Author's Note: WARNING: The first paragraph of this chapter (in italics) is rated M for explicit sexual content. If you don't want to read it, skip the first paragraph. The rest of the chapter is rated T for reference to, but not explicit, sexual content.

Chapter 10: Tough Love

Burning lips nipping and sucking on his neck, making Kurt squirm and moan like a wanton. Oh, this was heaven, these waves of desire pulsing through him! His partner's left hand massaged Kurt's shoulder and bicep as they held each other impossibly close. The right hand deftly teased his nipples and then travelled down to the forbidden territory below. It began pulling on his hardness, setting a rhythm of long, languid strokes. Kurt felt like he was being dragged under the ocean and resurfacing, each time buoyed higher and higher. A hot, wet tongue slid along his jawline and traced the shell of one ear before teeth sank down to give his earlobe a delicious tug. "My darling," the man murmured sweetly, "you're so beautiful." Kurt clutched at the man and began bucking his hips into the lower hand, bringing their joint passion to new heights. Finally, finally, after an ecstasy of anticipation, the man's lips covered his with a scorching kiss. The man's powerful tongue thoroughly plundered Kurt's mouth, pushing and twining around his own tongue in a torturous, sensuous dance that seemed to last forever. Kurt ached for completion, but never wanted the build-up to end. The pace of the strokes on his shaft increased. Kurt felt the warm coil in his loins grow tighter, tighter. "I love you" were the words the man poured into his mouth. "Oh, Sebastian!" Kurt cried as he tipped over the edge.

And woke with a start, covered in his own mess.

Kurt was disoriented at first. Where was he? Oh, right, at the hotel. He'd had a wet dream? About Sebastian! Kurt's cheeks burned with embarrassment. Heart pounding, he turned his head quickly to see if the taller man had caught him out. But Sebastian wasn't there. Kurt was alone in the bed, just as he had been for the past four nights.

Four nights, three days, no Sebastian. He'd left for Manhattan. To go back to his damn paper and write that accursed story. Lying there in his hotel room all alone, watching the dawn rays filter through the lacy curtains, Kurt steamed over having been tricked into trusting the lousy heel. But Sebastian's absence had also left an irritating, irrational void. Try as he might to do otherwise, Kurt missed their whispered conversations, late at night as they were drifting off to sleep. He missed the gentle teasing, Sebastian's brazen innuendoes and outrageous endearments. And there was no more Bolero and no Sebastian watching him from the wings while he sang onstage. It was like every show these past few nights was incomplete. Instead of exhilaration, Kurt felt empty and unsatisfied when the curtain came down. Kind of like how he felt now, bereft despite the fact he'd just had an orgasm; betrayed by his own mind, which had brought him an unbidden dream of pleasure, only to snatch it away upon waking.

Dragging himself from the bed, Kurt opened the vanity drawer in his room and pulled out a much-crumpled piece of paper.

Kurt,

I'm sorry. Truly I am.

Sebastian

Kurt stared at the note for the umpteenth time, but, like the dream, it failed to satisfy. He sighed and crumpled it up again. He stared blankly at the waste basket for a full minute, and then threw the wadded paper back in the drawer, disgusted at his own weakness.

Santana scolded him for poking at his food during breakfast that morning. "Quit moping like a wet puppy, Your Highness, or Auntie Tana's gonna have to smack some sense into that muddled brain. You wanted the meercat gone."

"I know," Kurt sulked, morosely pushing his hash browns around on the plate. "I just… kind of miss him, I guess."

"Well, who's fault is that? Yeah, he was a journalist. But did he beat you? Yell at you? Belittle you?"

"No," admitted Kurt, aghast. The very idea of Sebastian doing such things was inconceivable.

"No," agreed Santana emphatically. "He treated you with respect. He listened to you. He worked his ass off learning your striptease. Plus, he was a total hottie."

"But he lied to me. He built our friendship on false pretenses!"

"Oh boo-hoo. Men are scum, everyone knows that. Hey, Puck?" she called to the other end of the table.

Puck looked up from his plate. "Yeah?"

"Aren't all men scum?"

"Yup," he replied, puffing out his chest. "It's in the job description." Jesse and Chandler also nodded in confirmation.

"There, see?" Santana said triumphantly. Kurt scowled at her. "Look, all I'm trying to say is okay, he was a rat, but I think he truly, genuinely cared for you." Kurt began again to protest. "Let me ask you this," she said, grabbing the neglected apple off his tray, "you've got a fancy fiancé, right?" Kurt nodded. "Does he listen to you and treat you with respect?"

"Well… that's different. Blaine is different. He's the love of my life, the man I'm going to marry."

"I'm not hearing an emphatic 'yes', Mr. Moneybags."

"Blaine has nothing to do with this!" Kurt fumed. "Sebastian is the one I'm furious at. He's the one I want to sock in the jaw."

"You just said you miss him."

Kurt plunked his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. "That, too," he groaned disconsolately.

"There's a thin line between love and hate, you know."

Kurt scoffed. "That's such a cliché."

"Oooh," Santana drawled sarcastically. "Is that one of your $10 dollar prep school words?"

Kurt tried to glare at her, but his heart wasn't in it.

Her tone softened. "You want some advice? You should talk to the chipmunk when we hit Manhattan tomorrow, hash things out in the cold light of day. That'll give you some answers. For what it's worth, I think despite what he did, Sebastian is a good guy. And that's very hard for me to admit, since I always try to maintain the lowest possible opinion of people."

"That's true, she does," Puck chimed in. Jesse and Chandler nodded again in confirmation.

Kurt sighed deeply. Santana patted his hand comfortingly a couple of times and then got up from the table. "Food for thought, since you're not eating much else." And then she took a big bite of Kurt's apple and waltzed away.

Kurt also stood. He bussed both his tray and Santana's as well, since she'd just left it. Then he gave a weak smile to the other guys and headed to his room to pack the few personal items he'd acquired since joining the troupe.

Kurt was so lost in his own head, he didn't notice Brittany coming towards him along the corridor until he'd practically bumped into her.

"Gosh, I'm sorry!" he said as he stepped around her.

But instead of continuing on her way, Brittany caught his elbow to stop him. She cocked her head to one side, her brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"I know why I'm sad," she said wistfully. "You're leaving us tomorrow and I'm going to miss you. I don't know who will write my letters with both you and Sebastian gone. Plus, you guys were always so sweet, you never made fun of me. But why do you look so sad? You'll be with your fiancé soon. That's good, isn't it?"

Staring deep into her honest blue eyes, Kurt thought for a long minute. It should be good. He should be excited to be so nearly at Blaine's side again. Kurt thought back to three weeks before, when he'd begun his cross-country journey. How determined he'd been! Even defying his father, who meant the world to him. Willing to take public transportation, sell the clothes off his back, go hungry, strip for strangers. All for Blaine. Blaine who loved him, even if maybe he didn't always show it. And now that Kurt knew how much he himself adored performing, how good he was, he and Blaine could share the spotlight. Sure, they could both end up in Broadway shows and musical revues! True, Blaine had made fun of Kurt for doing burlesque, and made some dismissive remarks about his voice, but surely that was just teasing. This experience couldn't help but bring them closer, a shared intoxication with dancing and singing on stage.

Kurt imaged himself in a Broadway theater, singing "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man" to a packed house. Then, uninvited, like a thief sneaking up on a mark, a glimpse of Sebastian watching from the wings crept into Kurt's treacherous thoughts. And suddenly images of Sebastian crowded out everything else – saving Kurt from that odious Hunter person on the bus; sharing his bread and salami sandwich that first night; trying to pawn his watch to get them money; finding the vaudeville show; circling the stage, warm and yielding under Kurt's control as they danced the Bolero.

All to keep you near him so he could write his tawdry tell-all, you sap. Stop thinking about Sebastian! A wet dream doesn't signify anything at all; every teenage boy has one. Blaine is your future, the man you're meant to be with. You adore each other, and nothing and no one can mar your happiness.

"I guess," Kurt said glumly, and turned away.

Santana was wrong, he decided. It was better if he never saw Sebastian again.

"I can't print this drivel!" Sue bellowed from behind her desk, throwing the pages in Sebastian's face. "I asked for an exposé. This is a goddamn love letter!"

Sebastian scrambled to gather up the papers from the dirty floor. Standing, he glowered at his editor. "This piece charts one man's journey from callow, spoiled, entitled daddy's boy to a mature individual who stands on his own two feet, cares about others, appreciates the have-nots and wants to help them," he retorted hotly. "Someone who finds his life's passion is thrilling audiences, not making money. A man who – "

Sue waived a hand to swat away his words. "Blah blah blah. Nobody wants to read about a millionaire becoming a better person. They want to watch him fail! See him yelling at the have-nots, bumbling around the stage, and feeling superior to everyone else without any justification. They want to know what his fellow performers were gossiping behind his back!" She grabbed one of the stray pages from off the floor. "This bit, this bit here," she said, stabbing at the words, "where the vacuum salesman hit on him. That was good stuff. The horror at sharing a communal bathroom in Joffer? Pure gold. And when he turned up his nose at eggs and ketchup, the breakfast of hobo champions – perfection! I thought you were on to something with his stupid idea to strip to classical music, that you were going to knock him down a peg or two. But then you wrote how it actually worked! After that, page upon page of useless piffle about how well everyone got along and how compassionate and talented he is." She smacked the paper with her hand. "Plus," she snarled, "there's practically nothing in here about Anderson and their supposed undying love for one another. Which was supposed to be the whole purpose of his pathetic cross-country meander! At least you could have spiced the piece up with a love triangle or trouble in paradise." She growled as though Sebastian had deeply insulted her. "I mean, honestly, Twiggy, what am I supposed to do with all this?"

"But it's the truth," Sebastian said indignantly. "You don't pay me to write lies. If that's the kind of 'journalism' you want, then you should get yourself another guy."

Sue scowled at him for a good long minute, and then her face softened almost imperceptibly. "You know what I think?" she said coldly, but there was a hint of kindness underneath. "I think you gave this tripe to the wrong person. Your precious scion should be suffering through this mawkish magnum opus, not me." Sebastian opened his mouth to protest. "Cut the crap, Casanova. He's the one you wrote it for."

Sebastian stared crestfallen at the useless pages in his hand. Maybe he had lost his objectivity, failed at his assignment, but even so, he took great pride in his writing. "Is it really that bad?"

Seeing she'd hit him below the belt, Sue instantly dialed back her angry glare. "Honestly, Sebastian," she replied with absolute sincerity, "it's brilliant. Really. Damn near swept me away. But Burt Hummel threatened to sue the Chronicle into the ground if we go to print and my pockets aren't that deep. So, either stick it in a drawer or give it to your erstwhile dance partner for Valentine's Day. Either way, it's of no use to me."

Sebastian hung his head. "Am I fired?" he asked miserably.

Sue stood and walked around her desk. She put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a motherly squeeze. "Take the rest of the week off, Beanstalk," she said with uncharacteristic gentleness. "Come Monday, I'll put you on the City Council kickback case. That's more up your alley." Then she smirked. "We'll leave the human-interest pieces for Jacob ben Israel and his ilk."

Disappointed but grateful to still have his job, Sebastian thanked her and turned to go.

"That vaudeville troupe gets here tomorrow, right?" she asked.

Sebastian stopped and pivoted back around. "Yeah, so?" he said suspiciously.

"Well, Valentine's Day is months away. A certain someone could give a certain someone a certain story early." Sue winked at him. "If they wanted to."