Written as a gift for the amazing Freakingpotter on Tumblr. Warning for D/s elements, flogging, oral, angst, anxiety. FutureFic, AU. Semi song fic - the title is a twist on "Happy to Keep His Dinner Warm" and quotes the song "All of Me" by John Legend.
Kurt stares at the mock-up for next month's issue of Vogue until his eyes begin to cross. Time steadily passes on, but he's stuck. He grumbles to no one. He runs a hand through his hair over and over. He grabs and pulls, not flinching when he yanks a couple of strands free from his scalp. He did it on purpose, hoping that the pain might ground him, snap him out of his funk, but it didn't work.
At this rate, he'll be burning himself with lit cigarettes soon just to make what he's looking at seem less painful by comparison.
Kurt had been out of the office for only three days. Three days! And he came back to a huge, fucking mess. Who the hell does Vogue have on the payroll? Don't these people have actual degrees? They went to school to do this shit and they can't even follow the simplest directions. He had outlined the centerfold for them word for word, layout by layout. But what he's looking at is a disjointed, amateurish, inexcusable disaster. He's going to have to fix it personally – tear it apart and build it back up from the beginning … and he only has one day.
It's not that he can't fix it. He prides himself on his ability to extinguish multiple fires at once, and with zero time to spare. That's why Isabelle chose him as her successor. But at this stage in the game, he shouldn't have to. He should be able to rely on his team to do their fucking jobs while he goes on assignment for three days.
Kurt checks his phone for the time.
7:13 p.m.
He's already two hours and thirteen minutes late getting home.
Fuck!
He's going to have to tell Sebastian not to wait up.
He picks up his phone and unlocks the screen. He stares at it, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Kurt swore when he accepted this promotion that he wasn't going to allow it to eat into his personal time with his husband. Yet here he was, stuck in his office after everyone else on his team had gone home, two hours and thirteen minutes of his non-Vogue life wasted at Vogue.
The numbers on the display wink at him as they change.
7:14 p.m.
Now he's two hours and fourteen minutes late.
He slams his phone down on his desk and looks up at the ceiling, running his fingertips down his face and blinking into the halogen lights. He needs to do something other than sit at his desk and seethe, especially if he's going to work in an office surrounded by incompetent dick wads.
He needs to get out.
He opens a text screen and sends a simple message to the very first number on his call list.
I need you.
When Kurt arrives at his penthouse, the living room is dark. And quiet. No music, no television, no conversation. Noise from the crowded street below can't be heard through the soundproof glass at this distance. Light from outside the floor to ceiling windows brightens the room, but with its walnut hardwood floors and its earth painted walls, the soft glow doesn't illuminate it. He can see clearly only a single segment of floor and one leather armchair. That's fine, because the only other thing he needs in the room is kneeling in the center, naked, with his head bowed, arms hanging at his sides, a leather flogger lying on a towel in front of him.
Kurt smiles.
He got the message.
Kurt walks into the living room, locking the front door behind him. He drops his messenger bag and loosens his tie.
"Gorgeous," Kurt comments. "Simply stunning."
Sebastian Smythe on his knees is a rare and beautiful sight, so Kurt takes a moment to savor it.
Kurt walks past his husband, the heels of his Oxfords clicking softly on the floor, but Sebastian remains motionless. He doesn't react to the sound of Kurt's approach, he doesn't move without permission.
Kurt walks straight to the armchair and sits down.
"Come here, pet," Kurt commands, propping his elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his head in his hand in a pose of deliberate nonchalance. "And bring the flogger."
Kurt watches through half-lidded eyes as Sebastian leans down low on all fours to grab the handle of the flogger in his teeth, and then crawls to his Master, eyes glued to the floor. He stops at Kurt's feet and tilts up his chin, offering Kurt the flogger, waiting patiently for Kurt to take it.
Kurt doesn't right away. He looks down the lines of his husband's muscular back, his smooth skin, the sprinkle of umber freckles forming constellations across his spine. That's what his husband is to Kurt – his universe, a galaxy to be explored, to get lost in. Sebastian is the one thing in Kurt's life that makes Kurt feel at home in New York – not the job at Vogue that he's always wanted, not the money he's accrued that he thought would make life easier.
Just Sebastian, and these quiet moments together.
"Undo my pants, pet," Kurt says, hiding the tiny thrill that this command sends through him. "You know what I want."
Sebastian kneels high with the flogger clenched between his teeth to tackle the button and zip of Kurt's slacks. He obeys without a grunt, without a sneer, without an attempt at the sarcastic comebacks he's still so famous for. It makes Kurt harder than hell to see Sebastian like this. As Sebastian slips the button through its hole and slowly lowers the zip, Kurt lets Sebastian's barbs from the past scroll through his brain – the quips, the insults, the derogatory nicknames.
Even though they've worked past those and come out the other side a powerful couple hopelessly in love, remembering what a prick Sebastian used to be less than a decade ago makes seeing him on his knees this way that much more satisfying.
It's a guilty pleasure, but it's not a secret. Sebastian asked Kurt once what he thinks about when he sees him on his knees, and Kurt answered honestly. He had nothing to hide. Sebastian accepted it, revealing, with a wicked grin, that after they have a fight, he masturbates on Kurt's side of the bed while dreaming about shredding every one of Kurt's McQueen scarves.
That's when Kurt knew they were okay, that they would always be okay.
Sebastian may have matured, but in Kurt's eyes, he hasn't changed. He's timeless – the same handsome, strong, formidable young man he's always been, with a broader chest, a softer smile, and a sharper angle to his determined chin.
Sebastian opens Kurt's pants and pulls his briefs down below his cock and balls. Kurt watches Sebastian's every move, a shiver dashing over his skin when the cool air and Sebastian's warm breath hits it. Sebastian notices, but he doesn't outwardly show his pleasure at this reaction, returning to his position on his hands and knees, waiting for Kurt's next command.
Kurt puts out a hand and gestures for the flogger.
"Give, pet," he says. Without hesitation, Sebastian places the flogger in Kurt's open palm, careful not to let it tumble and fall to the floor. Kurt lets the flogger balance a second, wondering if he should just let it drop and make his husband pick it up again … but he doesn't. That wouldn't be fair. Not when Sebastian is being so good.
Kurt closes his fingers around the handle and weighs it in his hand. The flogger is one of Kurt's own designs, the handle made of wood wrapped in black leather, with nine, red-dyed moose hide tails dangling from the end. Kurt grips it tight until the handle in his grasp groans from the pressure. He brings up his other hand and runs his fingers through the tails, carding gently like he would his husband's hair if they were lying in bed in one another's arms, kissing gently, pulling comfort from each other.
That's what they would be doing on any other night.
But that's not what Kurt needs right now.
This flogger, his husband's body, Sebastian's talented mouth – that's what Kurt needs.
Kurt hears Sebastian's breathing speed as he waits on the hard floor. Kurt loves this part, when the anticipation finally hits his pet. Kurt makes a meal of dragging it out, giving Sebastian's mind time to wander, let him imagine what comes next and fight his body's response to it, struggling to keep himself from getting hard, from whimpering with need.
The smile returns to Kurt's face, the one that had been ripped away earlier by work and stress and life outside of this haven he and Sebastian have created.
Kurt has been waiting over an hour for this. He doesn't want to wait any longer.
"Suck, pet," Kurt commands.
Sebastian exhales, preparing to take Kurt in his mouth, an act he performs with relish. Kurt slides down farther in his chair to meet Sebastian rising up on his knees to sink his head over Kurt's crotch. There's a routine to this, something that they've rehearsed, a technique that Kurt prefers.
Sebastian raises his eyes to meet Kurt's. This one time, he has permission. Sebastian's eyes, dark with desire, lock on to Kurt's steely blue-greys. Sebastian sticks out his tongue and licks at Kurt's head, lapping around the ridge and then up over the slit. Kurt hums, his lips pressed tight together, not willing to give his husband too much praise too quickly. Sebastian lowers his gaze. He licks with the flat of his tongue from base to tip, circling around again when he reaches the top.
Kurt's lips part and he gasps loudly. He can't help it. Sebastian's tongue on his cock is too decadent. He can't contain himself the way he should.
Sebastian gazes up at Kurt again with wide eyes, a hint of mischief tugging at the corners, then sinks down over Kurt's cock, his mouth adjusting to the fullness, his eyes watering, reacting like he did the first time, even after these many years together.
Sebastian knows Kurt is chomping at the bit for a taste of his heat, but he stops and swallows. Kurt growls, pulling the flogger back and striking Sebastian for stalling. Sebastian did it on purpose, to kick Kurt into gear, remind him that there's another person in this equation waiting for needs to be met.
Sebastian never knew that spanking was a kink for him until Kurt talked him into it. Sebastian is usually such a stubborn man.
He'll forever be glad that that one time, he wasn't.
Sebastian continues now that he's gotten what he wants, following the vein in Kurt's cock with his tongue, taking him to the base, burying his nose is his husband's curls.
"God," Kurt breathes, up and out, until the sound of his moan fills the room. He loves that Sebastian can take him like this; this deep. Sebastian holds him in his mouth, enveloping Kurt in his wet sheath. It's a sensation that fills Kurt's body, floods his mind, erases the complications and smooths out the rough patches. "Good, pet. That's … that's good. Keep going … faster …"
Sebastian sucks hard, pulling off Kurt's cock, and Kurt gives Sebastian another smack with the flogger, aiming the tails for his right ass cheek, which happens to be Sebastian's most sensitive. Sebastian sinks down quickly and sucks his way back up, pausing for a moment to swallow around him. Kurt resists bucking up so Sebastian can do all the work. He hits Sebastian again and again, spurring him on, signaling him to move faster, suck harder.
He gives Sebastian a smack that sends a sharp crack resonating through the air, and Sebastian stops sucking to moan.
Kurt groans in frustration and swats him harder.
Before Sebastian returns to his task, he glances up at Kurt and smirks. There's so much challenge in that one cocky grin.
That's Kurt's snarky husband.
Sebastian isn't a sub, has never identified as one, and BDSM play isn't really his thing. But Kurt has always been a Dom, and Sebastian loves his husband, all of him - his smart mouth, his curves, his edges, the way Kurt gives him his all every day.
The way Kurt takes care of him, how it's engrained in his nature.
Sebastian loves Kurt without fail, so this he'll do for Kurt whenever he needs.
Even though Sebastian practices emulating a sub's demeanor, he slips up every now and then. It can't be helped when his husband's 'o' face is so glorious, especially relaxed, that Dom persona itching beneath the surface to be set free.
But there are rules that they abide by, and neither one oversteps.
In that stolen glance, Sebastian sees a furrow in Kurt's brow that shouldn't be there, not when he's close to cumming, not when Sebastian can feel his husband's cock throb against his tongue, when he hears those sinful mewls he makes right before he climaxes. There's something there, tucked behind his desire to dominate Sebastian, something that's keeping Kurt from entering the Dom space that allows him to turn himself over to the power that comes from commanding his husband to suck his cock.
When Kurt cums in Sebastian's mouth, it's not with the abandon he usually shows, or the enthusiasm; the drawn-out moan that lowers Kurt's voice, nor the shuddering that affects Kurt's whole body and rattles the chair beneath him.
Kurt doesn't say anything when he pulls Sebastian up to kiss him, figuring Sebastian won't notice as long as he smiles, even if his smile doesn't touch his eyes.
"That was …" Kurt murmurs, capturing Sebastian's lips, "incredible, pet. As always."
"Thank you, Master," Sebastian answers slyly, but continuing to obey when Kurt pries his lips open with his tongue.
"So tell me" - Kurt speaks intermixed with kissing Sebastian slowly, lingering to sample his unique flavor on his husband's tongue - "what can I do for you?"
Sebastian pulls back. He takes a full and complete look at Kurt - barely undressed, pants undone, a disheveled mess.
A wreck in more ways than one.
His hair sticks out all over; the rims of his eyes red; his cheeks splotched.
Sebastian knows he's been pulling his hair out over something.
It's been a longer day than Kurt is telling him.
"How about you join me down here," Sebastian suggests, doing up the fly to Kurt's slacks. Kurt moves to the floor, but Sebastian pulls his husband into his lap.
"Wha-what are you doing?" Kurt asks as Sebastian folds him up in his arms.
"You asked me what you can do for me," Sebastian says, placing kisses on Kurt's forehead. "This is what you can do for me. You're going to sit here with me, you're going to let me hold you, and you're going to stop pretending that everything's okay."
Kurt wants to deny it. He wants to blow it away, dissolve it through that cathartic orgasm, but even with the amazing stress relief of using Sebastian's body, it weighs too heavily on his head.
Kurt opens his mouth to say, "I'm fine," but the words don't make it past his lips.
"Come on," Sebastian whispers, catching Kurt and rocking him when Kurt raises his hands to cover his face, "I've got you."
It takes nearly an hour for Kurt to cry out his frustration, and after he does, when there isn't a tear left and Kurt finally finds his voice again, Sebastian carries him to bed.
Kurt is a Dom. He's strong and confident, and well-skilled at keeping himself under control.
But sometimes he needs someone to take care of him, and that's why Sebastian will always be willing to wait on his knees when Kurt calls, till his husband gets home.