Kurt's POV:

I was in full on panic mode as I wiped the sweat and glitter off my shoulders with a damp wash cloth. I just wanted to get out of here. I threw on a t-shirt and grabbed my phone and wallet. I would worry about peeling myself out of these leather pants after I was home. This was New York after all, it isn't like I would get weird looks on the subway. I shoved my tips away into my inside jacket pocket. I would usually count them now but they could wait till I got home. The hundred that he'd given me was sitting on my desk by my mask, mocking me. Why would he give me that? Was he that rich that he could just afford to give hundreds to strippers? I wouldn't be surprised. But why me? I thought he hated me. Was he making fun of me? Surely he recognized me even with my mask. Was he waiting for me outside the club, ready to pounce and mock me into shame?

A knock on my dressing room door snapped me out of my thoughts. I grabbed the hundred and answered the door, crumpling it in my hand. It was my boss. I sighed.

"I was just about to head out, Johnny." I informed him. He nodded looking slightly sheepish.

"I know, I know," He responded, "But I just wanted to run something by you." I frowned.

"You know I don't do privates, Johnny. We agreed on this when you realized that I brought the most revenue." He nodded. Johnny was eternally grateful that I was poor as shit. He repaid me for it by letting me skip out on the lap dances. I didn't get a thrill from rubbing up against some sweaty, probably in the closet, twink-kink, businessman.

"I know and I would never force you, Kurt. I know better than that. I just thought I should let you know that some guy is offering seven hundred for a session. That's a lot." I stared at him as I tried to wrap my head around that number.

"Seven hundred? For one dance?" That was a lot. Like, a lot. Even after the club took away a fourth of it. That was food for a month.

"One dance." Johnny confirmed and I bit my lip. Crap. I was going to agree to this, wasn't I? I knew it was him. It had to be him.

"Who is it?" I asked anyway.

"He didn't give a name. Said instead to tell you that 'the Meerkat sends his regards'. Whatever the fuck that means." I groaned.

"Trust me, I know what it means." I rubbed my eyes in frustration. I guess I would have to face him eventually. I might as well get paid for it.

"Kurt? I can tell the guy to fuck off."

"No, it's alright. Tell him I've accepted and get the cash. I'm going to get ready. Let me know the room number." I responded and then shut the door. The first thing I did was reapply my foundation that I had sweated off. Then I picked out a black mesh top and tugged it on. Lastly I reapplied my hairspray and my mask. I decided that I looked good enough for Sebastian. He didn't get eyeliner or lip gloss. He certainly didn't get body glitter.

"Room three." Johnny was waiting for me outside the door.

"Thanks."

"He paid up front. I'll leave it on your desk for you."

"Thanks." I repeated and headed there. I wasn't going to pause to think about what I was about to do because, if I did, then I wouldn't be able to open that door. I just reminded myself that I was getting paid seven hundred dollars to hopefully wipe that eternal smug-look off his face. I rolled the kinks out of my neck and swung it open.

"Princess." Sebastian greeted me calmly. He was reclining on the white couch. I never understood why they chose white in a place like this. I wondered how many stains were on it and barely suppressed a shudder.

I didn't respond to Sebastian's jibe and instead looked him up and down. He hadn't changed much, merely gotten older. It'd really only been two years at the most since we'd seen each other last. He looked just as smug as ever and, as much as I didn't want to admit it, just as handsome. He was wearing a dark navy button down and distressed skinny jeans with converse.

"At least your fashion sense has improved." I commented with a raised eyebrow. Sebastian smirked at me.

"I could say the same." I crossed my arms, subconsciously trying to cover my chest.

"Why are you here, Sebastian?"

"Why are you? Your boss told me that you didn't do private sessions." I shrugged.

"Money talks. I needed the cash and I'm not dumb enough to pass up seven hundred. You do realize you've given me eight hundred dollars today, right?"

"It was worth it." I raised an eyebrow.

"Man, you must really want a lap dance." He laughed. It sounded genuine enough.

"You gunna make it worth my while?" He challenged. Smarmy prick. He knew just how to push my buttons. That much had not changed. .

I turned to the sound system set up and scrolled through the iPod that was hooked up. I scrolled to Lady Gaga and settled on "Glitter and Grease". I put it on repeat. It had a good beat and the lyrics were repetitive without being annoying or distracting. It also pretty much fell into my theme, or maybe just my personality. I took a fortifying breath before turning slowly and seductively back towards my victim. He looked entirely too smug. I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. I stalked towards him and didn't miss the way he checked me out, scanning his eyes up and down my body. Two years ago I would have blushed, but that lack of confidence in my body was long gone. I was hot and I knew it, and I was going to take him apart. I started by pressing his shoulders back, hard, against the couch back and straddling him. He immediately placed his hands on my thighs and rubbed against the leather.

"You look good, Hummel." He purred.

"Appearance is half of my pay," I responded, "The other half is the performance." I teased as I grinded down on his lap. He was alreadyhard. I raised an eyebrow. He smiled.

"You do it well, babe." He praised unabashedly. I ran my hands down his chest and scrapped my nails against his shirt.

"Thanks, babe." I parroted the term of endearment back with a smirk.

"I mean it. You look hot. Not sure about the persona though. The Raven? Are you like a writing desk, Kurtsie?" He teased. I laughed.

"It's actually a reference to my inherent elegance, thank you very much. And you are entirely too coherent. I must not be doing my job very well." I stated as I threaded a hand into his obnoxiously long hair and tugged it back. He groaned and squeezed my thighs, pressing my lap against his tighter. I sucked in a breath, an almost gasp, at the pressure. Sebastian Smythe felt entirely too good pressed against me.

"To be honest, I would have let you keep the cash either way." He admitted casually. I pulled back a bit to stare at him, startled and confused.

"Really? Why? What's in it for you?" I asked, suspicious of his motives. He shrugged.

"Figured you deserved it. Been through a lot of shit."

I stared at him as I tried to figure out what he meant. His expression didn't give anything away. I knew that he was aware of Finn. He's still be in Ohio when the funeral had taken place. I thought I remembered him showing up and hovering in the back with the other Warblers. Did he know about my dad's cancer bills that he was struggling to pay ever since he hadn't been reelected? That I was working two full time jobs while studying at one of the toughest schools for dramatic arts? That I'd stopped talking to Blaine and Rachel almost completely since taking this job, only still keeping in contact with Santana on a regular basis since she was the only one who didn't judge me for this? Did he know that I lived off mac and cheese and peanut butter because half my paycheck went back to my family to keep the tire shop running? Did he know that I didn't have time to date and that my last relationship had blown up and ended in a screaming match? Did he know that my only company was the stray cat that had climbed in from my fire escape out of the rain one night and that sometimes I cried myself to sleep?

"I-" I tried to respond but ended up choking off thickly. Fucking, Sebastian Smythe was here like the god damn ghost of Christmas past to make me feel like shit. I wanted to hate him like I used to but I couldn't for some reason. I wanted to slap him across the face.

"Shit, Kurt," He frowned at me, "Don't cry. I didn't mean to do that. Shit." Was I crying? I shook my head and shut my eyes. I never cried at work. I buried my hands in his shirt and felt him run his hands up my back. He was trying to calm me but this unexpected sympathy from someone who had previously caused me nothing but torment served to make the tears come faster.

"Shut up," I complained through the tears, "You're making it worse. Stop being so fucking nice!"

I smacked his chest and let my head fall on to his shoulder, my body slumping in defeat, sobbing. I felt him reach up behind my head and slip his fingers under my mask. I stiffened immediately, going into defensive mode.

"Let go, babe," He whispered, confident as ever, "I've got you. Let it go." I found myself nodding in acceptance and he slipped it off. My last layer of protection was gone. I felt naked. My carefully constructed world crashed down around me and I was left with nothing but my fragile skin as a barrier to everything else. I don't know how long we stayed like that, me perched on his lap, sniffling into his shirt, with that damn song playing in the background. Fucking asshole took me apart instead.