Fic: now climb my sugar walls (AU, 2/?)
Title: now climb my sugar walls
Author: lealpotter
Rating: NC-17
Warning: bp!Kurt, threesome, AU
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dave/Kurt/Sebastian
Word Count: 1 160
Summary: Dave and Sebastian are cold-blooded executives working for the same company. They also happen to be best friends with benefits - and roommates, since none of them has the heart to move out on his own. After a very successful merger with a once big-shot company, they are invited to a select after-merger celebration. They had never expected the virginal, angelic looking eighteen year old with the out-worldly blue eyes to be part of their promised entertainment for the night.
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1 - When You Rock
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sebastian rolled his eyes when Dave fidgeted in his seat for the hundredth time. Sure, their entertainment had turned out to be a manifestation of the late Hayes’ renowned obsession with “danse du ventre”, but that was not reason to act like a spoiled little brat.
The show was a depressing bust, however. Sebastian had come to know one or two things about Hayes over his years with Ackerman; the first of them had been that the man was a classy old fuck with a weakness for the truly authentic. The sleazy show Dave and him were being graced with was neither classy nor authentic in the least; the girls (some of them looking dangerously close to being underage) were better fitted for pole-dancing than whatever travesty of the in-itself travesty that was belly-dancing - and the costumes were gaudy enough to make his eyes sting.
To say nothing of the fact that neither Dave nor Sebastian were buying whatever it was that the VP’s personal harem were selling.
That more than anything convinced Sebastian of the godsend gift Ackerman was to the pathetic fucker, and why exactly Dave and him had been obscenely pampered all the way to the Hayes’ city mansion. He felt insulted knowing that not even the most superficial check had been done on them in order to warn the VP’s lackeys of the fact that tits of various sizes and shapes would not be the best enticement for them. Such a glaring lack of good-business skills Sebastian had never encountered.
But well. The champagne was not undrinkable, the lighting was bearable, and all the others were silent for once, mouths gaping open as one of the most ‘gifted’ dancers wiggled her hips lewdly; Sebastian spotted a string of saliva connecting one of the younger associate’s weak chin to the collar of his dress shirt. He was starting to lean sideways to point it out to Dave when he noticed that his roommate was no longer shifting restlessly and checking his wristwatch every five seconds; Dave was stock-still in his seat, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the dancers, doing an depressingly accurate imitation of their companions. Sebastian searched the small improvised stage for whatever had caught Dave’s attention; maybe one of the dancers had an uncommonly hairy chest? It wasn’t normally Dave’s style, but maybe he’d had managed to snatch more champagne flutes than Sebastian had even laid his eyes on.
He looked harder.
Oh. That’s it, then.
There was a smaller line of dancers behind the girls - a line of male dancers. Only boys, really, scrawny and graceless, stumbling back and forth over the stage, moving their pale twig-like arms in an appalling windmill fashion.
And then there was him.
Sebastian wanted to blame it all on the fuck-up of a show they were watching, on their less than charming companions, on the abundance of female appendages jiggling in his line of vision, on the sad framing of the other boys - Sebastian could not remember having ever been so painfully awkward, not even during his growth-spurt and early puberty. He wanted to get his bearings, talk his twitching cock into submission and get the fuck out of dodge right the hell now, so that later he could plan out all the ways he could mock Dave mercilessly for getting rock hard over a herd of raw, insipid twinks.
But he couldn’t, could he?
He was pretty sure the boy would stand out even if he was surrounded by a flock of harp-playing, cloud-frolicking angels. And there, amidst those unfinished drafts of the human race? He was fucking glowing, and Sebastian wanted to kick himself for letting Dave be the first to notice him.
The type wasn’t Sebastian’s, not really, but he liked to think his horizons were pretty broad, even if Dave liked to call him “the pickiest asshole I’ve ever met, fucking hell, Bas, that’s why you only get the lousiest lays”. Which so totally was not true; he did rank muscle tone and facial symmetry over such things like “a nice laugh” and “kind eyes” - those were Dave’s fucking freaky turn-ons, not his. He didn’t need his one-night stands to make polite conversation with, he needed them to fuck and leave. He had Dave to go to for body-warmth in cold nights, or whenever he was so worked up he needed to shout things through with someone.
But laugh and eyes aside, he could see that the boy fit Dave’s type to a T. Sebastian himself was too sharp for Dave to bear it fulltime, too harsh all the time. Dave liked bite and passion, but he craved sweetness, and a kind of neediness Sebastian would never be able to provide. Sebastian didn’t need people; people needed Sebastian.
He could see why people could also need the boy, though.
His costume was not as tacky as the other dancers’, somehow; it wasn’t anywhere near subdued, but the color-scheme matched, for one, and it seemed artful, thought out. All the male dancers wore slightly see-through harem pants and sequin vests; but everything in his costume reflected something else, something unique.
Something classy. Something authentic.Sebastian had never been a fan of sequins, and the vest had far too many of those, but the pants were definitely suggestive. Combined with pale, nimble feet, they hinted at equally pale long, long legs, shapely, even. He could see glimpses of the boy’s bare chest, shining in the soft lightning with a mouth-watering sheen of sweat.
Once in a while one of the male dancers would stomp his way into Sebastian’s line of vision, hiding the boy, or a girl would get too close for comfort, mistaking Sebastian’s focused gaze for interest in her; he felt like tearing through them with animalistic grunts, grabbing the boy by those gracefully undulating hips and pressing him hard against the back wall, his round peach of an ass pillowing Sebastian’s leaking dick.
He did not want to look up; didn’t want to follow the elegant line of that neck - a neck made to be kissed, and licked, and sucked, marked - up to the defined jawline - he would bite along that sharp line, worrying the skin between his teeth until all you could see of the boy’s jaw would be angry red bruises - up to the flushed, still slightly plump cheeks, licking across the stark cheekbones, looking straight into those wide, innocent eyes as he sucked the boy’s red bottom lip into his mouth, making it swell with laps of his tongue and nips of his teeth, making the curve of his mouth a little dirty, a little used.
For all that he felt his whole body throb for the little angel’s innocence, it was as if he couldn’t wait to turn that same innocent into a debauched creature, wrecked and breathtaking, tangled in his sheets.
One quick look over to Dave’s crotch told him his best friend would not need much convincing.
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