Content warning: very brief discussion of possible suicide (historical, doesn't concern any of the characters in the story themselves)


Crystal Palace is an imposing structure of iron and glass, its panels glinting in the sunlight, and Kurt has to shield his eyes when he blinks up at the building. It has been built in a corner of Hyde Park, overlooking the green meadows and bright walkways rapidly filling up with people. Even though Jane, Nick, Will and Kurt have arrived early, they still have to queue up for tickets, and as they wait the line grows longer and longer and moves forward only at a sluggish pace. Andy isn't with them – as it turned around, whatever ailed Kurt really was contagious. While Toby, after three days of being miserably ill, is now back on his feet, Andy and Mary have come done with the sickness yesterday. Will was reluctant to leave his brother behind at first, but Mrs Abbot firmly ordered him and the others out of the house to avoid any more sick cases.

"But all the pretty girls waiting for me," they heard Andy lament as they looked into his bedroom to say goodbye.

"Well, they'll have to wait some more, I'm afraid," Mrs Abbot replied sternly and waved the three young men away impatiently. "In the meantime, I have brought Solmen's book of sermons to read from – that will certainly distract you from thinking of young ladies for a while."

Kurt still winces in sympathy – a day stuck in bed with sermons as his only companion is not what he would call a jolly time.

The crowds lining up behind them are far worse than those at the London Zoo and Kurt is thankful when they finally reach the ticket offices. The admission is quite steep, costing a whole shilling, but all of them have saved up for this, collecting tips and little gifts from lords and ladies and the nice little bonus the footmen received from Mr Durham for their work at Spencer House. Once they've paid they're carried inside the building by the steady flow of bodies around them pressing forward. The air inside already feels stuffy and moist, even though it's barely past ten yet. Sebastian has given them the whole day off since he himself wants to visit the Exhibition today and is scheduled to dine with the Miltons later that evening. That means they have the whole day to spend and Kurt feels giddy with excitement as he looks around the giant space filled with wonders, overwhelmed and unsure where to begin. He is almost relieved to see that exact sensation mirrored on Jane's face as the young woman squeezes his arm and smiles, her eyes glittering with anticipation.

"Shall we go to the Indian exhibit first?" Kurt asks. "We might make it there before the queues get too awful…"

Jane nods enthusiastically, but then she frowns and looks over her shoulder, past where Will is bouncing up and down on his feet while he reads through the announcements plastered on a board. "Is Nick coming?"

Kurt follows her gaze. Nick is standing off to the side behind them, scanning the crowd. His eyes are half-hidden under the brim of his cap, but Kurt can see the tension in his jaw. It's not the first time he has seen Nick like this. Over the past weeks, he has more than once caught Nick in dark contemplation – sometimes staring down a dim alleyway, sometimes frowning at a newspaper without reading any of the words.

Kurt doesn't know what's on the other man's mind lately. He has asked – of course he has – but Nick has continuously brushed aside any of Kurt's observations, claiming to be just tired or lost in thought.

Kurt isn't hopeful to get a different answer this time either, but he crosses the distance between them and gently tugs at Nick's sleeve. It takes just a split second for Nick to blink and snap out of his reverie. He turns his head and smiles at Kurt, perhaps a little ruefully.

"Are we going?"

Kurt sighs and says, "We are. Nick…"

"I know," Nick interrupts him. Kurt is startled when Nick throws an arm around Kurt's shoulder and tugs him to his side in a rare gesture of affection. "I know. But not today, please Kurt? We'll talk later – if there is something to talk about, which I'm not yet sure is the case."

Kurt sighs. He doesn't like it, not one bit. He knows it's probably not as bad as he feels it might turn out to be, but it's the uncertainty that's worse than knowing. It runs away with Kurt's imagination, conjures up scenarios that are unlikely and unpleasant. He has spent quite some time with them ever since he first caught Nick in dark contemplation, and he doesn't like to be reminded of them now. What if there was something to his sickness that Nick isn't telling him, something serious? What if there is something about Sebastian that Nick has kept from him? What if –

But then a man jostles his shoulder and Kurt remembers where he is – in the bright sunshine, with his friends, ready to see all the wonders of the world in one place.

"Fine," he says and drops his voice to a low whisper once they're close to Jane and Will. "But you'll tell me soon, will you?"

Nick nods, his fingers squeezing Kurt's shoulder once, and that's all the reassurance Kurt needs.

For now.

Will and Nick walk off in the eastern direction: they want to look at the hydraulic press, the printing machines and the music instruments. Jane and Kurt turn to the Indian pavilions first and Jane tugs at Kurt's sleeves impatiently. Crystal Palace is quickly filling up with people and the Indian exhibit is a popular one, and so they have to wait for more than twenty minutes in another long queue before they can enter the area. The first attraction to draw their attention is the jewellery, set up in large glass cases and flanked by four royal guards each. They're jostled around by the other people crowding around the cases, but everyone speaks in hushed tones, in awe of the glittering treasure laid out on red velvet. There are earrings, crowns, rings, bangles, all blinking gold, crimson, emerald and silver. There is a huge diamond, rose coloured and sharply cut, edged in gold; and another, clear and white and large in size, set between two smaller ones. The faint sunlight filtering through the tapestries and carpets around them in soft rays touches the stones and makes them sparkle mysteriously, casting rainbow-coloured flecks of light everywhere.

"That's the Koh-i-Noor diamond, called the The Mountain of Light," Jane whispers. She has studied every announcement in the newspapers she could get her hands on until her fingers were smeared with printing ink. Now her eyes are round in awe, and Kurt's face and hers are pressed so close together that he can feel her warm breath on his cheek. "And that," she nods to the pink stone, "That is the Daria-i-Noor, the Sea of Light." She holds her hand up and turns it slowly, and they both watch how little flecks of technicolour light move over her skin.

For a moment, Kurt considers how much these stones might be worth and feels quite breathless to imagine how many of his friends could feed their families for several lifetimes with just a fraction of the gold woven elegantly around the stone.

He wonders about the journey these jewels had, traveling over the ocean, all the way from a distant country Kurt has heard so much about and yet can imagine so little. For a moment, he wonders if these stones – if all of these exhibits that travelled so far from their home countries – if they feel strange, or foreign here, amidst people they don't know, who stare at them and whisper about them. He wonders if they long for their home, long to return to a much warmer or colder climate, to air that smells familiar, to a language with a music they know and understand. He wonders that, if given a choice, they would have wanted to come here. Then he shakes his head and finds himself silly – these are merely objects, after all. They do not feel, do not miss. But they do tell stories, that much he understands when he and Jane leave the crowded pavilion and walk around the other exhibits.

There is a throne made entirely from white ivory, with emerald linings and cushions, fit for a queen. There are tapestries and carpets, umbrellas and fans, pipes and pottery, furs and horns of animals Kurt has never seen before, and a bedstead made entirely from silver. They wander on to the China exhibit next, and then further on to the French court. Kurt loves to have Jane by his side – just like him, she is willing to be earnestly amazed by the beauty around them, but she also giggles when he whispers something cheeky about the man in the awful orange waistcoat, who's sweating profoundly as he tries to touch some ostrich feathers and is promptly reprimanded by one of the guards.

There aren't that many people like them around, Kurt realises. He and Jane have dressed in their smartest clothes for the occasion, of course, but even in them they cannot hold a candle to the elegant ladies or men in frock coats, or the smartly dressed wives of merchants or parsons. A lady in a fine pink cotton gown actually turns to sneer at Jane's much more simple dress. "I suppose they really do let everybody in, don't they?" she says with disdain, loud enough for them to hear. Jane colours and adjusts her bonnet, but, when Kurt squeezes her arm reassuringly and sends a nasty look at the stuck-up lady, she smiles and lifts her chin higher.

Around noon they meet with Nick and Will at the giant fountain in the middle of Crystal Palace and wander into the refreshment area, which is set beneath large trees and bushes and which is perfectly crowded. Jane's sharp eyes however spot a family with children getting up to leave and she elbows the boys over quickly enough for them to secure a table. Nick orders tea and cake, and when Will timidly tries to intercept him, Nick claps his back reassuringly.

"Don't worry," he says, "It's my treat." At that, Will smiles, as does Jane. "So generous," she says and leans forward. "What is the occasion?"

Nick shrugs. "I've got some good tips lately, that is all." He doesn't meet Kurt's eyes when he says that, and while that is of course a possibility, Kurt suddenly has an inkling that the money might not really come out of Nick's own pocket, but might have been forced upon him by a generous employer who would like to remain anonymous. He isn't sure, because Sebastian usually isn't shy about what he spends his money on – but Nick's sudden generosity really is uncommon for him.

"And you decide to spend them on your favourite people," Kurt says and grins as leans back in his seat. "How very reasonable. I approve."

Jane laughs and now Nick does meet his eyes, and there is something in the slight raise of his eyebrow that warns Kurt not to pursue the topic any further. It's unnecessary, because Kurt is distracted by Will, who enthusiastically begins to tell them of what he saw this morning: the machinery, the inventions, the Holland exhibit…

Sebastian was right – it is far too much to take in during a single visit, and when that dawns on all of them they try to make the most of their afternoon. Nick and Jane leave to look at the collection of carriages, which Kurt doesn't find all that interesting, and Will wants to see the American exhibit. Kurt wanders off alone after promising the others that they'll meet again in two hours in the entrance hall. First, he drifts in the direction of the textile exhibition, but it's terribly crowded with ladies in dressed in finery and loud gentlemen boasting to others about their businesses and the future of cotton, and Kurt suddenly feels too shy to make his way through the crowd.

Instead, he moves to the lesser crowded spheres. He looks at some of the newest inventions, out of which one fascinates him the most: a man draws letters on a piece of parchment with a special ink that rises up from the paper, claiming that the "tangible ink" will make it possible for the blind to read. He invites people to try, and Kurt closes his eyes and lets his fingertips gently run over the paper, astonished when, after much consideration, he does recognise the word "courage".

He then wanders over to the Italian and the Greek courts, which are not as densely populated as some of the others, maybe because they don't hold as many novelties. But Kurt is thankful for the opportunity to breathe more freely and slowly makes his way around the statues made out of white marble or gleaming bronze. Some of them are small, decorations for desks and hallways; others are twice the size of Kurt or taller, and their white stone is wonderfully contrasted by the red velvet curtains draped around them as backdrops.

Kurt moves past artists sketching the profiles and muscles of the statues with charcoal on white paper, past young women giggling, their faces flushed as the look at the exposed limbs of the statues. Kurt himself lets his eyes roam over their bodies too: the planes of their chests, the strong, muscular thighs, the details in their hair, their faces, how the folds of their robes fall. He is torn between appreciating so much – mostly male – beauty and wondering at how someone, a mere human being, could replicate such elegance and strength so accurately by chipping off stone.

He finally arrives at a little nook at the end of the court. Yellow and orange glass panes, arranged as stained-glass windows and inlaid directly into the walls of Crystal Palace, filter the sunlight around him. Some plants have been artfully arranged around the three white statues resting in their midst so that it feels almost like a private little garden. The statues are of vaguely human size, though they rest on pedestals like most others, and Kurt walks around to view them from all angles. The first is a woman, her right breast exposed from the short tunic she is wearing. She holds an arrow in her hand and has a bow strung around her shoulder, a deer resting at her feet. Opposite of her is the statue of a young man, similarly clad in a tunic. He has a crown of leaves in his curls and a lyre resting on his hip, his arm reaching out as if to beckon Kurt towards him.

They're beautiful, but they're not what captures Kurt's attention. Instead, he is drawn to the third statue, resting in the middle and almost hidden between the greenery. The statue of the young man is naked, with only a sheet wrapped around his arm dropping down to his feet. His body is strong and lean, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, his legs bent as if he wants to break out into a run. Thick curls cover his head and shadow his strong nose, round jaw and full lips. He is looking down at Kurt, and Kurt doesn't know why, but there is something heart-breaking about his expression, something like desperate longing in the way he holds his body. Kurt continues to look at him, at this statue, trying to decipher the look on his face. He doesn't know how much time passes while he is lost in contemplation, and he's only shaken out of it when he hears footsteps behind him.

He doesn't know why but he doesn't move, doesn't even turn his head when another person comes to stand next to him. There's a moment of silence before a familiar voice says, "Why am I not surprised to find you here, of all places?"

Kurt smiles at that, but still doesn't turn around when he answers, "I don't know. Because you are aware of my appreciation for fine art?"

"Or because this is the only place where you can safely ogle naked men and stare at their penises without repercussions."

"No Sebastian," Kurt replies kindly, "That would be the reason why you are here."

He hears Sebastian laugh beside him and he grins as well.

"Rumour has it her majesty wasn't too thrilled when she saw this part of the exhibit," Sebastian says. "She apparently refused to look at the statues."

"She's missing out then," Kurt replies dryly. Sebastian chuckles and replies, "Don't let that fool you. It's the public performance of being a queen. I have it on good authority that Prince Albert gifted her a naked statue for her palace two years ago and she was delighted. And after all – those seven children must come from somewhere."

"I suppose," Kurt murmurs, and for the first time, he wonders what it would be like to be the most powerful woman in the country, to pretend to be publicly shocked at nudity when having born several babies. He cannot truly find it in him to envy her for it.

"I think he's my favourite," Kurt says, his eyes still fixed on the young man's face, on eyes that don't look back at him, but somewhere beyond him, through time and space.

"Well, of course he would be," Sebastian answers and Kurt can hear the grin in his face.

"And why is that?" Kurt asks. He's ready to point out that he also likes some of the other statues which are less naked, thank you very much, when he sees Sebastian's right hand lift and point to a plate hidden in the ivy next to the statue, a plate Kurt hadn't previously noticed. He moves closer to read the inscription:

Statue of Antinous, slave to Emperor Hadrian – white marble – sculptor unknown – Besa, Egypt

"Oh," Kurt says. He's heard the name before, but he needs a moment before the memory comes flooding back – Sebastian teasing him about this, calling him "Antinous" in front of Arthur Huntington, and how he later asked Nick about the story behind it. It all seems so distant, so far away, as if it happened in another life – not in the one in which he's standing here, next to Sebastian.

"Do you know the story?" Sebastian asks.

"I think I do," Kurt replies, remembering vaguely what Nick told him over scrubbing silver plates so many months ago. "Tell me anyway?"

He's studying the statue again, this time accompanied by Sebastian's low voice, "Long ago, in ancient Rome, there lived an emperor named Hadrian. He was probably not very just and not very wise, because kings and emperors never are. He lived and ruled for many years. Someday, a young boy named Antinous joined his court. He grew up to be a beautiful man and became Hadrian's favourite. He loved Antinous so much that he made sure the young man accompanied him everywhere during his travels, never allowing him to stray far from his side. They shared a love for hunting and the outdoors, and they famously killed a wild lion that terrorised some of the local villages. Maybe it was just hungry though, poor thing."

Kurt smiles to himself. He hasn't heard Sebastian tell him stories like this before, but he kind of loves it – loves the low rumble of his voice and the commentary which is so quintessentially Sebastian.

"Hadrian was bewitched by Antinous' beauty. He wrote many poems about the young man by his side, sharing with the world his love for Antinous' soul and body. Their love was wild and fierce – don't roll your eyes at me Kurt, I'm not going to censor their passion for your delicate ears – and they fucked, a lot – Kurt, this is an integral part of the story – they fucked basically everywhere, in the emperor's bedroom, the stables, in the woods – seriously, stop covering your ears – and soon some gossip erupted about whether the Emperor might be just a little too infatuated with his young companion."

Sebastian pauses and Kurt feels the shift in the atmosphere between them. He senses that the happy part of the tale is over when Sebastian continues, his tone now devoid of the earlier teasing.

"One afternoon, when they were travelling on the Nile, Hadrian visited some local shrine. When he returned to his ship, he could hear from afar desperate cries and commotion. With a dreadful feeling in his chest, he hurried to the riverbank – only to see his soldiers recover the lifeless body of Antinous from the waves."

A shiver runs down Kurt's spine as he looks at the face of Antinous again. So young.

"Do you know what happened to him?" he asks softly.

"No," Sebastian replies. "It might have been an accident. Maybe he fell into the waves. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he was attacked by crocodiles. It might also have been cold-blooded murder. Antinous wasn't ambitious, he wasn't interested in politics – but his close relationship to the Emperor must have invited jealousy and envy, maybe even hatred."

Sebastian pauses again for a moment, before he says, "There is another theory I read about, though."

"Which one?"

"Well," Sebastian hesitates, "At the time, people believed that you could literally give your life for another, that sacrificing yourself would ensure another person would live on to lead a long and happy life. Hadrian had been ill for years and no remedy could be found to cure this illness. Maybe Antinous couldn't stand to see the man he loved suffer. Maybe he believed that by sacrificing his own life, he could heal Hadrian."

Kurt is quiet as he considers the possibility. It sounds ridiculous to him at first – maybe he's not religious enough for something like this to begin with, but he finds it unlikely that the world is as easy as that. He can't fathom how someone would believe that pointing at someone and saying "Make him healthy again" and then jumping off a boat would work. But Kurt has come to know desperation, and love, and he knows that sometimes people do foolish things for the right or the wrong reasons. He also can't deny that the story appeals to his inner romantic the same way the fate of Romeo and Juliet or Lord Byron's poetry does.

"What do you think?" he asks.

"I think that we'll never know either way," Sebastian shrugs. "It's intriguing to speculate, sure – but we'll never have an answer. And neither did Hadrian, probably."

Kurt hums, lost in thought for a second. It's quiet for a while, the only noise coming from the people walking around them, chatting and laughing but not intruding into their little oasis.

"What happened to Hadrian?" Kurt finally asks.

"He was devastated," Sebastian says. "He grieved for months and he forced the whole country to grieve with him. Because, well – Emperor. He suspected foul play, but there was no proof and no suspects. What he did do, however, was to declare his deceased lover a God."

Kurt blinks. "How does that work?"

"I really have no bloody idea," Sebastian said. "From what I understood, every ruler was declared a divine entity after their death anyway – or even before? I don't know. But that's why they built these elaborate tombs and worshipped them. It was something reserved for emperors only though, so Hadrian caused quite some protest when he deified his lover – who was, after all, a mere farm boy."

Kurt has to smile at that, really smile. He doesn't know anything about Hadrian, but he starts to like him based on that information alone.

"So he built Antinous a tomb too?" he asks.

"He built a whole city in his honour and named a star after him," Sebastian says. "A mite extreme, if you ask me, but if it helped him cope…"

"Oh hush," Kurt says, "It's beautiful. Don't ruin it with your crude remarks."

Sebastian chuckles and then falls silent as they both stare up into Antinous' enigmatic face looming over their heads.

To any other bystander they must look like strangers, standing at a respectable distance from each other, lost in their appreciation of the fine craftsmanship of men long gone.

But they're far from being strangers. Sometimes, Kurt thinks that Sebastian knows him better than any other person alive. He has seen him angry, unfair, vulnerable, hurt; he has listened to Kurt's dreams and hopes, has learned what's important to him, how to make him smile and laugh. He likes Kurt, and he wants Kurt – and that is perhaps the most reassuring thing about all of this, Kurt thinks, to know that he is not alone in his strange desire that envelops him when he is close to Sebastian. To know that he is not alone in all the things he wants: to be with Sebastian, to speak to him, to be by his side, to touch him, to kiss him, to learn more about the person he becomes every day.

And when he looks up at the face on Antinous, he realises something. They're not alone in this. They're not the only men navigating this strange and complicated desire coursing through their body. This statue, this man, this tale is centuries old – but were they so different, Hadrian and Antinous? Did they not too love, and lose?

There have always been men like him, Kurt thinks, men who loved differently, but not less powerfully. He might not know all their names or their stories, but he knows they existed – still exist, for even within this very building, meant to bring together centuries and continents, he doubts that Sebastian and he are the only ones.

He takes a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed by his own thoughts. He has never felt so much part of something – a community, a brotherhood – as he does in this moment. Because his feelings are important, they are valid – and he's accepting them, every ounce and shred of want, love and desire that he has.

"Kurt? Is everything alright?"

Sebastian's voice is laced with quiet concern. Kurt releases the breath he hasn't realised he's been holding and for the first time since they've met turns his head to look at Sebastian.

The afternoon sun filters through the glass panels behind Sebastian, casting him in a warm light. His eyes look a dark green in the sunlight, sparkling with something Kurt knows goes deeper than friendship, or mere desire. He knows, because in this moment, he feels it too, with every part of his body and soul.

"Yes," he breathes and Sebastian smiles, hesitantly at first. When Kurt doesn't look away though, something in his expression shifts, and Kurt feels breathless with the intensity of it.

They stay like this for a long while, just looking at each other under the watchful gaze of deities long gone.


That night, Kurt cannot sleep.

The bells of St. James have chimed twice long ago but Kurt is still lying in his bed, wide awake. His thoughts are racing ever since he came back, racing with images from the Exhibition, remembering what he has seen, heard, smelled and felt. And yet, as overwhelming as all these impressions should be, they take the backdrop to one singular moment, replaying in Kurt's head over and over again: a shared gaze in the bright afternoon sunlight.

Finally, he slips out of bed. He doesn't light a candle – he can find his trousers and shirt in the dark. Barefoot, he tiptoes to the door, careful not to step on any of the creaking floorboards he has memorised by now as he makes this way down the stairs and into the corridor below.

There's still light coming from below Sebastian's bedroom door, which doesn't surprise Kurt. He stills for a moment, his fingers hovering over the doorknob, a mere moment of hesitation – then it is gone, and Kurt turns the handle and steps inside.

Two candles illuminate the room. The windows are open, letting in a cool breeze, and Sebastian sits in the armchair in a corner of the room, his left foot resting on his knee, a thick volume on his leg and his index finger tapping against his bottom lip while he idly turns a page. When he hears the sound of the door falling shut behind Kurt he looks up, surprise and concern colouring his features for a moment as he sits up straight, his left foot landing next to his right on the soft carpet.

"Kurt?" he says and there's a note of alarm ringing in his voice. "Is something wrong? Are you ill? Is it Nick?"

Kurt's throat feels tight all of a sudden when he hears the concern in Sebastian's voice and he shakes his head wordlessly. Sebastian relaxes visibly at that and shuts his book. "Then what…" he trails off when his gaze meets Kurt's.

Kurt doesn't know what Sebastian sees in his face, but he doesn't blink, his attentive gaze locked on Kurt's when Kurt pushes off the door and crosses the room with slow and deliberate steps. When he stands in front of the chair he reaches out to gently take the book out of Sebastian's hands. He puts it on the armrest before he leans forward, his knees leaning onto the chair on either side of Sebastian's as he moves closer. His hands reach out to cup Sebastian's cheeks. He can feel the faint stubble on Sebastian's jaw, tickling his palms while his thumbs caress the smooth skin of his cheekbones. Sebastian doesn't move, but his gaze burns into Kurt's with an intensity that Kurt recognises as desire. His breath hitches when Kurt leans in closer, and maybe this is the point where Kurt should hesitate, should once again doubt and question what he feels ever since he locked eyes with Sebastian in the low afternoon light filtering through the windows of Crystal Palace.

But he doesn't.

He closes his eyes and bridges the last distance between them. Sebastian's lips are firm against his and Kurt can feel the moment when they soften, when they start to move against Kurt's with what feels like quiet disbelief. He presses closer, capturing Sebastian's bottom lip between his, and the sensation sends a shiver down his spine. He lingers for another moment before he draws back, looking down at Sebastian who might have stopped breathing for how still he is.

Sebastian's eyes open slowly. They are liquid green in the candlelight, warm and open and uncertain.

"Do you mean it?" he whispers. He looks hopeful and young, so young the way he is staring up at Kurt like nothing in the world matters more than Kurt's next words. Kurt has never seen Sebastian this vulnerable before. All his usual walls – the arrogance, the sarcasm, the unaffected attitude – are down, and what is left is just Sebastian, who doesn't know if he deserves this.

Yet the irony of the situation, of their reversed roles isn't lost on him and there is a faint smile tugging at the corners of Kurt's lips when he replies, "The audacity of you asking me this."

A brief expression of humour flickers over Sebastian's face in return, gone as quickly as it appeared, and he's looking at Kurt again with the same burning intensity as before, and Kurt understands that Sebastian needs him to say it, needs to hear the words to be able to believe them.

"I do," he whispers against Sebastian's lips, his next kiss feather light and brief before he adds, "I mean all of this."

Sebastian's eyes flutter close. He takes a deep breath and suddenly his hands are on Kurt's shoulders, pulling him closer when Sebastian surges up and kisses Kurt. It's a little too eager, a little too much at first, Sebastian's lips hard and desperate against his – and Kurt reciprocates the feeling, because he has waited for this just as long, maybe longer. But then they tilt their heads to find another angle between them and Sebastian's lips move more gently against his, drawing Kurt's bottom lip between his teeth and Kurt inhales sharply as sparks of pleasure ignite in his bloodstream.

For a moment, there is only this: the meeting of their lips, over and over again, the only point of contact between them Kurt consciously feels, the only thing he can focus on.

Then Sebastian's arms circle Kurt's waist and firmly draw him against his own body, and Kurt almost loses his balance for a second before he shifts closer. His hands slide down from Sebastian's face and rest on his chest. As he chases Sebastian's lips he can feel Sebastian's heartbeat under his fingertips, quick and rapid. He can feel the muscles under the thin white linen shift, can feel the promise of Sebastian's body, warm and firm under him – a promise of what might come later, of what he might feel and experience, with Sebastian, together. Not yet though – for now, he is too busy kissing Sebastian and letting himself be kissed senseless.

Kurt hears his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, a quick and steady finally, finally, finally.

There's a soft thud when the book next to him drops down onto the carpet.


Notes: I have to thank all of you for your amazing feedback and support of this story. I'm so very grateful for you still reading after all these years, and I hope it brings you some joy in these dark times. This chapter (along with chapter 33, the two I call "milestone chapters" in my head) I had planned in its entirety back when I was just starting the story and I loved to finally write it. I'll leave some more information and thoughts behind it on my tumblr, in case you're interested. I don't quite know when I'll be able to post the next chapter – I have some of it written, but I don't know how much time I'll have next week and I'm unwilling to make promises when I don't know if I'll be able to keep them. Until then, please stay safe (and indoors, if you can). 3