Sitting alone in a room in Kennerstown isn't as difficult as Kurt thought it would be.
Not for the reasons he originally feared, anyway.
Lonely as he is, bored as he feels, the ghosts of his past haven't come to haunt him here. Being surrounded by Sebastian's things, marked by Sebastian's kisses, may have given him armor against their power. Of course, they could have chosen to linger in the hallway and wait for him to step foot outside before they attack.
Or maybe he's outgrown his fears. As horrible as what happened to him here was, he'd learned soon after that there are worse places than Kennerstown, worse people than those who'd been employed to bring him here.
Worse punishments than those he had endured shackled in that town square.
Otherwise, his memories leave him alone.
Rain begins to fall as the sun sets, its thunk-thunk-thunking on the windowsill making Kurt restless. Rain could slow Sebastian up. If it comes down any harder, it could force him to duck into a saloon to dry off. He might grab dinner while he's there, order up a drink or two, lose track of time.
Kurt doesn't rightly know whether Sebastian likes his drink or not. They've only drunk milk and water thus far. But if he drinks too much after a long, exhausting day, he might pass out, and then …
No, Kurt scolds himself for the fifteenth time that day. Stop. That's not going to happen. Sebastian will come back when he's done, like he promised, if not to keep his word, and if not for Kurt, then because Kurt looks like Aaron. And Sebastian would want to return to the one person who looks like his beloved husband.
Sadly, that's Kurt's insurance policy.
But it doesn't make the time go by any quicker, and it doesn't make Sebastian any swifter. Kurt hates himself for growing impatient, but he's been anticipating Sebastian's return since night fall, quiet as a mouse so he can discern the sound of Sebastian's horse trotting down the street, or his footsteps in the hall. Several times he heard steps he thought might be Sebastian's. His heart raced. He held his breath, eager to give the man a proper homecoming. But they'd walk on, leaving Kurt to recover in frustration.
He tried napping to make the time go by, but his thoughts were filled with Sebastian, his body stirring in ways he wasn't ready to confront. Back at the regent's house, Kurt cherished his times alone, for they were so few and far between. He knew how to occupy himself with sewing and with singing, even with just his thoughts, getting lost in daydreams of reuniting with his father.
But, as Sebastian is so fond of saying, this isn't the regent's house.
This time, Kurt has something other than servicing men to look forward to, and he'd like to get back to it as soon as possible.
The upcoming days promised to be torturous if Kurt couldn't stand one or two alone.
After pacing an honest-to-God rut in the floor, Kurt stretches out on the bed, book open in front of him, giving reading a go. But the darkness inside the room rivals the darkness outside, and the candles he lit do little more to relieve the darkness than toss shadows in inconvenient places. He doesn't know the time other than it's past dinner. When the ruckus from the bars and the saloons begins to rise over the sound of the falling rain, he frets. With Sebastian in his every thought, he recalls that bruise on his jaw, the one that looked like it could have come from a rock his horse kicked up.
Or a fist.
What if whoever gave him that bruise tracked them down and found him?
And what of those bruises on his back? The ones that looked like belt marks? Those could be from the regent's men. Sebastian did say when they first met that he didn't need any trouble from the regent. Could those bruises have something to do with that remark?
What if Sebastian lay in a ditch? Or tied in the back of a cart, on the way to Lord knows where?
What if he's on his way to the regent's house?
That thought is strong enough to get Kurt up off the bed, ready to race out into the weather in search of his benefactor, when someone stomps down the hallway with purpose towards the room. Kurt eyes the door, straining as if he can see who's on the other side. He half expects whoever it is to walk on by like the dozens before, but the footsteps stop and the doorknob rattles. Kurt swallows a breath. He had locked the door after Sebastian left, but he didn't put too much faith in the lock. A few good shoulders to the wood could force the door open, and then …
But whomever stands on the other side stops trying the knob and knocks.
"Kurt?" Knock-knock. "Kurt, darling? Can you hear me?" Knock-knock. "Open the door."
Kurt bolts off the bed, landing a foot away. "Coming! Coming!" he calls, and in three short strides, he unlocks the door.
"You're back!" He says, opening it wide and offering his arms for Sebastian's hat and coat. Sebastian hands them over, grinning sadly at Kurt's willingness to please. Whether from conditioning or loneliness is anyone's guess, but Sebastian could be blamed for one of those. Relieved of his coat, he shivers, sending drops of water spraying all over, darkening the ground.
"I am," Sebastian replies, beating the cold from his arms and legs. "Did you miss me, little one?"
"I did," Kurt admits shamelessly, too happy to see Sebastian to hide his regard. And why should he? Why should he keep that fact to himself?
"I see you found the candles." Sebastian peers at the points of light blinking at him from every corner of the room. Part of him wishes Kurt had just left the room dark. After coming in from outside, the tiny halos circling each flame mess with Sebastian's night vision. But Kurt couldn't have known, so he's not going to mention it.
"Yeah." Kurt giggles. "I may have overdone it a little, but it was so dark in here! I thought I would read until you got back, but I couldn't see my hand in front of my face!" Kurt looks from the mass of candles to the blank expression on Sebastian's face and suddenly realizes the mistake he'd made. Maybe candles are expensive. They'd had so many of them at the regent's house, price had never crossed his mind. But perhaps they cost Sebastian dearly. And now, in his ignorance, Kurt had wasted Sebastian's supply. "I-I hope you don't mind. I didn't think …"
"Not at all." Sebastian places a hand to Kurt's cheek and a kiss to his forehead, his lips frigid against Kurt's skin. "I want you to see. Can't read in the dark, can ya?" Sebastian performs another once over of the room in the hopes his eyes will adjust and catches sight of the table. It's been dressed for the evening meal – table cloth, plates, silverware, mugs, and their pathetic bouquet in its clouded jar. Except, on second inspection, Sebastian notices that Kurt's plate is dirty, smeared with gravy, his fork lying over it. Empty and unclean, in the manner of any boy his age. Sebastian's new smile clears the sadness from his eyes. "And you ate," he declares, "before I got here?"
Kurt's face pales, his welcome home smile less bright. "I-I got hungry, and I figured you wouldn't mind, seeing as you said all those times …"
"I don't mind. Not at all. In fact, I'm proud of you." Sebastian takes Kurt in his arms, folding him against skin that's cool and damp. Kurt breathes in deep at Sebastian's neck, this one juncture fresh beneath his nose. Not just rain water fresh, but soap and water fresh.
"You … you already took a bath?" Kurt's body stiffens with disappointment and embarrassment. But really, what had he expected?
"Not really. It was more of a quick dunk under a faucet drippin' cold water. They don't have much in the way of bathing facilities here."
"Oh." Kurt stares forlornly at the floor.
"But I ordered up your water heated." Sebastian motions to a bucket by the door that Kurt didn't see before. "It's come right off the fire, so it might be too hot to use at the moment. But I don't need you catchin' your death," he adds during Kurt's silence. "This room's goin' to get cold tonight, even with us bedding down together."
Kurt nods, eyes plastered to the steaming bucket. "Thank you. That was … very kind of you." He clears his throat of his own stupidity. "You should … you should eat." He walks to the table and pulls out a chair for Sebastian, preparing to bathe in the far corner of the room while Sebastian eats … alone. Kurt chides himself for his silliness, but if Sebastian knew what he'd built up in his head, he would be kind. He would call it adjusting, which seems to Kurt just an empty word to describe the ways his mind and body are flailing through life, trying freedom and adulthood on for size, and failing miserably. "I'm sure you must be starving after your business today. You've been gone for hours."
Sebastian watches Kurt recoil, his smile gone, his eyes focused on the dusty floor as if the secrets of the universe had been etched there. Unwittingly, Sebastian had done this – lifted him up, then knocked him down, simply by misunderstanding. The more his gaze sweeps the room, the more his eyes become comfortable with the low light, and the more he begins to understand what Kurt had been doing during the long day.
He'd been keeping house, making things tidy and homey.
For Sebastian.
On Sebastian's end, he'd found himself rushing back to town to be with Kurt, and not simply because he knew Kurt was alone in a town he hated.
Sebastian wanted to be with Kurt – a revelation that shook him at his core. Normally it was his dreams of Aaron he'd be rushing back to.
But he hadn't thought of his husband much that afternoon, and for that, he felt ashamed.
"You know, I can't say I'm all that hungry." Sebastian reaches behind him and secures the door. "For food, anyways."
Shrouded in darkness, Kurt bites his lower lip. He had imagined Sebastian saying something similar to him in his dreams this afternoon. He doesn't know what to expect, but the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach give him some ideas. "What are you hungry for?"
"It may sound strange, but I haven't had a proper shave in a while. I'm all butter fingers when I try to do it myself. And I was hoping … you don't look like you shave yourself, but could you possibly …"
Kurt pulls a face. He didn't see that coming. "… give you a shave?"
"I don't feel right askin', to be honest. I wouldn't want you to wait on me or nuthin', but …"
"No!" Kurt turns with hands up to stop Sebastian from repealing his request. "I would love to!"
"It's actually more of a trade."
"What do you want to trade?"
"You give me a shave …" Sebastian takes a step closer, the pupils of his eyes blown blacker than the room they're in "… and I'll wash your back. When that water cools down, that is."
Kurt shoots a look at the bucket of water, willing it to cool enough for Sebastian to make good on his end of the deal. But from the volume of water in the bucket, it may take a while.
Long enough to give the man his shave.
"Deal," Kurt says, relocating the chair beneath his hands away from the table to give him room while Sebastian roots through his trunk for his razor, washing cloth, and bar of soap. He finds them, then moves the bucket of hot water closer. He sits in the chair and makes himself comfortable. He dips the washing cloth into the bucket, then wrings it out over the ground. Kurt watches in awe at how Sebastian handles the hot water, like it's no big thing. Then again, if he's come in from the cold rain, and then a cold shower, it probably feels regular temperature to him. Sebastian unravels the wet cloth, leans his head back, and puts it on his face, sighing beneath its warmth.
"Ready when you are," he mutters sleepily, and Kurt prays the man doesn't fall asleep before his shave is done.
Kurt uses the mug on the table to scoop water from the bucket. No need making the whole thing a soapy mess when he only needs a little. He drops the bar of soap in the mug so it can get soft. Using Sebastian's washing cloth, Kurt agitates the soap in the water to build a lather suitable for a shave. Then he pats the soap over Sebastian's chin, from beneath his nose down to his neck, covering every inch of skin with foam.
"Now don't slice my throat or nuthin'," Sebastian teases.
"Then, try not to sneeze."
Kurt waits until Sebastian stops laughing, then touches the blade to his skin. Sebastian goes still, but not nervously. Peacefully. Sebastian trusts Kurt to do this for him.
Or, it could be, he doesn't much care if Kurt cuts his throat or not.
Kurt gives himself a mental slap for entertaining such a morbid thought.
Kurt stands behind Sebastian and starts at his throat, but only to get it over with since, as skilled as he is with a razor, it makes him anxious. At the regent's house, men would try to trip him up, because nicking one of the masters meant they'd earn the right to punish him. And punishing the regent's favorite was more sought after for some than fucking him, though the two could end up being one and the same.
Swipe by swipe, Kurt runs the razor over Sebastian's skin, rinsing the hairs from the blade in the mug of soapy water. When the stubble on Sebastian's neck has been shaved clean, Kurt moves to his jaw. He becomes distracted by Sebastian's humming beneath his fingers wielding the blade, surprisingly sharp considering Sebastian didn't give Kurt a strip of leather to sharpen it on. It seems odd that a man who has avoided giving himself a shave for this long keeps his razor ready-sharp.
Unless he intended on using it for something other than giving himself a shave.
Kurt slaps himself again for coming up with another ludicrous idea. Where are they all coming from? He trusts Sebastian, more than anyone he's ever met. So why would his mind devise so many conspiracies about him?
The answer to that is simple - Kurt still doesn't know that much about him. So much of the man remains a mystery.
Case in point …
"What's this?" Kurt asks, fingertips tracing the outline of a fresh bruise layered over the earlier one – the one Kurt had felt no need to pry about. But this new one is vividly purple, a painful-looking split in the skin, oozing blood. Had the light in the room been better, Kurt would have seen it straight away.
"It's the unfortunate consequence of searching for something that people don't want to give you." Sebastian rolls his head, removing the wound from view. He turns into Kurt's hand and kisses his fingertips, attempting to seduce away his curiosity.
"And what's that?"
"Information, darling. That's all."
"Well … what information?"
Sebastian sighs in defeat once he realizes no amount of kisses will quench Kurt's curiosity. Sebastian can't fault him. Besides, he was the one who said there wasn't a thing that Kurt didn't have permission to ask. "I'm looking for the men who killed my husband and my boy."
Kurt has to stop his hand from slipping when he hears that. "And what will you do when you find them?"
"Don't you worry your head about that. I promised to keep you safe, and I'm a-holdin' to that."
"I'm not worried about me," Kurt says, going back over his chin and upper lip, cleaning up the strays. "I'm worried about you."
"You don't have to worry about me, little one," Sebastian mumbles. "I've been doing this for a while now. I know my way around a fight."
Kurt sets the razor on the table. For lack of a dry cloth, he takes off his own shirt and pats Sebastian's chin. The man's head remains tilted over the back of the chair, eyes closed like he could be asleep.
Probably is asleep, Kurt reckons. And he deserves it too, the poor man. Kurt decides he won't feel vexed if Sebastian doesn't stay awake to wash his back. He knows he'll make it up to him. But Kurt has no idea how he's going to get the man, fully dressed from shirt to shoes, over to the bed. It's only a few feet, but there's no way Kurt can lift him. He'll have to rouse him, but best to do it gently. Kurt bends over him and kisses him softly on the lips, resolved not to feel too heartbroken when he hears the name Aaron whispered against his mouth.
Sebastian responds to Kurt's kiss the second their lips touch. He grabs Kurt's right leg behind the knee and pulls, maneuvering it over his lap and directing Kurt down into it. Kurt smiles, seated with Sebastian's hands holding his hips. "I thought you'd fallen asleep."
"Hmm, not at all. I was just relaxing. But now, it's your turn."
The sound of water splashing in the bucket accompanies the movement of Sebastian's hand as he rinses the washing cloth. Kurt hands him the soap from the mug and Sebastian lathers it up. He scrubs Kurt's back in small circles, using less pressure over his mark when he reaches his shoulder. Kurt sinks into Sebastian's lap as he washes, going from sitting rigidly straight to melting against his chest, arms looped around his neck, wishing this would never end. How is it that this feels so much more intimate than sleeping together? So much more than the kisses they've shared? It falls along the lines of Sebastian's daily ritual of covering Kurt's burn with ointment and praying over it. It's selfless affection. It's concern for someone's well-being.
It's the opposite of being used.
Just when Kurt thinks it's over, when Sebastian rinses the cloth of soap and drips clean water down Kurt's back, he moves to Kurt's front, wiping down his chest. Kurt lifts his chin and lengthens his neck, exposing as much skin as he can to Sebastian's caresses. It's such a decadent sensation, being bathed like this. He's done it for other men, but never once has anyone returned the favor. There wasn't a single man he could remember meeting that he'd secretly hoped would do this for him.
And he'd never dared to dream that he would find someone he would.
Those stirrings from his attempted nap earlier return with a vengeance. Before he can think of a way to stop them, they take over, but this time, he doesn't mind as much. He knows Sebastian will not punish him for them. He feels free here, and he wants to embrace that feeling.
"Here." Sebastian hands Kurt the washing cloth when he finishes his chest. "So you can do the rest."
Kurt takes it, holds it, stares down at it with contemplation in his eyes.
"Kurt?" Sebastian asks, curious what's going on behind those stormy blues, piercing and unblinking. He doesn't ask, and he doesn't push Kurt away. Something about the way he's sitting – arms and legs tensed, head bowed, lips parted – has Sebastian chomping at the bit to know what's on his mind.
Kurt releases a breath that sounds like a decision. With shaking fingers, Kurt crumples the washing cloth inside Sebastian's hand and pushes it away.
"D-do you mind doing my legs?" he asks, guiding the tip of Sebastian's index finger beneath the waistband of his pants. "I mean, since I'm here and all …"
Kurt meets Sebastian's eyes. If Kurt's blue eyes are the turbulent sky, Sebastian's green eyes are the quaking earth. Kurt feels Sebastian's heart pounding in his chest, tapping a rhythm alongside his. Sebastian licks his lips once. His breathing skips. He swallows hard, and then he says, "No."
Kurt's head falls. Asking for that was the boldest thing he's ever done, including the times he'd defied the masters. He'd taken a risk, stepped outside his comfort zone, and he failed. There's no disgrace in failure. He thinks Sebastian would tell him that.
That doesn't make it any less humiliating.
Sebastian's finger beneath his chin brings Kurt's eyes up to meet his again. "No, little one. I mean, no, I don't mind. But I won't do anything you don't want me to." Sebastian reaches down Kurt's left pant leg, seeming to ignore the erection that springs free from Kurt's pants when he lowers his waistband.
Kurt tenses at the first accidental brush of Sebastian's forearm against his cock. He was nervous that Sebastian's touch would bring with it bad memories. Or even worse – it would feel like being bathed by his father, which would be confusing and unsettling on several unspeakable levels. But Sebastian's skin against his feels so comfortable, so familiar.
This is what physical affection is supposed to feel like – a want to, not a have to.
Giving grace, not taking away pieces of your soul.
"I won't touch you where you don't want to be touched," Sebastian says, switching to the next leg.
The words of a gentleman, unwilling to push Kurt beyond his boundaries. But Kurt wants them to be pushed. Those boundaries need to be pushed. They were constructed by people who were not him. He should get the choice as to when and how they get broken down. And where better than in this place of safety – sitting in the lap of the first man who's ever treated him like an equal and not an object?
Kurt rests his forehead against Sebastian's shoulder as Sebastian slides the washing cloth over Kurt's thigh, scrubbing as much of his backside as he can reach. By the time he brings it back around, Kurt is so hard, a single breeze against his cock, swollen blood red and bobbing against his abs, is nearly the end of him.
Sebastian's hand remains, torn as to what he should do. Does he want to make Kurt cum? Want to feel him fall apart straddling his lap? Absolutely. Would it be the right thing to do? Would it be taking advantage of a vulnerable, abused young man? He doesn't know.
It could be that it's not really up to him to decide.
He's willing. Lord knows he's willing. But how would Kurt take the proposition? Would he feel badly about himself afterward, the way he did that morning he woke up, unable to control his body? Would Kurt fear him? See him like one of the masters at the regent's house, wanting him for only his body? Would he feel the need to reciprocate, even if Sebastian doesn't ask for anything in return?
"What do you want, little one?" Sebastian asks, his hand retreating as he gauges Kurt's reaction. Kurt doesn't look up. He's not staring at anything; he's lost inside his own mind, weighing the parameters of good and bad, can and can't, should and shouldn't, for himself. Sebastian's hand is nearly at his side when Kurt's fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling his hand back to his lap.
"P-please?" he stutters, the cheek pressed against Sebastian's chin burning with desire, and a bit of fear. "Please …" he repeats with no explanation, possibly because he doesn't know what he himself is asking for.
"Do you want this?" Sebastian wraps his fingers around Kurt's cock with the cloth in between. He simply holds, waiting to see what Kurt intends to do, but when Kurt doesn't move, when his breathing begins to pick up pace and his body shudders, Sebastian figures he's wrestling with himself, fighting to break free of the barriers he's been forced behind for so long.
He's gone this far, met Sebastian half way. Sebastian can assume the rest for himself.
"Like this?" he whispers, stroking slowly.
Kurt's voice cracks, and he buries his face in the crook of Sebastian's neck. "Yes … yes, please …"
Sebastian hears his husband's voice in the gasp that escapes Kurt's lips. The first time Sebastian did this for Aaron was the thrill of his lifetime - holding him close, giving him pleasure, the joy and the ecstasy contained within his surrender, a surrender he gave to Sebastian willingly. They fell in love young, close to thirteen, but they were around Kurt's age when they began to do this – explore each other's bodies, experiment with touch. They waited for marriage to have sex, but up till then, everything else was pretty much fair game. The urge to ask Kurt to show his face teeters on the tip of Sebastian's tongue, but he knows it wouldn't be right. He'd only use the sight of Kurt writhing in his arms as another way to mourn Aaron when he should be celebrating Kurt.
This moment belongs to Kurt, not him, and not his dead husband.
Kurt's whimpers into Sebastian's neck, high-pitched and muffled, do their best not to be heard. Sebastian abandons the cloth so he can feel Kurt against his palm, the silkiness of Kurt's skin, the throbbing of a member not his own for once. Skin against skin is the lynchpin that deconstructs the last of Kurt's inhibitions. His arms wrap around Sebastian's shoulders, gripping until it almost hurts. His thighs lock down so tight around Sebastian's legs that it's all Sebastian can do not to beg Kurt to ride him. But Sebastian is purposefully keeping that part of himself at rest. Sebastian doesn't know if, even after this, he's willing to take that step with Kurt.
For the sake of both their sanities.
When Kurt's whimpers end and his body stills, Sebastian retrieves the washing cloth from the bucket and wipes away the mess. They sit in darkness, Kurt curled in Sebastian's arms, his breath evening out till Sebastian has to prick up his ears to hear it. Kurt doesn't rise, but Sebastian can feel him thinking, latched tight to his shoulders, his fingers like iron.
"I … may have done more than wash your back, little one," Sebastian says, carefully pulling Kurt's pants up to his waist.
"I-I know," Kurt says, though the words barely come out past the lump in his throat. "And I … I thank you."
The heavy gulp that follows leaves Sebastian with doubts. Is that what he was made to say at the regent's house? After he was beaten and raped and violated, was he forced to say thank you? If by ignorance or conceit Sebastian did wrong by this boy, he'll never forgive himself.
Never.
Though, maybe he can start by not thinking of Kurt as a boy. Kurt is a free man, and if he's going to make Kurt believe that, he'd better start remembering it.
"Really?" Sebastian asks, needing to hear from Kurt's lips that he doesn't hate him for what they did, that he doesn't see him as one of the monsters who forced themselves on him.
Kurt finally raises his head to look in Sebastian's face. His eyes are red in the low light, as are his cheeks. Sebastian frowns. Kurt's been crying, but he counters Sebastian's concerned expression with a slow-burning, goofy smile. "Really. I-I swear." Kurt's eyes drift to Sebastian's chest, to the shirt clinging to his pecs. "But … but now you're soaking wet."
Sebastian shrugs. "A little water never hurt no one." He runs his fingers through Kurt's hair so he can better see his face. He tries to avoid comparisons, see Kurt for who he is, not who he looks like; absorb the joy on his bashful face. He doesn't appear to feel bad, or guilty. He looks blissful, content.
Tired.
"Let's put on some dry clothes and go to bed, hmm?" Sebastian stands from the chair with Kurt still on him, his arms and legs wrapped around him.
"Yeah." Kurt rests his head on Sebastian's shoulder as Sebastian carries him across the room. "Let's."
Sebastian smiles as Kurt nuzzles into his neck, thinking, 'I have a feeling you're goin' to sleep good tonight, little one. Hopefully, so will I.'
SNAP!
"Ah!"
A crack and a wail shakes Kurt from his sleep. He suspects it's his own nightmares pummeling him awake, so he curls into Sebastian's body, knowing there, in Sebastian's heat and surrounded by the smell of his skin, he'll have a place to hide and wait out the storm. But another crack, and a, "Please! I didn't do nuthin'!" digs into his brain and opens his eyes.
"W-w-what is that?" Kurt's drowsy brain asks, confused, but Sebastian is sure his body knows. His muscles jump and his limbs jerk every time a snap sounds, his back bowing as if trying to get away.
"I … I don't want to tell you, darling," Sebastian admits instead of lying. He'd suspected something like this might happen, the way the man at the gate seemed to garner so much amusement out of talking about those stocks, but he'd hoped Kurt's orgasm would help him sleep through the night, no matter what that bastard pulled. "Try not to pay attention to it." He wraps his arms around Kurt's body, comforting him through sheer will since the sound shattering the silence has him bristling beneath his skin, too. "Just find yourself a happy memory and try to get lost there."
It's good advice. Too bad Sebastian can't take it for himself.
Kurt trembles with every snap of the whip, whimpering louder to drown out the sound. He covers his ears, but it rings through his hands clapped over them. Sebastian wishes there was more going on to take Kurt's attention away from it, but the town outside their window is deathly quiet - only one, maybe two other people out and about, tending to horses or looking for lodging for the night.
"C-can … can we leave?" Kurt begs, tears streaming hot down his cheeks. "C-can't we get out of here? Please?"
"No, Kurt," Sebastian says. "I'm sorry, but I … I still haven't gotten …"
"I-I understand." Kurt sniffles, rolling into the fetal position and sobbing into his knees. Sebastian's heart launches into his throat, threatening to tear from his body and leave him, the final straw broken. He sympathizes with Kurt, he really does, but he's not done yet. He's so close, but he's not quite there. If they leave Kennerstown, they'll have to go for good. They can't just leave for the night and return in the morning. They could get away with that in other towns, claim they're going hunting, but not here. Here it'll create too much suspicion. He needs one more day, maybe two. If Kurt can just get through tonight, and possibly tomorrow night ...
But how does he ask Kurt for that when he knows what being in this town means to him? When he looks like he's about to claw the skin off his body in an attempt to get away?
At a loss for solutions, Sebastian kisses Kurt, hoping it will inspire thoughts of earlier – that warm, soapy bath, and his hands on Kurt's body. Sebastian rolls Kurt on his back and raises his arms over his head, tangles their fingers together and pins him to the mattress. It's a bit more aggressive than he'd planned on being with Kurt, but he can't help it – anything he can do to pull them both away from this nightmare, he'll do. He puts a hand to the back of Kurt's head and kisses him deeper, pulling a moan from his throat. Kurt's hips rise up in search of friction, and Sebastian rolls his down to meet him.
Whatever Kurt needs, he'll give him if it buys him one more day.
It almost does the trick.
It's when the bloodcurdling cries start that Sebastian's kisses cease to do any good, and Kurt starts to shake out of his skull. There are some things Sebastian can't make go away. Not yet.
And Sebastian knows they can't stay.
Kurt's crying will only get worse, and it'll attract attention.
A dangerous type.
Besides (and Sebastian despises himself for not considering this first), Sebastian doesn't want to scar Kurt, not after what he's been through.
"Okay," he whispers against Kurt's moist cheek. "Okay. We'll go. Right now. But we have to be quick, and we have to be quiet. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Kurt says, nodding more than necessary. "I understand."
"Good." He gives Kurt one last kiss, to give him strength for the road. "Let's go."
Sebastian helps Kurt dress, bundling him in a jacket, hat, and a blanket. It had been raining earlier, but it was clear out, so the why of so many layers has Kurt baffled. But he trusts Sebastian. Whatever the reason, he doesn't need to tell Kurt for him to know it's important. Sebastian settles up with the inn keeper, then leads Kurt out to the buckboard. Kurt takes a seat up front while Sebastian packs their things and hooks up his horse. Outside of their small inn room, the whip is gruesomely loud and inescapable, as is the crying that follows. It probably will be for miles, which means they'll have to go far away from Kennerstown. Sebastian curses his foul luck, but he can't bring himself to blame Kurt. Kurt had no part in this. It's Sebastian who took it upon himself to ask about the damned stocks in the first place. Had he let the matter lie, they might not be in use right now.
He needs to start doing better by the people in his care.
Sebastian settles in beside Kurt, whose eyes have gone wide and dark, his skin pale and coated in sweat.
"Now, I need to warn you," Sebastian says, "we'll have to drive by it, darling."
Kurt shakes his head, so vigorously it vibrates his entire body. "No! No, we can't!"
"I'm sorry. It can't be helped. There's only one road out of town, and it takes us by the stocks. If we turn around or try to take another way, they'll get suspicious, send someone after us. Just keep your head down and follow my lead. Don't say a word. Alright?"
That's fine by Kurt because he can't speak. He loses the ability knowing that they'll be getting closer to that sound before they can get away. Sebastian's hand on his back gently pushes him, and Kurt curls into a ball, hiding his face with the brim of his hat, looking as miserable as he feels.
The buckboard creaks forward, Sebastian's horse going at a walking pace when Kurt wishes the thing would run, infer the urgency in that way that animals do and take off like a wild thing, despite Sebastian's tuts and commands. But Sebastian's horse is not a disobedient creature, and good thing, too.
That animal's cool head may yet save their lives.
Kurt doesn't see a thing with his eyes squeezed tight, but he feels the sway of the buckboard, the slight breeze as it tugs at the edge of his hat. He hears the lashing grow louder as they get closer to the stocks, his stomach twisting till it becomes a knotted rope inside his belly, almost wringing loose its contents when Kurt hears the words, "What you two doin' up?"
Sebastian pulls his buckboard up to the stocks and stops as casually as he pleases. He exudes calm - more calm than Kurt imagines he feels. "We're headin' out."
"Why so late?" the man asks, flashing Sebastian a jackal smile.
"I'm afraid my boy here might have the cough."
The man's smug sneer wilts and he takes a step back. "Wh-what?" He glares at Kurt with fear in his eyes. "He … Wh-why … why would you bring him here if he had that!?"
"He wasn't showin' any symptoms along the road. Didn't even have a sniffle till late this afternoon."
"Good God," the man murmurs, crossing himself twice. Illness wasn't much of a concern in their township. People lived fairly far apart. Little in the way of sickness traveled the distance. It was only in the cities where people tended to fall ill, and even then, the heat dried them out before it could catch on. But there were few illnesses more feared than one that invaded the lungs and refused to yield to the heat. It spread like wildfire, and could turn a city into a ghost town in under a month if it wasn't stopped. That fear blossoms in the man's eyes as he stares at the hunched figure huddled beneath Sebastian's blanket.
"Now, like I said, I don't know that he has it, but if he does, I'd rather not take the chance of it gettin' any worse. You dig?"
"Yeah." The man covers his mouth with his shirt collar and waves them on, eager to see them gone. "Yeah, I dig. Git yerselves on outta here then."
"We will," Sebastian says with a tip of his hat.
"Good luck to ye."
"Thank you, kindly."
Kurt figures he should do some acting, actually cough or something, but he's too paralyzed to move. Sebastian lifts the blanket farther up his back, unintentionally knocking the hat from his head. The hood the blanket creates creeps down his neck as Kurt reaches a hand to pick it up.
The boy in the stocks lifts his sweaty head, his lip split, a black eye starting. Through one bulging eye he catches sight of Sebastian's buckboard. He stares at it imploringly, praying silently for help, when something inside sparks an ember of hope in his chest, and he calls out, "K-Kurt? Is that you?"
"Shut up!" the man hollers, bringing the whip down on the poor boy's back.
"Ah! Kurt! Help! Help me, Kurt! Please!"
Kurt shivers by Sebastian's side, the heels of his boots knocking against the floor of the buckboard. Sebastian brings another blanket up from the rear and covers Kurt with it, hiding him entirely from view.
"Kurt! Kurt, no! Don't let them hurt me! Please! I did everything you said to do! Everything! I did nothing wrong!"
"My name isn't Kurt, son," Sebastian says as they pass, reacting quickly to draw suspicion away from his companion cowering beside him. "And I'm sorry. I can't help you."
"No!" the boy cries as Sebastian turns his horse away and leads them off at a faster pace. "No, please! Don't go! Kurt! Kurt, help me! Kurt …!"
"I said shut the hell up!" The whip crack, and the string of crying and begging it produces, follows Sebastian and Kurt as they make their way out of town, echoing like thunder in the sky.
"Don't sit up just yet," Sebastian warns, scanning the windows of the houses and buildings they pass while they're still within the town's borders. "We're being watched."
For all of his shaking, Sebastian feels Kurt nod.
"Isn't … isn't there anything we can do?" Kurt asks, finding his voice as the whipping and the screaming begin to fade away. Kurt is ashamed to admit he doesn't remember that boy. He's seen so many. But that doesn't mean his heart doesn't bleed for him. "Can't we make them stop?"
"I'm sorry, little one," Sebastian says, and he truly is sorry, not so much for that boy, though he does feel for him. No one should have to go through what he's going through now, especially not at that tender age. Flogging in the town square is a punishment usually reserved for horse thievery or drunken assault. That boy looked to be no more than ten. Eleven at the eldest. What a boy that young could do to deserve that kind of treatment, Sebastian doesn't know. He'll more than likely never know.
But Kurt does.
Kurt can't escape his past. Pain seems destined to find him no matter how far he runs. And Sebastian, try as he might, can't shield Kurt from it. Sebastian feels sorry for Kurt, sorrier than he could ever express. But there's blessed little he can do for him other than keep him safe.
"I have to choose between him and you, darling. And I choose you."