Title: Number Twenty
Pairings: Kurt/Sebastian
Rating: R

Beta: canuckpagali & lurkdusoleil
Warnings: Promiscuity, Crude jokes, Slut Shaming, Gay Sex, Blaine

Note: By 'Blaine' I mean that if you are a die-hard Klainer, you might have a hard time swallowing how Blaine is portrayed in this story as well as the angst around their break-up. I don't want to paint Blaine as a villain because I love him, and I don't think I did make him out to be one, but I figured I'd warn for previous Klaine and the portrayal of Blaine as not Kurt's one and only. In canon, Klaine is my OTP, but I like to multiship with fanfics.

Summary: Kurt's life isn't shaping up to be what he had expected. He's still single, he isn't a Broadway star, he's just lost his job (which he hated anyway), and he's about to watch the most on-again-off-again couple known to man get married. To make matters worse, he's just learned that the amount of guys he has slept with is twice as much as what's considered average in the USA. He's pretty sure if sixteen-year-old-Kurt saw himself now, he would be appalled.

Watching "What's Your Number" with my husband the other day, I suddenly felt compelled to try to write that story as a Kurtbastian fic. It just seemed like it would fit really well. I did take a lot of liberties with the storyline and with my Glee characters, but hopefully it'll be for the betterment of the story. Trust Sam to take a light-hearted, stupid rom-con and turn it into an angsty story. Hah.

Chapter One

Kurt had always had big plans and high aspirations back in school. He knew from a young age who he was and what he wanted to do with his life. He had to shout to be heard and fight to be himself. People like him were rare and undervalued in his home-town. It wasn't just because he was gay, though being 'out' in Lima, Ohio wasn't a picnic, but it was that he had dreams. Dreams of standing on a large stage with an applauding audience standing before him. Dreams of New York, of his name in lights on Broadway, of bouquets in his dressing room and... of a beautiful man waiting backstage after each show with a proud smile on his face and a single rose in his hands. Big dreams for such a small town, Kurt knew.

But along with being a hopeless romantic, Kurt was also driven –maybe even more so. He was taunted and pushed around for being gay, he was mocked and slushied for being in Glee club, and he was competed against mercilessly for choosing Rachel for his best friend. Kurt owned it, though. He knew having to overcome things was what gave him strength. That fight inside of him, that need to win, it flourished under the strain of adversity. He knew his less-than-ideal life as a teen was a large reason for why he had come to grips with his identity and his dreams at such a young age. People say you find yourself in college, well, Kurt knew who he was well before the age of thirteen, and he spent his teens reaffirming it every single day.

Waking up next to some guy whom he barely even liked that Saturday morning, though, Kurt wondered if he had possibly lost a little bit of himself along the way. Still, he quietly slipped out of bed, scurried into his ensuite, swiftly brushed his teeth while dabbing concealer under his eyes, then fixed his hair and tiptoed back to bed. The sexy younger man lying next to him stirred and Kurt pretended he was just waking up.

"Morning," said Benjamin, smiling groggily at Kurt while he stretched his arms over his head.

"Hi," breathed Kurt, a little winded from his scurrying.

"Damn," groaned Benjamin with a grin. "How do you manage to look so good in the mornings?"

Kurt preened at his words, ready to lean in for a kiss but then Benjamin was rolling out of bed. Lips still pursed, Kurt blinked a few times at the man's bare back before shaking his head and taking a deep, cleansing breath.

"Last night was fucking awesome," said Benjamin, not without enthusiasm, as he rooted around the sheets that had been kicked onto the floor the night before. "But now I'm all dried sweat and come... and nasty. I'm gonna go."

"You could shower here," offered Kurt, hopefully. "We could go out for brunch."

Benjamin paused in his movement before turning to look over his shoulder at Kurt.

"Kurt," he sighed out in exasperation. "You know how I feel about using other people's showers."

"Yet you're fine with sleeping in their beds," muttered Kurt before struggling to smile sweetly. "How about we meet for brunch, then? After you go home and shower?"

Benjamin hummed thoughtfully as he stepped into his dark denim jeans and pulled them on. He took his time doing up his fly and then searched for his shirt.

"Why are you so keen on this brunch thing?" he asked, back to Kurt, body language evasive. "Isn't that something chicks do with their mother-in-laws or something?"

"I just... thought it would be nice," sighed Kurt looking down at the pillowcase he was anxiously fiddling with. It had somehow worked its way off the pillow during their activities in the night.

"Nice," laughed Benjamin, doing up the buttons of his dress shirt, the one Kurt had picked out for him during their shopping date a few weeks earlier.

"Yeah," whispered Kurt, heat rising to his cheeks and a lump forming in his throat. "Nice."

"I'm gonna meet up with the guys in the park. Lunch and ultimate Frisbee," said Benjamin, obviously dismissing Kurt's brunch idea without guilt.

"That sounds like fun," offered Kurt, looking up to smile hopefully at the younger man.

"Yeah," said Benjamin, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks. "How about you?"

"Oh," breathed out Kurt before he could stop himself, feeling disappointed at not being included in Benjamin's plans.

"Kurt," said Benjamin looking remorseful when it sunk in that Kurt had thought he would be coming with him. "I'm sorry, it's just, the guys don't really like you."

Kurt's face paled and Benjamin was quick to continue.

"It's nothing personal!" he hastily explained. "I mean, I like you... especially certain parts of you."

Kurt turned away from Benjamin when the young man leaned in with wiggling eyebrows. Kurt was suddenly feeling ill.

"So," said Kurt, determined to push on despite everything. "My brother's wedding is next month..."

"Erm," stammered Benjamin and his face twisted like he had just bit into a lemon. "I don't do family functions... the whole meeting-the-parents thing isn't my scene."

"Excuse me?" exclaimed Kurt in surprise.

"Sorry, Babe," said Benjamin with a shrug though he didn't look sorry at all. "It is all too monogamous and committed for me."

"Monogamous?" shrieked Kurt. "You mean you...?"

The guilty bewilderment on Benjamin's face was answer enough. Kurt lept from the bed and angrily pushed the man out of his room. He grabbed his cheap, brown jacket from where it was hanging over the back of his couch as he continued to roughly direct Benjamin to his door.

"We're done," Kurt managed to say firmly as he shoved him into the apartment building's main hallway.

"Kay," said Benjamin, ducking as Kurt threw his shoes at him, and not seeming the least bit bothered at the drama of the situation. "If you ever want a hook-up sometime, though, no strings attached, just to let off some steam..."

"Thank you, Ben," deadpanned Kurt. "That's very generous of you."

Benjamin smiled at what he must have mistaken for praise before saluting Kurt and turning to leave. Kurt groaned in frustration and was about to slam his apartment door when he noticed his neighbour across the hall watching him. He had a cocky, knowing grin on his stupid face. Kurt was about to snap at him to mind his own damn business when he realized the guy was standing completely nude with nothing but a newspaper strategically held in front of his groin. Kurt's eyes widened and his cheeks immediately grew red. He slammed his door shut to the sound of deep chuckles echoing from across the hall.

Kurt spent his weekend doing laundry and cleaning traces of Benjamin out of his home. On Monday, he set off to work feeling numb and tired. He worked in a cubicle in an office surrounded by soulless coworkers who looked more like coffee-powered drones. He hated his job, but it paid his rent. He resolutely pushed the judging voice of 16-year-old-Kurt out of his mind as he sat down at his desk and powered up his computer.

"Kurt," called his boss from the office only paces away from his little box of grey boredom.

Kurt stood and headed to the glass-encased office with the view of the city, his coworkers' eyes on his back.

"We're making some unfortunate but necessary cutbacks,"explained his boss once Kurt was seated in the uncomfortable chair across the desk from him. "Including you."

"Wait... what?"

His boss, barely older than him but a total kiss-ass to the people further up, sighed and leaned his elbows onto his large, cluttered desk. He looked Kurt in the eyes with forced remorse on his plain face.

"Kurt," he said. "You're fired."

Kurt's stomach dropped as the words echoed through his head with their terrible finality. He swallowed the bile in his throat before attempting to speak.

"That's... um... who else are you letting go?"

"Just you," answered the man and Kurt's rising stomach twisted uncomfortably.

"I see."

"Yeah."

Kurt let out a sigh as he watched his boss turn around in his desk chair, an awkward but unmistakable dismissal. He stood, took a deep breath, and walked out of the room with his head held high even has his pride lay dashed to pieces. He had always felt his job was so below him, and yet here he was, being fired from it.

The subway was like a tin of sardines even in the middle of the work day. Kurt balanced his box of items from his cubicle precariously on his lap as he paged through a magazine. He always brought a magazine with him on the subway as a feeble attempt to keep random people from talking to him. He hated friendly strangers.

Most of the articles were uninteresting, it being a magazine primarily for straight guys, but then something caught his eye.

What's Your Number?
The average American man sleeps with 9 women before getting married. How do you stack up?

Kurt's eyebrows shot up. The elderly woman next to him gave him a curious look and he realized he must have gasped outright.

"It says here," explained Kurt, not usually one to initiate conversation with strangers but desiring some camaraderie in his shock. "That the average American man sleeps with nine women before marriage."

The woman frowned and shook her head.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" she asked and Kurt enthusiastically nodded in agreement. "Such a high number. Men these days are pigs."

She practically spat out the last word. Kurt froze. Wait.

"Um," he stammered, his heart hammering in his chest. "Maybe it is different for gay men."

The older woman gave him a soft smile and patted him on the knee in a reassuring gesture.

"It might be harder to find someone compatible when you're a minority," she said sympathetically. "But I'm sure you'll find Mr. Right soon, son."

Kurt winced at her words but managed to give her a tight-lipped smile before turning his attention back to the article. He read through it a few times, shaking his head and frowning all the while. Just before the subway reached his stop, he carefully tore the page from the book and folded it up to put in his wallet. He would have to get to the bottom of this.

That evening he sprawled out on his couch with a carton of Thai food and mentally listed all the men he'd had sexual relations with. ...Marcus was 15, David was 16, Trent was 17, Sean was 18, and Benjamin made 19.

Nineteen.

One more than double the National average. Kurt felt sick.

The week drifted by rather quickly despite Kurt having no job to go to. He spent his time sending his resumes out to all the places hiring in his field of work, even some that weren't. On Thursday, he nearly knocked into his nude neighbour in the foyer of their apartment building. He was fully clothed this time, thankfully.

"Careful, Babe," laughed Naked Neighbour, grabbing Kurt's arm to steady him.

Kurt stepped away brusquely, frowning.

"Don't call me Babe," snapped Kurt, the word reminding him of Benjamin and leaving a horrible taste in his mouth when he said it.

Naked Neighbour raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never slipping from his face. They silently retrieved their mail from the brass mailboxes and turned in unison toward the stairs.

"So," started Kurt hesitantly. "Are you new here... or?"

"Been living here three months, now," Naked Neighbour informed him and Kurt couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," laughed Naked Neighbour good-naturedly.

...Or maybe cockily-naturedly would be more appropriate –if that was a thing. It should be a thing. Kurt would make it a thing. The stupid man was so overconfident in himself that it made Kurt's skin crawl. The evil smirk on his rodent-shaped face didn't help his cause much, either.

"It's okay," said Naked Neighbour, pulling Kurt from his stewing. "You were distracted by Mr We-Can-Still-Hook-Up. He seems like a great guy, by the way."

Kurt rolled his eyes, cheeks burning at his own humiliation.

"Yeah, not so much," he managed to squeak out.

Naked Neighbour laughed again, shaking his head.

"Not the best taste in guys," he accused.

"Not the best taste in shirts," countered Kurt sharply. "Polo shirt with a popped collar? Really? Popping your collar never was entirely stylish but it definitely hasn't been an acceptable form of expression since the nineties. You look like an outdated douche bag who picked up whatever shirt he could find the morning after a particularly hard-hitting fraternity party."

"Oh, Pussy's got claws," exclaimed Naked Neighbour, sending Kurt a wink before ducking into his apartment, chuckling as he let his door fall shut.

Kurt stood glaring at the door for a beat before shaking it off and crossing the hall to unlock his own.

Saturday brought Rachel's wedding shower which Kurt had been both looking forward to and dreading. Rachel was a little hard to swallow on the best of days but now that she was getting married she had become the bride from hell. Some days, it even seemed that 'Bridezilla' couldn't quite cover it.

Kurt winced when he heard Rachel's laughter rise over the general buzz of voices as he hung his coat in Finn and Rachel's entry closet. He cut through the groupings of guests to head up the narrow staircase knowing his step-brother would probably be hiding out up there.

"Kurt," exclaimed Finn in a hushed voice when Kurt found him in the spare bedroom. "I'm glad to see you. I don't think I even know half the people here and you know how I feel about these fancy parties."

Kurt smiled sympathetically and gave Finn a quick hug.

"When does Puck get here from L.A.?" he asked.

"Not until next weekend," answered Finn with a frustrated sigh.

Kurt patted his shoulder.

"Are you sure you're okay with being a bridesmaid?" asked Finn, anxiety written across his face. "I mean, like, I remember Junior Prom and I just..."

"Finn," cut in Kurt.

"Puck's been my best friend since we were little, but you're my brother," said Finn, looking guilty.

"Finn," said Kurt, his voice biting but softened by the smile on his face. "It's fine. Rachel's my best friend, you're my brother; I'm honoured to stand with you. I don't care which side."

"Cool," said Finn, smiling hesitantly. "I mean, it isn't like Rachel expects you to wear a dress..."

Kurt sniffed indignantly at that.

"...and we're gonna have a chick stand with the dudes on my side for symmetry or whatever. Rachel's idea. So, I don't think it'll be too bad."

"Finn," said Kurt, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "It's fine. I know Diana is standing on your side and I know it is important to Puck that he get to be your best man. Don't worry; I'm not scared of being mistaken for a girl."

Finn smiled and nodded, seeming relieved. Kurt grew solemn then.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" he asked.

"Okay," answered Finn sounding mildly confused at Kurt's change in demeanor.

"How many people have you slept with?" asked Kurt.

"Uh... like sex?"

"Yeah."

"Four, including Rachel."

"Four!" choked out Kurt.

"Yeah, uh, why? How many for you?"

"Nine..."

"Nine!? WHOA! Dude!" exclaimed Finn, eyes widening and a grin starting to pull his mouth open. "Nice!"

Kurt forced out an anxious smile and bumped Finn's offered fist. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach grew and twisted. He needed a drink... or nineteen.

Kurt didn't remember much of the wedding shower beyond the bottle of champagne he had confiscated from the kitchen for himself shortly after talking to Finn. He had already taken a few indelicate swigs from the bottle before even joining the party. There had been squeals when he had walked into the living room. He was attacked with hugs and kisses from Rachel, Tina and some of Rachel's friends from college and her theatre group. Later he had given a speech and Kurt wasn't sure of exactly what he had said, but he did remember how the eyes of many of the people in the room had steadily grown wider as he spoke. He hoped that it had come off much better than he remembered.

None of that mattered though because, at the moment, Kurt and his friends were laughing and grinding on the dance floor of the club they had chosen to have the bachelorette party at. The beat was pounding right in Kurt's chest, making him want to move to the music and pushing away the painful twist that had been developing there over the course of the last week. The alcohol he'd been forcing into his system all day was also helping to numb his problems.

They congregated at a round table when tired of dancing. Tina was giggling furiously and Rachel was shouting for pink shots. Tristan, Rachel's friend from back in NYADA who had quickly become a close friend to Kurt, was trying to talk Diana into taking off her top even though Kurt knew for a fact that he was very gay, while Kyle and Jared were making out.

"I propose a game!" exclaimed Kurt, suddenly. Everyone's attention turned his way. "We're going to write the number of men we've been with on a piece of paper and then we'll draw them out and guess who the number belongs to."

"Yay! Games!" cheered Rachel in a drunken stupor.

"I have a notepad!" volunteered Diana, grabbing up her purse.

She passed the pad and a pen around the table so each person could write their number on it before tearing the paper out and passing the pad on. They made a pile from the papers in the middle of the table. Kyle went first, drawing out a paper with '4' written on it and showing it to the table.

"I'm going to guess Tina," he said with a grin.

Tina laughed but shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'm one."

"One?" exclaimed a few voices in disbelief.

"Mike's always been the only one for me," she sighed happily.

Something started twisting in Kurt's chest again. There had been a time when he, too, had someone. When there was someone in his life whom he thought was his 'one and only'. The time hadn't lasted very long and he had been left with a hole in his heart; the world never seeming quite so bright ever since.

"Okay, my turn," said Tina, reaching into the pile.

"That was me, by the way," offered Diana with a drunk snicker and Kyle grinned mischievously at her.

"Five!" exclaimed Tina before turning to grin at the bride. "Rachel!"

"No fair," shrilled Rachel before pouting her lips. "I tell you and Kurt everything."

Kurt smiled tightly. The painful twist in his chest was growing despite the music and the alcohol.

"My turn," said Rachel, reaching for the papers and picking up the top piece. "Eleven! OH, WOW!"

"Guilty," said Tristan with a deprecating smile.

"Manwhore!" exclaimed Jared and Kyle, pointing and laughing.

Kurt could feel the blood draining from his face.

"Shut up," bit out Tristan, though he was grinning almost proudly. "My turn."

"Two," he said, sounding almost disappointed at the number.

"Me," said Jared, smiling over at Kyle.

"You guys haven't been playing the game right," said Diana with a flip of her hand. "Kurt said you were supposed to be guessing."

Kyle shrugged before turning and winking at Jared.

"There's only one left," exclaimed Rachel, reaching for the paper. "That means this one is Kurt's!"

Dread, cold and terrible, tightened at Kurt's throat and he lunged for the paper in the center of the table. Rachel was faster. She grabbed it and began to unfold it. Her mouth dropped open in shock. Kurt covered his face.

"What?" asked Diana, curious. "Is it high?"

Kurt groaned and she turned to grin wickedly at him.

"It's high isn't it!?" she asked before pulling it from Rachel's wobbly grasp. "Gimme!"

She gasped.

"Nineteen!?" she exclaimed in disbelief.

Kurt didn't have to look up to know the whole table was looking at him. He nodded minutely into his crossed arms and everyone gasped before Tristan led the group in catcalling and cheering.

"I admit it," he sighed out, raising his head to look miserably out at his friends. "One more than twice the national average."

He sighed woefully and pulled out his wallet. After retracting the article from it, he unfolded it and held it out.

"There's even a whole article in Modern Man about it," he explained. "The national average for men is nine... nine."

Rachel ripped the magazine page from Kurt's hand and started scanning it over while Kurt and the others continued to talk about the numbers. He explained that he had figured playing this game would make him feel better about how high his number was but, considering the outcome, it had only made him feel worse.

"Apparently, in America, 96% of men who have been with twenty or more women will never find a wife," Rachel suddenly read outloud, catching everyone's attention.

"It actually says twenty?" asked Kurt staring across the table at Rachel with a scowl that was a mix between accusing and terrified.

She nodded sympathetically.

"Who cares?" asked Tristan in a biting voice. "Who the fuck did that study anyway? The 'scientists' over at Modern Man magazine?"

"Hey," cried out Jared. "That magazine gave me the best orgasm of my life!"

"I thought I gave you the best orgasms of your life," pouted Kyle and Jared grinned at him before leaning in for a kiss.

"Actually, that study was conducted by Dr. Cory Miller at Harvard University. You might have heard of it. It's this quaint little school in Massachusetts," cut in Diana with a matter-of-fact tone that wore a sassy lilt. "You better watch yourself, Kurt. Soon you'll wake up forty-five, alone and no self-esteem... maybe an STI or two."

A few of the people at the table winced at her harsh words but no one said anything. If Kurt hadn't been feeling so horrified, he might have spat out some scathing response, but he wasn't up to it. The pounding in his head and the rushing in his ears were making it hard to focus on anything except for 'forty-five and alone'.

"Maybe the percentage is so high because these guys who sleep around aren't even interested in getting married," pushed in Tristan, his face a portrait of annoyance.

"I'm sure that's part of it, Babyboy," said Tina, finally speaking up. She glanced over at Kurt with a sad frown and opened her mouth to continue speaking but Rachel got there first.

"Just because you're a heartless dick," started Rachel, obviously having had too much to drink and speaking with undue anger. "Doesn't mean that Kurt doesn't want a proper romance and happily-ever-after... no matter how many people he's hooked up with."

Kurt winced at the judgement in Rachel's words. These were his friends and if they were bothered by his number, how would he ever find someone who would still want to be with him forever when they found out his number?

"That's for straight men, though," argued Kyle. "It could be differ..."

"That's high for anyone, though," countered someone else, but Kurt wasn't paying attention.

"Nineteen dicks," bit out another voice which had to belong to Diana. "That's nineteen dicks that have probably been in other people, maybe nineteen other people each."

"Prude," muttered another person.

"That's... 361 bodies," she continued as if she didn't hear the other people, annoying everyone else at the table with her drunk mathematics skills. "And what about the people who have been with those people? It just keeps going on and on, spiralling. Kurt should really get tested."

"Stop it, Diana!" snapped Tina.

"What even constitutes sex when it comes to gay men, anyway?" asked a female voice.

"Coming," decided someone else.

Kurt wished the room would stop spinning.

"Coming? Really?" asked someone else. "So what if one of you doesn't come?"

"Well, that's a shitty night for one of you," laughed a deep voice, it sounded like Tristan's.

"This is ridiculous," said someone. "You guys need to all shut up, can't you see you're upsetting Kurt? He might be a slut, but he's still our friend."

Kurt could feel pressure building behind his eyes but he pushed back at it. He blindly grasped his drink and raised it to his lips, taking a long pull before setting it back down on the table with a loud 'thunk' causing everyone to shut up and look his direction.

"Okay," said Kurt, his face coloured with determination. "That's it, I'm taking my destiny into my hands."

Rachel was nodding emphatically while Diana just rolled her eyes. Everyone else was watching curiously.

"I'm at nineteen which means I'm still okay. I have one left before this becomes a problem," he continued before pausing for tipsy emphasis. "Okay, so, listen... listen guys, gals, you people... I'm making a proclamation."

He looked around the table to make sure everyone's eyes were on him.

"I'm not going to have sex with one more guy until I'm sure he's 'the one'. I may not have control over much in this life but I do have control over my pelvis!"

"And mouth!" added Tristan with a devilish wink.

"Shut up!" cried out Kurt angrily, even though his face felt like it might be smiling. "You're one of my nineteen problems so you can just shut the fuck up!"

Tristan grinned proudly when a few of the people at the table gave him surprised looks.

"The next guy who I fuck will be my husband," announced Kurt.

Everyone nodded, Tina laughed giddily.

"To taking control of my destiny!" cried out Kurt, shouting it at the top of his lungs and he jumped to his feet.

"To taking control!" echoed his friends and they clinked their tall, slim shot glasses together before the group threw them back.

Kurt swallowed the sharp-tasting liquid and raised his glass again.

"To better decision-making and following through!" he called out, climbing up on his chair. "To TWENTY!"

The entire bar yelled 'twenty' in response despite not knowing why. More drinks were poured and cheers were called out. The rest of the night became a blur of drinking, dancing, and loud music. It was fantastic. He hoped Rachel enjoyed her bachelorette party because he sure had.