characters/pairings: Sebastian/Blaine

author's notes: prompt by Amaranti. title taken from Location by Freelance Whales.

day 3: living together

WHAT A TINDER BOX WE LIVE IN

Moving in together was their biggest mistake.

It was easier when they both had their own place, Blaine shared an apartment with Santana and he owned a loft on the Upper East Side and it usually took some maneuvering – if not very meticulous rearranging of their schedules – to meet anywhere. Sometimes Blaine had the difficult task of convincing Santana to sleep over at her girlfriend's (something she really hated doing) and sometimes he had to open up his loft for Blaine.

They were both still in college, he was juggling classes with an internship, and they'd both agreed early on in their relationship that they wouldn't be the kind of boyfriends that had to spend every night together. They both enjoyed their independence: Blaine liked going out with his NYADA friends to some bar named Callbacks where they spent their nights singing and drinking, and he preferred to hang out with his college buddies, shooting some pool, playing darts, watching his friends fall over themselves to impress the girls at the bar.

They did plenty of things together, like breakfast in bed, studying in the same room, lunches at their favorite coffee shop, walk his dog in the park, go to the movies and the theater, have dinner together, make out on the couch while ignoring the television, drive each other crazy in bed until one of them was begging for more.

Before either of them knew it one year turned into two and then three and he took a chance when he suggested that once they graduated they could move in together. Blaine had giggled at his caution because of course he wanted them to live together, they loved each other, and they knew each other well enough to forgive the other's little flaws.

Blaine forgives him for snoring. He forgives Blaine for talking in his sleep.

Blaine accepts that he hates doing the dishes with a burning passion, but he still agrees to do them during weekends. He accepts that Blaine wants to learn how to cook, so he encourages him as much as he can, even though a lot of his experiments end up in the trash.

Blaine gets jealous and sometimes they argue about that, like they argue about Blaine's insistence to remain friends with Kurt, but they find their way back to each other eventually. He's at every single one of Blaine's performances, and Blaine doesn't mind that his boss prefers his boyfriend to stay away from corporate parties.

They still did things separately, Blaine's life didn't revolve solely around him and he hadn't structured his around Blaine.

But they made one fatal mistake.

It took little to no effort to see each other, sometimes all they had to do was pop into the other room, look up, wait for the other to come home or wake up, because they shared this space together and it was theirs.

It was a mistake.

Ever since they moved in together they never arrived anywhere on time.

It starts off innocent enough every time, both of them getting dressed for a night out, a concert, the theater, the movies, weddings–one of them will lose focus or zoom in on the other, something very similar to what's happening now.

They really should get going, Rachel will have their asses if she found out they arrived late to see her in the role of her life and he's the last person who wants to tempt the wrath of Rachel Berry. Blaine's friends had accepted him into their lives but that didn't mean he couldn't earn their scorn all over again.

Though this time he plans on blaming Blaine for the whole thing. Blaine had all day to get ready, to shower and pick out an outfit, while he was stuck at the office texting back and forth so Blaine would know which suit he planned on wearing. And in all fairness Blaine had showered and gotten dressed by the time he got home–he'd skipped over to him real quick and pressed a kiss to his lips, asking him about his day. He'd followed Blaine into the bedroom, where he was studying himself in the mirror, buttoning his shirt sleeves.

And that's the exact moment he decides Blaine will get the blame this time around.

They're going to be late.

Again.

He should shower and get into a fresh suit, not get distracted by his dashingly handsome boyfriend of almost four years. But when it comes to Blaine, he's never been good at self-control. He grabs Blaine's jacket off the bed and walks over to him, Blaine automatically reaching his arms back and letting him drape the jacket over his shoulders.

"What are you smiling about?" Blaine asks, his eyes narrowing on his face in the mirror.

"I'm just–being nostalgic." He shrugs, fixing the lapels of Blaine's jacket, giving it a little tug at the bottom so it fits more snug. "Do you remember the first time I pulled a jacket on for you?"

Blaine frowns at him, more amused than confused. "Wes' wedding?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"I remember the first time you took it off," Blaine teases.

He draws a step closer, his lips settling near Blaine's ear. "Me too, baby."

He grazes his teeth down Blaine's neck and he feels Blaine reach back for his ass, the referenced memory coming to both of them vivid and strong, hushed breaths as they stumbled up the stairs, lips nipping at skin and a strong tug at each other's ties, his hands smoothing Blaine's blazer off his shoulders once they reached the loft–he'd wanted it for so long, for Blaine to feel the same, to realize how long it'd been Blaine, just Blaine, and no one else.

They hadn't made it to the bedroom, Blaine had almost tipped upside down when they hit the couch but he'd only taken a stronger hold–Blaine had moaned into his mouth and begged him not to stop, told him how much he wanted it, how long he'd been waiting.

"You're making me really curious," Blaine says.

"It was our senior year, right after–"

"I cheated on Kurt," Blaine realizes, a shadow of doubt crossing his face he still sees too often. Blaine has never forgiven himself for what he did to Kurt, what's worse is that Kurt never truly forgave Blaine for cheating, so that doubt stays alive, all the time.

"I was going to say 'broke up' and you found your way back to Dalton," he corrects, even though Blaine had left him again soon after. He'd told Hunter Blaine would only get them closer to a Sectionals trophy, and Hunter was stuck on winning hard enough to at least try. "And I put that blazer on you. You do remember?"

"I do." Blaine casts down his eyes. "But it wasn't the happiest time for me."

"It was for me." He bites at Blaine's ear. "You want to know why?"

Blaine catches his eyes in the mirror.

"That was exactly one year before our first kiss," he whispers, remembering how Blaine had smelled and felt, even though he knows it so well now, how hard it'd been for him to leave it at that, to hold back and not tell Blaine how bad he really had it for him. But Blaine was hurting, and he didn't want to push him again.

Blaine's nose crinkles in that adorable and goofy manner. "You're making that up."

"One year, killer," he says. "I waited for so long, tried to give you time and space, watched you hurt and heal, saw you learn how to smile again, contented myself with being your friend. All the while hoping you could feel what I was feeling."

Blaine smiles. "You're such a sap," he says, but it translates into thank you.

"Your fault."

Blaine laces their fingers together and it all comes back to him, how Blaine had reached out to him after the New Directions lost Sectionals, how he never once looked sad or disappointed because he was proud of the Warblers, even Hunter, for coming so far, how he avoided talking about Kurt at any cost, but slowly, ever so slightly, he started opening up to him.

They started texting each other again like before the slushie incident, they met for coffee and Blaine was in the first row at Regionals, paid for his own plane ticket to watch them take Nationals in LA. They'd spent much of the summer after graduation moving their stuff to New York, saying goodbye to their families, but somehow they'd manage to find time for each other too.

And then somewhere early spring the next year, Blaine had leaned in during one of the sappiest movies he'd ever been dragged to and pressed his lips to his, apologized when he didn't reciprocate but quite honestly he'd gone into shock, and squeaked for the entire theater to hear once he came to his senses and captured Blaine's lips with his own.

"Honey?" Blaine asks.

"Yes, moon of my life?"

Blaine chuckles. "Take it back off."

"We're going to be late."

"Your fault," Blaine whispers, and closes his hand over his crotch.

Any blame he was prepared to put on his gorgeous boyfriend dissipates–Blaine has all but melted against him and he admits to himself that okay, maybe it's his fault most of the time. He can't help it that every time he sees Blaine in a jacket like that part of him feels like he's coming home. It's silly, of course, that sense of home is really Blaine and their Dalton blazers are too small for either of them to wear again, but the lapels and the stitching and the memory of red piping, that's returning to a place, a person he knows inside and out, every crook and cranny, every sound he makes and his scent, whether it's the reminiscent smell of raspberry gel or the heady smell when Blaine lies sweating beneath him.

It's home.

But they both still agree that moving in together was the worst idea either of them ever had, and that included Blaine's idea of homemade lasagna.

Because they don't make it in time. They're late for Rachel's opening night, and her second night, they're late for Artie's movie premiere, they're late for Cooper's wedding, they're even late to their own rehearsal dinner.

Because of one high school blazer he pulled over Blaine's shoulders so many years ago, when this kind of love seemed unattainable and something he didn't deserve, when he was into the whole self-torture and self-deprecation, when Blaine knew how to tease and flirt, but not how to wind him up to the point of exploding.

When he didn't know just how incoherent and hot Blaine got when he merely teased his hand down his pants, palming his hard-on through the fabric of his boxers, when he didn't know how pleasurable it was to have Blaine's head thrashing, thrown back on his shoulder, doing what he could to keep it together, when the most beautiful sight he'd seen wasn't yet Blaine in the mirror trying to keep his knees from giving out, bottom lip trapped between his teeth while he groaned with abandon, begging him to keep going, harder, faster, longer.

They're late. They're always late. They're infamous for being late.

Because once they're done they still face the task of making themselves look presentable again, and not, well, fucked.

Oh, and wiping the come off the mirror.

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