A/N: Warning for shaming, bondage, flogging, age difference but not underage, smoking, and slightly genderfluid dressing.
It starts with a dare among the upper classmen.
Wes found out about the BDSM club, Pavarotti's Prison, during a weekend trip he took with his parents to Columbus. The night club was situated several blocks down the street from the exclusive restaurant where they had arranged to have dinner. But one look at the purple neon sign flashing the club's vulgar name; the vividly rendered logo of a canary locked in its cage, bound in chains and with a red rubber ball gag in its mouth; and the line of "deviants" (as Wes's mom had referred to them) waiting outside to get in had Mr. and Mrs. Leung ditching their reservations and making a beeline for a restaurant across town.
A lot of big talk later and there are plans to go, wagers made, and carpools assigned. But as luck would have it, Sebastian is the only one who follows through. He is intrigued, and more excited than he would outwardly admit. He doesn't waste time changing out of his Dalton uniform before he leaves so as not to get stuck in commuter traffic. He arrives at the club ten minutes earlier than planned, but over an hour later, he's still standing outside alone.
"Fucking cowards," Sebastian mutters beneath his breath, feeling foolish for going along with it, actually entertaining the idea that he might have been the victim of an elaborate practical joke. But joke or not, he's not going to slink back to Dalton without seeing any action just to bitch about being stood up by his pussy friends.
Sebastian stands in the shadows and watches the customers walk by, getting a feel for the clientele, and waiting for an opening to jump in. He's normally not so nervous. Even at only eighteen-years-old, well below the legal age for admittance into an alcohol serving establishment in Ohio, Sebastian Smythe isn't a stranger to night clubs. But he knows this isn't any regular night club. He'd played out this scenario a dozen times in his head on the drive over, but without a gang of other guys with him, he's not sure how to approach. He's not one of these people, and he definitely didn't dress the part. In his private school uniform, even if he takes off the blazer, he'll stick out like a sore thumb. There's no way he's going to sneak in and blend.
A tall, thin man rushes by and catches Sebastian staring from his hiding place against the wall. The dress code everyone here lives by seems to require tight jeans, some sort of revealing top, leather and spiked accessories, black eye makeup, and an excessive amount of piercings and tattoos. The man speeding by has taken this look to extremes – a ring of liquid liner applied around his eyes with laser precision; multiple rings and tunnels in his ears, piercings in his eyebrow and his nose, and lethal-looking spiked bracers on both arms. Their eyes lock for a second before the man breezes past the line and into the club as if he owns it.
"Live past your stereotype," Sebastian mumbles with a huff. He waits a few more minutes, checking his cell phone one last time for a text, a missed call, anything, before finally making the decision to wander towards the line. He pushes off the wall, searching his pocket for his wallet and his fake I.D.
"Hey! Preppy!" a distinctly high and authoritative voice calls out, demanding Sebastian's attention. "Are you lost? Or are you out here looking for trouble?"
The thin man he had seen enter the club earlier bears down on him, having exited the club from a rear door and circled around the building toward the entrance to catch Sebastian off his guard.
"Jeez," Sebastian says, leaning back against the wall to soak this man in, his uniquely handsome face scowling at Sebastian with an unequaled expression of disgust. "Could you be anymore cliché?"
"I could," the man says, crowding Sebastian in, putting a hand on each side of his head and pinning him with his body, "if I had the time to fuck around. But I'm getting a little sick and tired of you privileged Catholic school boys coming here and harassing my customers. So if that's what you are, you can either blow away on your own, or I can call my bouncer out here and he can make you take a walk…" The man bounces his head back and forth with a look of mock contemplation on his face "…but probably minus one testicle. It's your call."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Sebastian takes a defensive step back, but with nowhere to go, he smacks his head on the brick behind him. "I'm definitely not a Catholic school boy." Sebastian chuckles, not missing the irony. "I'm actually a customer."
The man steps away from Sebastian and raises a brow, grazing over Sebastian's uniform with wary eyes. His eyes pause on the red letter D on Sebastian's left breast pocket, his nose scrunching as if he just smelled dog shit.
"I-I was supposed to meet some friends, but they wimped out on me," Sebastian explains, feeling the heat from this man's glare penetrate his blazer and travel straight to his skin, roasting him like a flamethrower.
"I see," the man says, his voice calmer, not entirely impressed by Sebastian's story but apparently convinced that parts of it are true. "So, are you afraid to go inside, or do you need some…guidance?"
Sebastian opens his mouth to speak, but it inexplicable goes dry. His first instinct would be to buy this man as many drinks as it would take to convince him to follow him into the bathroom for a quickie, but Sebastian can't quite imagine taking this man on his hands and knees. This man is in his element here, and quite obviously has the upper hand, which puts him in control. Sebastian has never met a man like him before. He's not necessarily intimidated by him, but he can't help but be a bit in awe of him – his strut when he walks, his 'I'm hot as fuck and I know it' attitude, his shit eating grin, and the subtle simmer in his ever changing blue-green eyes. It brings out something unusual in Sebastian, something he knows he's never felt before. He wouldn't mind giving in to this man; wouldn't mind bending to his whims, especially if it gives him the opportunity to take a peek at what's hiding beneath his criminally tight jeans.
Suddenly, Sebastian is thankful that no one else showed up.
"A little assistance might be nice." Sebastian's normally smooth, cool demeanor falters beneath the man's disarming grin. "This is my first time at a club like this."
"If you need some help, what would you say to being mine for the night?" the man offers.
"I don't know." Sebastian shrugs, looking the young Dom up and down, from the purple streak in his upswept hair, to the oversized gauge in his left earlobe, the flock of small blackbirds tattooed around his neck, his black net shirt, his leather belt resting askew on his hips, those mouth-watering jeans, and his knee-high stiletto boots, shiny patent leather gleaming like an oil-slick beneath the arc-sodium street lights. "I guess I'm up for anything."
"I'm Kurt. Kurt Hummel."
"Sebastian Smythe." His name catches in his throat when Kurt's eyes travel down his body, sizing him up, lingering somewhere around his waist, then returning back up to his eyes.
"Do you have some I.D., Sebastian Smythe?" Kurt asks, raising a hand and making a give me motion with his fingers. Sebastian reaches into his pocket for his wallet. He pulls out and hands over the driver's license he paid way too much money to have made, but he considers it money well spent when Kurt hands it back with a pacified nod.
"Well then…" Kurt tilts his head, his eyes shimmering blue in the shifting light, "we'll start you off as a puppy, which means you'll spend the night on your hands and knees. Do you think you can handle that?"
"I think so, Kurt," Sebastian responds nonchalantly.
Kurt's eyes instantaneously go dark.
"No, no, no," Kurt tuts. "You refer to me, when I allow you to speak, as Master. Understand?"
"Absolutely." Sebastian nods, biting back the urge to roll his eyes.
Kurt crowds against him again. The confidence that radiates from his eyes, the no-nonsense self-control, kills any urge Sebastian has to sass him back.
"I am your Master," Kurt repeats in a low, commanding tone, "and you are my pet. You will do only what I say, sit where I tell you to sit, stand when I tell you to stand. You will not speak unless spoken to…" Then Kurt backs off, and his eyes become softer. "But if there's anything I do that makes you uncomfortable, your safeword is 'butterfly'. Say it whenever you want something to stop. Understand?"
Sebastian swallows his ego. "I understand," he says in a more respectful voice.
Kurt curls his fingers into the Windsor knot of Sebastian's tie and tugs sharply down, bringing Sebastian to his knees. He works the tail of the tie around to the nape of Sebastian's neck and uses it as a leash.
"Then come along, puppy," Kurt says in a sing-song voice, pulling Sebastian along with him through the double doors of the club. "It's time to join the fun."
The first thing Sebastian notices about Kurt's club (it's the easiest thing for him to notice while he's crawling on the floor) is the music. It's old school, heavy metal rock 'n roll, and it's loud. It vibrates through the floor and makes his palms buzz. The room they enter is dimly lit with multiple strobe lights throwing colors on the floor, but from what Sebastian can see when he tilts his head up, it looks like any ordinary club. Sebastian scuttles along after Kurt, doing his best to keep up, never realizing how difficult it would be to crawl on the floor before he agreed to it.
They enter the main room. Sebastian can see the legs of tables and chairs, and a faux wood dance floor. Other Dominants wander around, parading their human pets, some wearing actual collars and leashes, in all manner of dress and undress. Sebastian sweeps his eyes over the groups gathered around the room. He thought there would be more spanking and fucking going on, but in reality, there's just a whole lot of sitting, drinking, and talking. It's easy to identify the Doms and the subs. It doesn't seem as though any of the submissives are allowed to sit on chairs. They're either at their Masters' feet, or in their Masters' laps. He only finds one group out of seven where a Dominant has a submissive strapped to a table while he reams her from behind with some kind of shiny metal object that could be a vibrator if vibrators were the size of Sebastian's forearm and terrifying. But aside from that, which is kind of hot, he finds it unreal how much pleasure these pet subs seem to get from being made to heel. Some of them lie at their Master's feet, some curl around their Master's legs, some sit up straight at attention, waiting on commands. Some of them even go so far as to pant like dogs and yip.
Yeah, Sebastian thinks. Right. Not happening.
Kurt stops every so often to talk to people they pass, but eventually they sit at one of the occupied tables. Kurt taps a spot on the floor with his foot so that Sebastian will know where to sit, then pushes his shoulder so he'll lie down. At first, Sebastian finds this behavior dehumanizing, but sitting at Kurt's feet while Kurt bends over and runs massaging fingers through his hair gives Sebastian a tremendous sense of peace, of safety, and with that, an urge to please.
An hour later, however, Sebastian is bored out of his mind. Kurt and his friends jabber away about New York Fashion Week, Alexander McQueen's new line, and some school called NYADA, but mostly about musical theater of all things. Sebastian rolls his eyes more than once, much to the dismay of another Dom's pet sitting across from him, who tries to signal Sebastian with wide, pleading eyes to stop.
"Whatever," Sebastian mutters.
That single word, spoken without permission, immediately catches Kurt's attention. The conversation at the table stops dead. The Dominants sitting with Kurt look playfully affronted, wicked grins on their faces, while the other sub simply gives up on his wayward compatriot and lies contentedly at his Master's feet.
"Oh, preppy," Kurt coos condescendingly, sandwiching Sebastian's head in his hands and talking to him nose-to-nose the way he would address a disobedient dog. "You broke the rules, pretty boy."
"What are you going to do with him, Kurt?" a bubbly African-American woman seated at the table asks. "I mean, he's only a new widdle puppy after all."
The baby talk gets on Sebastian's last nerve, but he focuses on staring straight ahead and waits for Kurt's decided punishment.
"Well, it's his first infraction…" Kurt screws up his face and looks at the ceiling, giving the matter some not-so-serious thought. "Maybe I'll go easy on him." Kurt looks at Sebastian and smiles. He runs a fingernail over Sebastian's lips, making them tingle. "I think that pretty mouth of his can lick my boot."
Sebastian hears Kurt, but he doesn't move. He can't have heard what he thought he heard. Lick his boot? Who in the 21st fucking century orders another person to lick their boot?
Kurt fixes Sebastian with a determined stare. "Lick my boot," he commands firmly.
Sebastian locks eyes with Kurt, his defiant green gaze challenging a more amused blue.
"No?" Kurt asks when Sebastian stays put. "Well, then that makes two strikes for you, puppy."
"Uh-oh…" another Dom at the table, an older blond with a distinctly British accent, says.
Kurt slips from his chair and kneels on the ground beside Sebastian, pushing with a hand between his shoulder blades until he's lying with his cheek pressed flat against the ground.
"You know, Sebastian, you look like the kind of boy who gets by on his charm, and wraps people around your finger," Kurt whispers. "You probably have a whole harem of little boy toys at that expensive school of yours jizzing all over themselves to do whatever you tell them to." Kurt's smile grows devilish as he speaks. "I think I know exactly what you deserve."
Kurt sits in his chair and beams. "Two strikes!" Kurt announces to the table. "You all know what that means!"
A roar rises up. The blond man smacks the table with the flat of his hand as if sharing the hidden punch line of a joke.
Kurt turns his attention back to Sebastian with laughing eyes.
"Puppy needs to be punished," Kurt says, overemphasizing his words to be sure they're understood, "so puppy is going to get flogged."
Kurt bends down and grabs hold of Sebastian's tie, dragging him up till Sebastian is kneeling close to Kurt's mouth.
"Please tell me you're at least 18."
Sebastian scoffs, then bites his tongue hard to keep from doing anything else stupid, but Kurt seems to let it slide.
"You saw my I.D. I'm 21," Sebastian insists.
Kurt shakes his head. "Yeah, and I've seen enough fake I.D.'s in my time working here to spot one from 50 miles away," he hisses. "Yours is good, I'll give you that, but it's not real."
Sebastian prepares a rebuttal, but surrenders instead. Kurt's got him there. Probably best not to insult the intelligence of the man who's basically holding him up by his neck.
"Yeah," Sebastian sighs. "I'm 18."
"Excellent," Kurt says brightly, standing and speed walking away. He practically drags Sebastian across the floor when Sebastian stumbles to keep up, falling forward and knocking his right elbow into a chair leg.
"We're headed to the paddle room," Kurt calls to onlookers as they pass by, "if anyone wants to come."
The hairs on the back of Sebastian's neck prickle, springing up on end at the thought of a crowd of people watching him get spanked. He thinks about what Kurt said before they came in, how he can make it all stop by saying the word 'butterfly'. Sebastian holds on to that for reassurance, but he keeps his mouth shut.
The paddle room is about the size of an average classroom. Long, wooden benches line the walls around the perimeter. There are strange pieces of furniture and various odd implements scattered around that Sebastian doesn't get the time to examine since he's being led to a pair of wood blocks in the center of the room.
"This is my favorite piece of equipment," Kurt says. "We call it the pew. A lot of praying happens here."
The pew is basically two pieces of polished wood set a few feet apart, with shackles and cuffs chained at each end. Kurt stops Sebastian in front of it. He lets go of Sebastian's necktie and circles him lazily. Sebastian hears Kurt's heels click against the smooth floor and then stop somewhere behind him. Kurt pulls Sebastian's pants and boxers down to his knees, and then rolls his shirt and blazer up his back, exposing him to all eyes in the room. Sebastian shivers, blushing red hot over every inch of skin, which is definitely a feat since not much makes Sebastian blush.
Sebastian isn't ashamed of his body, but being laid bare in public, made vulnerable for other people's amusement, is not something he's used to. It's uncomfortable and demeaning. Still, being flogged by Kurt sounds super-hot, and Sebastian isn't about to back down. He's in this for the long haul.
Kurt settles Sebastian over the wooden blocks. He starts by spreading his legs wide to secure him at the knees to the ends of the first one, and then pulling his body forward to cuff his wrists to the second. It's awkward, but not too uncomfortable…until Kurt pulls the wooden blocks apart, stretching Sebastian out across a farther distance in an extended plank position. Sebastian's stomach muscles strain to keep his body upright. He clenches his teeth to suppress a groan.
"Nice abs, preppy," Kurt says, patting Sebastian's stomach and humming appreciatively. "You must have some incredible stamina." Kurt crouches down and whispers so only Sebastian can hear. "Could you imagine me fucking you on this thing?"
Sebastian closes his eyes, a sudden waterfall rush forcing the blood in his brain south as he envisions this pierced and tattooed man pounding him from behind, completely naked, manicured nails burrowing into Sebastian's hips, that sing-song voice chanting Sebastian's name over and over and over…breathy…broken…
"Open your eyes, preppy," Kurt purrs. "There's something I want you to see."
Sebastian's eyelids open slowly, and then blow wide at the sight of the flogger in Kurt's hand, its stunted handle wrapped in red leather with twenty black leather plaits spilling from the end. At the tip of about a dozen or so of those dangles a perfect red leather rose. The leather plaits without roses end in Monkey's fist knots. Sebastian's hands flex in the cuffs, his palms sweating profusely. His whole body shudders, and he starts breathing too quickly.
Sebastian isn't afraid of too many things, but he's not an idiot. He doesn't like pain.
"Calm down, preppy," Kurt says soothingly. "You know the safeword. Say it once, and this all ends…but I promise you, you're going to enjoy it." Kurt runs the flogger up and down the length of Sebastian's back, the leather roses stroking his skin like fingertips; gentle, light touches that raise gooseflesh all over, and Sebastian starts to relax. He breathes in deep and melts against the wood. Kurt watches and waits for the right moment. He doesn't give Sebastian any warning when he decides to begin, so when he pulls back and lets the flogger fly, the strike startles Sebastian more than it hurts. The roses land in a spray over his body, some hitting his spine, most hitting his ass, a stray one or two brushing his balls. He yelps, a sound that's a confused mixture of mild pain and surprise. The roses thud heavily against his skin, the effect like an intense massage. It's the knotted ends that sting, but only a few of those seem to make contact. Around him, voices whisper. He hears muffled laughter and the shushing of Dominants to one or two less disciplined submissives.
Kurt gives Sebastian a moment to register the strike, then hits him again in roughly the same spot. Sebastian jerks, but doesn't yelp quite as loudly this time.
"So how was that, puppy?" Kurt asks. Sebastian hears the smirk in his voice, the subtle tease, embedded layers of control. "Give me an answer so I know how you're doing."
"Oh my God," is all Sebastian can manage through quivering lips. He doesn't know what else to say. He's never been spanked by anyone in his life. Once the sting from the knots dies down, their bites ebb away, every inch of his body sparks with arousal.
"Shall I do it again?" Kurt asks, standing smugly beside Sebastian with the flogger at the ready.
Sebastian considers the question. Does he want to be spanked again? It sounds insane, but: "Yes," Sebastian rushes in a desperate breath.
"Yes what?" Kurt asks tightly.
"Yes…please?" Even as the words leave his mouth, Sebastian knows he's forgetting something. He wracks his brain for the right answer, his head muddied by the welts rising on his cheeks and the need to feel that flogger against his skin.
"Yes…please…what?" Kurt leads him along, fanning the tails of the flogger over Sebastian's ass. Sebastian feels a breeze from them swaying back and forth, but they don't touch him, and God! does he want them to touch him.
"Yes…Master. Master!" He comes to it with a triumphant chirp that makes Kurt laugh.
Kurt strikes Sebastian again, three times in succession, and Sebastian's body trembles, his wrists straining in the cuffs. Kurt takes a moment to circle Sebastian's prone, bound body, and admire the view – the bruises forming on his skin, his muscles fighting to keep him suspended, and his asshole clenching with every hit. Kurt swings and slaps Sebastian again, a little harder to see that hole tighten around thin air. Kurt's cock responds to the thought of those muscles closing around him, fitting over him like a sleeve, absorbing him into their heat.
"Are you going to fuck your puppy?" a faceless voice calls from somewhere in the room.
"I might," Kurt teases, "if he was being a good puppy." Kurt hovers by Sebastian's ear, talking softly from behind. "And if he was old enough to legally be here."
Kurt straightens up and swings again, and this time a fatigued Sebastian grunts out loud. His reaction to being flogged is glorious – sweat beading along his back, his legs quivering with exertion, his cock flushed, curved up against his taut stomach. Kurt strikes him to see if Sebastian's cock bounces in response.
It does.
"Mmm, I don't think I'll have to fuck him to make him cum," Kurt comments aloud with a satisfied chuckle and another hit.
Kurt's erection becomes painful in his jeans, and he begins to question who's really the one being punished here. The thought of how long it's been since he's fucked an eighteen-year-old makes Kurt want to weep. He doesn't do the math. He doesn't want to depress himself any more than he is.
"Have you ever had an orgasm off the end of a flogger?" Kurt taunts, the answer unmistakable. He lets the rose tipped tails trail in the crack of Sebastian's ass, the soft leather playing over his balls. Sebastian squirms, trying to follow the plaits as they leave his skin.
"No, Master," Sebastian grumbles in frustration, close to cumming, close to collapsing. Kurt knows that all it would take is his hand clamping around this boy's balls to ruin this orgasm for him, but he needs to see this boy cum.
Kurt hits him again and again, giving him no time to rest, edging him closer, and when Sebastian's arms and legs are about to give out, Kurt stops and steps away from the pew, taking a long, deep breath to steady himself.
"God, you do want it, don't you?" Kurt pants, as ready to explode as Sebastian looks. "You're so hot and ready for it, aren't you?"
Sebastian's not entirely sure this isn't a rhetorical question, but he can't help answering it anyway.
"Yes, Master," he says, the words barely audible.
"Come on, puppy" - Kurt crouches down and threads his fingers through Sebastian's sweaty hair – "tell me you want it."
"I w-want it, Master," Sebastian stammers, shifting in his shackles to re-position himself for another hit, pleading with his body, his ass in the air.
"Beg for it." Kurt yanks hard on a fistful of Sebastian's hair, his lips so close to Sebastian's mouth that Sebastian can taste Kurt's breath – hot and sweet, intoxicating with a smidge of alcohol and a hint of spice.
"P-please…M-master..."
"I'll give you what you want…" Kurt releases Sebastian's hair, and his head drops on his tired neck "…if you lick my boot."
Kurt stands and raises a knee, resting his stiletto heel on the wood block in front of Sebastian's face, inches from his mouth. Sebastian pants, watching his breath condense on the slick surface. He sees his distorted reflection, the want in his eyes, the string of drool hanging from his lower lip, his hair a wreck despite the half-a-bottle of product that he put in it hours ago. This reflection of himself that he barely recognizes suddenly seems more on the nose than it ever has. This time, Sebastian doesn't hesitate. He attacks Kurt's boot as if it was the man's mouth, placing an open-mouthed kiss to his ankle, licking over the joint, and polishing the patent leather with his tongue.
"That's it, puppy," Kurt murmurs, lashing Sebastian again. "That's what I wanted. See? That's all you had to do. Was that so difficult?"
Sebastian moans into the leather of Kurt's boot, sending fuzzy vibrations tickling up Kurt's body. They gather in his groin and shuttle along his spine. Sebastian hears quiet muttering and whining in the dark outskirts of the room, the sounds of cuffs and shackles being locked as other inspired Dominants start sessions of their own around them.
"I'm going to make you cum just like this," Kurt promises, lash after lash snapping against Sebastian's skin. Sebastian wonders, during a brief moment of clarity amidst the haze of his mounting orgasm, how close Kurt might be to cumming. Would Sebastian know if he does? Kurt seems so in control. Could Sebastian affect him like this? By submitting to him?
Those questions suddenly don't matter when Kurt's strikes get harder, coming faster, splintering along Sebastian's ass and slipping into his crack, grazing his balls, a few managing to propel the plaits around his hips to skim the roses along his shaft. Sebastian sweats across his forehead and into his eyes. He starts finding it harder and harder to focus on remaining stretched, especially since his mind has begun to drift. He imagines licking Kurt's pale skin, tracing his tattoos, chasing that flavor of sweet and hot in his mouth, exploring his body to see if he can find it anywhere else.
What would it take to make Kurt squirm, to make him cry out in ecstasy?
What would Sebastian have to do to find out?
Sebastian's orgasm rumbles through him with every hit until his muscles give and he can barely move, every nerve overwhelmed by the mixed sensations of pleasure and pain. If Kurt came as well, Sebastian doesn't know, though when Kurt undoes Sebastian's cuffs and pulls him into his arms, cradling Sebastian's spent and half-dressed body to his chest, there's no mistaking the wild thrumming of Kurt's heart.
Kurt holds Sebastian against him, making obscure hand gestures to someone in the room, and the next thing Sebastian is aware of is a warm, wet cloth cleaning him, hands pulling up his pants and fastening his fly.
Sated and utterly at peace, Sebastian can feel himself fall away in Kurt's arms. He must have started to doze off and snore because he hears Kurt laugh where his ear rests against Kurt's chest. A hand shakes him gently. Sebastian rolls his head on his shoulders to look up into the Dom's eyes.
"You smoke cloves?" Kurt asks, pulling a pack from his pocket and giving it a wiggle.
"Yeah," Sebastian says unconvincingly. "Yeah, sure."
"Of course you do," Kurt smirks. "Why don't we go outside and talk."
Kurt stands, but Sebastian gets on his hands and knees to crawl.
"No, no," Kurt chuckles, grabbing Sebastian's arm and pulling him to his feet, "I think you've earned the right to stand."
Kurt holds Sebastian's elbow and leads him to a fire exit door in the paddle room. He opens it and they walk outside, letting the door swing shut behind them. Sebastian watches Kurt hit the pack of cigarettes against the palm of his hand. An awkward silence threatens to surround them, so Sebastian says the first lame thing that pops into his mind.
"So…is this really your club?"
"Yup," Kurt says, taking a cigarette out of the pack and offering one to Sebastian. He grins when Sebastian takes it and holds it ungainly between his fingers. "It's a partnership between me and an old friend from college."
"How old are you?" Sebastian asks, watching with dread as Kurt lights his cigarette knowing that his is next. Sebastian has never smoked a cigarette in his life.
This makes him a lot more anxious than the thought of getting flogged did.
"What do you mean how old are you?" Kurt takes a drag off his cigarette and blows the smoke out quickly from the corner of his mouth. "Fuck you, that's how old I am."
Sebastian smiles, more bashful schoolboy than the overly confident smirk he's used to wearing.
"It's just that you look awfully young to be the owner of a club like this."
Kurt flicks his lighter in front of Sebastian's face. Sebastian puts the cigarette between his lips, inhaling when Kurt lights the end. The sweet smelling smoke burns his lungs, and he coughs violently. He stands up straight and takes a deep breath of cool air. He attempts several times to look cool and save face, but doubles over again in a fit of unattractive gagging.
"Those things will kill you anyway," Kurt laughs, clapping Sebastian hard on the back. Sebastian nods in agreement, but holds tight to his cigarette, backing out of Kurt's reach when he tries to grab it away.
"How do you like my club?" Kurt leans against the wall and takes another drag, deciding to let Sebastian fumble with the cigarette by himself.
"It's not really my scene," Sebastian admits, joining Kurt at his spot on the wall, "but it could be."
Kurt blows out a mouthful of smoke into the night air, then turns to look at Sebastian.
"You like being a dog?" Kurt asks.
Sebastian inhales, managing to take a drag and exhale without his body revolting. "I like being your dog."
Kurt shakes his head. "Don't get attached to me," he advises sternly, but with a flattered half-smile on his lips. "I'm not always so nice."
"That's perfect," Sebastian says, feeling his cocky self returning, "because I don't do nice."
Kurt stares at Sebastian with narrow eyelids, quietly smoking his cigarette, lost in his thoughts.
"Look, what I do here, we have strict rules," Kurt explains. "That's why I don't fuck with under age 21 subs here. I have to keep my liquor license."
Sebastian nods in agreement, as if what Kurt said made any sense.
"But in my private life, I'm a bit more lenient. Legal age for most everything but drinking is 18, right? You're old enough to vote, old enough to go to war, you're old enough to fuck." Kurt reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a business card holder - gold metal inlaid with mother of pearl. He flips it open and pulls out a violet-colored business card with black embossed lettering. "Why don't you give me a call?" Kurt hands the card over. "Maybe we can work something out."
Sebastian takes the card and looks it over, memorizing the phone number quickly in case anything happens to it.
"Too bad I won't get the chance to have you fuck me on that pew," Sebastian chuckles nervously.
Kurt drops his cigarette and grinds it out on the cement with the toe of his boot. "No worries, preppy. I have a set of those at home." Kurt winks and heads back toward the club. Sebastian doesn't want to see him go. He needs to have those eyes on him a while longer, hear his voice call him preppy one last time before he leaves.
"I'll give you a call," Sebastian says, hoping to prolong the conversation. "I promise."
Kurt stops mid-step, his stiletto heel clicking loudly on the cement, and turns back around.
"Now, that's something entirely different." Kurt crosses his arms over his chest and stares significantly at Sebastian.
"Wh-wha…what do you mean?" Sebastian asks, slightly confused.
"Promises," Kurt replies. "Promises must be kept, so they must be sealed."
"H-how do you seal a promise?" Sebastian stutters, captivated by the serious yet playful glimmer in Kurt's eyes; eyes as complicated as the man himself. Kurt pushes Sebastian up against the wall with his body, fitting himself to him. Kurt molding against his body makes Sebastian eager to go back to the paddle room again. Sebastian is a star athlete at Dalton. His abs can take it.
Lord knows his ass can…he hopes.
"You seal a promise with a kiss," Kurt whispers.
Kurt winds Sebastian's tie around his finger and tugs, bringing Sebastian's mouth down to meet his, no invitation offered or needed. He presses his mouth against Sebastian's, slotting them together, delicate brushes of his tongue coaxing the seam of Sebastian's lips open.
"Oh…" Sebastian gasps when Kurt's tongue slips through and caresses Sebastian's tenderly. Sebastian succumbs to the first sweep of Kurt's piercing against the roof of his mouth, moaning as the smooth barbell strokes back and forth.
Kurt pins Sebastian to the cement by his shoulders and pulls away from the kiss, a sly grin for the destroyed look on Sebastian's face. Sebastian tries to hold Kurt with hands cradling his hips, but Kurt effortlessly breaks free.
"There. That promise is good and sealed. Now you have to call me. Buh-bye, preppy." Kurt walks backward toward the fire exit and knocks on the metal door behind him. It opens a crack, and Kurt slips through into the darkness, his smile the last thing Sebastian sees before the door shuts and he's left outside alone once more.
The drive back to Westerville is torture, not because of his sore ass that stings with every bump in the road his car hits, but because every sting reminds him of Kurt. It's after four in the morning when he gets back to Dalton. The campus is dark except for the senior dorm, where the top floor lights are burning bright. Sebastian walks dreamily to his room, replaying the entire night over and over and over, every brush of Kurt's fingers in his hair, every snap of leather on his ass, and that kiss – Sebastian can live on that kiss for the rest of his life if he has to.
He might not ever have to touch another man's dick after that kiss. Consider him done.
A line of his traitorous "friends" peek their heads out from behind their doors as he passes, but no one talks to him until a guilty-looking Trent emerges from his room. Dawdling in the hall, he watches Sebastian approach.
"So, Seb," Trent says casually, as if he's about to ask him about dinner with his folks, or how his last dental check-up went. "How did it go?"
A few more Warblers venture out of their rooms to listen in on the conversation. Sebastian eyes the group, glaring at each boy one by one, but even as annoyed as he was at the beginning of the night over his supposed best friends ditching him, he can't hide the grin on his face.
"Fuck you bitches," Sebastian says, heading off to his room with the shadow of a limp that makes Jeff snicker into his boyfriend's neck. "My lips are sealed."