After Kurt finds out about Blaine and Dave, and runs into the bathroom of Scandals to break down and cry, he finds a phone number written on the bathroom wall. When he returns to New York, he texts it, and starts a relationship with a man whose name he doesn't know. They talk about everything and anything, but most of the time, they talk about sex. The man asks Kurt about his dirtiest fantasy, and after Kurt tells it, the anonymous man offers to help Kurt make it come true. But the man who shows up at his door is in no way someone Kurt would ever expect.
But, on the other hand, this man has also become his closest friend.
Warning for angst, sexual content, rimming, anal plugs, anonymous sex, and bondage. Mention of Klaine and Blaine.
AU which assumes that Kurt's broken engagement with Blaine happened a few years later than it did. Also assumes that Kurt left Lima and returned to New York after he found out about Blaine and Dave instead of sticking around to help with the Glee club.
Tell me about your dirtiest fantasy
Kurt reads the text message and laughs. Two months he's been talking to this guy, and after the awkwardness of exchanging their personal tragedies was over and done, they mostly talked about sex, which was fine by Kurt since, for the moment, he wasn't getting any anyway.
Kurt had gotten this guy's number off the bathroom wall at Scandals, after he received the thrilling news about Blaine and Dave. Kurt had gone in to the bathroom to escape and have a good cry, and there it was, scribbled on the quilted wallpaper right beside his head, with the cliché tag line, "For a good time call…"
But the placement seemed odd to Kurt, and it struck him that maybe the guy who'd written it had done so after a soul-rending, drop-to-the-floor cry, just like the one Kurt was having. So he figured that, right off the bat, he and this guy might have something in common.
And that's why he texted him – Were you really having a good time when you wrote your number on the bathroom wall at Scandals?
The man answered back within five minutes.
Over a hundred text conversations later, Kurt ranks this faceless stranger among his greatest confidantes.
He might actually be at the top of the list.
Are you serious? Kurt texts. I mean, haven't we done this already?
Nope, the reply comes back. Because if we had, I'd know what it is.
Kurt doesn't know the name of the guy on the other end of the line, but neither does he care. They decided not to do that – exchange names, photos, or addresses. All Kurt knows (if he can take this mystery man at his word) is that they live in the same general metropolitan area. Other than that, all they've shared is their opinions about whatever. They've discussed a lot of varied topics – food, movies, books, art, philosophy, music, childhood memories, etc., with no specifically identifying details.
But by the end, it devolves into an in depth discussion about sex.
And Kurt finds that they can talk about sex for hours.
As fun and freeing as these anonymous conversations are, he can't help wondering if this man has that same kind of stamina in person.
I'm waiting…
Kurt sticks his tongue out at the phone. It's not that he doesn't have a dirty fantasy to tell. He does. Most people probably do. He doesn't even have to worry that it's too tame. Kurt has never told it to anyone, but he knows it's hot. He's just not sure he's ready to admit to it. Because admitting to this one fantasy would be admitting that sex is no longer sacred to him. It's not the pinnacle of shared hearts, minds, and souls he always held it up to be.
Blaine taught him that.
But casual sex has never been on Kurt's radar. Most of his friends have had a one-night stand, but to date, Kurt hasn't. Kurt isn't judging them for their lifestyle choices. Enjoying no-strings-attached sex is not a bad thing. It's just not a Kurt Hummel thing.
Maybe it should be.
Tick-tock…tick-tock…
Kurt sees the obnoxious text and rolls his eyes. Alright, alright, just…give me a second.
Ooo…are you getting comfortable?
Kurt chuckles at the irony of that remark.
You can say that. Kurt goes to his bed and lays down. He needs to focus on something other than pacing the floor. Besides, this could take a while, depending on how much he wants to divulge. I do have this one fantasy, Kurt texts. I'm in my dorm room, kneeling on my bed…
I like where this is going so far.
My eyes are closed, hands tied behind my back, and I'm waiting with the door cracked open. Some guy walks in – I don't know who, and frankly, I don't care. I don't have a relationship with him. I'm not paying him to be there. But I am expecting him, or someone. Basically, I'm just offering myself up for grabs to anyone walking by.
Kurt pauses a second, his mouth dry, his heart racing in his chest. It's his biggest fantasy. He's had it since high school, though, at that time, he did have an idea of who would be walking in.
And then?
Kurt smiles, thrilled that he's lured this man in to his secret erotic dream.
Then, he fucks me, entirely unconcerned with who I am or what I want. I'm just there for his use, his pleasure.
And that doesn't frighten you? the man asks. Surrendering control? Being at his mercy?
Seeing those words makes Kurt's heart beat faster.
That's exactly what he wants.
Well, he's not a violent asshole, Kurt texts in response. He's just a guy like me, and he wants to have me, my body. He doesn't need me to baby him, or take care of him, or raise his self-esteem. He fucks me, he cums, he leaves, and that's pretty much where the fantasy ends.
Kurt rolls on to his back. His cock had gotten hard while he was texting, and had become squashed uncomfortably beneath him. Kurt stares at the screen, at the end of his last message, and waits for a reply.
So, he's the exact opposite of your ex, is that what I'm hearing?
Kurt shakes his head. Was he that obvious? That's right.
That's hot.
Thank you. It seems lame when Kurt types it, but he sends it anyway.
The message he gets back speeds his heart into oblivion.
Feel like making that fantasy a reality?
Kurt raises an eyebrow. What do you mean?
Send me your address.
Uh…isn't that against the rules?
What rules?
Our rules. No personal information, no names, no pictures, no addresses.
I guess so, but it's been about two months and, to be honest, I'd really like to meet you.
What if you're a serial killer? Kurt asks, using humor to cover his nerves. Or a sadist? Or an asshole?
Well, you live in a dorm. People will hear you scream if I start to kill you.
Kurt scoffs. That's reassuring.
Look, you don't have any assurances, do you? With anyone. I mean, what if you met me in a bar?
Technically, I did meet you in a bar.
See? So what do you have to lose?
Shall I refer back to the whole serial killer scenario?
It takes longer for Kurt to get a text back after that message.
I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable. You're right. We had an understanding.
Kurt reads the reply and sighs. What started as witty banter took a serious turn, and that isn't what Kurt intended. Besides, what was he doing? Playing it safe? That hasn't been working for him too well so far. And this man's right. If they had met in a bar, having the conversations they'd been having for the last two months, Kurt might have taken him home whether he was willing to have sex with him or not. So arguing like this kind of makes him a hypocrite. Either yes or no is a stupid decision. He might as well go with the one that might get him laid.
No, Kurt types. I'm not right. There's no reason why I shouldn't agree. To be honest, I'd like to meet you, too.
Kurt sends the text, kicking his feet on his bed while he waits for a response, hoping he didn't screw things up.
So…where should I go?
Kurt reads the message and cheers.
I go to NYADA, Kurt types, and I live in the dorms. I know you live in the city. Do you know where they are?
There's another strangely long pause before Kurt gets a return text.
NYADA? You go to NYADA?
Kurt's brow crinkles. Did that text sound…incredulous? Yeah. Why? What's up?
Nothing. I just know someone who goes there.
Good. So you know how to find me. I'm in Garland Hall. Upper level. Room 617. Then he adds, I'll be naked and I'll keep my door unlocked, so if you don't show up, I'll never forgive you.
Don't worry, babe. I'll be there.
Great, Kurt texts. I can't wait.
Biting his lower lip to stop giggling, Kurt hits send.
Then he sits for a good fifteen minutes, staring at his phone.
What had he done?
Was this really wise?
He hated the idea of saying no to this opportunity, but does that mean he really should have said yes?
He doesn't want to think, he wants to do. That's what the fantasy is about after all - shutting off his mind and relinquishing control to someone else. Not of his heart and his soul, just his body. He wants this. He wants to be used, to be seen as an object. He's wanted it for years, and here it was, being handed to him. Is that the kind of thing he wants to wait for? To put into the hands of someone he knows he's safe with? Someone he loves?
No, because that's not the point.
Kurt strips off his clothes and hangs them carefully, needing this ritual of undressing and preparing to keep him from bolting his door. He debates whether or not he should jump in the shower. He's already taken up quite a bit of time being catatonic. But on the other hand, he wants to be comfortable with this man touching him, possibly putting his mouth on him. That means being clean.
On the other other hand, he doesn't want to miss his mystery lover when he arrives. Kurt's hour long showers are legendary. What if he's still in the bathroom when the man arrives?
But, and this is a rather unfortunate but, with the amount of late night studying he's been doing and sleeping in his lounge clothes for days on end, he can't vouch for the freshness of the outfit he has on. Which means he can't vouch for the freshness of himself, either.
In the end, he jumps in the shower. It's quick and cold and not at all relaxing, but he feels clean, and that automatically makes him feel better.
When he gets out, he sees a new text on his screen.
I just caught a taxi. Be there in a few.
"Oh, God," Kurt mutters, looking around his dorm room. He has a private suite, which offers him a lot of space. He'd been on the waiting list for it since the day he got accepted. It's more like a studio apartment, with its own bathroom and kitchenette. Kurt usually takes immense pride in keeping it spotless, but since he's spent the last three days cramming for finals, the place is a wreck. He doesn't have the time to clean it properly and get himself ready for his visitor. He has to choose between cleaning half the mess to perfection, or tossing everything in the closet till later and focusing on himself.
The man is fucking him, not his room. He chooses the latter.
Kurt starts grabbing whatever he can, anything cluttered, dirty, or out of place, and shoves it in his closet. Photos he has up of his family and friends he puts away, too. He doesn't own anything of any real value that can be stolen, so he's not worried about being robbed. He mostly doesn't want to come off as a slob.
At the end of his bed, he has a mirror. It's a stand-up, full length piece of glass, and the way he has it positioned, he'd easily be able to see the man behind him. But…anonymous. He wants this to be anonymous. He doesn't want anything to dull his enjoyment, anything to distract him, personal prejudices that he won't own up to killing the mood. He flips the mirror around and faces it away.
With his room tidied up, he focuses on getting himself prepared. Kurt doesn't know what this man's fantasy includes, but he doesn't want to get hurt if he's too impatient to stretch him. Kurt goes digging through his drawers and finds his collection of plugs, gathering dust in a box next to his underwear and socks. Choosing one that he might describe as average size, he lubes it up and inserts it. There's a slight sting when he slides it in that wasn't there the last time he used it – a testament to exactly how long it's been.
In the fantasy, Kurt has his hands tied behind his back before his mystery man ever gets there. He's not entirely sure how he's going to accomplish that, and there's no way he's asking any of his neighbors for help with that one. He looks at what he has on hand that he could use – a neck tie, a pair of socks, some miscellaneous cord, a leather belt…
Kurt stops at the leather belt. He'd bought it at a thrift shop in SoHo. It's thick, brown leather, softened from repeated wear, with a big brass buckle. If he can figure out how to use it, it'll be sexy as hell. He tries wrapping it around his wrists and fastening it like he normally would, pulling the end tight with his teeth. It works, but that's not what he wants. He doesn't want his hands in front of him. He wants to be incapacitated. Kurt loops the belt around his waist and buckles it loosely. Then he slips his hands underneath it at his hips till the leather fits snug around his wrists. When he climbs up on the bed, kneels down, and bends forward, the belt tightens, making it impossible for him to pull his hands out again. Of course, that will change when he kneels up again, but for now, he's voluntarily subdued.
He figures there's not much more he needs to do. From the time of the last text and his own mental calculating, his guest should be there in minutes, so he stays where he is.
There he waits, cheek to the mattress, ass in the air, for his mystery man to arrive.
Kurt loves his sheets. They're the softest ones he owns. They feel cool against his skin. They smell like lavender. And they're helping him clear his mind. He focuses on the small details, the minutia, to calm the wheels spinning and grinding in his brain, trying to turn his feet cold.
The smell is not just lavender. It's New England lavender – a subtle, sweeter scent of lavender than the stuff he used to buy at the supermarket. It has to be special ordered from an organic living company based in Rhode Island. Kurt orders it in bulk. If he buys three bottles in one shot, he gets 10% off, plus free shipping.
His sheets are from Serena and Lily. They're white, but with a hint of taupe polka dotting that's difficult to see this close. With his eyes inches from the mattress, he can kind of make out where a single pale dot colors the individual fibers, and how those fibers weave in a hatch pattern, over and under, over and under.
He's about to count them, to make sure that the website didn't lie about the thread count, when he hears footsteps coming down the hall. Kurt doesn't consciously hold his breath, his body simply stops breathing. He's heard other footsteps pass by during the time he's been waiting, but he could identify whom those belong to. He doesn't know the owners, per se. They just live on the same floor as him. But from a year of rooming on this level (which only has a handful of suites) Kurt has come to recognize their footsteps when they rush down the hall on their way to the stairwell at the far end. This person strolling towards his door isn't one of his neighbors. These new footsteps are tentative, pausing for a few seconds at each door (since the numbers, engraved on plaques above the door frames, are difficult to read) on the journey to his, which happens to be second to last.
It's 3:23 in the afternoon, and with most of the curtains drawn, his room has grown dim. Kurt didn't specifically leave a light on, but there's natural light coming through a single uncovered window, a ray of it falling across the bed the way it always does at this hour. It spreads across his skin, putting him in an unintended spotlight.
The door opens slowly, creaking the first few inches, and then swinging in smoothly.
Kurt hears the footsteps enter his room, and then the door shut. When he hears the lock click, he whimpers, and his legs begin to shake.
God, this is probably the worst idea of all bad ideas in the known universe, Kurt thinks, but he doesn't get up. He waits, partially terrified, but mostly curious. This kind of curiosity, he realizes, could conceivably get him killed, but he's stubborn. He's determined to see this through.
"Oh…my…God." The man's steps slow as they approach the bed, and that voice…oh God! Kurt knows that voice. He thought he'd never hear it again, but especially not in a situation like this. Jesus fucking Christ! "Kurt Hummel."
Kurt lunges to sit up, but a hand – a warm, gently commanding hand – takes hold of his shoulder and pushes him down again.
"Hold on, there." The man whistles appreciatively. "You know…you're really…I mean…my God, Kurt. Did you always look like this?"
"No," Kurt growls, wriggling the hand off his shoulder. "No, I'm not doing this with you, Sebastian Smythe! Get out of my room!"
"Why?"
"Because you…you're, uh…well, you're Sebastian, okay? That's reason enough," Kurt says, stumbling over insults to come out with that not-so-well thought out response. But Kurt can't think straight because the man in his room is not just Sebastian Smythe, the criminal chipmunk, to Kurt. He's also the thoughtful, caring man Kurt has been pouring his heart out to for the past few months. The part of him that can't understand how that man can be Sebastian Smythe feels a little betrayed.
"And I told you guys a long time ago," Sebastian says, keeping his hand on Kurt's shoulder, his touch insufferably soothing, "I've changed."
"How do I know that? I haven't seen you in years! And we were never friends. I don't know anything about you!"
"Wasn't that the point of all this?" Sebastian asks with a cynical laugh. "Besides, you do know me. We've been talking to each other for months."
Kurt inhales, hoping to use that smell of lavender – New England lavender – to center him again. "I…I guess…"
"Look, Kurt" – The bed rocks, indicating that Sebastian has climbed up behind him – "isn't your fantasy about some mystery man fucking you, and you not caring who it is?" Sebastian trails his fingertips down Kurt's spine, light touches raising goose flesh everywhere on his skin.
"Yeah," Kurt admits, voice shaking, too vulnerable to be having this conversation right now, naked, with his wrists bound. But he's too spun, too excited not to. "It is."
"Well, then, would it matter if that man was me?" Sebastian's eyes follow his fingertips as they continue to scratch, so much more gentle than Kurt would have assumed he could be. Kurt peeks around to look at him, getting a good look at him for the first time. But Sebastian Smythe isn't standing behind him. A man who resembles Sebastian has taken his place. A handsome man. So few years have passed since the last time they saw one another and yet, physically, he's changed so much – broader shoulders, a sharper chin, but his eyes, they're still the same, cunning, intelligent, but softer somehow. Kinder. There's a true and honest desire in his eyes, Kurt can't deny that. But after everything they've been through, can Kurt trust him like this?
Does he really care if he can or not?
"No," Kurt says, fighting so his voice won't break. "No, it wouldn't."
Kurt turns his face away, and closes his eyes, leaving Sebastian to decide what he's going to do.
Those strong hands go back to caressing his skin, firmer this time, and fuck it all if Kurt doesn't tremble, waves starting at his shoulders and racing down his body to his knees. Sebastian bends slightly over him to reach, which means what Kurt is feeling rubbing along the crack of his ass, covered in soft denim, is Sebastian Smythe's tremendous erection.
The hands on his back press down along his spine, and Kurt knows this can't be Sebastian's first time giving a lover a massage. Why would it be? Kurt always imagined that Sebastian took lessons on seduction at that fancy prep school he went to in France, fitting them in the curriculum somewhere between AP Calculus and Advanced Intimidation Techniques (those plucky Europeans…). Sebastian's hands part ways at Kurt's hips, each traveling in opposite directions along the line of the thick belt hugging Kurt's waist.
Oh my God, Kurt thinks, sucking in a breath when those hands circle around to massage down his front, along both sides of his erection without touching it, which has to be way hotter than if Sebastian had grabbed him and started stroking. This is actually going to happen. I'm going to play this fantasy out…with Sebastian Smythe!
"You're…you're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?" Kurt asks. "I mean, last I checked, we still followed some of the same people on Facebook, the Dalton Alumni Committee, The Warblers…"
Sebastian's sigh cuts Kurt off. "Please…trust me?"
"Trust you?" Kurt yelps, able to feel latent bitterness even with Sebastian's hands working at giving him pleasure. "You mean, trust the guy who tried in every way conceivably possible to make my life miserable? Who tried to take things away from me that were important and sacred?"
Sebastian removes his hands from Kurt's crotch, and Kurt thinks he might climb off the bed and leave, but then a light touch returns to his back, between his shoulder blades, sliding down to the belt around his hips.
"No," Sebastian says, sounding more than regretful. "Trust the man you've been texting for months. Because, I promise, he's much different than the boy you remember."
Sebastian's hands disappear again, and Kurt hears a rustle of fabric. He opens his eyes to see Sebastian's shirt fly over his head and land on the ground. Then a zip lowers. Kurt feels Sebastian toy with the plug, twisting, pulling, and his body goes rigid.
"Please," Kurt begs as Sebastian pushes the plug in once, then removes it completely, "I…I haven't been with anyone in a while."
"I know that. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. I'm going to take care of you. Just…let yourself go."
Kurt gulps down a mouthful of air. "You're going to wear something, right?"
"You mean like a clown costume?" Sebastian asks. "A pith helmet?"
"I mean a condom." Kurt tries to stay straight-faced, but the image of Sebastian Smythe wearing nothing but a pith helmet makes Kurt chuckle.
"Of course, I am," Sebastian says, giving in to Kurt's laughter. "Now, try to relax, will ya?"
"Yeah." Kurt inhales, then exhales. "Easier said than done."
The first touch to Kurt's skin isn't Sebastian's cock at his entrance, the way he'd feared, but his tongue licking slowly up his crack, stopping to circle his hole, and then continuing its way toward his spine.
Kurt's mouth drops open, and a moan of pure, scintillating pleasure erupts from his throat, so foreign to his own ears he has a hard time believing he's the one producing it. Sebastian licks again, from Kurt's spine to his balls, and Kurt's moan turns into a single word.
"Fuck…"
Sebastian continues lapping at his hole, sucking, savoring. He stops at Kurt's balls, taking them in his mouth one at a time, so gently, with a light graze of his teeth and a swirl of his tongue, that Kurt's eyes roll to the back of his head. That same tongue, that same hot mouth, finds a way to lick along the base of Kurt's cock, unable to reach the head at this angle, but that doesn't matter. Kurt can't seem to find the strength to stay upright anymore. His legs slide open, his body sinking to the mattress, and Sebastian grabs the belt to hold him up.
"Oh, God, Kurt," he murmurs against Kurt's hole. "You're so…so hot and I…I'm sorry, but I have to have you."
The loss of heat when Sebastian takes his mouth away is so overwhelming, Kurt shivers from the cold. There's a ripping, a tearing, a popping - all the far-from-romantic sounds that accompany any sexual activity, whether it's making love or being fucked. There is no difference.
A bluntness pushes against him, forcing its way into his body, begging for entrance.
There's no burn, very little sting, Sebastian having lubed up so much that it drips through Kurt's crack and down the inside of his left leg. Sebastian entering him doesn't hurt, not at all, but he still takes his time, inching forward, either to make it last or to be sure Kurt is okay. Kurt's body stretches. Sebastian pushes in, pulls out, pushes in further, till finally he's leaning against Kurt, their bodies pressed together. Kurt feels Sebastian tremble – his thighs behind Kurt's ass quivering as he holds himself still, and Kurt bites inside his cheek. He doesn't want to moan over that, over something so small, but that tiny shiver works its way under his skin, through his blood to his brain, and implants itself there. If they have sex with each other again, he'll always be looking for it. If it doesn't happen, he'll wonder where it went.
And Kurt hates that. He hates that anything about this encounter has stuck out, become important to him.
"God, you're gorgeous," Sebastian says in a breath, as if he didn't say it for Kurt to hear.
"You…you don't have to do that," Kurt says, mouth dropping open again as Sebastian starts to move.
"Don't have to do what?" Sebastian mumbles.
"Compliment me," Kurt replies, the words nearly lost when Kurt swallows another moan. "You don't have to…you know…say anything…nice…"
"Why?" Sebastian chuckles once. "Are you adverse to the truth? Or is that part of the fantasy? I'm not allowed to talk?"
"Yeah," Kurt lies, "that's it. You're not allowed to talk."
"Fine." Sebastian gives in, but he doesn't sound too thrilled about it. But if that is the case, it washes away with another moan and a non-committal, sotto voce Oh God!
Sebastian fucks Kurt hard, then slow, hard again, and then he stops, leaning over Kurt's body to stroke him a few times before starting the cycle over, or reversing it, or starting from the inside and working his way out. Sebastian plays with Kurt in ways that Blaine never did. Blaine would have thought it cruel, frustrating Kurt this way. But it fascinates Kurt. Sebastian has unlocked a whole new array of sensations inside him, his body reacting to the torment in ways he's never experienced – the sound of his own voice lower where it resonates in his chest, closer to the heat in his stomach; his legs shaking from his hips to his knees with a need to drop out from beneath him, but also to push higher and meet Sebastian's swaying hips; the restlessness of his body; head, wrists, and ankles rolling. As he fights his body's instinct to buck back, his limbs refuse to stay still.
And even though he swore he wouldn't compare this encounter in any way to ones he's had with Blaine, it has to be admitted, in his own mind, that Sebastian is bigger. Actually, compared to Blaine, Sebastian is huge. Kurt and Blaine always joked around about his size, which wasn't bad, by comparing him to lumpia (the punchline being that since Kurt had gotten engaged to a Filipino man, he'd developed a taste for Filipino food).
At this angle, Sebastian being big and fucking him hard almost hurts.
It frightens Kurt how much he enjoys it.
With every push, every stroke, time rewinds, until Kurt can't seem to remember how he got here, bound on his own bed, fucked into his mattress by Sebastian Smythe.
Sebastian puts a shaking hand to Kurt's neck and pulls him up gently. He fumbles with Kurt's hands, slipping them out of the belt, and then pushes Kurt back into place. Forgoing the belt, Sebastian holds Kurt's wrists in one hand behind his back and pounds him again, pulling Kurt's arms like reins. It's mildly uncomfortable, being held like this, but it adds to the illusion that he's a thing.
That he's nothing.
Or it would if Sebastian could keep his mouth shut. But with every thrust, he rambles, he moans, he mutters.
But mostly, he calls Kurt by name.
"Kurt…oh God, Kurt…you feel so good, Kurt…"
This isn't exactly what Kurt was hoping for. The fantasy he had created is completely anonymous sex with a man using Kurt for his own pleasure, cold and quick, and then leaving him to deal with the aftermath alone.
But this, Kurt realizes, is better.
The fact that it comes with Sebastian Smythe confuses Kurt. Even when Sebastian made amends, there was something inside Kurt that had programmed itself to hate him. So he found a compromise. Kurt was fine with Sebastian, as long as he didn't have to see him…ever.
This changes things significantly, not because they're having sex, but because if the man he's been talking to for the past few months is the true Sebastian Smythe, then Kurt does know him. He's a decent guy. A guy with morals and character, and tastes similar to his own. He's a guy with a snappy sense of humor and an enormous capacity for compassion.
He's a guy with a broken heart, which is part of what launched their relationship to begin with.
And Kurt, only learning this guy through words on a cell phone screen, had been steadily developing a crush on him.
Kurt had removed his mirror from the front of his bed because he didn't want the appearance of his mystery man to affect his fantasy. He wanted only the memory of the man's words to seduce him. But now that he knows, does it really change anything? Had Sebastian chosen not to show up, Kurt would have held strong to his infatuation. He would have forgiven him for not coming, accepted whatever excuse the man conjured up, and been willing to continue on with their relationship where they left off.
But knowing who the man is behind the text messages - some of them gut-wrenching, some of them poetic, a great deal of them teasing and salacious - does that change the way Kurt feels about him?
"God…" Sebastian grunts, shuddering, breathless, like he's reached the finish line of a marathon, his body locking up in refusal to go a single step farther. "I'm gonna cum…I'm gonna…oh, Kurt…God…I can't…" His hips stutter, his hand shakes, he stops the pace that Kurt had come to rely on to drive him forward, and Kurt sees the prospect of his own climax flickering in a blurry distance.
"Please," Kurt whimpers, near tears at the thought that this orgasm, his first one not alone in a long while, will be ruined. "Don't stop. Don't stop."
"I…I'm trying…God…" Sebastian groans. He can barely push himself a final time, his whole body rebelling inside and out. He holds Kurt's arms so tight in his fist that he cracks Kurt's wrists (a habit Kurt has never liked). But Sebastian manages to shove in with a guttural, "Fuck!" slamming into Kurt's sweet spot with such ferocity that that, combined with Sebastian's splintered voice, makes Kurt cum.
And God, does he cum.
Kurt can't remember the last time a man's voice had this reaction on him. If he had to guess, it would be that first time with Blaine – the innocent way his voice wavered and broke, the constant string of I love yous that followed every kiss, accompanied every touch.
This isn't I love you. Far from it. But there is an element of affection to it. Sebastian holds Kurt as he cums, binds his wrists but keeps one hand on his back, rubbing down his spine, shushing soothingly as Kurt cries out. Kurt's body settles and Sebastian lets go. Kurt's arms, stretched to their limits, sore at all joints, flop down on the bed.
Kurt feels Sebastian pull out, then the bed bob as he climbs off the edge. Kurt lays still and goes unnoticed. Back to the fantasy. He's a thing, remember? An object. The man comes in, uses him, leaves, and then the fantasy ends.
Now Kurt will have to deal with the one thing he didn't consider thoroughly.
Sebastian leaving, and him going back to being alone.
After this, Kurt isn't sure Sebastian will find a need to text him again.
Kurt curses himself. He should have said no. He was wrong. He made the wrong choice. He could have done without the sex. He has vibrators. He has a fleshjack. He has his hand. He was fine. But as of late, he hasn't had much luck with friends, not the kind Sebastian has been, who he could confide everything to without fear of being judged.
Kurt breathes in and doesn't breathe out, listening for Sebastian's footsteps, waiting for him to walk out the door so that Kurt can begin the process of dealing with the fallout.
Sebastian grabs Kurt's upper arms and lifts, helping him to his hands and knees, then leads him up to the head of the bed. Those same hands lie Kurt down, rub his arms and pet his hair. They remove the belt, then cover Kurt with a blanket, tucking it in in front of him to keep him warm. When that's done, again Kurt expects Sebastian to go, but the bed behind him dips and arms wrap around him. A chest presses against Kurt's back, breath wafts over his shoulder, and Kurt comes to the realization that Sebastian isn't leaving. Not yet.
Does Kurt want him to stay?
Yes, Kurt realizes. He does. And not just for tonight.
But that's right now, when, he has to admit, his brain is slightly impaired. That might change tomorrow when the euphoria of that incredible orgasm has completely ebbed away.
But it sure doesn't feel that way in this moment.
Sebastian breathes in several times, like he's about to say something, and Kurt is sure he's coming up with a way to say goodbye. This can't actually turn into something, can it? Kurt was always under the impression that Sebastian didn't do the boyfriend thing himself; he just did other people's boyfriends.
Maybe Kurt is wrong.
"So, what happens again after you have sex with your mystery man?" Sebastian asks, placing kisses on Kurt's shoulder, in his hair, on his neck. He can't stop kissing him. He doesn't want to stop. He doesn't want this to be over. Before Sebastian arrived, he thought he was meeting a stranger, and in a way, he did. This Kurt isn't the same boy he met in high school. Sebastian judged that boy by his cover alone.
This time, Sebastian learned Kurt on the inside first, and to Sebastian, who rarely gets that far, it's made all the difference.
"I don't know." Kurt thinks quickly that he should make something up, lead this outcome, but he's not entirely sure he knows where he wants it to go. "That's where the fantasy ends. I always assumed…he leaves, and I never see him again."
Sebastian nods against Kurt's hair. "Is that what you want?"
"I…I don't know," Kurt answers honestly, tugging Sebastian's arms, wrapping them tighter around him, hoping he doesn't get offended by his answer and leave. "I really don't know."
"Well" - Sebastian folds himself over Kurt at his silent command - "maybe we can just lie here until we figure it out."
"Yeah" - Kurt gives himself permission to close his eyes and relax into Sebastian's embrace, realizing that sleep will come to claim him soon, and feeling remarkably okay with it - "let's do that."