Warnings: brief scene featuring a former unhealthy relationship including attempts at gaslighting, also sex (if you'd like to skip the nsfw part, stop at "Sebastian hadn't bothered to light a candle..." and resume reading at "Now they're lying together...").
"Oh Kurt, be careful with that!"
Two small hands come up around Kurt's, steadying the giant alabaster vase swaying dangerously in his hold, effectively saving it from crashing to the ground.
"Thank you, Jane," Kurt pants. "Can you… to the window?"
Together, they carry the enormous flower instalment over to a corner of the ballroom. They set it down and carefully adjust the stems and blossoms to ensure that the balance of the arrangement is secure enough for the vase not to topple over, should the hem of an elaborate ball gown brush against it.
"Is that the last one?" Jane inquires.
"I certainly hope so," Kurt replies and winces when he straightens, the sharp pain in his lower back a constant companion these last days.
"Well, as much as I loathe to extent a compliment to her ladyship," Jane says, "But she certainly knows how to put on a spectacle."
Together, they let their gazes wander over the ballroom, where Bessy and Marion are sweeping up the last stray blossoms and twigs, and admire the results of their hard work.
Minerva House has been completely transformed into what Kurt can only describe as a fairy tale kingdom, befitting the theme of the costume ball, which Lady Smythe has declared to be "A Midsummer Night's Court". The theme is deliberately vague enough to fit a large variety of possible costume choices, though Lady Smythe has been adamant in refusing to wear one herself.
Mrs Abbot and Nick had found themselves suffocating under lists, verbal instructions and constant reminders of things they were not likely to forget in the first place, so they had begun to delegate the work. Kurt had immediately volunteered to oversee the furniture and the flower arrangements with the help of Jane and Andy, trying to keep to Lady Smythe's lists as much as possible and only subtly improving what he thought needed improvement.
From the curtains (new) to the tablecloths (new) to the carpets (new, of course), Minerva House has been transformed into a pastel coloured dream. Huge flower arrangements dominate every room: large pots of roses, mullein and foxglove line the doorways, white and gold alabaster vases that loom taller than Kurt nourish the abundant blooms of hydrangea and meadowsweet. Toadflax, ivy and sneezewort twine around and cascade over the railings of the staircase. Lilac, soft pink, saturated purple, stark white and deep yellow blossoms light up every corner of the rooms – with not a red or orange bloom in sight, as her Ladyship has deemed the colours "far too garish". The ballroom alone sports twenty of these massive arrangements, placed carefully around the windowsills and arranged into little nooks with strategically placed armchairs, separating the sides of the room into private alcoves like the one Kurt and Jane are standing in.
For a moment, Kurt only looks at the flowers around them and gets lost in their powerful perfume. He imagines a different world, a world in which he could attend the ball with Sebastian, at his side, a world where they could sneak off into one of those little alcoves and whisper about the dancers on the floor and their mutual acquaintances, their faces inching closer and closer until…
"Kurt? Are you listening?"
Kurt flinches when Jane's voice interrupts his daydreams.
"Sorry," he apologises. "I just…"
"I understand," Jane says. "Bessy keeps spacing out too. We're all tired."
She is not wrong. Kurt feels utterly exhausted, a sentiment he shares with every member of the household. If they all thought her ladyship has been relentless in her planning, she has proven ruthless in seeing her plans executed. Kurt's arms hurt from the buckets he had to carry; his fingernails are stained from evenings of polishing and shining more than three hundred silver plates. All the maids and most of the footmen have fallen asleep at the dinner table in the past week, drained and weary after scrubbing every surface in the house.
Needless to say, there has hardly ever been a minute for him to catch Sebastian alone. Lady Smythe had put her grandson to work too, and so Sebastian has hardly been at home lately. Instead, he visited the families that had not immediately accepted Lady Smythe's invitation, charming them through clenched teeth until they agreed to attend.
Kurt has tried to wait up for him in the evenings, but with the day's work he is usually asleep before his body hits the mattress. Two times he has awoken after midnight and dared to tiptoe down to Sebastian's room, only to find the young earl peacefully snoring. He didn't have the heart to wake him, and so on both occasions he departed silently after pressing a tender kiss to Sebastian's forehead. Even their regular encounters have been cut short – with Lady Smythe's ambitious schedule, they hardly had time for exchanging a few kisses while Kurt helped Sebastian into his clothes, and the last time Sebastian had asked for a bath he had barely sunken into the water when Andy knocked on the door, informing Sebastian that her ladyship wanted to see her grandson immediately as there seemed to be a problem with the cheese delivery. Sebastian hastily threw on his clothes again and Kurt waited until the door was firmly shut behind him to let out a small scream of frustration.
All in all, Kurt expects tonight to be the event of the season, and at this point, he can't wait until it's over and he can sleep for more than three hours – preferably not alone.
"But it looks like we're not the only ones exhausted," Jane adds, and when Kurt hears the smile in her voice he follows her gaze. Sebastian has just entered the room, and his expression is rather frantic, which is nothing new – he's been running around the house all day, mostly chased by his grandmother's voice, interrupting everyone in their routines, trying to fix messes and mostly only making them worse until his staff gently coaxes him away.
He's holding a few crumbled sheets of paper in his hands, and when he spots Jane and Kurt he crosses the room in large strides. Up close, Kurt can see that a button on his waistcoat has popped open. His hair is an absolute mess, standing up every which way as if he's been pulling on it, but his expression is one of slight relief.
"Jane, Kurt, thank goodness," he breathes and Kurt is so busy supressing an endeared smile that he forgets to bow until Jane sinks into a deep curtsey next to him. "Do you know if the musicians have arrived yet?"
Jane nods. "I saw them down in the kitchen just now, your lordship. Mrs Abbot is giving them directions; they'll be setting up their instruments shortly."
"Could you hand this on to them?" Sebastian asks, offering her the papers. "My grandmother just yelled at me for forgetting these – it's the revised list of songs they're supposed to play."
"Certainly, your lordship," Jane replies, and her gaze is full of sympathy as she takes the sheets out of his hands, smoothing the paper as she peers down at them. "Is there a specific order?"
Sebastian stares at her for a full second before his face pales in realisation. "There is supposed to be one," he whispers, and the look of horror in his eyes is so absolute that Kurt immediately takes pity on him.
"Have you written it down?" he asks gently and Sebastian nods weakly, "On my desk… somewhere?"
"I'll go upstairs, I'm sure I'll find it," Jane says. Sebastian beams at her in silent gratitude, and Kurt is surprised to see Jane lean forward and rest her hand on Sebastian's arm. "Breathe, your lordship," she says, "It'll be over in a few hours."
She winks at Kurt and hurries towards the staircase, and Sebastian lets out a deep sigh and runs his hands over his face. "It'll start in a few hours, which makes it worse," he grumbles and tugs at his hair absentmindedly. He turns his head to scan the room, and, seeing as he and Kurt are effectively hidden from view by the flowers around them, he reaches out to squeeze Kurt's hand. "How are you holding up?" he asks, his own panic momentarily forgotten as he gazes at Kurt with concern in his eyes.
"Fine, I guess," Kurt replies, a soft shiver running down his spine as Sebastian's fingertips caress the palm of his hand. "Nick and Mrs Abbot put me in charge of the decorations; they say I have a good eye for detail." There's a note of pride in his voice as he glances at the room in all its glory.
"You do. The house looks lovely," Sebastian says softly, and for a moment, they just stare at each other with gentle smiles on their lips until someone clears their throat behind them, causing them to jump apart.
"You know, as pretty as these are, they are not as discreet as you might think," Nick says, brushing a few twigs out of the way as he steps up next to them. "Anyone can just walk in on you any moment."
"We weren't doing anything," Kurt says. It's supposed to sound confrontational, but comes out more like a resigned sigh, and there is mirrored understanding in Sebastian's eyes when they share a quick glance.
I miss you.
Nick, meanwhile, is frowning at the flowers. "I thought the hydrangea was supposed to go to the parlour?"
"It was, but the vases don't fit in there," Kurt replies. "We swapped them with the foxgloves, the colours still match and they make more of an impact here."
"You just swapped them?" Sebastian asks, his voice rising with a hint of resurfaced panic. "But there was this colour chart thing…"
"Well, unless your grandmother finds a way to magically produce twenty vases with gold details within the next two hours, this is what we have," Kurt retorts waspishly.
"But if she notices… Can't you just use other vases?"
Even though Kurt knows it's having had to face his grandmother's scorn for two weeks without pause that's fraying Sebastian's nerves, his aren't in a much better place right now.
"Sebastian," he snaps. "I need to establish that I mean this only in the most loving way possible, because you are incredibly dear to me, but: Oh my god, go away please and let me do my work."
For a split second he regrets his words, afraid that Sebastian might take them the wrong way, fully expects a rebuttal, but Sebastian is staring at him with a soft smile as if he hasn't been listening to Kurt's words at all. As Kurt frowns and tries to remember what he just said, Nick chimes in.
"I actually came to tell you that the parcels from the dressmaker just arrived," he exclaims, and with a quick glance at Kurt he adds, "I can help you dress this time, Bas, Kurt seems pretty busy here."
Kurt could kiss him, not just because Nick is going to distract Sebastian from interrupting Kurt's work, but also because Sebastian has not stopped staring at Kurt with that gentle smile, making Kurt increasingly flustered while the tips of his ears slowly heat up. At Nick's words, though, he peaks up. "Oh," he says, and Kurt is surprised to see him bouncing up and down, because so far the idea of wearing a costume hasn't been something Sebastian seemed particularly excited about. "Oh good. Did you check the…"
"I did, everything's here," Nick replies. "I put yours on your bed, Kurt." He glances at the clock in the far away corner. "Make sure to change once you're done with these, we don't have that much time left."
Whether it is the incentive of seeing his costume for the first time or not, Kurt does hurry. He gives every room one last glance, adjusting a carpet here and arranging a flower there, but soon he joins Will and Andy on their way upstairs.
The parcel is sitting on his bed, alluring and promising. Kurt immediately notices that the packaging is identical to the one of the parcels containing his birthday presents, and the realisation that Sebastian did not just order evening attire for Kurt, but had it made by the most fashionable dressmaker in London absolutely warms his heart.
He carefully unwraps the parcels, a shiver of anticipation and excitement running through him when he lifts the lid and folds the wrapping paper back.
The first thing he sees is silver on blue, glinting and shimmering in the rays of sunshine coming through his tiny window. He reverently lifts the jacket out of the parcel, holding it up so the fabric can fully unfold.
The cut is old-fashioned, a livre modelled after the French style, fastened at the front with long swallowtails in the back and heavy sleeves. The fabric is a rich velvet in saturated sapphire blue, and the quality of the plain fabric alone would have been enough to take Kurt's breath away. But it isn't plain. The sleeves and seams are adorned with silver trim, the sparkling yarn swirling around silver star-shaped buttons. The sleeves and the front and back of the jacket are dotted with embroidery and exquisite beadwork, little dots and stars scattered over the fabric, some of them joined by faint lines of glittering yarn to connect them into constellations. Kurt stares and stares at the piece of soft night sky he is holding in his trembling hands. From the parcel he also unearths a pair of breeches, socks, a vest and a shirt, each of them causing him to hold his breath in awe. The breaches are a lovely shade of periwinkle blue, with more silver thread lining the seams and hemlines. The vest is a similar colour while the shirt is a warm cream tone, its fabric more luxurious than anything Kurt has ever held in his hands, and he cannot stop running his fingers over the sleek, fine material that almost feels like liquid against his fingertips.
Even within Sebastian's wardrobe he has never seen opulence like this. He can't fathom how a seamstress could make something like this in mere weeks! For a moment he feels shyness overcome him, but then he looks at the little sparks of light on the wall, sunshine reflected in the stars on his jacket, and he all but rips off his clothes, eager to feel the rich material against his skin.
Once he is clad in his costume, he lifts his head and looks at himself in the mirror. His reflection is looking back at him, and Kurt has never noticed the colour of his eyes as prominently as he does not, their shade perfectly matching the colour of the jacket. He wonders if this is a coincidence or if Sebastian had something to do with picking this exact colour for the servants' uniforms. He fixes his hair carefully and turns left and right to admire himself from all angles. He looks gorgeous, the jacket hugging his shoulders like a second skin, the material warm but not oppressively so.
When he comes down to the kitchen, he finds it humming with activity. All footmen are making last adjustments on their uniforms, more than twenty young men clad in blue, fiddling with cuffs and collars. Kurt knows some of them from the ball at Spencer House, and he shares the occasional smile and nod with them as he weaves his way through the mass of people – footmen, kitchen maids, and housemaids – until he reaches Nick, Andy and Will.
They are all clad in similar costumes, though Kurt can immediately tell that there are subtle differences in the shades of velvet – Nick's a nuance darker than his, Andy's and Will's just a bit lighter. While it still very much works like a uniform, he likes to see that each of them is unique, not merely in their colour but also in their placement and execution of the embroidery.
"I'm just glad her ladyship didn't insist on the wigs," Andy murmurs and fingers his stiff collar. "This thing is hot enough already."
"It'll get worse once the guests arrive," Will agrees and hands Kurt a heavy silver tray filled with wine glasses.
Because Kurt knows him to be right – the air during the ball at Spencer House had indeed been spectacularly oppressive, so he has no false hope about what awaits him tonight – he savours the moment when he enters the ballroom, already twinkling with lights even though the sun outside hasn't set yet, candles and lamps reflected in the millions of crystals hanging from the three chandeliers above him. Were it not for the tray in his hands, he could forget just for a moment that he isn't a guest, isn't here to drink and dance and laugh – but then Lady Smythe brushes past him, her usual black attire exchanged for a barely lighter grey, mumbling something about incompetence.
Out of reflex, he ducks away behind the next flower arrangement, and barely keeps the glasses on his tray from spilling over when his shoulder bumps against another.
"Careful – oh, Kurt."
Kurt is ever so grateful for his experience of carrying trays because he doesn't spill anything when he quickly turns around to look at Sebastian, who has apparently been hiding from his grandmother behind a particular large bunch of hydrangea.
Any answer Kurt might have had dries up in his throat when he sees what Sebastian is wearing. Sebastian looks breathtakingly beautiful, like a prince who stepped out of a fairy tale book to sweep Kurt off his feet and draw him into a lifetime of adventure. His costume is cut like the fantastical version of a hussar gala uniform, the fabric a dark midnight blue with the barest hint of teal, altering the colour just enough to make Sebastian's eyes sparkle with a deep, beautiful emerald. The midnight blue trousers draw Kurt's attention immediately to Sebastian's long legs, emphasised in front by the short cut of his jacket. Where the servants' uniforms are embroidered with silver stars, Sebastian's is all gold, twinkling with excessive moon-shaped embroidery on the cuffs and around the buttoned front. The pelisse, thrown over his shoulder to emphasise his broad shoulders and narrow waist, is lined with white fur and adorned with more glittering gold lines forming an intricate moon silhouette surrounded by constellations. Kurt has never in his life been in awe of another person's beauty like this before.
It's not just the way Sebastian looks though. It is the fact that Kurt immediately understands that his and Sebastian's costumes tell a story together, with Sebastian as the moon prince ruling over a court of celestial beings. And while it certainly reinforces the distance between them Kurt has felt so heavily in these last weeks, in this moment, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that the other servants are wearing the same costume as him, it doesn't matter that it was probably Sebastian's grandmother who came up with the concept – all that matters in this moment is that they, visibly, belong together.
It takes him a moment to realise that Sebastian is staring at him just as intensely as Kurt is staring at Sebastian. His gaze moves slowly up and down Kurt's body, and when their eyes meet, Kurt is startled to see the naked longing in his eyes mixed with a much deeper, much more startling emotion.
Sebastian takes half a step towards Kurt, until the only thing between them is the tray Kurt is carrying, which he wishes to the other end of the world. Sebastian leans forward just the tiniest fraction, his breath ghosting over the shell of Kurt's ear when he whispers, "You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen."
Kurt closes his eyes and drinks in the words – he believes them, believes down to his core that Sebastian means every syllable. To fight an onslaught of emotion he is not prepared to deal with – not now, not when he can hear carriage wheels clattering outside – he opens his eyes and tries for a lopsided smile. "You're not half bad yourself," he says, his voice barely containing his emotions. Sebastian seems to understand that he's trying for a lighter tone, to move away from the dangerously heavy moment between them, because he takes a step back and spins around to let Kurt admire him from every angle.
"Yes, I do look even more stunning than usual," he replies, and the matter-of-factness in his voice is enough to make Kurt smile and shake his head in exasperation, while Sebastian goes on, "Which is tragic, because it means so many young women will want to dance with me that I'll be leaving broken hearts left and right."
"Don't worry," Kurt says dryly, "I'm sure that after you've stepped on the feet of the first few ladies, word will spread quickly that in order to save their toes they'll have to find a less stunning, but more competent dance partner."
"I'm sure I heard a compliment in there somewhere," Sebastian retorts and grins, but before Kurt can reply anything, voices from the hallway alert them that the guests are starting to arrive. Sebastian sighs and straightens his jacket. "I'll see you later," he whispers and vanishes behind the flowers with one last smile, leaving Kurt with his heart beating fast in his chest. He doesn't know if he can blame it on the two weeks during which they've barely seen each other, but every second between them feels somehow more intense, not just because Kurt wants Sebastian – which he does, very much so – but because he feels like he's balancing on some precarious edge, his emotions every moment threatening to push him over one side or the other.
But the first people begin to trickle in through the doors, and Kurt doesn't have time to dwell on this further as he takes his position next to the door, offering drinks to the guests who now start arriving in quick succession.
He immediately grows to like his position between the door and the flower displays as it gives him the opportunity to observe the splendid and opulent costumes of the guests. Lady Catherine Islington is there, dressed as Titania in a flowing gown of green and turquoise. Edmund and Henry Crawshaw are both dressed as medieval court jesters, one of them decked out in red, the other in blue, while their sister Emily sports a flowy white dress and a flower crown that make her look like a nymph from a Greek myth. Lady Josephine, dressed as Maid Marian, is deep in conversation with Sir Robert, who has chosen a Renaissance costume complete with puffy pantaloons. Kurt smiles when he sees them talking to each other, their faces serious, and he can't help but wonder whether they'll hear some announcement from Sir Robert soon.
Some women are dressed as the seasons, with white feathers symbolising winter and large arrangements of silken flowers all over their dresses marking them as summer or spring. Pastoral costumes are especially en vogue – Kurt can spot at least five ladies dressed as romantic shepherdesses, one of them complete with a shepherd's crook and what Kurt realises in bewilderment is the stuffed replica of a lamb sitting on a little wheeled platform, which she pulls behind her.
Lady Isabella prances around the room showing off her costume, and Kurt has to admit she has every right to do so: she is dressed as Marie Antoinette in a magnificent rococo gown in light blue, cream and pink, complete with a towering, white, powdered wig. She is not the only lady to have chosen a rococo costume, but hers is easily the most noticeable. Her assemble blends in perfectly with the flower arrangements, causing many a gentleman and lady to look at her approvingly as she clears the way with her enormous skirt, and she basks in the attention she receives, laughing and declaring the evening "the most delightful occasion" and everything she sees "positively lovely". Lord Huntington follows behind her in a matching Louis XVI costume, adjusting his wig unhappily, but other than the rest of the room he is hardly ever staring at his wife – his eyes are busy following Sebastian's figure through the room, and honestly, Kurt cannot blame him, because he is doing the same.
After the first initial greetings Sebastian has deserted his grandmother, who is still firmly seated in the front hall, greeting each guest and secretly hoping that her majesty will deign to make an appearance. As the evening progresses, Kurt can see Sebastian move through the crowd easily – complementing a lady here, exchanging a few words with a gentleman there, laughing at something Lord Manners said to his circle of politicians. He's so at ease in the crowd, seems to belong to them so completely – and yet every time Kurt looks at him, his eyes are seeking out Kurt's. He stops by to collect a fresh drink three times as if he's drawn as helplessly to Kurt as Kurt is to him, always muttering something under his breath: a sly remark about one of the ladies' costumes or the dancing skill of a young earl, always waiting for Kurt's rebuttal or reply before he moves on.
Maybe it's because of the exhaustion, maybe it's because Kurt still feels giddy with nerves, but he constantly has to remind himself to school his expression back into one of collected indifference. But it's hard, so hard when Sebastian is smiling at him from across the room.
"My my," drawls a low voice next to Kurt's ear, making Kurt flinch involuntarily. "If this isn't a sight for my sore eyes."
Kurt turns around to look into the face of a grinning Ned, who lets his eyes wander over Kurt's body with unashamed appreciation. "Kurt, my dear," he says, "I might not be the first one to tell you this, but even being in danger of repeating what you have already heard, just let me say that you look absolutely gorgeous tonight."
Kurt feels a grin tug on his lips. "That is a compliment I have to return," he retorts as his eyes drift over Ned's form. Ever contrary, Ned has chosen to completely ignore the theme of the ball. He is clad in all black, his long legs in fitted trousers, a cape thrown over his shoulders, his lean, muscular torso barely hidden under the loose fabric of his shirt, which is cut low enough to expose his throat and collarbone.
He looks absolutely ravishing.
"Why, yes of course you have to," Ned replies without a moment of hesitance and Kurt rolls his eyes, reminded once again why Ned and Sebastian are such good friends. Ned grins as he picks up a glass from Kurt's tray. "But let's talk about my favourite footman some more."
He lifts his glass to his lips, draining half of it before he adds with a roguish grin, "Are you certain your happiness lies with Sebastian? Because I'd be more than willing to spend the evening and possibly the rest of the night basking in your beaut–"
Suddenly, Sebastian is standing next to them and Kurt flinches when he sees the distraught expression on his face. Kurt immediately opens his mouth to assure him that he would never even consider Ned's offer when Sebastian speaks, and Kurt realises his distress has nothing to do with Ned or himself.
"Reginald is here," Sebastian says, biting down on his bottom lip as he looks around the room as if he's being haunted. "Fucking Reginald."
"What?" Kurt replies and his grip on the tray tightens as he stares at Sebastian.
Ned's left eyebrow twitches in surprise. "I thought you severed that connection for good."
"I did," Sebastian insists. "But my grandmother sent out hundreds of invitations and apparently, one of them reached Reginald."
Ned curses quietly and scans the room.
"Looks like he's searching for someone," he finally determines and Kurt follows his gaze. It takes him a second to spot Sir Reginald, wearing a navy uniform and indeed making his way through the crowd, his head turning left and right.
"For me, presumably," Sebastian says darkly. "He doesn't accept that we're done. Do you remember how nasty it got at the Spencer's ball?"
"I do," Ned replies, his usual joking manner gone, his expression serious for once.
"But he won't cause a scene here, right?" Kurt objects. "Not in front of everyone."
Sebastian and Ned both look at him with twin expressions of scepticism and his heart sinks.
"My grandmother is in the next room," Sebastian whispers tonelessly, "If she hears anything…"
Ned determinedly drains his glass and puts it down. "We'll fix it," he says with so much determination that Kurt finds himself believing him. "Kurt, get Nick, we'll need your support. I suppose you have a backdoor?"
Kurt nods. "Two, one in the kitchen, the other next to the wine cellar, but we hardly ever use that one."
"Perfect. The kitchen will be too crowded, we'll need privacy for this," Ned says, "Bas, wait in front of the wine cellar. I'll get Reginald, and Kurt, please send Nick to wait for us in the hallway so he can show us the way."
Kurt doesn't waste a minute. He finds Nick in the parlour and after frantically whispering into his ear, the young butler puts his tray down immediately, his gaze dark and determined. He vanishes into the ballroom while Kurt slips away unnoticed, his heart hammering in his ears when he arrives in the corridor leading to the wine cellar. This part of the house is mercifully deserted, with all the servants bustling in the kitchen. Sebastian is already there, pacing up and down the narrow space, gnawing on his bottom lip until he spots Kurt.
"Do you think it'll be very bad?" Kurt asks quietly. Sebastian lifts his shoulders. "I don't know. I know I treated him horribly when we were together, but he just doesn't take no for an answer. I just –" He stops when he hears voices, and with a brief squeeze to Sebastian's shoulder Kurt quickly moves past him to stand next to the back door, trying his best to look like indifferent, as if nothing about to take place concerns him. A moment later, Nick, Ned, and Sir Reginald arrive. A range of emotions passes over Sir Reginald's face when he spots Sebastian: surprise, suspicion, glee, and, worst of all, infatuation.
"Sebastian?" he asks, "What is the meaning of this?" His corners of his lips twitch up as his expression turns intrigued, and Kurt's hands clench into fists when Reginald adds, "Is this another game?"
"No," Sebastian says. He sounds tired and almost pleading. "No more games, Reginald. I'm sorry you apparently received an invitation from my grandmother, but I need to make something very clear: I want you to leave. I'm sorry for the way things ended between us, but they ended. It's over. I don't want you in my life anymore, so please, leave."
The corridor is quiet for a second. Sir Reginald is staring at Sebastian, his eyes narrowed into slits.
"You have said that before and you didn't mean it," he states.
"I know," Sebastian replies, and his voice sounds pained now. "It wasn't fair to you. But that was years ago, Reginald. I meant what I said at Christmas. I meant what I said the last time we saw each other. Please, leave."
Sir Reginald shakes his head, his tone light when he says, "I don't believe that, Sebastian. You never knew what was good for you, not then, not now. I waited for you to come to your senses, for you to realise that no one else will be there for you like I was." He laughs and the sound sends a shudder through Kurt's body. "Do you remember our time in Paris? Our nights in Paris? Don't you recall how much fun we had there? You told me you didn't want me with you when you left Paris – and when I followed you to London, it was as if we had never been separated. Don't you wish we could live in those days again?"
"No, I don't," Sebastian replies. "Those days were hell, Reginald. Maybe not for you, but they were for me. I'm glad the memories blur together in hazy cloud of nightmares, because I am not keen to ever revisit them."
"Reggie, please," Ned adds. "You know under normal circumstances I'd enjoy this little dramatic scene immensely, but let's not make this more complicated than it needs to be."
Sir Reginald is still staring at Sebastian, his lips slowly pulling into a snarl, and suddenly, Kurt remembers his first months at Bailey Hall, the weeks of abuse Sir Reginald subjected him to. He remembers shards on the floor, wine on his trousers, he remembers the yelling, he remembers the insults.
Clumsy.
Small.
Chubby.
Ugly.
Foolish.
Stupid.
Boy.
His fingernails dig deep into the flesh of his palms, and the hurt keeps Kurt grounded in the moment as he stares at the two men in front of him, Sebastian and Reginald, who have both made his life miserable during these weeks. But the difference between them couldn't be more prominent than it is in this moment, in which Sebastian is apologising, repenting, but also drawing a line between himself and what has kept him from becoming better.
Sebastian understood Kurt's pain, even then, at least enough to stop Reginald, recognising Kurt's boundaries sooner than he himself realised. Sebastian noticed his mistakes, even early on, and Kurt knows that it still pains him to have taken so long to mend his ways, to not act on his instincts sooner. He sees it in the way Sebastian looks at Kurt sometimes, soft and breakable, like he still isn't sure why Kurt has decided to be with him. He feels it in the way Sebastian kisses Kurt, as if he's still asking for a forgiveness Kurt has granted long ago.
But Sir Reginald has not changed, Kurt realises the second he sees the other man stare at Sebastian, the distinct whiny tone Kurt still remembers so well back in his voice when he says, "You needed me back then, Sebastian. You wanted me. Do you really expect me to believe that that changed, just like that?"
"Yes," is Sebastian's simple answer.
There's a flash of hurt pride in Sir Reginald's eyes when he speaks up again, "You don't expect me to believe that you're fine on your own, do you? You replaced me – that's it, isn't it? Who is it? I know it's not Arthur, he's been miserable for months, and I know it's not Ned, because he wouldn't shut up about it."
"Reginald," Sebastian says and Kurt is glad that both his expression and his voice are firm. "I don't want you in my life. You're not good for me, and I doubt I have ever been good for you. I have asked you to leave twice, politely. I won't ask a third time."
He nods without taking his eyes off of Sir Reginald and Nick steps forward. Kurt is impressed with Nick's bravery when he says, his voice impartial, "Sir, please, this way."
He takes Sir Reginald by the arm, firmly, but Sir Reginald shrugs him off. "You don't want to do this, Sebastian. Not this way. Do you know what would happen if your little secret came to light?" He sneers at Nick, then at Kurt. "Do they know?"
"This is pointless," Ned intercepts. "Reggie, be reasonable. You know you'll only hurt yourself this way."
His prudent words only seem to fuel Sir Reginald's anger, and Kurt wonders if there are really feelings of scorned love and affection at the bottom of this, or whether it is simply the humiliation of being shut out of Sebastian's life so publically that gnaws on Sir Reginald.
Whatever the reason might be, Sir Reginald laughs again, the sound harsh and cruel. "I've been nice to you, Sebastian," he snarls, ignoring Ned completely. "I've waited for you to come to your senses for months, for you to realise that you still need me. You ignored my letters, my invitations, and I still came here, ready to extent the olive branch. After everything I've done for you, do you really think you can treat me like this? Throw me out, as if I'm nothing?"
Sebastian looks pained and Nick finally manages to grab Sir Reginald's arm while Kurt opens the door. "Let go of me, you imbecile," Sir Reginald hisses at Nick and tears his arm away so forcefully that Kurt can hear the sound of ripping fabric, but to Kurt's immense relief, he turns towards the door. "Ned might be right. This is neither the right place nor the right time. But I won't forget this, Sebastian. This won't be the last time we'll see each other," he warns. "And you'll be more than sorry next time."
With that, he turns around and quickly makes his way over the gravel of the pathway, vanishing into the darkness as the gate falls shut behind him. A moment later, Kurt sees the flickering light of a match further down the street, the glimmering of a pipe being lit before the street grows dark again.
"Well, that was certainly unpleasant," Ned says, causing the other three men to turn around and look at him. Sebastian lets out a shaky breath and combs his fingers through his hair, effectively ruining its former perfection. "It was," he says, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "Thank you, all of you." He pauses briefly, and then asks quietly, "Do you think he meant what he said?"
"I wouldn't be too worried if I were you," Ned replies and shrugs. "From what you told me he said the same thing when you threw him out during Christmas at Arthur's place. He's all bark, no bite."
Sebastian nods reluctantly, his gaze seeking out Kurt's. Nick notices immediately.
"We'll go ahead," he says, with one last look at Sebastian, and when Sebastian nods, Nick takes Ned's arm to steer him down the corridor. "Can I interest you in another glass of Merlot, your lordship?"
"Why Nick," Ned laughs delightedly. "I thought you'd never ask. I was just about to remark that I could really use a drink right now…"
Their voices trail down the corridor while Kurt steps forward. "Are you alright?" he asks quietly and lifts his fingers to comb Sebastian's hair back into place.
Sebastian huffs, "I don't know. I should probably feel more sympathy for Reginald, but he was always a rather awful human being. But I'm sorry I hurt him. I'm sorry for the way I behaved for years." He looks at Kurt from beneath his eyelashes. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he whispers, and Kurt steps forward immediately, his arms around Sebastian's shoulders, drawing him in close until Sebastian's face rests secure in the crook of Kurt's neck, his hands on Kurt's hips.
"Kurt," Sebastian murmurs, his voice a bit raspy, "You have to know that you're not a replace–"
"Of course I'm not," Kurt interrupts him sternly. "Don't be ridiculous. I know that. That man can only dream of ever rising to my level." He smiles with relief when he feels Sebastian chuckle against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry for what you did to yourself," Kurt says quietly, his fingers still combing through Sebastian's hair. "I'm sorry you didn't allow yourself turn to better people than Sir Reginald in a time of need." He strokes Sebastian's neck and feels the muscles under his fingers shift when Sebastian turns his head to press a tender kiss against Kurt's throat. "But I'm not sorry to be here with you," Kurt concludes, "and neither are Nick and Ned. We're with you, Bas, all the way, no matter what people like Daniel or Reginald threaten to do."
He tries not to think of what he would like to do to them, tries not to let hatred, jealousy or fury overcome him. These emotions won't help – not now, not in the future. What helps is telling Sebastian that Kurt will be by his side, for better or worse.
Sebastian lifts his head, emotion glittering in his eyes as he looks at Kurt with a small, lopsided smile.
"You called me 'Bas'," he says. "You never called me 'Bas' before."
Kurt has to laugh at that, relieved to feel the tension around them alleviate slowly.
"Well," he says and hooks his fingers into the intricate closures on Sebastian's uniform to pull him closer and whispers against his lips, "I can certainly do it more often."
They return to the ball before anyone discovers them, one after the other, through separate doors, to different rooms.
Kurt collects a tray with fresh drinks and, seeing that his former spot has been taken over by a footman whose name he doesn't remember, slowly makes his way around the ballroom, handing out glasses and collecting empty ones. He is careful to make himself as invisible as possible, not to bump against anyone or step on the train of an elaborate gown, which proves difficult because the room is packed with people, and even more try to squeeze in through the doors. The air inside is so thick it could be cut it with a knife despite the windows having been thrown wide open. People are twirling on the dancefloor, the musicians in the corner tirelessly playing song after song, while others mingle at the sides and between the flower arrangements, their voices and laughter sometimes loud enough to drown out the music.
The task of navigating around the room takes up almost all of Kurt's concentration, and while he doesn't have time to really dwell on the previous conversation, his thoughts keep drifting off to what just happened in the corridor.
He doesn't feel sorry for Sir Reginald either. He remembers the abuse the other man and Lord Huntington subjected Kurt to all too well, so the most he can muster is an abstract sense of sympathy. More than anything else, he feels lighter than before. He is glad that Sebastian sticks to his decision to cut these people from his life, relieved to see that he is choosing to become better, to walk the thorny path towards what Kurt believes to be true happiness.
Sir Reginald's parting words keep ringing in Kurt's ear, but overall, he doesn't feel too anxious, not when they have another very real and much more dangerous enemy to worry about. Sir Reginald cannot threaten Sebastian the same way Daniel can without ruining himself. So what if he badmouths Sebastian to a few people, so what if the public learns about their falling out? Daniel has proven that he poses a danger which needs to be taken seriously, but Sir Reginald's posturing seems nothing more than an empty threat.
He steps behind one of the flower displays and sets down his tray on a windowsill to collect a few more empty glasses hidden there. He rolls his shoulders and discreetly straightens his back, which has begun to ache again.
"I'm relieved to see you holding up so well after that unpleasant moment."
Kurt turns his head to look at Ned coming to stand by his side, half-hidden behind the curtain and the hydrangea. His body is turned away from Kurt's, and he appears to observe the crowd while he smiles at Kurt out of the corner of his eyes.
"I don't think it's me we have to worry about, don't you agree?" Kurt asks quietly. Over this shoulder, he spots Sebastian conversing with Sir Robert and Lady Josephine. There is a little bit of tension left in his shoulders, but Kurt is relieved to see his smile is honest and open.
"Maybe not," Ned agrees and for a moment, they both look at Sebastian, until Ned heaves a deep and theatrical sigh. "Though I have to admit I was truly counting on either your jealousy or your desire to defend Sebastian's honour to make this a little more dramatic."
"I'm ever so sorry to disappoint you," Kurt replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I don't see what I should be jealous about, and Sebastian doesn't need me to defend his honour."
"True, he has Nick for that," Ned says lightly and laughs when Kurt tries to subtly step on his toes in retaliation.
"I concede…," Ned adds and holds up his hands in mock surrender. "…that you truly do not have anything to be jealous of. I see that Sebastian has made it very clear who you belong to. I have to tell him that it's a very charming love letter – very subtle."
Kurt's brow furrows in confusion. "I'm afraid I'm not following," he replies. "What love letter?"
Ned's right eyebrow quirks up, delighted surprise twinkling in his eyes when he asks, "You don't know?"
"Don't know what, Ned?" Kurt retorts as he feels his patience with the other man grow thin.
"What the constellations on your jacket signify," Ned replies easily.
Kurt looks down in surprise at the sparkling embroidery on the blue velvet. "They signify something?" he asks, his voice puzzled. He hasn't even considered the possibility, too mesmerized by their beauty to imagine that there might be a meaning to them.
Ned nods, his grin still delighted by the secret knowledge he alone possesses. "This…" he says, and Kurt follows his gaze to the cluster of stars on his sleeve, "…is the constellation of the mighty hero Perseus, slayer of monsters and favourite of the gods, most of all Athena, the goddess of wisdom. The one on your other shoulder symbolises Cepheus, the mighty king of Aethiopia. And this…" his gaze drifts to the arrangement of silver stars sitting right in the middle of Kurt's chest, "… is the Aquarius sign. It stands for Ganymede, the most beautiful boy to ever walk the earth, so fair that he was abducted and brought to the king of the gods, Zeus himself, because he was utterly bewitched by the boy's loveliness."
At this, Kurt feels heat rising to his cheeks as he stares down at the pearls adorned by sparkling thread. He had noticed that all of the servants' uniforms were different, but surely, this could still be some kind of coincide-
"And of course I haven't had much time to look at what my dearest friend Sebastian is wearing, given the circumstances," Ned continues, his grin even wider than before. "But I noticed that unless I am very much mistaken, which I never am, every constellation on his jacket is the perfect counterpart to those you wear. The chained princess Andromeda, who was rescued by Perseus and fell in love with him, the boastful queen Cassiopeia, wife to Cepheus, and the eagle sent by Zeus to capture Ganymede… As I said, very subtle. Not what I would have expected from him at all."
For a moment, Kurt is left speechless as Ned's words sink in. Of course he knows that Sebastian was involved with the planning of the ball and yes, the costumes as well, but…
"How do you know this?" he asks, suddenly suspicious – from what he knows about Ned, this might as well just be a jest, a prank to amuse the so easily bored Lord. "I mean, how exactly did you become an expert in star-gazing?"
Ned smiles wistfully. "I once spent a beautiful summer in Antwerp, in the country house of a young earl obsessed with astronomy. We made love every night under the stars, and even though our love didn't last, it certainly was very educational." He grins. "In more ways than one."
Kurt continues to stare at him, but there is no twinkling malice or supressed glee in Ned's eyes, no twitching corner of his lips trying to hold back the punchline of a joke yet to come. He is smiling inwardly, lost to a distant memory, and Kurt understands suddenly that what Ned is explaining makes perfect sense.
Should the servants be in costume too, grandmother?
The dressmaker was here for, I kid you not, three hours.
They're… blue, I think? Or grey? You know how hopeless I am with these things.
And that's just it. Kurt does know how hopeless Sebastian is with this sort of thing. He doesn't have an instinct for matching colours and patterns, for cuts and lines, he doesn't read the magazines, doesn't care for the latest fashion when it comes to hats or the controversial bloomers craze of the ladies.
But he knows stories. He reads. Kurt has seen the books piling up on his desk and next to his bed: Homer and Ovid, Hesiod and Virgil. He has heard him whisper the legend of Antinous and Hadrian. Sebastian knows these things.
And even if he doesn't understand the finer intricacies of fashion – someone selected this fabric. Someone who knows exactly what shade of blue Kurt's eyes are.
"Please excuse me," Kurt mumbles. He picks up his tray and begins to weave through the crowd again, his eyes fixed on hazelnut hair and glittering golden embroidery. He thinks he hears Ned laugh behind him, but he doesn't care, making his way through the crowd like a man wading through high water.
It doesn't matter, he can apologise later.
It all makes sense. Sebastian's reluctance to talk about the costumes beforehand, his silent pride when Kurt told him about the flower arrangements, the fact that Sebastian had ordered from that dressmaker before…
Standing in the middle of the ballroom, amidst a crowd of people turning around and joining into a round of loud applause for the musicians who have just finished another song, Kurt realises something with startling clarity.
This is all for him.
The initial idea might have been Lady Smythe's, but at every step of the planning Sebastian has used every opportunity to form this ball into an event he knows Kurt will enjoy. The costumes are the starkest declaration of this: sending the message We belong together, two puzzle pieces fitting together, complimenting each other. It doesn't matter that the other servants are wearing a similar costume, what matters is that Sebastian has done this for Kurt, for them, to create a connection that no one, not even Kurt, will notice, but that is undeniable.
And it's not just this ball, Kurt realises. The opera, the presents – all this time they've spent in London, while Kurt had been busy sulking about the distance between them, Sebastian has done everything in his power to bridge this distance, to show not just Kurt but the world that they belong together, as equals.
There are tears burning behind Kurt's eyelids. His fingers are shaking so much that he has to steady the tray with both hands as he quickly makes his way off the dancefloor as the next set of dancers takes their places. He feels overwhelmed, so many thoughts racing through his head, so many emotions he has never felt before this intensely. But then Kurt is approaching the group around Sebastian and Sebastian looks up, his lips pulling into a gentle smile the moment he meets Kurt's gaze like he just can't help himself and all of Kurt's thoughts come to a stop until there is only one thought left, bigger and scarier and more wonderful than the rest of them.
I love you.
Kurt doesn't know what Sebastian is seeing on his face while he's standing there frozen, still holding his tray. But in this moment, the dancers begin to twirl around again, and one gentleman takes a step back and crashes into Lady Emily, who is standing next to Sebastian. She shrieks, more in surprise than because she is in real danger of losing her balance, but for a moment, she tumbles to the right and spills her wine glass all over the left side of Sebastian's costume. Sebastian takes hasty step back, but Kurt can see that the damage is already done, the wine soaking into the blue velvet of his costume. Luckily the liquid is of an almost clear colour, but the stain is noticeable nonetheless.
"Oh no," Lady Emily gasps, fanning herself and dabbing uselessly at Sebastian's sleeve with her handkerchief. "Oh, Lord Smythe, I am so terribly sorry."
"Don't trouble yourself," Sebastian replies, his tone and his expression smooth and polite, but Kurt can see the tension in his jaw and he knows that this bothers Sebastian more than he lets on. "These things happen."
"If you get it treated immediately, the stains might not remain," Lady Catherine remarks, though there's no real sympathy in her voice. "I had a chambermaid once, such a lovely girl and amazing with these sorts of things…"
Sebastian looks up at that, his eyes searching for a second before they meet Kurt's. "That is a terrific idea, Lady Catherine," Sebastian replies, executing a polite bow as Kurt sets down his tray and hurries over. "If you would excuse me for just a second, I'll have somebody see to this."
He beckons Kurt to follow and together they weave through the crowd gathered in the hall and up the staircase, slowly, because every so often Sebastian is pulled into a conversation, accepting praise for the event before he can politely excuse himself once again.
Kurt doesn't mind, not as such, because his mind is still reeling with its most recent revelation. Sebastian looks at him with a brief apologetic smile as he disentangles himself from the embrace of a clearly inebriated man in a red uniform, and Kurt's body is humming with the restless energy he has felt all throughout the night.
The quiet of the corridor on the second floor feels deafening after the noise that still travels up behind them, and Sebastian lights the way to his bedroom with a single candle, chuckling absentmindedly to himself.
"Well," Sebastian drawls and sets the candle down on the nearest table, "That wasn't quite…"
Kurt doesn't let him finish the sentence. As soon as he has closed the door behind them he turns the key in the lock, and then it only takes two swifts steps to cross the distance between them. Sebastian lets out a small gasp of surprise as Kurt tugs him forward impatiently, their lips and teeth meeting with too much force at first, clashing painfully. But then Kurt's fingers weave into the hair on Sebastian's neck that's getting too long again, and Sebastian's tongue darts out to wet his lips before he cups Kurt's cheeks in his hands, tilting his head to the side before they kiss again, softer this time but no less urgently.
"Kurt, what…?" Sebastian murmurs against his lips when they finally separate to catch their breath, but Kurt finds he doesn't have the words yet, doesn't know how to say what he has come to understand, so he kisses the questions off of Sebastian's lips, scraping his teeth over Sebastian's bottom lip until he feels Sebastian's moan reverberate in his chest.
Kurt doesn't recall having walked back but suddenly, his back is against the door, Sebastian's leg firmly between his as their hips press together. Their costumes don't allow for any access to skin so Kurt trails kisses over Sebastian's yaw instead, down his throat until he reaches his collar and then up again until their mouths meet again, warm and wet and wanting.
"Kurt," Sebastian gasps, and Kurt realises that his fingers have snuck under the hem of Sebastian's jacket where he can almost feel the heat of his skin beneath the linen of his shirt. Sebastian's fingers come to rest on Kurt's, stopping them firmly, frustration and regret mixing in Sebastian's voice when he says, "We can't, we really…"
"I know," Kurt groans in shared frustration, because he does know, of course he does – they need to return in a few minutes, Sebastian will be missed, there are so many servants traversing the corridors of Minerva Hall this instant, but –
For a moment, they stare at each other, Sebastian's green eyes glittering in the candlelight, both of their breath coming heavy with barely restrained desire.
"Tonight," Sebastian urges, "Come to me tonight. I'll wait up; I don't care how late it is. Can you…?"
"Yes," Kurt whispers back frantically, and it takes all of his self-control to leave it at pressing another hard, open-mouthed kiss against Sebastian's lips before he gently pushes him back. "I'll come to you tonight, I promise."
Sebastian's skin is hot on Kurt's as he lets Kurt's fingers slip out of his own and stares at Kurt for a long moment. Kurt can see the desire in his eyes fighting with something that looks like hesitance and worse, reason.
"You'll be so tired," Sebastian murmurs, "I don't know how long you'll have to be on your feet after the guests are gone, but…"
"Bas," Kurt admonishes. "I already said I'll come." There is no exhaustion left in him, on the contrary. He feels awake, alive with the realisations of the evening that he hasn't figured out how to voice yet. "Tonight" cannot come fast enough.
A knock on the door makes both of them flinch.
"Your Lordship?" Nick's voice sounds from the other side of the door. "You better come down quickly. A carriage is pulling up in the drive-way, and you won't want to miss this."
She is small.
That's the first thing Kurt notices about her.
But even though she is small, she commands everyone's attention, drawing all eyes on her as she makes her way across the room, her arm resting lightly on her husband's. She's wearing a dove grey dress and exquisite jewellery, her hair curled into artful ringlets at the front, twisted into a severe bun on the back.
Kurt is rather certain Sebastian's grandmother hasn't taken one breath ever since the pompous carriage drew up to the house. When the couple comes to stand before her she sinks into a deep curtsey, mirrored by Sebastian's bow next to her.
"Your majesty," she whispers. "What an honour."
The queen smiles, two dimples showing in her cheeks. The smile exposes her teeth and lights up her formerly grave countenance. She extends her hand graciously. "It is such a pleasure to finally visit our neighbours, Lady Smythe," she says. "Especially since the way over is such a delightfully short drive."
Prince Albert smiles too and, with the assistance of Sebastian, Lady Smythe rises from her curtsey once again.
"I must say, this is absolutely lovely. I can't remember the last time I saw such a beautiful and tasteful décor," Queen Victoria continues, letting her gaze sweep over the flower decorations, and Kurt feels his chest swell with pride.
The queen's gaze comes to rest on Sebastian.
"My husband told me you've become a supporter of his projects, Lord Smythe," she says, and Sebastian returns her smile. His pelisse is thrown over his other shoulder now, hiding the stain they didn't have time to clean.
"I'm eager to be useful, your majesty," he says, and Kurt has never seen Lady Smythe look at her grandson with this much pride – a look he's certain that, were he to look at a mirror this very instance, he'd find reflected in his own eyes, if for entirely different reasons.
The dimples on Queen Victoria's cheeks deepen. "Well, if that is the case, may I ask you to dance, your Lordship?" she asks. "Do you waltz?"
The look on Sebastian's face is one of comic despair, and the queen laughs. "Don't worry," she says and takes his arm firmly. "Albert didn't care for the waltz either when we met. I'll teach you."
With a last, loving smile at her husband, she takes Sebastian's arm and tugs him towards the dance floor.
Many hours later, Kurt lies beneath white sheets, his legs entangled with Sebastian's, a light fatigue weighing down on his limbs. It isn't the exhaustion he feels after a long day of work – it's the kind of tiredness that comes from being thoroughly satisfied, a quiet sort of happiness pulsing through Kurt's veins. And where Kurt's body is beginning to feel tired, his mind is wide awake as he recalls the last hours.
It was well past two in the morning when the last guests departed – a thoroughly charmed queen of England among them – and more than another hour before the servants either left for their homes or fell face-first into their beds. Kurt had waited until he heard snoring from behind every door in the footmen's corridor, then he quietly made his way down to Sebastian's rooms.
Sebastian hadn't bothered to light a candle – he had waited for Kurt in the grey hour before dawn, drawing him onto the bed immediately as soon as Kurt had locked the door behind him. To Kurt's amusement and delight, Sebastian was already naked, flipping Kurt onto his back so that he could kiss every inch of his skin while slowly, reverently undressing him, and Kurt had given himself over to his lover's touch, mesmerized by the sight of Sebastian hovering above him, his knees on either side of Kurt's waist, his mouth exploring his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, until Kurt's trousers joined his shirt on the floor and Sebastian had moved lower still, lifting Kurt's leg and kissing the arch of his foot tenderly. Kurt had bit down on his bottom lip hard to stop the litany of pleading ready to tumble over his lips, while Sebastian unhurriedly made his way down Kurt's leg, pausing at the soft skin where his upper thigh met his hipbone, only to repeat the process with Kurt's other leg, impossibly slow.
At this point, Kurt had blindly reached for a pillow to pull over his face in a vain attempt to muffle his moans and little cries of pleasure. Without being able to look at what Sebastian was doing, every sensation seemed heightened even more – the slow trail of his lips over Kurt's sensitive skin, the sharp pain when his teeth bit into the soft flesh – and Kurt came without Sebastian so much as touching him where he wanted to be touched most.
That had been a source of smug amusement for Sebastian, and Kurt had only waited to catch his breath and regain the feeling in the lower half of his body until he went for retaliation, their bodies soon rolling through the sheets together, neither of them truly sated yet. Their fight had ended with Kurt in Sebastian's lap, hips moving up and down at a rapid pace, Sebastian's hand working between them, both their lips bitten bloody by the effort to remain as quiet as possible. Kurt had come with Sebastian's name on his lips, half-choked while Sebastian had stared at him in awe, his eyes finally falling shut as he followed not far behind.
Now they're lying together in the rumpled sheets, bodies intertwined as closely as possible, sweat cooling on their skin while the birds in the trees of Green Park outside wake to greet the first faint sunlight.
Kurt's index finger gently traces the freckles on Sebastian's shoulders. In the grey of the morning, Kurt can see patterns between them, lines connecting them into galaxies, and he follows them with the tip of his finger, drawing them into lines of history, emotion, meaning.
Constellations of stars.
"I love you," he whispers quietly. He doesn't think about it, but as soon as the words leave his lips he feels relief in knowing them to be true, knows they have been true for a long, long time.
For a second, he thinks Sebastian is already asleep as his body remains still beneath Kurt's touch. Then, faster than Kurt has any time to comprehend, Sebastian has flipped him onto his back and is hovering over him, the expression in his emerald eyes a little wild, a little desperate.
"Say it again," Sebastian pleads, staring at Kurt as if he's seeing him for the very first time, as if there is nothing more important than hearing Kurt's reply and Kurt doesn't waste any time, a small smile tugging at his lips when he repeats, louder this time so that there can be no mistaking his words, "I love you."
Sebastian's kiss is almost bruising in its intensity and Kurt welcomes it as part of this imperfect, messy, overwhelming thing between them. It doesn't last long though, because Sebastian draws away far too early for Kurt's liking, to murmur against his lips, "Again."
Kurt is about to reply something cheeky, to tease him just a little, but the words die on his lips when he sees the expression on Sebastian's face. There's an unfamiliar glimmer to Sebastian's eyes, a shine that tells of tears never shed. He looks as if Kurt is offering him galaxies with these three words, possibilities he hasn't dared to let himself dream of.
And suddenly, Kurt realises just how lonely Sebastian must have been all these years – adrift in other cities, desperate to distract himself from the pain and loss, unable to have his best friend by his side. He remembers Sebastian standing in the kitchen downstairs on Christmas Eve, so out of place, searching for something, for someone to hold onto.
For me.
"Sebastian Edward Smythe," Kurt says, his fingers rising to frame Sebastian's cheeks. His thumbs gently stroke a line over Sebastian's eyebrows and draw a half circle until they come to rest on his cheekbones. Sebastian's gaze doesn't leave Kurt's for a second, his green eyes staring into Kurt's. "Never doubt this: I love you."
The smile on Sebastian's face is hesitant at first, but Kurt can fell it broadening against his lips as he rises up to meet him halfway, while the birds outside greet the new morning with cheerful voices.
Notes: Aaand with that we're off to another hiatus. There are at least four chapters and an epilogue left, and this was the nicest place to leave the story be for roughly another two months. Thank you so much for your continuous support and patience. I hope you and all your loved ones stay safe in these difficult times, my inbox is open if you need to talk about something – anything – and if not, you'll read from me in September.