Confit de canard
Boeuf bourguignon
Tartiflette
Aligot
Pansette de Gerzat
Far Breton
The order Kurt places has enough rendered pig fat and cream in each dish to give a full-grown water buffalo a heart attack. Normally Kurt would shy away from rich, calorie-laden foods, but when a once in a lifetime opportunity presents itself, you grab it with both hands and you don't let little things like waist lines and cholesterol levels get in your way.
You hold on tight and you don't let go.
This is a lesson Kurt has learned recently.
Usually he might be concerned with the idea of the people around him watching him and thinking he's a glutton, but right now he couldn't care less. He isn't going to allow anything or anybody to minimize his enjoyment of his first ever real vacation.
It has always been his dream to travel to Mont Blanc and stay at the magnificent Hotel Liberty in St. Gervais, to take his morning coffee on a patio with a view of the Alps at sunrise, to learn how to ski, to eat decadent meals prepared by world famous chefs, to stay in a hotel room larger than his apartment back home in New York, to live the life of a rich socialite…and he is, even though in reality he's spending every cent he has - his entire life savings.
It would have been nice to have someone else to share this experience with, but love doesn't seem to be in the stars for Kurt Hummel.
Kurt opens the recent issue of Vogue Paris and starts to read the featured article about popular vacation locations to enjoy with children. The picture in the forefront is of a young girl with long golden hair braided down her back. She's dressed in a stylish white blouse –the fabric light and flowing, the soft, ruffled collar falling loosely around her neck. She stands beneath a lacy white parasol that is shading her pale but freckled skin, and inquisitive blue eyes gaze at a point somewhere off camera. The girl looks strikingly like his mom from old pictures of her as a child that his dad once showed him. He can't stop looking at her, but he can't stand looking at her either. The image grabs at his heart and squeezes tight. He swallows hard to dislodge the lump in his throat and turns the page, scolding himself for being anything but blissfully happy.
That is the rule – to always be blissfully happy. Do not squander a second on any other lesser emotion.
Unfortunately, this isn't the first time since he's arrived in France that he's broken that rule.
"Hello, darling. Have you been waiting for me long?"
A mysterious man in a black Armani suit sits in the seat beside him. He takes Kurt's hand and kisses it, looking at him intently with unfamiliar grass-green eyes.
Gorgeous green eyes, Kurt has to admit, but Kurt still grabs his hand away, the pages of his magazine turning on their own when he releases his grip.
"Excuse me?" Kurt asks, staring at the man who seems to have mistaken him for someone else. "Can I help you?"
"Actually, you can," he says, pulling his chair closer to Kurt's, giving Kurt no means of escape other than to lean his body away. "There's a man following me. He just walked in - short brown hair, brown eyes, wearing gray slacks and an aubergine shirt. Do you see him?"
Kurt rolls his eyes but looks over the stranger's shoulder, and indeed there stands at the entrance a man with brown hair and brown eyes wearing those exact same clothes.
"Why is he following you?" Kurt asks coolly, trying to return to his magazine.
"Because we hooked up last night and now he thinks he owns me," the man whispers unapologetically. The man's candor startles Kurt but he tries not to show it.
"How can I help?" Kurt asks, but his tone doesn't hide that he is thoroughly unconcerned with the man's dilemma as he turns to the next page in his magazine.
"I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend."
Kurt's eyes flick up to look at the man, this time not caring if he looks surprised or not.
"Absolutely not," Kurt objects.
"Please?" the man pleads. "If I have to spend one more night pity-fucking this guy, I'm going to throw myself off the mountain."
"Don't do that," Kurt says offhandedly. "That would be a waste of a fine suit."
The man sighs and Kurt peeks over his shoulder again at the man searching the dining room. Kurt smiles at what he sees.
"So, would that be just him you'd have to pity-fuck, or him and his wife?" Kurt asks, watching as the man is joined by a beautiful blonde wearing a vintage Gucci dinner dress.
The stranger scoffs without turning around.
"Probably his beard," he replies confidently.
Kurt looks again and this time he laughs out loud.
"So then how do you explain the six-year-old?"
The man's eyes widen. He throws a look over his shoulder at the couple and their little girl getting a table on the other side of the restaurant.
"Shit," the man mutters, turning back to Kurt with a wolfish smile on his face, raising his hands in defeat and shrugging.
"You caught me," he sighs. "Okay, I'll admit it. I'm not hiding from anyone. I saw you sitting here alone and I wanted to meet you."
"Ahhh," Kurt says, but indulges in a better look at the handsome interloper seated beside him. The green eyes, dark and shimmering with the reflection of his smile, seem much more honest now, but his grin still carries a hint of mischief in it.
"Sebastian Smythe," the man says, offering Kurt his hand as well as his name. Kurt looks at the hand and arm extended his way - perfectly manicured fingernails, a gold Rolex on his wrist, and Harry Winston Ocean cuff links all scream rich, pretentious, and high maintenance.
Kurt stares at him, lips pressed together. He raises a challenging eyebrow at this enigmatic man.
"Come on," Sebastian begs, inching closer, "won't you at least tell me your name?"
Kurt narrows his eyes at Sebastian, trying to calculate the risk of letting this man into his private bubble, even if only an inch. Kurt doesn't know exactly what Sebastian's true intentions are, but he seems relatively harmless. Kurt has spent too much time playing things safe. The dreams he didn't pursue, the plans he had made and backed out on, they all lie behind him in a trail of the things his life should have been. He can't keep giving in to fear – not anymore. He decides to take a chance. Besides, dating this guy is definitely not an option, all things considered, so why not at least give him a name?
"Kurt," he says, taking Sebastian's hand and giving it a firm shake. "Kurt Hummel."
"Well, Kurt Hummel, can I invite you to…"
The kitchen doors bang open, cutting into Sebastian's sentence, and a small garrison of waiters with carts wheel into the dining room, heading straight for Kurt's table. Kurt's face grows unnaturally hot, but he fights the sudden onrush of color away as best he can. Dish after dish is piled onto his table, garnering the attention of every person in the restaurant – customers, wait staff, and all.
"I…I'm sorry," Sebastian says, his smirk dissolving, "I didn't know you were already here with someone…or possibly your family…friends…maybe even everyone you've ever met. I'll…"
Sebastian stands from his seat, but Kurt reaches out and grabs his arm.
"Would you like to join me for dinner? As you can see, I may have over ordered a tad," Kurt says, trying to deflect a little of his own embarrassment through humor. Sebastian watches as the last waiter gives up trying to find an empty space to put any more dishes and leaves his cart beside Kurt's table, then shuffles quickly away. The eyes of the entire dining room are pinned on Kurt and his colossal meal.
"Sure," he says, sitting back down. "Why not? I haven't eaten in about three and a half weeks."
Kurt giggles, handing Sebastian a set of silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin.
"I don't stand on ceremony here," Kurt says. "Dig in."
Sebastian unwraps his silverware and looks back at Kurt curiously. Kurt's head is bowed, his hands folded in front of his face with his eyes closed, whispering something against his skin.
"Do you say grace before every meal?" Sebastian asks when Kurt opens his eyes.
Kurt's brow knits together at the question.
"No, I wasn't praying," Kurt says with a bitter tone.
"I'm sorry," Sebastian says. "I didn't mean to pry."
"It's alright." Kurt reaches for an empty plate and serves himself a portion of Cassoulet. "I don't believe in God."
"So, what were you…" Sebastian asks carefully, but Kurt interrupts.
"I was saying hi to my mom and dad," Kurt says with a shrug. "It's a thing I do on Fridays. It used to be tradition to eat Friday dinners together as a family. That way, no matter what happened during the week, we were guaranteed at least one night together."
Sebastian smiles as he reaches for an empty plate.
"That sounds nice," he says. "We didn't have anything like that in my house growing up." Sebastian looks at the dishes on the table, trying to decide between the baked Camembert or the Hachis Parmentier. Kurt watches Sebastian deliberate then makes the decision for him, scooping a generous portion of each onto his plate.
"Didn't you eat dinner with your parents?" Kurt asks. Sebastian puts his plate down in front of him, digging into the succulent meat with his fork.
"Not if my father could help it," he replies, putting the first bite into his mouth and letting it melt onto his tongue, closing his eyes and moaning. The sound immediately attracts Kurt's attention and his whole body turns toward it. "God, Kurt. You definitely know how to order a meal."
"W-well I ordered everything on the menu." Kurt stammers a second but recovers quickly. "I had more than a fair chance."
"That's another thing…" Sebastian opens his eyes and barely catches Kurt staring as Kurt swiftly switches his focus to his own food, "why the big meal?"
Kurt watches Sebastian devour another bite with the same favorable reaction – his eyes closing, his mouth moving slowly around the food, savoring every bite.
"I'm learning how to throw caution to the wind," Kurt explains when he can find voice enough to speak.
Sebastian opens his eyes at Kurt's answer and this time Kurt doesn't turn away. Sebastian's eyes twinkle in the light of the candles lit all around the room. His smile grows wider, more playfully mischievous.
"Then we're going to need some wine," Sebastian says, raising a hand to summon a waiter. "Some really good wine." He winks at Kurt's bemused expression. "Expensive wine, and I'm buying."
Sebastian and Kurt spend the night eating and drinking, but most of all talking - talking about their childhoods, about their jobs, about the schools they attended, the places they've traveled (though Sebastian's list is considerably longer than Kurt's), their favorite pets, where they want to retire. After only about a tenth of the food is eaten and a bottle of Chateau Latour 1955 polished off, Kurt is certain – absolutely and undeniably certain – that he's falling in love. Not simply infatuation or lust - though both of those emotions could easily abound around a man like Sebastian - but honest to goodness, picking out China patterns and wondering what their children will look like, love.
The night starts to come to a close and Kurt hasn't even begun to exhaust all the ways in which he wants to know Sebastian. So many questions come up after another one gets answered. He's such an interesting man, an exciting man, and Kurt is overwhelmed by him. But it's getting late. The restaurant is empty and the maître de has been hovering in the doorway for hours waiting for Kurt and Sebastian to call it a night. The conversation wanes, and Kurt can tell by the look in Sebastian's eye that he's hoping for more, but Kurt isn't ready, regardless of his epiphany.
Sebastian can feel Kurt's apprehension and he doesn't want to ruin a perfect evening by forcing Kurt to come up with a way to let him down easy. He takes Kurt's hand, holding it in both of his, and rubs his thumb over Kurt's knuckles.
"What are you doing for breakfast tomorrow?" Sebastian asks.
"Don't you mean today?" Kurt jokes. Sebastian chuckles, shaking his head.
"Okay, Captain Specific," Sebastian teases, "what are you doing in, say, four or five hours?"
"What did you have in mind?" Kurt asks, trying his hand at flirting, wincing internally at how rusty he's become over the years.
"Well, I figured we could order absolutely everything on the menu again, my treat, but let's eat it on my private patio. I have an incredible view. It's definitely worth looking at, especially at sunrise."
Sebastian chews on his inner cheek as Kurt considers, watching Kurt's mind working through the clear blue of his eyes. Kurt bounces his head back and forth, prolonging Sebastian's torture of waiting for an answer.
"Alright," Kurt says. "I'll have breakfast with you."
"Great," Sebastian says, squeezing Kurt's hand gently. Sebastian is torn between pulling Kurt closer and kissing him, or maybe just giving him a hug. In the end, he lifts Kurt's hand to his mouth and kisses it, letting his lips linger against the soft skin, breathing in deep, reluctant to let go.
Kurt gasps softly at the delicate press of Sebastian's lips against his skin, absorbing it into every nerve. It bounces around his body until it settles in his heart, causing the suffering thing to race, pounding in his rib cage like a tribal drum.
It takes Sebastian three tries to convince himself to stand from his chair and back away, holding Kurt's hand until the last possible second when Kurt's fingers slip from his grasp. Sebastian's smile is muted and tired, but it excites Kurt with its warmth and promise.
"I'm in 23," Sebastian says.
"23," Kurt repeats, not mentioning that Sebastian's room is not that far from his own – though that's probably not difficult in a hotel with only 25 rooms.
Kurt watches Sebastian walk away, bouncing in his seat and grinning at the thought of seeing him again in only a few hours. How is he going to get to sleep? He won't. It's impossible.
While the waiters pack up his food and send it ahead to his room, he daydreams of the possibilities. Sebastian mentioned during their conversation over dinner that he works in New York. If things work out between them, their vacation romance (if it turns into that) doesn't necessarily have to end with this trip. They could go home and date and fall in love and be a real couple.
Kurt looks at the plates spread out around him, the copy of Vogue Paris forgotten on the empty chair to the other side of him, the photograph of the beautiful little girl staring off into nowhere. All too quickly reality crashes in on him, and everything around him becomes a painful blur.
Kurt never put much weight on the idea of 'love at first sight'. He was sure after everything he'd been through that it didn't exist for him, and as depressing as the concept of never finding your one true love seems, he would be happier right now if he hadn't found a man who could possibly fit the bill…
…because how do you tell someone you can realistically see spending the rest of your life with that you don't have much time left to live?