at the base of his spine, heat blossoming through his hips and all he wants to do is come. He slams up into Sebastian twice more before coming hard, his hand squeezing up the length of Sebastian’s cock in one final stroke that leaves Sebastian shouting and curling in on himself as he comes all over the sheets.
Kurt whines and smoothes a hand over Sebastian’s back, grinning as Sebastian’s entire body shakes with an aftershock.
“Holy fuck,” Sebastian says.
“Mmm,” Kurt hums, sliding his hand down to Sebastian’s hip and urging him to move off of his cock, which Sebastian does, flopping to the mattress and grinning up at him.
“That was hot.”
“It was,” Kurt agrees, standing and tying off the condom before tossing it in a garbage can he spots beside the bed.
“I never would have thought you’d have it in you.”
“I’m pretty sure that I’m the one who had it in you,” Kurt says, fixing Sebastian with a raised eyebrow and pulling on his briefs. Sebastian laughs and throws an arm behind his head, watching as Kurt gets dressed.
Kurt’s pulse is still racing, the phantom feeling of Sebastian all around him still vivid and perfect, and he doesn’t hold back when all of his instincts tell him to kiss Sebastian goodbye. He leans onto the bed on one knee and gives Sebastian a final deep and dirty kiss before again standing.
“Thanks,” he says, backing toward the door with a smile on his face at the sight of Sebastian still flushed and sweaty and naked on the bed.
“Sure thing, Princess.”
“Fuck you,” Kurt says, but he’s still smiling.
“Anytime.”
The last thing Kurt sees before shutting the door is a surprised look on Sebastian’s face.
---
When Kurt wakes up in the morning, he takes a shower, humming the harmony line to “How The Other Half Lives.” He makes banana bread pancakes and sings along with his ringtone for thirty seconds before picking up when Isabelle calls, asking him to pick up coffee on his way to the office. It isn’t until Rachel launches herself at him in a needy, squeezing hug that he realizes the change. He stops, arms trapped at his sides while she clings to him in excitement, and let’s out a little “Huh.”
Rachel, bless her, doesn’t ask any questions during breakfast. She just eats her pancakes and keeps nudging Kurt’s foot with her toes and is smiling so big Kurt can’t help but find it contagious. When he’s sweeping out the door just in time to catch the subway, Rachel calls out to him.
“I missed you.”
“Me too,” he says seriously, nodding at her before sliding the door shut. He wonders as he heads down the stairs if she knows that it’s himself he was missing.
---
Two mornings later, the feeling is still there, and he uses it to propel himself through a rushed masturbatory session in the shower. As he watches his come circle the drain before slipping out of sight, he remembers how great it’d felt to do that inside of Sebastian. How much better. He leans his forehead against the cool tile wall and feels the water, still warm but not hot anymore, wash away the rush and the tingles and the redness from his skin until he’s shivering.
He towels off and heads for his closet where his outfit is out and ready. His fingers skim the scarf draped around the neck of his jacket, the same scarf he’d worn the night he’d hooked up with Sebastian and his face flushes at the memory, at the term hooked up. But that was what they’d done and it had been… hot.
Two years earlier, Kurt never would have imagined himself as the type to hook up, to have sex with someone he wasn’t in love with and leave the encounter feeling okay. Good even. Back then, he’d hardly been able to talk about sex, let alone have it, but here he is. Days out from it happening, Kurt still feels good. But, not as good as he had.
No longer does he remember how Sebastian’s mouth had tasted, the detailed memory of the feeling of Sebastian’s asshole taking his cock no longer as vivid. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s getting out his laptop and opening Facebook. He pulls up Sebastian’s profile. They’re not friends on the site and he makes no efforts to fix that, simply sends him a message that says ‘Are you free tonight?’ and hits send.
Less than two minutes later, a response comes through.
‘My place. Nine o’clock.’
---
As he approaches Sebastian’s apartment, he starts to get a little nervous. But even that is good. It’s different. He hasn’t felt nervous since before the break-up. Not even when he’d taken off his clothes in front of Sebastian or kissed him or made that very first thrust inside. Now, though, his palms sweating, his pulse quickening, and his feet stride him down the hallway in manner of false confidence.
He no more than raises his hand to knock and the door is swinging open, revealing a shirtless Sebastian. His jeans are tight and only halfway zipped, treasure trail giving way to the neatly maintained pubic hair that Kurt hadn’t gotten nearly enough time to appreciate in their previous encounter.
“You’re late,” Sebastian says, standing there and waiting for Kurt to enter.
“Is that why you were staring out the peephole waiting for me?” Kurt counters, stepping inside and finding himself immediately pressed into the wall.
There’s a light switch digging into his back and his coat is too hot in the warm apartment, but Sebastian’s lips are eager and his body is hard. Kurt links his fingers into Sebastian’s belt loops and tugs, pulling him closer and opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.
“I think I owe you something,” Sebastian whispers, tongue darting out to lick at the dip below Kurt’s bottom lip.
“Oh?”
“Mmhmm,” Sebastian grins, palm cupping Kurt’s cock through his pants before lowering the zipper and dropping to his knees.
“Oh,” Kurt says, the word breathy and practically moaning as Sebastian yanks his pants down to mid-thigh and licks up the exposed skin just to the side of Kurt’s cock. “Tease.”
Sebastian grins up at Kurt and shakes his head.
“Patience, Princess,” he says. Kurt lifts a hand, fully prepared to flick Sebastian on the nose for the name, but then Sebastian’s sucking Kurt’s cock into his throat and all Kurt can do is fist a hand in his hair and hope that his legs don’t give out.
“God I hate you,” Kurt breathes out, biting down hard on his bottom lip and allowing himself to get lost in the feeling of Sebastian’s lips working over the sensitive skin of his cock with more practiced ease than Kurt really wants to think about at the moment.
Sebastian’s mouth is wide, perfect for spewing out mass amounts of barbs and filth, and as it turns out, equally perfect for accommodating Kurt’s dick. His tongue is eager, always moving, stroking, flicking, and Kurt tries so hard to keep up with it all but fails miserably. There are strong hands on his thighs, fingertips digging in and for a fleeting moment, all Kurt can think is how badly he hopes that they’ll leave marks on his delicate skin. It’s improbable, something he would know if he wasn’t out of his mind with pleasure, but as it is, he gets an image in his head of seeing them in the shower the next day, little purple dots on his skin, a physical reminder of what they’d done, what Sebastian’s doing right now.
It’s that, the imagined sensation of pushing his own fingers onto the bruises the next day, coupled with the hot, near frantic, slurping, sucking, torturing rhythm of Sebastian’s mouth that knocks Kurt over the edge.
He comes with a gasp, the kind that preludes a shudder that drags all the way down one’s spine, everything tight and shocked and overwhelming before all goes calm. The lips around him go softer but don’t let up completely, not until Kurt’s pushing them away, chest still heaving as he comes down from his frankly fucking amazing orgasm.
“Jesus,” Kurt sighs, sagging against the wall as Sebastian stands. There’s a body in his personal space without warning, crowding into him and nosing along his cheek. Kurt’s eyes are closed, senses still fuzzed and blurred from the force of his release, but he can smell Sebastian and god, he smells amazing. The hard press of Sebastian’s cock against his hip makes him smile a little. “Just give me a second.”
“Yeah, I really don’t have a second,” Sebastian says against the shell of Kurt’s ear, grinding harder into Kurt. “I have a test at eight in the morning and need to study tonight, so if you could be so kind as to-“
“Fine,” Kurt interrupts, eyes opening against their will to glare at Sebastian. If he’s not going to be nice enough to give Kurt thirty seconds to recover from his blowjob then Kurt is happy to return the favor.
He doesn’t want romance. He doesn’t want to curl up in bed together afterward and stare into each other’s eyes and kiss and touch gently the way he and Blaine had whenever they’d been gifted with enough time to do so. All he’d wanted was to get off, to extend the feeling of normalcy, and maybe to see Sebastian naked again. Maybe.
Kurt spins them around, shoving Sebastian against the wall and unzipping his pants the rest of the way. There’s nothing underneath but skin, that long hard cock Kurt had thought about when he’d jerked himself off in the shower before work in the days since their last meeting. He’s no expert in the field of blowjobs, but Blaine had always been very appreciative of his skills, especially when he’d employed a few extras that Kurt hopes will knock Sebastian off of that oft-desired, pleasurable cliff. And maybe, if he keeps looking impatiently at Kurt, a real cliff as well.
Before dropping as gracefully as he can to his knees, Kurt tucks himself back into his jeans and zips them up, wanting to be able to execute his plan as fully and swiftly as possible.
“Would you get to it already?” Sebastian asks, eyes already closed as he settles back against the wall and laces his fingers in Kurt’s hair, urging his head forward until Kurt’s nose is bumping against his cock. Glaring up at him, Kurt grabs a pinch of skin an inch or so to the side of Sebastian’s cock and twists hard just before swallowing it down whole. “You little fu… fuck.”
If he wasn’t so busy, Kurt would smile with pride, but as it is, he has a job to do. He sucks hard, noisily, messily, keeping Sebastian’s cock in as deep as he can for as long as possible. The fingers in his hair tighten and he can feel Sebastian start to nudge his hips forward into the tight, purposely intense heat Kurt is providing for him.
“Shit. Slow down,” Sebastian groans, forcing Kurt’s head down further on his cock. He sucks harder in response and bobs his head faster as he slides a hand between Sebastian’s legs and massages his thumb hard into his perineum. “Jesus fuck!”
Sebastian comes with a shout and Kurt doesn’t slow down, just keeps going until Sebastian is whining his name. Swallowing one last time, Kurt stands and heads for the door.
“Thanks,” is all he says as he opens it, the sight of Sebastian sinking to the floor filling his peripheral vision as he leaves.
He knows that he should be irritated with Sebastian, that the parts of himself that had once craved loving, passionate sex with a partner he was head over heels for should be screaming in protest. But the truth is, they’re not. Not really. He’d booty called Sebastian, after all, and given what he’s inferred about Sebastian’s sexual past, he really can’t be surprised at the rushed nature of this encounter.
When he arrives at home, Rachel asks if he was with a friend. Kurt thinks for a moment, shrugs, and says no before helping himself to a couple slices of cucumber from the plate of sliced veggies beside her on the couch. It’s juicy and sweet and washes away the taste of Sebastian in his mouth.
“Is he cute?” Rachel asks, poking lightly at his arm as she grins at him.
“When he isn’t careful, yes.”
---
Two weeks pass without event. Kurt goes to work and cooks dinner with Rachel. They sing along with whatever pops up on Kurt’s phone and when he sleeps, it’s deep and void of dreams. He feels so much like himself, like Kurt, is so lost in that familiar feeling that he misses the warning signs.
He skips lunch a few times and doesn’t notice. He wears a hat more than once because he doesn’t feel like fussing with his hair. It isn’t until he almost leaves the house wearing the same outfit twice in the same week that he’s shocked into self-awareness, turning on the spot and rapidly changing, his heart thudding in his chest. It’s happening again, but it can’t. He won’t let it. Not when he knows the solution.
The day passes by in a blur of fantasy, his mind consumed with thoughts of naked bodies and moans and touching skin that isn’t his own. He could call Sebastian again, but he doesn’t. That would be three times and while yes, Sebastian is someone he knows, someone safe, he doesn’t want to give the wrong impression.
He lives in New York City for god’s sake. It’s his for the taking, and he tells himself this as he gets ready that night, dressed in black jeans it takes him five minutes laying down on his bed to wiggle into and a thin gray shirt that clings to his chest and arms in all the right places. He’s one scarf wrap and the donning of a coat away from being out the door when Rachel stops him.
“Where are you going?” she asks, physically blocking his path as he coils the crimson scarf around the collar of his shirt.
“Out,” he tells her, sidestepping and finding himself again stopped in his path. “Rachel.”
“Who are you going out with?”
“Nobody,” he says, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice as he yanks his coat over his shoulders.
“It’s late,” she says.
“Yeah, it’s late on a Saturday night. Exactly when people go out.”
“If you’re not meeting someone then why are you going out?”
“To meet someone? That’s what people do. They go out to clubs and bars and they meet people. You should try it sometime. There’s actually a whole world out there that has nothing to do with NYADA,” he spits out, buttoning his coat and nudging her out of the way when she again tries to stop him.
“Kurt, do you really want to meet someone in a bar? I mean, think of what you’ll have to tell your children someday when they ask how their dads met!”
“For god’s sake, Rachel, I’m not looking for a husband, I’m looking to get laid,” he says before he can stop himself, raising a threatening finger at the disappointed look in her eye. “Don’t.”
“Kurt…”
“Just stop,” he says. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do and I appreciate that, but I’m an adult and if I want to go out, I’m going to go out. So here I am, going out.” He brushes past her, ignoring her furrowed brow and shoving down all of his annoyance. That’s not going to do him any good where he’s going.
- - -
The club looks the same as it had a few weeks earlier. If Kurt didn’t know any better, he would think that it was all the same people, the same music, the same night. But, he does know better. Like for example, how the bartender had not been nearly so cute the other time, nor had that guy been there.
He looks a little older than Kurt. Tall, blonde, thickly built in a way that sets Kurt’s brain a-twitter, imagining what he looks like without that t-shirt in the way. Halfway through his Long Island Iced Tea, Kurt is devising a plan. Dancing first, followed by another drink, and then more dancing, hopefully leading to something more. He’s happy with his plan and is sucking down the rest of his drink so he can execute it when a body sidles up next to him.
“Well well well, if it isn’t-“
“Go away, Sebastian, I’m busy.” Kurt gives Sebastian a fleeting side look, just enough to see his eyebrows fly high on his forehead.
“Busy with what? With him?” Sebastian asks, nodding in the direction of the guy in question before taking a sip of his drink.
“Hopefully,” Kurt says, preparing to push off the bar and go put his plan in motion.
“He’s hideous.”
Kurt stops.
“He is not.”
Sebastian laughs and points, prompting Kurt to grab his arm and pull it down, not wanting to draw any attention.
“He is too. And I mean, if you want to fuck someone who looks like a failed experiment in abstract art, then by all means, go right ahead. I just thought you had more self-respect than that.”
“I think it’s pretty clear given the fact that I slept with you that I don’t,” Kurt says before he can stop himself.
Sebastian looks him, unreadable and blank look on his face, sets his now empty glass on the bar, and walks away. Kurt swears to himself, fighting against the urge to go apologize, an urge that vanishes the second he sees that Sebastian is heading straight for guy Kurt had been ogling.
He wastes no time, sliding in close, one hand on the guy’s hip, the other dragging up his arm as they move together. The guy looks impressed, a little lovestruck even, and Kurt rolls his eyes. Their bodies are grinding against each other, moving to the music, and every so often Sebastian glances over in Kurt’s direction. Kurt watches, unable to do anything else because he’s so furious, and as the song changes, Sebastian leans in close, mouth clearly touching the guy’s ear as he whispers into it. A memory flits through Kurt’s brain, of Sebastian whispering in his own ear on that very same dance floor:
I want to blow you.
Kurt turns away and leans against the bar, flagging down the bartender for another drink since he has to do something to bide his time while he comes up with another plan.
“You’re welcome.”
“Excuse me?” Kurt asks, turning to find Sebastian standing beside him. Alone.
“I got rid of him for you,” Sebastian explains as if the answer should be blatantly obvious.
“And why did you do that?”
“Well, as we already covered, he was hideous. But he was also a terrible dancer-seriously, no rhythm. He probably fucks like Frankenstein’s monster hit with a stun gun.”
Kurt snorts and rolls his eyes again, sipping his fresh drink through a straw, feeling Sebastian’s eyes on him.
“Well then I guess I should thank you for completely ruining a chance at getting my dick sucked,” Kurt says, glaring at Sebastian as he throws up his hands in mock defense.
“Whoa there, Elrond. Are you carrying the proper permit to be using those big boy words?” he asks, taking Kurt’s glass from his hand and helping himself to a long drink.
“Give me that,” Kurt demands, grabbing it back and turning his attention back to the crowd and away from his annoying leech. He scans the dance floor as he downs the rest of his drink, smiling as the warmth from the alcohol spreads through his chest just as he spies another guy who definitely lives up to Kurt’s admittedly high standards.
“Dibs,” Sebastian says.
“Dibs? Are we in middle school?”
“You can be as pissed as you want, but I totally called him,” Sebastian says.
“And what if he doesn’t want you?”
Sebastian snorts and leans an elbow against the bar, waving a hand to gesture at his body. “Kurt. Please.”
“Right, because no one can resist you,” Kurt deadpans, finishing his drink and feeling the room give a drunken shimmy around him.
“You couldn’t,” Sebastian says, shrugging and turning back toward the crowd.
“Yes, that’s exactly what happened. I saw you and was overcome with the urge to jump your bones,” Kurt says, “More like you were there and I’d already gotten you hard so-“
“I thought you were someone else.” Sebastian pauses and glances at him, looking him up and down. “Anyone else.”
“And yet it was apparently good enough for you to agree to a second time.”
“I was horny. The timing was convenient,” Sebastian shrugs, watching the guy he’d earlier called dibs on dancing and making out with someone else. “Looks like I dodged a bullet there. It looks like he’s trying to eat that guy’s lips off.” Kurt cringes as he watches and nods.
They stand in silence for awhile, each of them searching the crowd, but honestly, Kurt can’t find a single guy that he wants to approach. They’re all too drunk or too sweaty or, god, wearing those hideous mesh fingertipless gloves. Isabelle must have been on to something. Too bad it wasn’t something good.
“Well this place is officially dead,” Sebastian says, words almost lost in the thumping wail of the music.
“Still looks alive and kicking to me,” Kurt lies, leaning back against the bar on his elbows and trying to ignore Sebastian as he slides over until their arms are pressed together.
“There might still be people here, but not a single one of them is worth fucking. Too bad. I really felt like burying my tongue in an ass tonight.”
Kurt looks at him with a raised eyebrow and shakes his head. “Always so crass.”
“Whatever. You like it,” Sebastian says, voice louder and closer than before. Kurt feels Sebastian’s breath hot against his ear, his tongue licking a feather light line up the shell. There’s a hand cupping his cock and he tries so valiantly not to react, not to give Sebastian that satisfaction.
“Not particularly.”
“Hm,” Sebastian says, thumbing up and down the line of Kurt’s zipper. “You sure about that? I think you do. I think you want your ass to be the one I’m licking tonight.”
Kurt’s knees weaken, his body leaning more aggressively against Sebastian’s arm and he lets his eyelids give in to the need to slide shut. Sebastian’s thumb is still stroking him so, so lightly, the touch such a terrible tease Kurt reaches for Sebastian’s hand on instinct, pressing it tighter against him before he even realizes what he’s doing.
Sebastian clucks his tongue in Kurt’s ear and yanks his hand away, leaving Kurt whining despite himself. The two drinks he’d consumed far too quickly have left him drunker than he’d intended to get, but everything is warm and pleasantly buzzy except for his cock which is now unattended and feeling dishearteningly cold.
“So what do you say?” Sebastian asks, beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Kurt finds himself consumed with the desire to lick it away. “Want to go back to my place?”
Kurt’s head starts shaking before he responds, knowing without a doubt that he absolutely does not want to go to Sebastian’s.
“No,” he says, and Sebastian guard doesn’t come up fast enough. Kurt sees the look of disappointment that washes over his face, notices the half-step back he takes, feels the air change around them. “I want to go to my place.”
Sebastian is faster this time, and Kurt seriously questions on the subway ride to his and Rachel’s loft whether or not Sebastian started to smile at the suggestion.
Part II