"I'm actually thinking emeralds. Or sapphires. I got over my diamond obsession in high school, really. A girl like me needs color, don't you think?"
Kurt sighed and wandered away from where Rachel was mulling over earrings with Mr. Dixon of Dixon's Fine Jewels. He'd already been in the shop for half an hour hovering over cases while Rachel tried to find just the right gems to set off the dress she'd chosen for her first ever appearance at the Tony Awards. He was sympathetic to her need to have everything be perfect, but honestly, a generic jewelry store like this one didn't have much to offer him. He'd already perused the only case that held anything interesting - a few vintage brooches and a really lovely pendant watch - and now was left with a choice between normal, boring men's rings and the requisite wristwatch display.
"Well my dress is white, so I really want something that's going to pop with color, you know? Amber just seems so tame . . ."
He drifted in the direction of the rings. Wedding rings, mostly, with a few others thrown in, the kind of flashy rings men wore when they wanted to show off their financial success. Terribly gaudy. Nothing he'd consider wearing in a million years.
And then he spotted it. Toward the back of the display, nestled on a black cushion, was a ring like he'd never seen before. It was silver, he thought, a bright almost white silver that was flecked with tiny points of something much darker in a pattern that reminded Kurt of a negative image of a starry night sky. It was a beautiful ring. Perfect, really. It would be so perfect for . . . but no. No. Never happen.
He floated back toward the vintage case. Much safer here. And he really should have a second look at the pendant watch. It might be just the right color for his new purple cashmere cardigan.
Kurt's first impression of Sebastian Smythe had been one of dislike bordering on hatred. Well, maybe not his very first.
They'd met during Kurt's junior year at NYU, when he was dating John Petrofsky, a history major on a tennis scholarship who had the kind of pecs only found on tennis players and who all of Kurt's friends believed was totally out of his league. Even Kurt knew it was true. But John seemed completely smitten and showered Kurt with flowers, romantic nights of theater, and the hottest sex Kurt had ever dared to dream of. They had six weeks of idyllic passion . . . before Sebastian.
John's roommate, Trevor, knew Sebastian because they were both architecture majors and had invited him to meet up with them one Saturday night at the Rocking Horse, a top 40 dance bar that Trevor referred to as "flexible," which apparently meant anyone could be comfortable there, gay, straight or, as Trevor liked to put it, omni-sexual. Rachel was with them that night, with her boyfriend Alexander (practically her fiancé, as she liked to introduce him) and the five of them, along with another of Trevor's friends, a red-haired girl whose name Kurt couldn't remember but whose date was hard to forget, even with John's fingers playing in the hair at the nape of his neck, had collectively taken over one corner of the club, happily mocking the people on the dance floor and enjoying their drinks with a gusto only seen in the newly-legal.
When the long, lean dreamboat with the sharp features and confident smirk walked up to the table Kurt's very first thought was to wonder what that endless torso would feel like pressed up against his own. His second thought was that maybe this guy was Trevor's way of outing himself to everyone as an omni-sexual, since the dreamboat's gaze lingered a lot longer on the guys in the party than either of the girls. His third thought was to wonder if Trevor actually had any friends who weren't hot as hell.
So really, white-hot hatred was all the way in fourth.
Trevor jumped up immediately and wrapped himself around the newcomer with a "Sebastian! Man! I'm so glad you came!" that did nothing to dispel the omni-sexual suspicion. Sebastian, for his part, nodded through introductions, saying nothing until Trevor got to John, when he honest-to-God purred (and who did that?), "Well hello there," and stuck out his hand to shake. John had to take his own hand off the back of Kurt's neck to clasp Sebastian's, for which Kurt gave him his best what-the-fuck glare before sticking his hand out in turn for Sebastian to shake when Trevor introduced him.
Sebastian barely spared a glance for Kurt as their hands slid together and apart again. All of his attention was laser-focused on John, eyes running over his body in such a possessive way that by the time Sebastian had pulled a chair up directly across from his boyfriend not even John's long fingers settling back to caress his neck again could soothe Kurt's ruffled feathers.
And it all went downhill from there. Every time John spoke Sebastian turned his whole body toward him, orienting around him like north on a compass. Eventually, the two other couples got up to dance, and Trevor spotted some girl he knew and took off to talk to her so the three of them were left alone, John and Sebastian engaging in a spirited discussion about the intersection of history and architecture and how each informed the other while Kurt smiled and seethed. John's hand had long since abandoned Kurt's neck in favor of gesticulating to make point after point to Sebastian.
"You're totally right!" John was now saying with an avid look on his face that Kurt really wanted to slap away. "Look at Prague. You can't tell me that being surrounded by those buildings - it was like the evidence of their own independent culture staring them in the face."
"Exactly," Sebastian said. "Communism came and went, but those buildings are still there. That architecture is part of what it means to be Czech. You can't forget your history when it's written in stone everywhere you look." He took a long swig from his bottle of Corona and unexpectedly turned his attention to Kurt. "But we must be boring -"
"Kurt," Kurt supplied with a glare.
Sebastian inclined his head the tiniest bit. "Kurt. You're not a history major, are you?"
Kurt was contemplating whether or not to answer when John's fingers found his neck again and caressed gently. "Kurt's in theatre. He just got cast as one of the leads in the winter musical." The obvious pride in John's voice didn't mollify Kurt as much as it should have.
Sebastian pretended to be interested. "Let me guess. Cabaret?"
"Next to Normal," Kurt informed him.
Sebastian raised a dismissive eyebrow even as he said, "Impressive."
Kurt's hand came down hard on John's thigh and when their gazes met he inclined his head and rolled his eyes in the direction of the dance floor. To which John gave him a look that a mother would give a five-year-old who was having trouble sharing. Kurt got the message loud and clear. It would be rude to leave Sebastian all alone at the table. So now he was a babysitter, apparently.
Sebastian's sharp eyes missed none of this. "You should give me your number, John," he said casually. "I've got a paper due in a couple of weeks and I could really use some historical perspective."
Kurt drained his glass in one swift gulp and turned to hand it to his boyfriend. "Gee, it looks like I need a refill. And it's your turn."
John smiled with good grace (his cluelessness really would have been endearing in almost any other situation) and took the glass from Kurt. "Do you need anything Sebastian?" he asked politely.
"I'm good, thanks," Sebastian said, never taking his eyes off Kurt. It was as if he was anticipating this as much as Kurt was.
Kurt smiled at John until he was far enough away to be out of earshot then turned on Sebastian, bitch face firmly in place. "Did you seriously just ask my boyfriend for his number right in front of me?"
"I'm going to get it, too," Sebastian grinned.
Kurt leaned in across the table. "Let me make this really clear. You need to point your dick in some other direction. He's mine and he's going to stay mine."
"Oh, I think we both know that isn't true."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Sebastian took another long pull from his beer. "Please. You know as well as I do that you're just a . . . transition for him."
"Transition?"
"Either he just came out and you're his halfway point from girls to boys, or he's decided life is easier if you're straight and you're his halfway point back into the closet." Sebastian leaned in as well, then, so that their faces were only inches apart. "The thing is, sweetheart, gay men like men. Not skinny, androgynous boys who still get mistaken for their mothers on the phone. I may not manage to get him into my bed, but I think we both know you're not going to have him in yours much longer."
Kurt wrinkled his nose as he leaned back away from Sebastian. "I'm sorry, were you talking? I was too overwhelmed by the odor to really pay attention. What is that, anyway? I was thinking sleaze, but now it's starting to seem more like just desperation."
Sebastian opened his mouth to retort but Rachel, the other girl (Velma? Veronica?) and their dates came back to the table at just that moment. Instead, he raised his bottle in a little salute and turned his charm on the straight guys. Until John turned up with Kurt's drink.
If John seemed oblivious to Sebastian's outrageous flirting (which only got worse as the hour got later and the rounds piled up), at least the two girls could see what was happening. Rachel kept giving Kurt sympathetic glances and eventually the redhead (Vicky!) leaned across her date to whisper in John's ear. His eyebrows went up, but he stood, pulling Kurt with him, and led him out to the dance floor without a word to anyone else.
It was a slow song and they were in a gay-friendly bar, but Kurt still kept several inches between them as they swayed. He could feel Sebastian's eyes boring into his back and no way was he going to let that jerk think he was insecure and clingy. John didn't seem to care as much, though. He wrapped an arm around Kurt's waist and pulled their bodies flush.
"What is up with you tonight?" he asked as they rotated and Sebastian moved into Kurt's field of vision.
Kurt glared at his boyfriend. "You're kidding, right?" When John's only response was a head shake, Kurt leaned in closer to mutter, "That jackass.Sebastian." He intoned it in a prissy voice because, really, what kind of pretentious name was Sebastian? "He's been all over you since he got here."
John looked truly puzzled. "He hasn't touched me since I shook his hand."
"Oh my God, you cannot be that clueless!" Kurt's voice went up despite his best efforts to stay quiet. "He asked for your phone number with me sitting right there."
"That was just . . ."
"And he's staring at you right now."
He must have been louder than he'd thought, because Sebastian raised his eyes from John's ass to Kurt's face, smirked, and winked.
He fucking winked.
John, oblivious to the silent conversation Kurt was having with Sebastian, was still talking. "Who am I dancing with right now?"
Kurt dragged his eyes away from Sebastian. "That's not the point," he said severely.
"It is the point," John insisted. "You don't see me freaking out about guys staring at you."
Kurt gaped at him. "Because nobody stares at me!"
"Are you serious?" When Kurt just kept glaring John quickly scanned the room. "Green shirt at the far end of the bar. Hasn't taken his eyes off your ass since we started dancing."
Kurt was too skeptical to even worry about discretion. He craned his neck until he spotted Green Shirt. The guy was young and hot and definitely staring. To Kurt's astonishment, he smiled and raised his glass when their eyes met.
John tugged him back into a closer hold than before, lips close to his ear. "In addition to Green Shirt," he said, "the bouncer did a double-take when you walked past him and when I got your drink a fairly scary-looking guy in leather asked me if I ever shared you."
Kurt scoffed at that, but he was starting to feel a little better. "I know you made that last one up. Nobody like that would come to a place like this."
John pulled Kurt's arms up around his neck and rocked their hips together in a much dirtier version of the dancing they'd been doing. "You're not the town pariah of Lima Ohio any more, Kurt. You have to stop thinking that way."
"That's easy for you to say. You're like every gay man's wet dream."
At that John stopped dancing altogether, pulled Kurt's body hard against his own, and kissed him until the breath caught in his throat and heat spread from their lips out in waves to the very ends of his fingers and toes. When John finally pulled away his eyes kept Kurt pinned in place with their intensity. "You're my wet dream," he said softly, "not to mention Green Shirt's and the bouncer's and that leather daddy's, although I think you might not want to be his wet dream."
Kurt laughed in spite of himself and pulled John back for more kissing. He could kiss John all day long, really. But John held back a little longer. "Stop thinking like the jock assholes you went to high school with. Or like Sebastian. You're hot as hell, Kurt. You naked is pretty much all I ever think about. So who gives a shit what Sebastian wants? It's what I want that counts, right?" He grinned and ground his hips against Kurt's, letting his already half-hard dick press into Kurt's leg.
They finished their dance and with the echo of his boyfriend's erection still tingling against his leg Kurt even managed to produce a smug smile as they passed Sebastian on his way to the bar. He barely flinched when long fingers wrapped around his upper arm and lips brushed his ear just long enough to murmur, "Enjoy him while you can."
For the next month Sebastian seemed to turn up everywhere they went, tossing flirtatious glances at John and femme-shaming insults at Kurt. So when John dumped him at the end of that month it didn't matter that the name Sebastian never came up, or that as far as Kurt knew John never spoke to Sebastian in the aftermath. He was very sure that the over-tall rodent was somehow to blame for everything.