Lavender
-In the language of flowers, lavender flowers denote purity, silence, devotion and caution.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, princess," Sebastian teases, walking over to the trunk, flipping the latch, and pulling out a yellow scrap of fabric. Upon unfolding it, Kurt lets out a quiet sigh of relief when he finds that Sebastian is, in fact, holding a t-shirt, and is currently slipping it on over his shoulders.
Feeling slightly more relaxed, although still on edge, Kurt feels like a complete and total idiot when he mumbles "This is…an interesting idea for a first date."
Shrugging like he's heard this before (and Kurt's stomach lurches like it doesn't like that thought at all, not one bit), the other man shoots Kurt a half smile before plopping down beside him, curling his legs up under him in such a way that Kurt can just barely see where his shorts end and the muscles of his inner thighs begin.
He has to look away before the situation somehow becomes even more awkward.
"There's no point in trying to go after someone who can't accept you for everything you are," Sebastian nearly mumbles, eyes flickering like restless flames across the surprisingly clean carpet. "So I just get it all over with on the first run."
Suddenly losing just the barest hint of vulnerability, Sebastian looks back at Kurt with a grin so wide that Kurt can't help but to feel happy, himself. "Besides, I'm proud of what I do, so why wouldn't I want to show it off?"
Shaking his head, Kurt has to break eye contact before his heart pounds out of his chest and smacks his date right across the face.
"Well, as odd as this is, is this the part where we tell each other all about ourselves?"
"Sounds lovely," Sebastian muses, cocking his head to the side. "But I only have an hour with you, and even that took a lot of convincing. Besides, there are cameras in here, and they'll probably fire me if they don't see that I'm working."
Kurt's brain works sluggishly to catch up with what Sebastian's trying to say.
But before he can say anything, Sebastian is crawling to his knees, lips suddenly so impossibly close to Kurt's own mouth.
"They can't hear us," Sebastian continues, eyes watching the movement of his fingers as he runs them over Kurt's collarbone, lips twitching into an almost-smile when Kurt shivers and his cheeks flush red.
"W-why cameras?" Kurt stutters, biting his lip when Sebastian starts playing with the collar of his shirt.
Snorting, Sebastian rolls his eyes and, without so much as a warning, swings his leg over Kurt's lap, succeeding in straddling him completely.
Sebastian's body is warm, and he smells overwhelmingly of cinnamon and aftershave, like he cleaned himself up just for this.
"Customers aren't supposed to touch the strippers," Sebastian whispers, lips just barely brushing the shell of Kurt's ear. "Unless, of course, the stripper looks like they're enjoying it."
Kurt swears his brain short circuits when Sebastian grabs Kurt's hand and brings it to his chest, moving until their noses brush. Under the thin fabric of Sebastian's t-shirt, Kurt can feel the frantic, fluttering beat of his heart.
The sensation is maddening.
Surging forward in a desperate attempt to feel something other than distance, Kurt slams their mouths together with a strangled whimper that gets lost in the fight for dominance between their tongues.
It's a reckless, thoughtless move, but he doesn't let himself regret it. Especially not when Sebastian groans, the sound reverberating through his chest and scattering vibrations like sparks across Kurt's skin.
"Just for the record," Sebastian pants, pulling back to splatter small, lingering kisses against Kurt's neck and jaw. "I wasn't planning on bringing you in here for this reason. I even put on the shirt and everything—"
Kurt cuts him off with an even harder kiss, feeling the sensation like a bruise.
Hands moving seemingly of their own accord, Kurt finds himself with a handful of Sebastian's ass. In response, the other man's hips twitch, revealing his already fully hard erection. Kurt whines, struggling to somehow get closer.
Sebastian mumbles something unintelligible when Kurt pulls away, shoving Sebastian gently off of him only to craw on top of him, twining his fingers through the very same material that Sebastian had put on in an attempt to cool things down. "Kurt," he pants, gritting his teeth in a desperate attempt to keep his hips still. "You're gonna—"
Another kiss.
"Shit, are you sure—"
Kurt rocks his hips, eyes rolling back into his skull while he bites his lip to keep from screaming out. The friction is delicious, although not quite enough, but Kurt settles for keeping his jeans on when some quiet voice in the back of his head warns him not to go too fast on the first date.
"I really did want to get to know you," Sebastian whispers, rocking his hips upwards. Kurt bites his tongue.
Shaking his head, Kurt drops his head until their foreheads are pressed together. "There…there'll be time for that…some other time…I-I…ah!"
He doesn't notice the unsure flicker of emotion across Sebastian's features.
Instead, he is much too busy trying to keep himself put together. Coming too soon might make him look pathetic, but holding it in for too much longer might actually kill him.
Noticing this, Sebastian grinds his hips a little harder, grinning as he reaches up to cup Kurt's face between his hands. "You're close, aren't you?" The words are spoken roughly, with a little too much force behind every syllable.
"Ungh…S-Sebastian…"
"It's okay, Kurt, I've got you."
And, embarrassingly enough, that's all it takes.
It's ridiculous how hard he comes. White lights, rolling eyes, slack jaw, soundless scream—the whole shebang. Surely, no man has every come this hard during a simple game of frottage.
Before this can really sink in, however, Sebastian's eyes are slamming shut and his hips are jerking spastically. Unable to help himself, Kurt grins wickedly and reaches down between them, palming at the other man's impressively hard erection through his shorts.
Sebastian comes with a shout, slamming a palm over his mouth as he rocks up against Kurt one last time.
Kurt doesn't think he'll ever forget the way it felt to see Sebastian come for the first time, every fiber of his being torn apart by the mere touch of Kurt's body against his own. It was almost…well, almost beautiful.
God only knows how long they lay like that, bodies limp and breaths shallow. Kurt rests with his head on the side of the couch, eyes closed as he matches his breathing to the rhythm of the chest moving beneath his hands. Even through the t-shirt, Sebastian's body feels hot.
Kurt lets his body relax; lets exhaustion seep through his bones.
He lets himself forget where they are, who might be watching.
He sighs contentedly when Sebastian starts to draw small, simple circles against Kurt's thigh with the tip of his finger. The sensation is ticklish but nonetheless pleasant, like a dip in the hot tub after an hour in the pool.
"I don't think I've ever seen someone look so sexy while coming." Sebastian, as Kurt is slowly starting to figure out, has a habit of breaking the silence. Not to mention, everything he says is horribly blunt.
Cheeks staining the color of spilt wine, Kurt ducks his head, smiling despite himself. "I really do hope that's a compliment."
The gentle rumble of Sebastian's laughter makes Kurt's heart feel warm. "Well, it certainly isn't an insult."
Looking down at Sebastian's features, at the soft, lazy way his eyelashes fan shadows against his cheek bones, makes Kurt feel suddenly unsure, although pleased. It feels as if he's just crossed some massive line without even realizing it, the very infrastructure of his being changing along with the jump.
Atoms rearranging. Pulse pounding. Skin shifting across slipping bones.
In reality, however, he is just a boy sitting on top of another boy, heart beating a little too fast and breath coming out a little too quick.
Stretching his arms over his head, Sebastian sits up on his elbows, nearly knocking Kurt over. Pouting, Kurt tries to come off as bothered, but he only ends up in making Sebastian chuckle, which is hardly the desired effect.
"My underwear are ruined," Kurt whines, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he crawls off of Sebastian, landing on the couch with a barely contained shutter.
Feigning sadness, Sebastian frowns. "Aww, poor little princess. At least your boxers aren't the only things you're wearing."
Undeterred by Sebastian's genuine displeasure, Kurt snorts. Resting his head against the back of the couch, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, settling the last few erratic beats of his heart.
"So, you like flowers, huh?"
Laughing in disbelief, Kurt shakes his head. "Really? We just got off on each other, and the first thing you want to talk about afterwards is my job?"
Shrugging, like it's no big deal, Sebastian sits up a little straighter. "Well, you already know all about my job."
Ignoring the suddenly bitter taste in his mouth, Kurt tilts his head to look at the other man, fingers twitching in his lap. "And mine isn't anywhere near as interesting."
"Then why did you pick it?"
Kurt rolls his eyes.
"I mean, no offense, but your job seems a little boring for such a…well, different person."
"Again, I'm taking that like a compliment."
"Good, because I meant it as such."
"I just like flowers, is all. I mean, I had an exciting job when I was back in New York but—"
Perking up at the mention of the city, Sebastian sits up straight, balancing himself with his hands against the cushions. "Wait, you lived in New York? Why the hell did you leave?"
"My father died."
Sebastian's excitement dies like a flame in the wind. "Kurt, I-I'm so…"
"You don't have to apologize," Kurt rushes, unthinkingly resting his hand on Sebastian's ankle in an attempt to comfort him. "It's been four years since then, but by the time everything was ready for me to go back, it was too late to return to my job, and returning to school would have been pointless when it held no actual future for me."
Sebastian frowns. "What did you used to want your future to be?"
"Broadway."
Sebastian's mouth parts in surprise. "Damn, princess, you sure know how to throw a curveball."
For however long they remain there, Sebastian keeps up a quiet, imploring set of questions about Kurt's life. Hardly able to provide anything more than an answer, Kurt eventually gives up on tying to ask his own, conceding with the notion that Sebastian's enthusiasm is actually kind of adorable, if not entirely unexpected.
While learning about Kurt's job, age (23, whereas Sebastian is 25), and home life (an apartment just ten minutes away from the flower shop), Sebastian also offers up a few very vague bits of information about his own life.
He tells Kurt very briefly about his parents and how, despite their kindness, he left eagerly the moment he turned eighteen. They were constantly offering to pay his bills, as the Smythe family was seemingly anything but poor, but Sebastian found their efforts tiring and dull. Along with his parents, he also has a younger sister, whose name he doesn't divulge but who he gushes about happily, describing her as a successful business woman with a wonderful husband and a beautiful home out in Paris.
Kurt soaks it all in, forgetting the uncomfortable, drying stickiness in his pants as he listens intently, speaking only when he has to and taking every other opportunity to really hear what Sebastian has to say.
Although cocky and opinionated, Sebastian is smart and witty. He doesn't treat Kurt like an imbecile, which Kurt is appreciative of considering his most recent romantic conquests.
Being with Sebastian actually feels good.
This is why, when someone knocks on the door three times, signaling that their time together is drawing to a close, Kurt's hear sinks.
Sighing, Sebastian casts the door an annoyed glance.
"Has it really been an hour already?" Kurt wonders aloud, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Guess so, princess."
Standing up, Sebastian walks over to the trunk, pulling out a pair of gray sweatpants and tossing them at Kurt. He chuckles when Kurt looks unhappily down at them.
"Hey, it's better than waiting around in your own dried come, isn't it?"
Kurt blushes furiously.
"Get dressed, and then I'll have Santana come and take you home."
"What, no, I—"
"Don't worry, she doesn't bite."
Unable to protest, Kurt can only watch as Sebastian walks out of the room, bringing a new pair of boxers with him.
What the hell just happened?
-3-
Kurt is thankful that Santana doesn't ask any questions.
She looks fairly decent in a plain white t-shirt and cut-off shorts, clearly forcing a smile when he walks out into the hallway to meet her.
Kurt struggles to see around the packed club, desperate for just one last glance at his date, but Santana moves too quickly for him to get a good look.
They drive with the music blaring loudly, quieted only as they approach Kurt's apartment.
Pulling into the lot, she stops the car and shuts off the radio, sighing heavily as she glances at the balled up mess of denim clasped tight in his grip. "Did he even give you his number? Or tell you that he'd be seeing you again?"
Out of habit, Kurt goes to say yes, yes he did, only to stop himself when he realizes that no…no he did not…
His heart thumps painfully.
"Fuck him," Santana spits, slamming the heel of her palm against the steering wheel. "He's always doing this, leaving me to clean up his messes—"
"I'm not his mess," Kurt interrupts, unbuckling his seatbelt and flinging it backwards angrily, shooting the woman a hard glare.
Snorting, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, popping one of the slim sticks between her teeth and flicking the lighter's flame over the ashy tip. "You expect too much from him." She puffs a ring of smoke at his face, grinning when he covers his nose with his hand. "Boys like Sebastian, they're no good."
"Just because he's—"
"Just do yourself a favor, sweetheart, and don't get your hopes up. If you never see him again, it's probably for the best. Now, do me a favor and get the hell out of my car. You smell like too much soap."
Gaping openly at her, Kurt has half a mind to slap her across the face.
"I said," she enunciates, as if speaking to a person of a significantly lower intelligence level. "Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. My. Car."
And he does, but not before growling out an uncharacteristically aggressive 'fuck you.'
Not bothering to look behind him, he stomps up to his unit, tearing the keys out of the pocket of his jeans and barging inside with little care as to what neighbors he might be awakening.
"Some date," he whispers angrily, ripping his shirt off and throwing it on the couch as he stumbles towards the bathroom, itching to rid his body of the stench of cheap cologne and glitter.