The 27th of June dawns like the previous days: far too early, and far too hot.
When Kurt blinks his eyes open, the air in his room is already stuffy and his nightshirt sticks to his skin, sweaty and uncomfortable. He sighs, and it takes him a moment to remember why he was excited when he went to bed yesterday. But then the memory trickles back into his thoughts, and suddenly, Kurt sits bolt upright in his bed.
It's the 27th.
His birthday.
As of today, he is eighteen years old.
Suddenly no longer tired he swings his legs out of bed and quickly dresses himself, eager to go down to the kitchen. When he scrubs his face clean of the sweat and tiredness still clinging to his skin, he squints at his reflection in the small, half-blind mirror over his wash basin.
He doesn't look different, not really – not when he compares himself to how he looked yesterday, or last week. But Kurt thinks back to the boy who arrived at the steps of Bailey Hall one and a half years ago. To the boy stuck in the countryside one year ago, while Sebastian and Nick, Jeff and Jane moved on to London.
He was so much younger then. Inexperienced. Naïve. He didn't yet know what it would feel like to kiss the lips of another boy. He didn't know what it would feel like to walk through the streets of London and greet acquaintances and local shopkeepers. He didn't know that he would find a family between the forest of Wilton and the rolling hills surrounding Bailey Hall. He didn't know what it would feel like to slowly fall for the most infuriating, complicated, precious person on his earth.
He feels so different from the boy he was then he can hardly comprehend that they're the same person. But he silently thanks his younger self – for shouldering all of the burdens he had to carry, for overcoming all the obstacles and the heartbreak that have brought him where he is now.
Down in the kitchen, the other servants shower him with well-wishes and hugs. There are a number of presents waiting for him on the breakfast table: an embroidered bookmark from Jane, the latest Dickens novel from Will and Andy, some sweets from the other housemaids, a new pair of gloves from Nick and Mrs Abbot. Toby shyly hands him a paper card, on which he has written in clumsy handwriting "Manny hapy returns". There's a drawing of flowers and a sun, and an unidentifiable orange ball, under which Toby has written "This is cat". Kurt assures him that the picture is the exact likeness of the resident neighbourhood cat and that this is indeed the best gift he has ever received. Toby beams at him and happily eats the pie Mrs Davies has dished up for "the birthday boy."
The servants of Bailey Hall have sent a package together with a long letter, and Kurt has to blink away tears when he unpacks a sturdy pair of sensible new boots. For a moment, he feels homesick; a feeling which only goes away when Jane presses her shoulder against Kurt's and whispers, "No tears today, not even happy ones."
There is another letter included in the package – a letter from Miss Julia, Mrs Seymour's daughter. She writes that she is very happy with her new family in Ireland, especially with the lady of the house, who "has become such a dear and darling friend to me that I can hardly believe we have known each other for only a year now, for I cannot imagine my life without her." Together with the family she has recently travelled to France and Italy – "Paris, Kurt, oh, I wish you could see it, and my beloved Venice too!", and Kurt hopes he remembers to ask Sir Robert about the Irish family, just in case they belong to his circle of Venetian friends.
There's a loud ring echoing through the house.
"Oh, his Lordship is up early," Will yawns and stands up to allow Kurt to slide off their shared bench. "How unusual."
"It's probably the heat," Becky says, "No one can sleep in this heat."
Kurt chooses to leave without further comment, because he can't possibly express his hope that there is a very specific reason why Sebastian chooses today of all days to be up early. He pauses on his way up to check his reflection in the mirror and briefly adjusts his collar, feeling happiness and anticipation bubble up inside him. He takes two stairs at a time and there's a light bounce in his step when he moves down the corridor and opens the door to Sebastian's bedroom.
He has barely stepped inside when strong arms come up around him and press him against the door, effectively shutting it behind him. Kurt doesn't even have time to blink before his lips are claimed in a searing kiss. It doesn't take more than a second for Kurt to respond though, to press closer against Sebastian's chest. His fingers thread through the short, soft strands of hair at Sebastian's neck, his eyes fall shut and for a moment, he allows himself to feel nothing but this: Sebastian lips moving against, firm and eager, his hand at the small of Kurt's back, smoothing down the fabric of his uniform as it travels lower.
Sebastian draws away far too soon for Kurt's liking.
"So," Sebastian drawls. He grins and can't seem to stop looking at Kurt, his eyes full of unconcealed affection. "Eighteen years old, huh? That's, what, only three more years til you reach majority?"
"I'm impressed. I see you learned how to count," Kurt retorts. He means to sound unimpressed, but his voice comes out breathlessly and Sebastian's grin only widens.
"So young, so mean," he says, like he's immeasurably proud of Kurt, and he captures Kurt's lips in a short, sweet kiss, before he steps back, tangling Kurt's fingers with his own and tugging him fully into the room. Kurt can only now appreciate that Sebastian is already at least partly dressed, in trousers and a loosely buttoned shirt, his feet bare.
"Speaking of your birthday," he says and points to his bed where three packages sit – one of them long and rectangular, a smaller one, and a large, circular one. He lets go of Kurt's hands and stuffs them into his pockets, affecting an air of nonchalance that Kurt doesn't believe for a moment.
"For me?" he asks and his voice catches on the last word. To say that he hadn't expected some kind of present from Sebastian would be a lie, and yet – this is far more than he would have anticipated.
But it's from Sebastian.
Of course it's too much.
"No, for the other birthday boy who visits my chambers regularly," Sebastian retorts dryly, but bumps his hips against Kurt's affectionately. "Of course they are for you."
Kurt stares at the packages, trying to draw their secrets out merely by gazing at them. He has brought so many packages to this house in the past weeks that his mind is reeling with possibilities – the size is what is throws him off, otherwise he'd have assumed books, but…
"Well, aren't you going to open them?" Sebastian asks. He's still trying very hard to look and sound like he isn't really interested, and for a moment, Kurt thinks about drawing this out, just to tease him – but he is far too curious.
He starts with the biggest parcel first, ripping off the wrapping paper to reveal cream-coloured carton. He lifts the lid carefully and folds back white, silky paper, until…
Black, smooth fabric meets his fingertips. Kurt gasps as he pulls out a dark waistcoat, midnight black, a tailcoat and a pair of trousers in the same colour, and a white, crisp shirt. He holds his breath as he trails his fingertips over the even seams and invisible hemlines. The jacket is a masterpiece of craftsmanship, and… suddenly, he has a strong suspicion what's in the other packages, and he doesn't bother with false restraint – he tears through the wrapping to reveal a pair of black shoes, made from the finest leather and polished so that Kurt can almost see his reflection in their shine, and a top hat, black and brand-new. He looks at the things spread out on the bed, and his heart clenches painfully. He has handled items like these so often, has cleaned them, brushed them, and most importantly – handed them on, to the person they belonged to, to the person who would, could, wear them.
And that is not him.
"Sebastian," he says and his throat is a little tight. "I can't… this is so… I can't wear this."
"Well," Sebastian replies. His hands are still in his pockets, but he has given up his unaffected attitude. Instead, he looks a little unsure. "That would actually be the second part of your present."
"What?" Kurt asks and spins around fully to look at him. Sebastian's gaze darts back and forth between the clothes laid out on the bed and Kurt's face.
"So… this might be a little mad…" Sebastian says, "Or… perhaps a lot mad, but I…" He tugs at his hair, which is still unruly from sleep. "I… maybe this is a bad idea, if it is you just need to say the word and I can find something else…"
"Sebastian," Kurt interrupts his stammering. He takes one step closer and reaches out to rest two fingers against Sebastian's cheek, to turn his head in his direction, forcing him to look at Kurt. "Just tell me?"
Sebastian lets out a strangled laugh. "Fine, yes…" His gaze finally comes to rest on Kurt's, but he still looks unsure when he says, "I wanted… I wanted to take you to the opera."
For a moment, Kurt is absolutely still, caught between the urge to laugh in disbelief and to stare in shock. What he does, in the end, is to give into the shred of desperate hope that he feels and whispers, "How?"
Maybe encouraged by the fact that Kurt doesn't outright scoff at the idea, Sebastian stands a little straighter and says, "Look, I know it's risky and all – hell, we can't tell Nick, he'll never let us go through with it – but I know you love the opera, and I thought if we dress you up and disguise you as some foreign gentleman no one has ever heard of, if we arrive late when everyone's already in their seats and if we leave during the intermission so we don't have to talk to anyone…" He looks at Kurt, his gaze a little wild and desperate. "Is this crazy?" he asks.
For a moment, everything that could possibly go wrong with an endeavour such as this races through Kurt's mind. It is risky, it is terribly risky, and he can so easily imagine what Nick, as their resident voice of reason, would have to say about the idea. Someone could recognise him, someone could find out that Sebastian takes his footman with him to the opera, the scandal, the gossip – but then he thinks of the possibility, of standing next to Sebastian, not as his footman, but as a another gentleman, not as his servant, but as his equal, clad in the beautiful clothes laying on the bed. To see an opera!
Any other day, he might have come to a different conclusion. But he only turns eighteen once, and he has all this: the city at his feet and this beautiful man at his side, who tries so hard not to look like he wants to give Kurt the world.
And Kurt wants it all.
He moves forward without thinking about it, cupping Sebastian's face in his hands as a wave of reckless enthusiasm takes hold of him.
"Yes," he whispers against Sebastian's lips before he claims them in a hard, brief kiss. "It's crazy. Let's do it."
The logistics turn out to be easier than Kurt would have anticipated, because it seems that, astonishingly enough, Sebastian is prepared.
"How long have you been planning this?" Kurt asks when Sebastian retrieves a wooden chest from under his bed.
"Consciously? Maybe three weeks," Sebastian says. He opens the chest before Kurt can ask how long he's been planning it "unconsciously", and Kurt is distracted by what he sees in the chest: feathers, fans, jewels, embroidered scarfs, brushes and jars of what looks like paint and powder, and something that is either a very dead mammal or a wig.
"Why on earth do you have all these?" Kurt asks. Sebastian is careful to avoid his gaze. "I haven't looked at this stuff in years," he says and pulls out some black whiskers and what looks like a silken turban. "It's not even mine. It's… well… uhm… you know, Ned used to host these… private parties, and one, really it's been years, well, one was here, and there were charades, and…"
"I'm going to stop you right there," Kurt says and holds up his hand. "Because I think we might need what's in that box, and if you continue to tell me what these were originally used for I might not be inclined to touch anything in there. Ever."
At this Sebastian grins, though his ears are still a little red. "I'm rather sure whatever you're imagining is worse than the reality," he says and stands up. In his hands he holds a pair of fake side burns in a warm brown, similar to Kurt's own hair colour. It's not the first time Kurt has seen fake beards like these – they are quite fashionable with the gentlemen, and the son of the old Lord at Chatsworth liked to wear them regularly.
These are of high quality and attached with wires. Kurt tries them on in front of the mirror. The colour blends in really well with his own hair, which at the moment is long enough for Kurt to comb it down over his ears to mask the wires. He stares at his reflection while Sebastian gently puts a new top hat – his new top hat – on his hair. He looks older, and different – more like a man, less like a boy playing dress-up. The rim of the hat shadows his eyes, and the side burns give his face a more angular frame.
"Do you think this will work?" Kurt asks and runs his fingers down the fake hair, which stays in place remarkably well.
"Yes," Sebastian replies without hesitation. "It'll be dark and they still use only candlelight at the Royal Opera. I reserved a box in the front, hardest to see from the other balconies."
He gently touches Kurt's shoulder and turns him around. "It is still risky," Sebastian says. His eyes are serious. "I mean, even if we're caught, we can make up a story – how I lost a bet to Robert, or whatever – but it is risky. Do you still want to do it?"
Kurt turns to his reflection again. He runs the pad of this thumb along the rim of the top hat, feeling the hard frame underneath the silky material.
"Yes."
The hardest part is to keep his face impassive throughout the entire day. He goes through the motions mechanically, serves a late lunch to Sir Robert and Sebastian, opens the door and collects the post, brings up the tea. He avoids Nick, just a little bit, and he feels guilty about it, just a little bit. But he knows what Nick would have to say if he were to know about Kurt's and Sebastian's plans. And this time, Kurt doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to listen to reason. Just today, he wants to risk something.
He does leave a note under Nick's pillow though, one that simply says "I might be back very late. Please don't wait and please don't worry. Kurt", because he doesn't want Nick to be alarmed if he finds Kurt missing.
At half past five he collects his birthday presents from Sebastian's room and brings the parcels down to the kitchen, where Mrs Abbot is sitting over an accounting book, adding wages and subtracting costs.
"Ah, Kurt," she says once she spots him and his load. "Are you off to somewhere?"
"These don't fit right," Kurt says. "His Lordship asked me to return them to the dressmaker and wait for them to be fixed. Apparently he needs them for the ball tomorrow evening." He rolls his eyes in a soft gesture of annoyance. "If I'm not back once his Lordship retires, could you ask Nick to fill in for me?"
"Of course, but don't worry," Mrs Abbot replies. "His Lordship will attend the opera tonight, so I doubt he'll return before you do."
She frowns as she turns towards the window, where the sun is now hidden behind low-hanging grey clouds. "But be careful. It looks like we'll finally see some rain today."
Kurt nods and smiles briefly before he makes his way outside. The heat in the street is almost unbearably oppressive, the smell worse than ever, and Kurt hopes that Mrs Abbot's prediction will come true – preferably after he's back home.
He follows the directions Sebastian has written down on a piece of paper, and slowly, the broad streets give way to narrow alleys. He's glad to have changed out of his uniform before because the seedier the streets get, the more suspicious looks he receives. But he has long since acquired the London gait and he walks down the streets swiftly, like a man with a mission, natural and like he belongs here, and the gazes, lazy from the heat, move past.
He finally arrives at the place where Sebastian claimed to have changed his clothes whenever he was out and about the town with Daniel, years before. This was admittedly the only moment when Kurt faltered in his conviction to go through with the plan. The mere mention of Daniel, the reminder that they just cannot escape this chapter of Sebastian's life, had left him momentarily overcome with frustration and fear, and for a moment, he thought about telling Sebastian that he found the endeavour too risky after all.
But then Sebastian had looked at him, his gaze hesitant and unsure, as if he could sense Kurt's feelings. "I don't… I haven't done this since then, and this is the only place I can remember. It might not even be there anymore, and if you'd rather… I mean, I don't know where else to turn, but there might be more respectable houses near to the Riverbank…"And just like that, Kurt had been reminded that while Sebastian had a past, neither of them were the same people they had been a year before. And so he took the slip of paper with a smile, pressing his lips to Sebastian's cheek and murmuring, "I'll try this one first."
And while he is still secure in that decision, almost unthinkingly Kurt looks over his shoulder, as if he's searching for a shadow haunting him. But the alley behind him is empty, and finding himself silly, Kurt walks towards his destination.
It's a grey building, tucked away in a corner of the street, with damp walls and peeling plaster, and Kurt approaches it nervously. The woman in shabby rags sitting next to the front door doesn't even look at him when he approaches though, just holds out her hand. When Kurt drops some coins into the shaking fingers, she hands him a key with a small label on it, spelling out the number "101". Kurt doesn't encounter anyone as he passes the other doors. From one, he hears rhythmic banging, and deep moaning from behind another one, and he feels heat rising to his cheeks as he hurries up the stairs to the first floor. The numbers on the door are faded, but the key turns in the lock without resistance. The room is small and dirty, with little light filtering through the filthy window. Kurt shudders when he glances at the dirty mattress in the corner and makes sure to lock the door behind him. Thankfully, the only sound coming from the wall is a deep snoring, but Kurt still hurries to change out of his clothes and into the new ones. He does linger there for a moment, brushing over the smooth fabric, bouncing in the shoes, the leather soft and pliant against his feet, so unlike his own, stiff shoes that take forever to break in and make his toes blister. He has brought a small mirror with him and once he has attached the sideburns carefully and combed his hair over the wires he takes a small step back.
The mirror isn't big enough to see and admire his whole body, but Kurt can see how the tailcoat emphasises his shoulders, broadening them before smoothing down the lines to his waist and his legs. He moves closer again to check his face once more, and he sees that his eyes are shining with conflicting emotions and his mouth is caught somewhere between a giddy smile and a worried frown. His stomach is in turmoil and he feels like his body is all nerves now, strung tight in anticipation. For just a second he considers not going through with this. He could just change back into his old, worn clothes and return home, maybe wait for Sebastian to return and spend a few hours with him in the safety of his bedroom.
But then he smooths his fingers down his tailcoat again. This is his one chance to experience something like this, and he straightens until he fills out his suit with the confidence it deserves. I can do this, he tells himself, I can do this because I want to do this.
He leaves his own clothes in the boxes in the least filthy corner of the room, locks the door behind him and prays that they'll still be there once he returns. Again he doesn't meet a single person as he exits the house and turns his steps swiftly in the directions Sebastian has outlined. He's grateful when he reaches a large road fairly soon, because in his new outfit, he attracts many more and far more hostile stares than before. He walks up to the front of a large café in the middle of the street. Through the windows he can see ladies and gentlemen, sitting on table and sharing scones and sandwiches, tea and wine. He leans against one of the lampposts, trying to look at ease and nonchalant as he peers up and down the street. There is a faint rumbling in the distance, and Kurt is sure that there is a thunderstorm coming their way. He hopes it'll pass while they're in the opera. Sebastian has lent him one of his fob watches and he glances down at it, relieved when he sees that he is right on time as the clock hands show five to six. And he really only has to wait for a few more minutes until a black cab draws up next to him. The coachman jumps down and opens the door with a low bow, and Kurt feels a thrill of excitement when he nods at him and climbs into the carriage.
Sebastian's hands catch his and pull him on to the bench next to him as the door falls shut behind Kurt. The light in the carriage is dim, but Kurt can still see the way Sebastian looks at him, his eyes roaming over Kurt's body and up to his face as if he's seeing him for the first time. Kurt can't help but preen a little bit under the intense scrutiny.
"What's the verdict?" he asks. "Do you think I'll pass?"
Sebastian's eyes are fixed on his as he smirks and draws closer, his hands coming up to frame Kurt's jaw, his thumbs slowly caressing his cheeks, careful not to disturb his masquerade.
"I think," he says, his voice a low murmur as he leans in closer, "You'll fool everyone."
Kurt's eyes close when Sebastian's lips meet his, and for just a moment, he allows himself to forget where they are and what they're about to do and simply gives himself to this moment, allows himself to feel nothing but Sebastian lips moving against his. Just for a moment though, before he pushes gently against Sebastian's chest.
"Let's go over this again," Kurt says, because there's only so much time until they arrive at the opera, and his nervousness increases with every turn their cab takes. "Until I have it memorised."
He's thankful that Sebastian doesn't point out that they went over this hundreds of times already, but instead clasps his hands and humours him. "Alright," Sebastian says. "So you are…"
"Louis de Custine, cousin to the Marquis de Custine," Kurt replies immediately. "I'm from Paris where I currently live with my cousin, and I'm visiting London for the very first time."
"And you only speak…?" Sebastian asks.
"Français."
"Oui, mon amour," Sebastian says and Kurt's hands tighten in his at the endearment. "That'll stop most of them talking to you should we run into anyone."
"But do you think my French is good enough to pass as Parisian?" Kurt asks. Sebastian scoffs, "My French is awful, but I've heard enough arrogant men and accomplished young ladies butcher the language to know you're in no danger of being exposed by any of them. You'll be fine." He squeezes Kurt's hands, "And don't forget, that's our emergency scheme. Ideally, you won't have to speak to anyone."
That doesn't do much to calm Kurt's nerves. He doesn't believe in ideally, not in this case – he believes in being prepared. They go over the details of the story – where Kurt grew up, how his family's been lately, what's Paris like this time of year – until the cab draws to a halt. Sebastian gives Kurt's hands one last, determined squeeze before the door opens and Kurt climbs out of the carriage.
The Royal Italian Opera in Covent Garden is an impressive building made out of white stone. Lights twinkle in the windows and the entryway despite the fact that the sunset is at least three more hours away. Kurt stares up at the giant marble columns framing the entryway and for a second, his own audacity leaves him speechless. But then Sebastian nudges his shoulder and grins at him. He looks almost boyish, his grin wide, and Kurt feels the thrill of adventure and returns the smile as they climb the few stairs together.
"Ah, Lord Smythe," a nasal voice to his left says. There's a small man in black who bows to Sebastian. "You've arrived just in time. If you and your companion would follow me, please." He weasels towards the staircase and they follow him while Kurt does his best not to grin at the word "companion". They climb up a number of stairs, and while some people, men in black evening attire and ladies in elegant gowns, linger in the corridors, no one approaches them. Two young ladies catch Kurt's eye as they stare at him, and when they see him looking back they giggle and hide behind their white lace fans. That is a new experience for Kurt, and he holds himself a bit taller on the rest of the way up. The small man ushers them down a hallway and finally draws back a burgundy, velvet curtain.
"The topmost box, as you required, your Lordship," the man says and bows again, only slightly hindered by the weight of the curtain. "Thank you," Sebastian replies dismissively. His hand comes to rest firm and warm on the small of Kurt's back as he steers him forward, and the curtains fall closed behind him. Kurt blinks, his eyes needing a second to adjust to the dim light surrounding him. The air around them is warm and incredibly stuffy, and Kurt begins to sweat almost immediately. The theatre is huge, with three rows of balconies lining the walls and more places down below. Their balcony sits right at the front, next to the stage, and Kurt can see the flickering lights surrounding it, reflecting on the gold tassels of the crimson curtain, which is still drawn. Kurt's eyes drift over the balconies and seats, to the other people sitting, standing, laughing, talking, loudly and in hushed voices. There must be hundreds of people here, all dressed in their finest evening attire. He doesn't recognise any faces, not from this far away, and he is thankful for the dim light when he remembers that he has to spend the next hour among them, pretending to be one of them.
"Breathe, Kurt," comes Sebastian's voice, a low murmur next to his ear. "You look like you're about to be sick. Everything's fine." His hand on Kurt's back is a welcome and steadying contact and Kurt takes a deep breath, draws back his shoulders and lifts his chin.
Sebastian chuckles in amusement, "That's my Kurt. You're doing great, by the way – you were born to wear evening attire."
"Oh please, like you're one to talk," Kurt replies and takes a small step back. Basked in the warm light of the candles, Sebastian looks absolutely divine. His tailcoat, midnight black just like Kurt's, emphasises his narrow waist and his broad shoulders, while his legs go on forever. His green eyes sparkle as he looks at Kurt, and his smile holds nothing of the arrogance or irony so often present in Sebastian's demeanour. Instead, he just looks happy, simply and breathtakingly happy.
Kurt has always admired Sebastian's beauty, even back in those days when he didn't like him. But now, there is so much more to this, because now Kurt knows that Sebastian isn't just beautiful. Over the past year, Kurt has learned his flaws, each and every one of them, and he finds that he doesn't mind that Sebastian can be terribly judgemental, or silly, occasionally unfair or too quick in his judgement – because many of these are something Kurt recognises all too well in himself. And he knows that Sebastian is more than his flaws: he is kind and generous, fiercely loyal and determined to be better, caring and intelligent.
Kurt feels suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation by how much he cares about Sebastian, and how much he wants him.
But this is neither the time nor the place for that, and Kurt is grateful when Sebastian, ignorant to Kurt's sudden inner turmoil, smiles a bit more brightly and replies, "Yes, I do look amazing." Because that gives Kurt a reason to shove against his chest and roll his eyes, even though Sebastian's answering laugh sends a shiver down his spine.
"Can I ask you something?" Sebastian says and Kurt nods.
"Why do you love the opera so much?" Sebastian inquires. He leans forward and rests his elbows on the parapet, his head titled to the side in curiosity. "I mean, I know you love music, but… why the opera?"
Kurt sighs and steps next to him, close enough for their elbows to brush together.
"My mother loved them," he admits quietly. "Not that we had the opportunity to see any at Chawton. But she went to the theatre almost every day, back when she was younger and her parents still had money. She loved singing, and she knew so many songs by heart." He smiles fondly at the memory. "My father wasn't musical. He couldn't hold a tune if his life depended on it, but he loved to hear my mother sing. And she was always singing – when she cooked, when she did laundry, when she scrubbed the floors. As soon as I was old enough to learn the piano, I accompanied her." He takes a deep breath and lets his gaze sweep over the dim interior around him. "I… she loved it, and I loved it, but I couldn't understand it, not the way she did. This is why I wanted to see this. To see what she saw, back when she was my age. To understand her, in a way I never could before." He lifts his gaze. "I don't know if that makes sense."
Sebastian is watching him with a strange conflicted expression. "When I was small, I loved our piano," he says. His voice is quiet. "I was endlessly fascinated by the way it produced sounds. My mother couldn't get me away from it. So one day, she sat me on her right side, and Nick, who I always dragged into whatever I was up to, on her left side. She explained to us how a piano works and showed us how to press the keys to play songs. I had teachers for everything, but music my mother insisted on teaching us herself." He smiles, his gaze darting away from Kurt. "I wasn't a very diligent student. I loved to sing, but playing didn't come easily to me, and I resented things that I had to put a lot of effort into. Nick was far better than I was – he still is – and I hated that. So when I was ten or so, I told my mother that I didn't want her piano lessons anymore." His smile slowly vanishes. "To this day, it's one of the things I regret the most."
Kurt can't think of something to reply to this that doesn't sound empty, or shallow, or sympathetic. He merely shifts his weight a little and presses his shoulder against Sebastian's, silently sharing a moment of grief as the audience below them laughs and shouts, waves fans and glances at the curtain in silent expectation.
"Which opera are we watching, by the way?" Kurt asks as they finally take their seats. There is room for four chairs but luckily, they are the only people in their private box.
"Let's see…" Sebastian says and picks up a leaflet resting on the chair behind him. "Il flauto magico, apparently." He hands the leaflet on to Kurt. "I'm sure there's a joke I should make about that." Kurt hits his thigh with the leaflet, but he has barely time to open it before a hush ripples through the audience as the curtain rises. Kurt does his best to keep his expression neutral, like this is a regular way for him to spend his pastime. But his hand reaches out to squeeze Sebastian knee as hard as he can, the balcony obscuring their legs from view.
"Thank you," he mouths, and he means it, so much. Sebastian smiles, perhaps a bit bashfully, and nudges his shoulder again so that Kurt turns back to the stage.
For the next hour and a half, Kurt loses himself in the world on stage. He gasps as the young prince Tamino fights a dragon and falls in love with the beautiful princess Pamina, he laughs when the bumbling bird-catcher Papageno invites himself along on Tamino's adventure, he holds his breath when the beautiful queen of the night swears her revenge and the soprano rises up on a half-moon into a star-studded sky. He leans forward in his seat when Pamina tries in vain to escape from captivity and sighs in relief when the wise Sarastro forgives the lovers and promises them his help. He is so engrossed in the music and voices, perfect and beautifully carrying the story, that he doesn't notice the polite applause around them until Sebastian's hand lands on his shoulder.
"I believe that's our cue to leave," he says and really, the curtain slowly closes. Kurt blinks, as if waking up from a trance while Sebastian already moves to stand up. "If we take the nearest staircase and don't stop on the way down, we should get to the-" Sebastian says, but he and Kurt have barely risen when the curtain is flung open and an impressive figure in a navy blue waistcoat and cream trousers struts into the box. Arms spread wide open and a devilish smile on his face, Edward fucking 'Ned' Drummond-Willoughby grins at them.
"I see my eyes did not deceive me," he says. "I knew it was your lovely face I glimpsed from my balcony, Sebastian."
"Ned," Sebastian replies, his voice a bit strangled, "What are you…"
"Well, what else is there left for me to do but to pounce on you here?" Lord Drummond-Willoughby says and clutches his heart dramatically. "You don't answer my letters. You don't show up to any of my invitations. Whenever I try to call you're 'busy' with another engagement." He sighs and spreads his arms wide in a posture of agony, "If it weren't for the fact that I heard that your grandmother is staying with you, I could have arrived at the conclusion that you don't like me anymore. Which is, of course, ridiculous. I am very likeable."
He peers at Sebastian from under his long eyelashes, a perfect picture of wounded innocence. Kurt almost scoffs.
"Ned," Sebastian tries again. He sounds impatient now. "I'm sorry. My grandmother is… well, you know how she is. I swear I'll visit you some time later this week, but right now, we really need to leave."
"Yes, speaking of 'we'," Lord Drummond-Willoughby continues, completely ignoring Sebastian's plea. He throws his arm over Sebastian's shoulder and says conversationally, "When I saw that you only had eyes for your lovely companion here, I thought to myself, 'Ned, you have to ask the old chap to introduce you'." He now grins at Kurt, who tries desperately to let none of his nervousness show on his face. "So, who do we have here?"
Kurt looks at Sebastian, who seems close to panicking. Which is exactly how Kurt feels too, but he forces himself to remain calm. Lord Drummond-Willoughby has only seen him once, and the light in the box is awful – there's a good chance they might get away with this. 'Just follow our story', Kurt thinks and raises an eyebrow quizzically, as if he's looking for Sebastian to explain to him what this conversation is about. Sebastian, thankfully, catches on immediately.
"Well Ned, this is my good friend, Louis de Custine," Sebastian says. "I'm afraid he does not understand a word of English, but…"
"Ah," Lord Drummond-Willoughby drawls, and, to Kurt's absolute horror, continues in French, fluent as if he's never stepped on English soil, "De Custine, of course, from Paris I assume. I believe I'm acquainted with a relative of yours, Astolphe?"
He looks at Kurt with genuine interest and Kurt feels frozen for a second, cold sweat collecting at the back of his neck despite the stuffy heat surrounding them. But he now has no other option than to go through with it, so he replies, "Yes, my cousin, the Marquis. I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Lord…?"
"Edward Drummond-Willoughby, but please, call me Ned. All of my friends do," Lord Drummond-Willoughby says. He extents his hand and Kurt has no other option than to step closer and accept it, blinking into the candlelight as he does. Suddenly, Lord Drummond-Willoughby's eyes narrow. His hand clasps Kurt's tighter as he stares into Kurt's face, and then, to Kurt's great mortification, scans his whole body from top to bottom. As his gaze moves back up, Kurt can see a realization forming in his eyes, and a slow, intrigued grin tugs at the corners of his lips.
"What in the world…"
"Ned, wherever did you run off to…" Kurt watches in numb horror as the curtain opens again and none other than Arthur Huntington, Edmund and Henry Crawshaw enter the box – all men Kurt has served for weeks, and even though he hasn't seen much of them recently, he has no doubt that one closer look at him must raise their suspicions.
He searches for Sebastian's gaze, who looks equally horrified, when suddenly, there's an arm around his shoulder and he is tugged against the tall frame of Lord Drummond-Willoughby.
"Forgive me, Arthur," he says, sounding not one ounce remorseful. "But I spotted my old friend Louis over here, and I had simply no idea he was in London. Sooo…," he drawls and grins at Kurt in a way that looks pure evil. "We're going to leave you boys here to catch up during the intermission."
Before Kurt has truly understood what's happened, before he can cast one last glance at Sebastian, Lord Drummond-Willoughby has tugged him along, past the curtain and into the corridor. When Kurt sees the mass of people there, drinking and chatting, he digs in his heels, panicked, but Lord Drummond-Willoughby's grip is like steel and he steers Kurt along until they reach a small alcove. He pushes Kurt inside and steps in front of him, effectively shielding him from the crowd around them, then lifts two glasses off the tray of a waiter passing by and hands one of them on to Kurt.
"Your Lordship," Kurt tries to explain, "This is not what…"
"French, Kurt," Lord Drummond-Willoughby says and lifts his glass to his lips, "We wouldn't want to raise any suspicion, would we? By the way, your French is excellent. I am very intrigued – for a number of reasons."
He is looking infinitely amused, which makes one of them, because Kurt's stomach has turned to lead and he distinctly feels like throwing up.
"Your Lordship," he tries again, but once more he is interrupted.
"I told you to call me Ned, Kurt," Lord Drummond-Willoughby – Ned – says. "You know, from one earl to another." He grins and Kurt feels mortified.
"I swear, there is a good explanation for this," he exclaims.
"Oh certainly there is," Ned says. "Let me guess, yes? I love guessing games." He taps his index fingers against his nose in performative contemplation. "Let's see, either you are Sebastian's newest plaything, or…" he grins at the indignant look Kurt sends him and corrects himself, "Ah, I see there are feelings involved. So, you two are lovers and Sebastian wanted to take you with him, so he dressed you up in what is admittedly a fabulous suit and smuggled you in, hoping no one would notice."
Kurt opens his mouth to say something but finds that he is speechless. After all, everything about this is true.
"I have to say I do admire your courage," Ned continues. "It takes a lot of guts to try this, and a healthy dose of self-confidence to pull it off like you do."
"How did you even recognize me?" Kurt asks and takes a long sip from the glass, wincing at the unfamiliar taste of what he assumes is champagne.
"Please Kurt," Ned says, looking offended at the question. "As if I would ever forget an ass as pretty as yours." Kurt promptly chokes on his champagne and Ned laughs.
"You have zero modesty. I can see why you and Sebastian get along so well," Kurt says dryly.
"I need to tell Sebastian he needs to be more subtle," Ned grins, "After that possessive little dance he performed the last time I visited him, I was almost sure you two were sleeping with each other."
"So what now?" Kurt asks. "Are you going to tell someone? Blackmail Sebastian? Is this what this is about?"
Ned looks genuinely shocked at the accusation. "I would never dream of doing something like that," he says. "I'm going to keep you here until intermission is over and everyone has returned to their seats. Then I'm going to return you to Sebastian and tell everyone who asks that I had a wonderful chat with my old friend Louis."
"But why?" Kurt asks. "I'm nothing to you, and Sebastian is a mere acquaintance of yours. You must have hundreds of them. Why are you helping us?"
When Ned looks at him this time, his expression is one of genuine kindness. "Let's just say your position is not unfamiliar to me," he says, a rare tone of honesty in his voice, before he grins again and adds, "Furthermore – you have no idea how boring life is these days, Kurt. There's no scandal in the Royal Family, no war, and I haven't had an affair with a married woman or man in at least six weeks." He sighs and despite being grateful Kurt does feel the urge to slap him. "But then you and Sebastian came along," Ned says with the biggest smile on his face, like Kurt is some kind of attraction, an animal in a zoo or a circus act. "And so far, life is certainly not boring around you. So I'll stick close to you, if you'll allow me to."
Kurt shrugs, because it's not as if he has much of a choice at the moment. Part of him is grateful for Ned's help, because he shudders at the thought of what could have happened had it been one of the Crawshaw twins or Arthur Huntington who recognised him. Another, much bigger part of him is still suspicious though, because who helps in a situation like this simply because they're bored? But then again, judging from what he has seen of Ned's character so far, it seems a rather believable explanation.
Soon there are bells chiming all through the corridors, calling people back to their seats. Ned and Kurt wait until the hallways are nearly deserted before they hurry back – Kurt stiffly turning his head from left the right, to see if there is anyone who might recognize him, and Ned still with a delighted grin on his face.
Thankfully, Sebastian is alone in their box, and he sighs in relief as soon as he sees them. His eyes roam over Kurt's face, as if to check if Kurt's alright, and Kurt almost reaches out, but then stops himself, flexes his fingers before he lets his hand fall back to his side while Sebastian turns to Ned.
"Ned, I swear, I can explain…"
Ned waves him off impatiently, "Yes yes Sebastian, I believe Louis and I had this exact conversation ten minutes ago." He grins and reaches out, places his index finger under Sebastian chin and lifts it up to stare directly into his eyes, "You know, if I had any idea you were this adventurous, I'd have made good use of it a couple of years ago."
And that apparently is Kurt's limit, because before he has realised what he's doing he's stepped in between Sebastian and Ned, gently shoving Sebastian back a few inches and effectively breaking the contact between them. "And while we are very grateful for your help, I do believe the second act is just about to start," he says, effortlessly keeping up with the French façade. "Surely you must want to return to your seat, so don't let us keep you."
Ned's grin only deepens and he tsks at Kurt while wagging his finger. "Cheeky, but oh well – I should really leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening," he replies and with a last bow and flourish he ducks out of their box, just as the music swells up again.
Before Kurt can turn back to his seat, however, Sebastian grabs his shoulders and pulls him into the folds of the thick velvet curtains, effectively obscuring them from view on all sides.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice barely audible over the overture of the second act.
"I'm fine," Kurt replies. "What about the Crawshaws and Lord Huntington?"
"They didn't notice anything," Sebastian says. "We had a brief chat and then they left shortly before you returned."
Kurt nods, relieved to hear that. "Should we leave now?" he asks. Sebastian hesitates for a second, then shrugs, "Well, now that the damage is done, we might as well stay and enjoy the rest of the opera, right?"
Kurt thinks about it for a moment before he nods. Sebastian turns to leave, but Kurt's hand on his shoulder stops him. "We'll talk about this later," Kurt says. "For now, just…" His hand moves down to grasps the lapel of Sebastian's tailcoat and tugs him forward to press their lips together in a brief, sweet kiss, a reassurance that they're still here, still in this together. "Just this," he says once he's drawn back, and some of the tension in Sebastian's face melts away into an affectionate smile. He tangles his fingers with Kurt's and tugs him back to their seats.
Night has fallen by the time Kurt stumbles through the kitchen door of Minerva House, thoroughly exhausted and wet to his bones.
Sebastian and he left their box before all the actors had assembled on stage to receive their well-earned applause. Sebastian dropped him off at the same corner as before and Kurt had managed to hurry back to the questionable establishment, reclaim his clothes, change and walk to Green Park in record time. He had, however, only walked half of the distance before suddenly the harsh brightness of lighting illuminated his way, closely followed by an almost deafening clap of thunder. Kurt started to run – in vain, as thick raindrops began to pelt down on him. Keeping close to houses and walls or hiding under the overreaching canopy o Green Park's trees had been equally in vain – his clothes were drenched after mere minutes, neither them nor the carton of the packages a match for the heavy downpour.
The kitchen is deserted when he enters, the only light coming from a few dying embers in the stove, and Kurt sets the packages down on the kitchen table and looks at them in regret as he peels away the paper. The clothes are thoroughly soaked and Kurt sighs sadly. He feels tired, but still restless, his mind racing with thoughts and his body itching with something he can't yet name.
Suddenly, he hears steps approaching from the corridor and a moment later Mrs Abbot enters the kitchen. She gives a surprised, startled sound and clutches her heart when her eyes fall on Kurt's frame.
"Kurt, oh, I didn't realise – thank goodness you're back."
"I'm sorry, Mrs Abbot," Kurt says sheepishly. "I didn't mean to worry out."
"You were out forever," Mrs Abbot replies, a frown on her features as she steps closer. "We were all quite worried. Jane was ready to go and search for you, but Nick assured us that nothing could have possibly happened to you at the dressmakers."
Kurt sends a silent 'thank you' to Nick and feels guilty when he realises that despite his best efforts he has made the people he loves worry about him. "I'm sorry, I should have sent a note. It's just, some of the tailors were ill and the only one left took forever to finish another order, and since his Lordship insisted that he'll need the clothes tomorrow, I thought it best I'd wait?"
"No, of course you did," Mrs Abbot says. "But next time, just leave them there and come home, yes? I'd rather you collect them early in the morning than stay out this late." She smiles and gently combs a few wet strands of hair out of his eyes. "Jesus, Kurt, you're soaked."
"It'll dry," Kurt says quickly, "But…" He nods towards the ruined packages.
Mrs Abbot steps to the table and begins to unearth the clothes from between wet paper. "Don't worry about them. I'll take them down to the laundry, but I fear his Lordship will have to wear something else tomorrow." She purses her lips. "To think that he spent all this time at the opera while you were probably falling asleep at the dressmaker. He just returned ten minutes ago. I was on my way to fetch Nick."
"Oh, in this case, I'll better go upstairs, so Nick can sleep," Kurt says, glancing down at his clothes, which are dripping on Mrs Davies' previously spotless floor. "Or… should I change first?"
Mrs Abbot's gaze flickers over him briefly. She hesitates and then shakes her head. "Go up as you are, Kurt. I think it'll do his Lordship some good to see what happens when he bosses people around thoughtlessly." A fresh wave of guilt washes over Kurt and it seems to show on his face, because Mrs Abbot immediately adds, her voice soft, "You're a good boy Kurt. I'm sure he'll take one look at you and send you to bed. He's not a monster – and he's as drenched as you are."
She smiles at him and has to delicately hide a small yawn behind her hand. "And I'll head to bed as well."
They wish each other good night and go their respective ways. The house is quiet when Kurt lights a candle and climbs up the stairs. Sir Robert's room lies dark and still, no sound comes from the doors of Lady Smythe's chambers, but there's a sliver of light under Sebastian's bedroom door, and Kurt knocks softly before he lets himself in.
He can hear the heavy rain outside beating down as Sebastian turns around and smiles at him, his expression relieved. While Sebastian's clothes are indeed wet, he is not nearly as drenched as Kurt is – the benefits of getting to ride in a carriage for the majority of the way, Kurt thinks dryly.
"Oh good, you made it," Sebastian says. He crosses the room with a few steps and cradles Kurt's cheeks in his palms, his gaze flickering over Kurt's features as if he has to make sure Kurt's indeed fine, before he smirks ruefully. "You look like a drowned kitten and it's my fault. I didn't think we'd be in for a flood of biblical proportions today."
"'Biblical' is the right word for it," Kurt huffs. He leans into the touch, into the warmth of Sebastian's fingers against his cool skin. "Which is bad news for you, you know. Your life as a rich idiot hardly gifted you with the skills necessary to survive this kind of catastrophe. But if you're nice and very lucky, Nick and I will let you tag along when we chop down half of Green Park to construct a second ark."
Sebastian laughs, "I don't know, Noah – I've been told that 'nice' doesn't come naturally to me. But I was moderately gifted at fencing back in school, so I can promise to defend you against all the scavengers that are doubtlessly out there."
"My hero," Kurt drawls, which makes Sebastian chuckle as he presses his forehead against Kurt's. His expression changes while he brushes his nose against Kurt's, and when he pulls back, his gaze is sober. "But in all seriousness – are you alright? No trouble on the way back?"
"None at all," Kurt says. He smooths his hands down Sebastian's shoulders and starts to unbutton the other man's waistcoat (Sebastian's tailcoat already hangs discarded over the armrest of a chair, drops of rainwater dripping from the swallow tails). "As it turns out, rainstorms of biblical proportions empty the streets like nothing else."
He undoes the buttons with practiced motions and slips the fabric off Sebastian's arms, tossing the waistcoat onto the chair with little care. He has started to untie Sebastian's cravat when he notices Sebastian's uncharacteristic silence and looks up to see a conflicted expression on the other man's features. "What is it?" he asks.
"I just…" Sebastian says and hesitates while Kurt unwinds the fabric around his neck. "It's…" He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. It stands up messily. "I'm sorry about Ned," he finally blurts out. Kurt furrows his brow as he tugs the cravat away and folds the silky fabric. "It's fine, Sebastian," he replies, searching for what exactly Ned could have done for Sebastian to be sorry for. "He didn't say anything strange or offensive to me, if that's what you're worried about."
"That's not it," Sebastian retorts. "Though, well – it's good that he didn't. But… I wanted today to be perfect for you." He is looking at Kurt again, his fingers still combing through his hair. "It's… you mean a lot to me, Kurt, and there are so many ways that I want to show you how much, but I can't. I would if I were allowed to. But I can't. And I planned this for so long, convinced it was a good idea. And then Ned showed up in our bloody box and I suddenly realised at how much risk I was putting you, us, just to, I don't know, impress you or something."
"But it was just Ned, and I thought you trusted him?" Kurt replies. He tries to ignore the tingling feeling in his stomach at hearing those words – I wanted today to be perfect, you mean a lot to me – because while those make his heart beat faster, he's not sure he's really grasping the problem beneath this. "You don't think he'll use that against you in some way, do you?"
"Wha- no, no of course not," Sebastian shakes his head. "No, I trust Ned – and even if I didn't, everyone who spends an hour with him has probably enough blackmail material to last themselves a lifetime. But you don't understand – it could have been anyone walking in there, Kurt. Hell, anyone could be walking in here, right now."
Kurt just raises an eyebrow at that and blindly reaches behind him, fumbling for the door. He turns the key and hears the lock latch with a satisfying click.
"Not exactly the point," Sebastian says, but there's a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I think it might be," Kurt replies and steps back to stand close to Sebastian, his fingers brushing against the button facing of his shirt, but not opening them yet. "I know we got lucky this time, Sebastian. I know we need to be careful. But…" he hesitates, "… what is the alternative? What other choice is there? We can stare at each other from opposite sides of the room until we both go insane. I can leave to work somewhere else and make us both miserable." He looks up, blue eyes staring into dark green. "But those are options, because this? It is risky. It will always be. And I think we both are aware of the possible consequences – you more so than I am, I presume." Sebastian nods, slowly, and Kurt continues, "But you said it before – the risk is much higher for you than it is for me. So I think it all comes down to one single question." Sebastian's gaze is heavy on Kurt's when Kurt concludes, "Do you want this – despite of the risk?"
Sebastian swallows, hard. Kurt can see the movement of his Adam's apple. He can see the moment when something shifts in Sebastian's expression, when an emotion flickers in his eyes that Kurt has come to recognise, even though he is hesitant to name it yet.
"I want all of this," Sebastian whispers, echoing Kurt's words from all those weeks ago. "But I'm afraid, Kurt. Not just of us being discovered by someone. On the way back I thought… I know how to do this. Dressing you up or me down and having fun about town. And I thought it would be a great thing to do on your birthday, but then I realised… I know how to do this. But I only know how to do this, and I fear… I'm afraid that I'm repeating old mistakes again."
"Sebastian," Kurt replies and even though he'd much rather not, he cannot bring himself to ignore the name hanging between them this whole time. "I am not Daniel."
"I know," Sebastian hurries to answer. "God, Kurt, I know that. This is not what I'm afraid of."
"But it makes the crucial difference," Kurt says, his voice firm. "Because today was perfect. And not just because we went to the opera or I got to wear fancy clothes – you being there with me, by my side, that's what made it perfect."
Sebastian looks stricken and Kurt's fingers curl into the moist fabric of Sebastian shirt involuntarily.
"You have no idea what an utter miracle you are, Kurt Hummel," Sebastian says. His tone is more serious than Kurt can remember ever having heard before and the way he looks at Kurt leaves Kurt breathless, because Sebastian looks at him like he's the single most important thing in the world. "I… I know I don't deserve it. But I want to. I want to deserve you."
Kurt finds that he doesn't have a reply to that, can't even imagine how to answer this. He stares at Sebastian, at the conflicting emotions so evident in his open expression – insecurity and longing, doubt and desire. And maybe he doesn't need words right now. Maybe there are other ways to convey how deeply he cares about this wonderful man in front of him.
He tightens his hold on the folds of Sebastian's shirt and tugs him forward. There is no hesitance in the way their lips meet any longer – they had ample time to explore this, in the mornings, afternoons and evenings, in stolen minutes before or after meals. Sebastian's lips are soft and pliant against his own and his hands come to rest on Kurt's hips, pulling his body closer while his tongue gently teases over Kurt's bottom lip. Kurt opens his mouth immediately and lets Sebastian lick into his mouth, welcoming the sensation of their tongues moving against each other and the shiver it sends down his spine.
Kurt's fingers move on their own. In well-practiced motions they unbutton Sebastian's shirt, and Kurt can hear Sebastian's breath hitch in his throat when Kurt's hands travel lower until they reach his trousers. He pulls at the fabric, more urgent than graceful now, pulling it free from where it is tucked into the hem. He slides the shirt off Sebastian's shoulder and carelessly lets it fall to the ground, his sole focus on the man in front of him. Sebastian is heartbreakingly gorgeous – the candlelight flickers over his bare torso, makes his skin glow golden and warm and casts shadows over the lines of his well-toned chest. But what captures Kurt most is the way Sebastian is looking at him – want and desire evident in his heavy gaze while he slowly and almost unconsciously licks over his bottom lip.
Kurt has undressed Sebastian so many times in the last weeks. He has seen him naked countless times before, buttoned and unbuttoned shirts, waistcoats, cufflinks, assisted him while bathing. And while he might have looked, secretly, once or twice (or, yes, admittedly not so secretly, recently), nothing between them had been never been anything but mildly heated so far – a shy exploration of what this could become, a glimpse at the promise of Sebastian's body.
Kurt can't pinpoint what exactly shifted in the air between them, but something has, and suddenly, there is nothing innocent about undressing Sebastian anymore. There is only desire, thrilling and unarming, and it makes Kurt step forward again, closer, pressing his lips to the side of Sebastian's throat. He can feel Sebastian's quickening heartbeat underneath his fingertips as Kurt's lips and tongue trace a raindrop rolling down Sebastian's throat, over the line of his clavicle, down the planes of chest. He feels the muscles move beneath his touch and Sebastian's hands tighten in their grip on Kurt's hips almost painfully before he loosens them and lets his fingers wander upwards, now in turn unbuttoning Kurt's shirt. Kurt looks up, a smile on his lips at the reversal of their roles, and Sebastian sends him an answering grin in acknowledgement before he pulls the fabric away. Kurt shivers briefly when the air hits his bare, wet skin, and then Sebastian's fingers are back on him, deftly unbuttoning his trousers while his lips trail over Kurt's shoulder, sucking at a spot at his neck and Kurt bites down on his bottom lip hard to keep himself from making any suspicious noises. His trousers fall to the ground and he quickly steps out of them, toeing off his shoes as well and kicking them away.
There is a moment when he stands in front of Sebastian, his body naked and bare under the other man's gaze, when he feels overcome by shyness. He cannot remember ever being this exposed in front of someone else, and there is a brief second when he has to wonder if Sebastian – who has been with so many men, has seen and touched and felt their bodies – will like what he sees. He instinctively moves to cross his arms in front of his chest, to cover up what little he can, but Sebastian catches his hands mid-motion, tangles their fingers together and tugs him closer. When Kurt looks up, he can see naked desire in Sebastian's eyes, intense and soothing.
"Kurt," he says.
Only this.
But it is enough.
The mattress is both soft and solid under Kurt's back as he falls onto the bed, the linen surprisingly cool against his skin. Sebastian follows him a moment later, tangling his legs with Kurt's. He smiles and runs his fingers through Kurt's still-wet hair, once, twice, before he cradles the back of his head and tugs him up to kiss him again, and again, and again.
This is so different when there's hardly any fabric left between them. While Sebastian licks into his mouth, Kurt's hand's travel over his back, feeling the tension between his shoulder blades, the way his torso narrows down to his waist. He hesitates just for a split second and then breaches a boundary he hasn't dared to cross before and lets his hand move down even lower, cupping Sebastian's ass, feeling its firm curve. Sebastian's reaction is immediate: he hisses against Kurt's lips, presses up against the touch and then down again, the heavy line of his body moving against Kurt's, and suddenly, Kurt can feel Sebastian's arousal pressing against his own, hot and hard through that last layer between them.
His hips lift off the bed, instinctively seeking out the friction, and Sebastian makes a noise that is halfway between a groan and a mumbled curse. "Kurt," he says again. His voice sounds low and broken. "Is that… do you want…?"
"Yes," Kurt breathes back, and that has Sebastian grinning while Kurt reaches down and swiftly unbuttons his trousers.
"You don't even know what I wanted to ask," Sebastian complains. He falls back onto his knees, pulls down the fabric gracefully and kicks it away.
"It doesn't matter," Kurt replies. His own voice sounds just as wrecked as Sebastian's when Sebastian lets himself fall forward again, arms braced on either side of Kurt, and he can finally feel all of Sebastian's body against him. "The answer is yes in any case."
Sebastian merely looks at him for a moment, his expression awed, before he kisses Kurt with even more urgency than before. When he bites down on Kurt's bottom lip Kurt can neither supress the whimper escaping his throat nor stop the way his body arches up from the mattress, wanting to be close, needing to be closer. He can feel Sebastian's arousal against his own, hot skin against hot skin, and that sensation is enough to make his hips buck up again and again.
"Oh bloody hell, Kurt," Sebastian gasps, which almost makes Kurt grin, but then Sebastian shifts to somehow align his hips with Kurt's perfectly, his hand moving down between them, grasping both of their cocks, stroking them with practised, precise motions and Kurt feels vaguely like swearing himself. He doesn't, though, just bites down hard enough on his bottom lip to taste blood.
For a moment, Kurt thinks back to his first glimpse at this world, at the possibilities offered by a small book hidden away in a library. But no words were ever quite sufficient to prepare him for this: the way his toes curl into the mattress in pleasure, Sebastian's breath in his ear, quick and ragged while he can't seem to stop trailing kisses all over Kurt's skin, the way Kurt has to stifle a moan against Sebastian's shoulder as the pace of their movements intensifies. Without thinking Kurt reaches down between them as well, cupping Sebastian's hand and working over their slick lengths together. Sebastian's head snaps up and he stares at Kurt, their foreheads mere inches away from each other, and Kurt can see that his eyes are impossibly dark, their green colour barely noticeable any more. Sebastian's mouth opens as if he wants to say something, but he merely leans forward, claiming Kurt's lips in a bruising kiss.
The edges of Kurt's vision explode into white sparks when he comes, his voice barely muffled against Sebastian's neck as his release washes over him. He can't make out the words that Sebastian groans into the mattress as he follows almost immediately, but he feels their bodies rocking through it together, shuddering one last time before Sebastian's weight crashes down on him, heavy and warm and secure.
For a long moment they lie absolutely still, the only sound in the room their own laboured breathing. Sebastian is the first to move. He props himself up on his elbows, his fingers slowly combing through Kurt's hair. There is a question in the way he looks at Kurt, another insecurity flickering in his eyes, and Kurt just smiles at him, lifting his hand to thread his fingers through the hair on the nape of Sebastian's neck to tug him into a slow, languid kiss. His lips tingle pleasantly and his whole body feels raw and sensitive and new.
"You can't possibly imagine how grateful I am to have you," he murmurs. The words leave his lips before he can think about them, and there's a split second when he wonders if they were the right ones. But then he can feel Sebastian's lips curve up into a smile against his own, and he doesn't worry any more, just drinks in this wonderful, gorgeous, infuriating man who he's fairly certain he would do anything for.
When Sebastian finally rolls off of him, Kurt grimaces at the stickiness on the lower half of his body. Sebastian laughs when he sees Kurt's expression. "Wait here," he says and slides off the bed, and that is an instruction Kurt is only too happy to obey because he is convinced that he will never ever be able to move again anyway. He hears the splashing of water and after a moment Sebastian climbs back onto the bed. He cleans Kurt's stomach and legs with a wet cloth, and Kurt shivers when the cold linen moves over his skin, and then even more when Sebastian follows its way and presses warm kisses to the inside of his thighs. When Kurt is finally clean Sebastian drops the cloth next the bed unceremoniously and pulls Kurt into his arms.
"Are you alright?" he asks and Kurt chuckles in reply. "So much better than alright," he murmurs and leans onto Sebastian's chest so that he can feel the other man's heartbeat beneath his cheek.
There's a hitch in Sebastian's breath, and Kurt senses a question even before Sebastian says, "Can you… stay? Just for a while? I know you have to get back, but… just for a little bit longer?"
Kurt smiles, unseen in the darkness of Sebastian's arms. "I'd like that," he replies, and Sebastian presses a kiss just below his earlobe before he buries his head in the crook of Kurt's neck.
Kurt wonders, briefly, if he should feel different, should experience the magnitude of what they've just done. But he doesn't. It feels just like another moment between them, a natural, long-awaited progression in their relationship, now that they have finally begun to cross those boundaries together. He doesn't question what they've done, doesn't feel shame, or doubt, or regret. He trusts Sebastian, trusts him with his body and mind, trusts his decision and his judgement – and, most of all, trusts that he will never, ever, hurt Kurt again.
After a while, he can hear Sebastian's breathing slow and even out, his head resting heavy on Kurt's shoulder as he falls asleep. Kurt stays where he is: wide awake and safely cradled in his lover's arms, listening to the rain outside with a content smile on his face, feeling for the first time in maybe forever what it feels like to be utterly and blissfully happy.