Sebastian shifts uncomfortably on his bar stool, idly stirring the watered-down rum and coke he's been nursing for over an hour. He runs a hand over his tired face and up into his hair, mussing what was once a meticulously crafted coiffure, though he figures that the way he looks far from matters now. It has definitely been a rare off-night for Sebastian. The action is slow, even for a Saturday, and the bar he's sitting in isn't one of his favorite hangouts anyhow. He doesn't even really know how he ended up there in the first place. After work, he had hopped on a train, stared off into space for thirty minutes, and before he knew it – bam. He was there.
He'll know better for next time.
Next time he'll stick to his tried and true and actually get laid.
He takes one last sip of his drink, checking to see if it's any more salvageable than it was five minutes ago, and since the answer is no, he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, preparing to settle his tab and head home. Who knows? Maybe if he hits a random night club along the way he might still have a chance to get lucky.
He slaps a ten spot on the bar, telling the bartender to keep the change, when a trill of high-pitched, lilting laughter cuts through the low murmur of drunken conversation. It's clear and sweet, almost musical, and he stops, half-standing from his seat with his hand still thrust awkwardly down the back pocket of his pants. He returns to his seat, turning slowly on his bar stool, masking his face with indifference while his green eyes sweep the dingy bar for whoever made that sound.
A thin stream of average, otherwise uninteresting faces make an appearance, and Sebastian decides to go with his first instincts and leave, but then a gorgeous, almost otherworldly man with pale skin and impossibly blue eyes walks into view. He turns to the bartender as he passes Sebastian, not even sparing a glance for the besotted man staring numbly at him like a dumbstruck teenager. When the stranger speaks, that musical voice sounds even more magical than before.
"A Shirley Temple, extra cherries if you please, Ronnie."
Ronnie (a surly, manticore of a man with a handle-bar moustache and bright red suspenders) behind the bar raises a hand to acknowledge the order.
"Sure thing," Ronnie says; his gruff, smoker's voice sounding happier now that he – whoever he is – has arrived. Other patrons at the bar turn to welcome the man with a wave or a smile, even a few high-fives. In fact, Sebastian notices that the overall atmosphere of the bar has become lighter, as if whoever this man is swept in and cleansed the aura of the room.
Or maybe the rum is finally hitting him.
Either way, this man – this ethereally handsome, lithe, fashion-forward man with the sea blue eyes and the incredible ass stuffed into ridiculously tight jeans – is exactly what Sebastian has spent the night searching for.
Whoa, those jeans must be hard as fuck to get into, Sebastian thinks, but God would I love to try.
The man sits up straight and runs his hands down his thighs, stopping briefly at his knees then continuing back up to his hips again.
Sebastian leans forward at the sight of this man touching himself, stroking the dark denim pulled tight over trim legs, and almost falls straight off his bar stool.
God, yes…
Sebastian bites his lip before he accidentally moans out loud.
And that voice…I wonder what it would sound like screaming my name. Probably like fucking a Goddamned angel.
The man raises an eyebrow, his eyes searching the bar, looking for someone. His hand trails up the buttons of his shirt, fidgeting with his open collar, and then touches his neck lightly with his fingertips. Sebastian watches his fingertips move, imagining opening the man's shirt, button by button, following with a kiss to every newly revealed patch of skin, ending at his long neck, tracing a path up to his ear with the tip of his tongue. The man suddenly looks distracted as he peers off into the crowd and swallows hard, his Adam's Apple bouncing slightly when he does. A waitress comes up to his table with a tray carrying a single drink – a bubbly beverage overflowing with crayon red maraschino cherries. The man's eyes flick up to the waitress and he smiles, the distracted look dissolving with his bright, enigmatic grin. The waitress sets a square white napkin down in front of him, and then the drink on top of that. The man nods and watches the waitress walk away before he regards his drink.
Sebastian has become positively fascinated with this man, even though apart from being inconceivably sexy he has yet to do anything more extraordinary than sip his drink. The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He opens it up on the table in front of him and looks at it intently, reaching for his drink again and forgoing the straw this time to take a healthy sip.
Oh, are you parched, sweetheart? Sebastian muses. Whatever were you doing before you got here? No matter. I've got something I think you'd be thirsty for.
The man looks up from his paper (list? letter? Sebastian can't tell from where he's sitting…) and rolls his eyes. He pauses for a moment, as if he's waiting for something to happen, gaze shifting left and right, and then returns to the words on the page.
Sucky news, huh? Sebastian commiserates. I understand how that is. I hope that's not a Dear John letter. Sebastian's mind drifts to thoughts of an envelope resting against his lamp on his bedside table, the letter inside three weeks old but read over so many times that creases from the folds in the paper are almost tearing.
Someone with gorgeous eyes like yours shouldn't have to read something like that, he thinks with a sigh.
The man smiles and sighs as well, his eyes skimming the last few lines, and then he folds the letter back up and puts it in his pocket.
I guess not, huh? Well, good for you. Now, about you riding me until you beg me to let you cum…
The man rolls his eyes again, but this time he's staring straight ahead at someone approaching his table. Another unspectacular man from the bar - this one wearing a long, tan coat - walks right up to the only other vacant chair at the table and sits down, apparently without being invited.
Rude, Sebastian thinks, and the man he's been watching for the last half-hour raises both eyebrows and nods his head once, almost as if he agrees. Sebastian watches the second man closely, observing the way he sits, how his eyes bounce from face to face around him, how he keeps his hands folded in his lap, suspiciously close to his hip. The waitress comes up to take his order but this man waves her away, and Sebastian gets it.
This second man is a cop.
Suddenly, this show he's been watching has just become way more interesting. His thin rum and coke forgotten along with all pretense of leaving the bar, Sebastian focuses on the couple, no longer as concerned whether they know he's watching them or not. He debates finding a chair closer to their table so he can hear what they're saying, anything to give him a clue as to what his mystery man is up to and maybe figure out a way to get into those felonious pants.
The cop monopolizes most of the conversation from what Sebastian can see. He starts talking, low and calm at first, but then more and more animatedly, gesturing with one hand (since he keeps the other pinned to his side, probably where his holster is). Sebastian prides himself on the fact that he has watched enough episodes of Law and Order that he's well-versed in many aspects of police behavior by now.
Suddenly, in the middle of the officer's speech, the man with the iridescent blue eyes starts to laugh, apparently at an inappropriate moment in the conversation because the police officer stares at the man with his mouth agape and his eyes wide, offense written in every line of his strained face. The red-faced man peeks up at his companion and waves a dismissive hand. It looks to Sebastian like he's assuring the angered officer that he wasn't laughing at him, or anything he said, and then quiets down, gesturing for the officer to continue.
Sebastian watches in silence as the two talk back and forth, concentrating on their lips to see if he can catch any snippets of what they're saying. He narrows his eyes until he nearly gets a migraine, but the only words he thinks he can catch are 'lost' and 'help', and maybe 'dead', though it could have been 'den' or 'desk'. Sebastian's eyes begin to cross, and more and more he's starting to wish that the police officer guy would just leave so he can go back to his lecherous thoughts.
The man with the blue eyes (Sebastian has decided to call him 'Noel' since he bears a striking resemblance to a young Noel Coward) closes his eyes and puts his fingers to his temples, pressing and massaging tiny circles into his skin.
Is Captain Stressful Officer Man bothering you, babe? Sebastian thinks to himself. Is he giving you a headache? Come home with me and I'm sure I can make that headache go away. Or possibly give you a bigger one if your head is slamming against my headboard all night long. Fuck, but do you have an ass made for pounding.
In the midst of massaging his temples, the man smiles, chuckling a little. He opens his eyes, throws his head back and laughs, and again the officer looks entirely put off. The man shakes his head, leaning toward the officer across the table, putting a hand up to either amplify his voice or shield his lips from view. Sebastian pouts, feeling intentionally left out of the conversation for some reason. Even though his lip reading skills have so far gotten him nowhere, now he has no hope of finding out what's going on between Noel and his police officer friend.
The officer nods, his eyes performing a cursory glance of the bar one last time before he gets up and heads for the exit. The man at the table stands as well, reaching into his back pocket, squeezing his hand into the tight fit and pulling out his wallet. Sebastian deflates when he sees the man pull out a bill along with some other thin piece of paper, something that looks suspiciously like a business card, from his wallet. He places the bill beside his half-drunk Shirley Temple on the table, and then turns on his heel. Sebastian expects the man to head out the door after the police officer, but instead he looks straight at Sebastian.
Sebastian pivots his head left and right, then turns his head completely around and glances behind himself to be sure, and yes, he's the only one in Noel's sight line at present. He heads right for Sebastian, eyes locked unnervingly on Sebastian's face, and for a moment Sebastian becomes confused and frightened all at once. The man is striking, but he also has an undeniable air of confidence and power that makes Sebastian want to drop to his knees and do whatever this man tells him to do. The man stands before Sebastian, hands resting on his hips, doing nothing but look at him, raking his eyes over his body from head to toe.
The man shakes his head and holds the thin card out to him, but when Sebastian just stares at him, speechless, he leans forward and slips it neatly into the outer pocket of Sebastian's button-down shirt.
"The name's Kurt," the man says, "not Noel, but I appreciate the compliment."
Sebastian leans back against the bar, knocked out of his stupor by the man's opening line, confusion now overwhelming the expression on his face.
"And by the way," the man Sebastian now knows is named Kurt, not Noel, says, "these pants are seriously hard as fuck to get into, so when you come to pick me up on Friday night, you had better bring your A-game."
Kurt pats Sebastian's pocket where the card is safely tucked and winks smugly, turning and heading toward the entrance where the police officer has ducked back in to wait for his companion to follow.
Sebastian still hasn't said a word, stunned into silence as he watches Kurt leave. Kurt says something to the officer at the door, motioning vaguely in Sebastian's direction. The officer's eyes find Sebastian and the weary man smirks, holding the door open for Kurt to walk through. Kurt turns one last time to see Sebastian stuck in the same position that he left him. He raises an arm and waves, blowing Sebastian a kiss. He steps out the door with a satisfied grin, and just like that, he's gone.
Sebastian waits a moment longer after Kurt has gone, trying to wrap his mind around everything that just happened, but try as he might, it is too surreal for him to comprehend. Noel – not Noel, as it turns out, but Kurt – had called him out, but how? How in the hell is that possible? Well, he works with a police officer. Is there a chance that maybe…what?
What, Sebastian? he scolds himself. What on God's green earth could possibly explain all of that?
Remembering the card waiting for him in his pocket, he pulls it out carefully, not willing to lose it and the opportunity to call that fascinating man.
Sebastian reads the words on the card, and then he reads them again. He reads them over and over, close to a hundred times, and after their meaning sinks in fully, he's not sure if he should laugh out loud or find the nearest rock and hide under it.
Sebastian mentally goes over everything he saw tonight – every inflection Kurt made, every movement, every shift of his inquisitive eyes. Sebastian considers himself to be the world's biggest skeptic, but after tonight, he's willing to believe anything as long as it puts him on his hands and knees at the feet of that spectacularly gifted man.
Kurt E. Hummel
Medium
Psychic Investigator