"No!" Sebastian snaps, marching down the hall from the living room to the bedroom, trying desperately to shake his fiancé. When he first moved into his penthouse, he'd thought it was huge, but with Kurt dogging him, close on his heels, he feels hemmed in.
Regardless of the enviable amount of space, there's nowhere he can hide.
"But, why not?" Kurt asks.
"Because I said no, and I mean no!" Sebastian makes it to the bedroom – one of only a few rooms in the place with a lock on the door. But seeing as their argument originated there, he has no desire to go in. But he can't turn around, not with who's waiting behind him. So, he takes a sharp right, ducks into the linen closet, and slams the door behind him.
It doesn't have a lock, and Kurt opens it again.
"You're evading," Kurt says, arms crossed and hip cocked.
"You're damned right I'm evading! There are some things I don't have to tell you if I don't want to, Hummel. Get used to it." Sebastian shuts the door in his fiancé's face. Kurt rolls his eyes and opens it again.
"Nice attitude, Smythe. What a great way to start a marriage."
Realizing that shutting the door again will do him no good, Sebastian slides out past Kurt and heads back down the hall. "Look, I'm pretty sure there are things you have yet to tell me, and guess what? I don't mind. I don't hound you about them."
"No, but you used to read my text messages, my emails, listen in on my phone calls …"
"Used to being the operative term. I don't do that anymore."
"Only because you found out I wasn't cheating on you."
"No, because I found out you're boring!"
Actually, he found out that even though Kurt had decided to forgive Blaine and let him into his life again, he wasn't sending his old flame texts that weren't family friendly.
The way Sebastian had, flirting with Blaine when Blaine and Kurt were dating, whether Blaine was too obtuse to realize it or not.
The only texts Kurt and Blaine exchanged had to do with Blaine's Broadway musical and Kurt's infatuation with Tom Ford's new lipstick campaign.
Those were boring.
"But that's not what I found out," Kurt reminds him.
Sebastian screeches to a halt, as if he'd just come face to face with a cougar. Back squared, arms hanging stiffly at his sides, jaw clenched - his defenses lock down, preparing for a fight. But he doesn't want to fight with Kurt, not a week before their wedding. Not even about this, which could be deemed an invasion of his privacy … if he were an idiot.
He breathes in and out slowly, deciding how to proceed. He has to stop running. There aren't any rooms left for him to run to. He'd have to literally walk out in order to find a place to hide, and that might send Kurt the wrong message.
That this secret he's been keeping is more important than Kurt.
It's not.
It's just … embarrassing.
Sebastian turns to his fiancé, standing behind him with a small stack of catalogues in his hand, holding them slightly forward as if asking Sebastian to please stop and face the situation.
"Look," he begins, gesturing to them but not taking them, "I don't understand why you're making a big deal over a few catalogues. You have some of those lying around."
"Yes," Kurt agrees, "because I'm in fashion. You're in finance. So forgive me, but you having a stack of Victoria's Secret catalogues stuffed underneath your side of the mattress has me wondering …"
"Wondering what?"
"Well …" Kurt gulps down a breath. It's a simple question, but not when Kurt didn't think they'd get this far "… some of the pages are dog-eared."
Sebastian snickers, the usually sarcastic sound translating a wealth of hidden insecurity. "Do you think I'm cheating on you with an angel or something?"
"Are you … are you telling me … you're bi?" Kurt asks. "B-because if you are, that's fine. I don't have a problem with that. I just hope you know that you can confide in me."
"Yeah, right. That's not how Blaine tells it."
It's a thoughtless remark, one meant to push Kurt, and this conversation, away. And it works. Kurt drops his arm and takes a step back, his eyes tracing his invisible footprints as he begins to retreat. "I … I'm sorry," he says, preparing to walk away, leave the penthouse himself if for no other reason than to put some distance between him and Sebastian before they both say something they'll regret. But Sebastian rushes forward and takes Kurt's arm before he can leave.
"No, I'm sorry. That was … that was cruel. Unnecessarily so. And no. I'm not bi," he says to Kurt's downcast gaze. "That's not what I-that's not why I have these."
"Then … what is it? Because it doesn't make any sense."
"Why do you need to know?"
"I guess … I don't." Kurt looks at the catalogues in his grasp. He has always had an appreciation for Victoria's Secret, and he does have a few of their catalogues in his own personal collection - for inspiration. But they're not like Sebastian's – worn to the point of falling apart, some with pages stuck together. "It's just, I was hoping you'd be willing to discuss it with me. M-maybe it's something we could … share?"
Kurt sounds frightened as he makes that offer, knowing that whatever Sebastian has been doing with these catalogues is sexual in nature. But regardless of how uncomfortable it would make him, he's willing to participate, because he loves his fiancé. He'd do anything to make him happy.
Fuck!
Sebastian drops his head back on his shoulders, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating his existence. He didn't hide those catalogues well. They weren't in a lock box or anything. But that was, in part, because Kurt doesn't snoop through Sebastian's spaces – not the way Sebastian has snooped through Kurt's in the past. Sebastian's single chore around the penthouse is making the bed, so he never thought Kurt would find them. If the two of them hadn't been racing to get stuff put together for their honeymoon, Kurt might never have.
That was arrogance on Sebastian's part.
Now seems as good a time as any to come clean. He owes it to the man he's going to marry. He wants Kurt to know that he trusts him with his secrets – even the ones he doesn't particularly like owning up to.
"White lace," he mutters.
Kurt's head rises slowly. "Excuse me?"
"I have … what you might call … a fetish for white lace."
"So, lingerie turns you on?"
"Not exactly. Not this stuff. Not really. The stuff that would turn me on hasn't quite been invented yet. If there was such a thing as masculine white lace lingerie, something full-body …"
The corner of Kurt's mouth twitches from the first thing that pops to mind. "Like … a romper?"
"No, but you get the idea. If I could find something sort of like that but more my style, then yes, that would very much turn me on. Those catalogues" – He motions to them, but he still can't look at them, not while Kurt is holding them – "are what I consider a Band-Aid solution."
Kurt watches his fiancé, head bowed, cowed by his own discomfort. "Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Because I didn't want to, alright? I didn't want to admit to this and have you make fun of me. Or … or worse."
The stutter in Sebastian's voice makes Kurt's eyebrow inch up. "What's worse than that?"
Sebastian peeks up. It seems difficult for him to do, but he looks Kurt in the eyes as he admits: "I didn't want you to think that I had this fetish because, on some level, I wanted to emasculate you. I know I've made jokes before, jokes that I'd meant to hurt you … called you a princess, said you had a case of the gay face … but I'm not that person anymore. And I didn't want you to think that …" Sebastian shakes his head, apparently not too keen on saying whatever had entered it. "It's not a you-specific fetish. It's a me-specific fetish, something I've been into long before you and I ever met." Kurt is stunned by that. They'd met when Kurt was a senior in high school and Sebastian a junior. How far back does this fetish go? He's dying to ask, but he doesn't have the heart to interrogate his fiancé right now. "Unfortunately, it's not something I can do anything about, so …" He takes the catalogues from Kurt's hand, turns to a nearby trash can, and drops them in "… just forget it. Okay?"
Sebastian kisses Kurt on the forehead and walks away, returning to the bedroom to finish up the packing now that all was said and done.
"Yeah," Kurt says, sadly watching his fiancé leave. "Okay."
"So," Kurt mumbles into an urgent press of lips, attempting to talk to his husband with Sebastian's mouth glued to his. "How did you (mmph) like the (mmm) ceremony?"
"It was a gorgeous means to an end," Sebastian answers quickly, unwilling to detach from his husband's face to add anything more.
"Wha-what does that mean?" Kurt asks, offended seeing as he planned their whole wedding, every last detail from the color of the flowers to the subtle silver star pattern on the table runners. Sebastian only had two roles in their union – to sign his portion of the checks and to show up.
Sebastian also planned their honeymoon, however, which Kurt had to admit – with the moon over the Pacific streaming through the open patio windows of their room overlooking Waikiki – was going spectacularly so far.
"It means that, as far as I'm concerned, you could have filled the Loeb Boathouse with scary clowns and served us moth-ridden food on filthy plates – as long as I get you in the end, I couldn't really care less." Sebastian pulls away from Kurt's rigid lips and gazes into his angry blue eyes. "But it was beautiful," he says, running his fingers through Kurt's hair (now that Kurt is finally letting Sebastian touch it). "Exceptional. Exquisite, just like everything you do. Thank you for all of the hard work you put into making it special. I'll never forget it."
"You're welcome," Kurt says, biting back a bashful grin. "But I'm not done yet."
"Of course not. This is the first night of our week-long honeymoon. The both of us have a lot of work to do. Hard, hard work." Sebastian growls, rutting his erection against Kurt's crotch. He plants a hand on Kurt's ass, making to pick him up and carry him to the bed, but Kurt backs up, squirming out of his grasp. He grabs his carry-on bag and heads for the bathroom.
"What-where are you going?" Sebastian pouts.
"I have a surprise for you," Kurt sings, slinking seductively into the bathroom and sliding the door shut behind him, a wave of his fingers the last thing he lets Sebastian see of him.
Sebastian follows after the door shuts. He puts an ear to the wood, hoping to get a clue as to what Kurt is doing. "What kind of surprise?"
"I can't tell you" – Kurt laughs deviously – "but it requires a costume change."
Sebastian blows out a breath in frustration. Come on, Kurt! he whines in his head. I just wanna fuck! Kurt always did have a flair for the dramatic, setting the scene in everything from breakfast to blowjobs. Which is why their wedding was so incredible … and why it went off without a hitch. Kurt had prepared for every possible disaster. When one of the grooms-maids became nauseous, he had a bottle of Pepto Bismol at the ready. When Sebastian's best man tore the seam of his trousers, Kurt came to the rescue with a needle and thread. And when the tulip arrangement in the foyer began to wilt from the unseasonable cold, there he was with a hair dryer set on low, painstakingly thawing out their delicate petals. That's one of the reasons why Sebastian loves Kurt. Maybe his attention to detail can wear on the nerves a bit, especially when it's delaying their honeymoon, but it's proof of how much Kurt cares about everything he does.
And he obviously cares about this if he brought a special outfit for the occasion.
But couldn't Kurt save it for their second time around? Or their third?
"Why go through the trouble of getting dressed up when I'm just going to get you undressed again? Possibly in a violent manner?"
"Because I made this myself. And I don't think you're going to want to rip it. At least, I'm hoping you won't."
"Well … maybe I could help you put it on?" Sebastian asks, curiosity eating away at him, making him so infinitely hard he's about to blow from the coquettish lilt in Kurt's voice alone.
"Nice try. But no. Now, be patient. We have the whole night ahead of us."
"Not if you're going to spend most of it in the bathroom," Sebastian grumbles, returning to the bed to sit and wait. Along the way, he undresses, leaving a trail of clothes behind him – shoes, slacks, shirt, jacket – because he knows it'll irk Kurt to see his designer clothes strewn all over the floor. A minute later, he picks them up, realizing how immature he's acting when all Kurt wants is to do something nice for him. Who knows? Maybe he's getting dressed in that slinky black cat outfit he wore for Halloween two years back, the one Sebastian couldn't keep his hands off of, fucking him on the living room floor while kids from their building knocked down their door for candy. Kurt could be planning some roleplay – him as the rare, exotic jungle cat, alone out here in paradise, and Sebastian, the rugged hunter who traps and tames him.
Sebastian's cock throbs in his boxer briefs so emphatically at the thought, he nearly sees stars.
It's then that he hears the bathroom door open. He sits forward, hands clutching the edge of the mattress with white-knuckled excitement, an eager smile on his face while he waits for his tempter to appear.
And appear he does … dressed in the fluffiest, full-coverage, oversized white robe he owns. A robe so big, it must have taken up the entirety of his carry-on.
From the direction of Sebastian's cock, engorged in anticipation, he swears he hears the poor thing weep.
"A robe, Kurt?" Sebastian gets up, struggling to stand straight with his cock wedged between the waistband of his underwear and his body. "That's what you've got for me?"
Kurt doesn't answer. He pops the collar and sashays forward, undeterred by his husband's disappointment.
"You've really lowered the bar this time, babe. Plus, I know for a fact you didn't make this." He doesn't bother untying the belt keeping the robe closed, but sneaks his hands between the folds. "You bought it during that Black Friday sale at Nord-" He stops when his fingers brush the fabric underneath. His eyes widen as he fumbles to pull apart the lapels and see for himself. When he catches the first glimpse of it, he swallows hard. He can't believe his eyes. "You're … you're making fun of me," he gasps, fingers reaching with reverent slowness towards the white stretch lace clinging to his new husband's body.
"No, I'm not." Kurt undoes the belt the rest of the way and lets the robe slide down his arms. What he's wearing isn't lingerie in the traditional sense, and definitely not a romper. It's a long-sleeve unitard that hugs Kurt's body as closely as his own skin. The pattern of the lace reveals his form in an erotic, peekaboo fashion, filigrees positioned in such a way as to conceal his nipples and most of his crotch, but giving Sebastian visual access to the freckles sprinkled across his chest and along his hips …
… making him savvy to the fact that his husband had managed to squeeze in a wax before their big day – everything from neck to nethers. "I'm yours. You and I have known each other for ages, we've loved each other for ages. If you want something, I want you to feel comfortable asking for it. I may not always agree, but I'm not going to judge you. Unless you're biting the heads off live chickens. Then we'll have to talk." Kurt chuckles, nerves getting to him since Sebastian hasn't spoken, hasn't blinked, hasn't breathed in the past five minutes. "Is it close to what you were thinking? In the ballpark, at least?"
That question brings Sebastian back, certifies that the sexiest thing he has ever laid eyes on isn't a daydream this time, but his flesh and blood husband, who's given him the greatest wedding gift he could ever ask for. "Kurt … it's better than anything I could have ever dreamed. Jesus H. Baloney and Christ! What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"I have a list, but I don't think it's anywhere near as long as it should be," Kurt teases, slipping into his husband's arms, "yet. So, make love to me, you kinky bastard. And if you're a good boy, we'll start calling things even."
Sebastian grins, glancing down Kurt's body as he presses against him, every luscious inch of that lace connecting every fantasy he's ever had of bedding Kurt in wedding white. "How can I possibly say no to that?"