A/N: Update! Sorry if it took me so long, actually, but you know, I've got lots of story and shots on so it's complicated. I know this story looks confusing along the first chapters, but it's going to get clearer and clearer, I swear!
Also, if any of you is interested, I'm looking for a beta who can help me with grammar, since you know, English is not my native language. I've been searching around the Beta service on buy in case there's anyone of you who is interested, let me know about it.
Thanks you so much if you're going to waste your time on reading my stories ;) Let me know what you think about it!
/
Chapter 3
Sebastian feels much more confuse than he had imagine as he walks out of that elegant parquet floor, seventh floor, lit by large windows, decorated with dark colors. He wrinkles his nose even when he looks at the gray walls: definitely a choice that he would never do.
As soon as he hears the sound of the door closing behind him, he turns to Blaine with a wondering look.
"What is this?" He asks, his voice slightly altered from the tension that his body's experiencing again. It's starting to make Blaine startle. It's been like this ever since they've left the hospital: tension, doubts, Blaine being careful all the time, and he's not able to hide it because Sebastian has noticed immediately.
"What-?"
"This." Sebastian interrupts him, pointing at the apartment. "This isn't ... our apartment, there's something different. I'd have never chosen this color, c'mon ... It's too gay even for me, and that says it all."
"It's too gay because I chose it, maybe?" Blaine asks, clutching his arms and crossing them onto his chest, while his triangular eyebrows lift. It's a gesture that usually lacks of firmness however, as far as Sebastian is concerned. "I had to fix it all over again in 13 days and I only did it for my ungrateful roommate."
Sebastian rolls his eyes and gives him a face, crossing his arms over his chest, just like Blaine.
"Well, why would you have to fix it during these two weeks? If you didn't like it anymore you could-"
Have waited for me to wake up?
For a few seconds he thinks of how it must have been for Blaine to see his best friend like that, not knowing if he would ever awaken. He realizes to be particularly insensitive, but somewhere in his blurred mind, he also knows that Blaine is hiding something important, so he's not going to be cheesy and human about it.
"I didn't do it because I didn't like it anymore." Blaine shrugs anyway, given that Smythe's not speaking. "It's a therapeutic choice. The doctor says I should keep some colors away from you."
Sebastian laughs instinctively, honestly believing it's the most terrible excuse in the world. Then he sees the expression on Blaine's face and realizes that, maybe, Blaine's explanation is much more plausible, with everything that's happening to him.
"Such as?" He asks immediately.
For some reason, Sebastian expects that Blaine won't answer. However, he's thought that he would have cared to find an excuse for his silence, but it's not what happens: he stands there in front of him, biting his lower lip.
"Um ... I don't think it's productive for me to answer that question." He mutters, shrugging his shoulders and suddenly putting his hands in his pockets, as he always does when he wants hide his nervousness. "There are so many things, Sebastian, and ... it would be dangerous for you to deal with it. It could seriously damage your health permanently."
Sebastian stays there for a few seconds, raising an eyebrow to analyze him: he's not sure about what that's supposed to mean, because he still believes that it's impossible that a color could do so much damage to a person. He wonders if Blaine isn't taking advantage of the situation to mock him a little. It wouldn't even bother him too much maybe.
His priorities are different.
"Good. Can I sit on the couch, or it'll kill me?" He asks sarcastically and Blaine smiles, nodding.
"You would have killed yourself if you couldn't throw your body on the couch." He teases and perhaps Sebastian feels him loosing a little at the joking tone (is it natural or is it just part of the umpteenth strategy anyway?). "In fact, I had to change it because there was the shape of your ass imprinted on it."
Sebastian smirks, glancing toward the sofa that, colored in elegant burgundy and surrounded by dark walls, creates a mystical atmosphere, and he isn't definitely a mystical kind of guy. He has always preferred concreteness.
"My gorgeous ass." Sebastian points out as he sees Blaine shaking his head, since he's now all too accustomed to his arrogant jokes. "Did you choose the color? At least it's not as bad as the walls ..." He mutters, leaning his side on the sofa. "Although I think it's hard to do worse than this disgusting dark shit."
Blaine comes closer, contemplating the couch: Sebastian knows he's going to think that they're about to have an easy conversation to defuse the tension and that maybe Sebastian is letting it go a little, surrendering to the idea that he can't fight the clinical choices intended to his case that - at least so it seems – is quite serious.
Clearly, if Blaine thinks this way - and Sebastian knows that he's about to do it – he's going to let his guard down and, sooner or later, he's going to miss out on something that would shake Sebastian's mind, bringing it back into that confusion that he has experienced in the hospital.
However, there's really no need for Blaine to let it happen.
"You're being way too critical." Anderson complains, leaning beside him as he looks around - he isn't probably fully accustomed to the drastic change yet either. "I've never decorated anything, it's my first time. I'm human, I can make some mistakes, you know. "
Sebastian's hand slides rapidly along the back of the couch, gently caressing the fabric.
"What are you doing?" Blaine asks, getting nervous again. God's he's totally too obvious.
It's enough to make Sebastian understand that he's doing something he shouldn't. He just pulled the fabric of that dark pattern, by rubbing his pads against it, before he makes up his mind about what to do.
"Could you cook something?" He asks, trying to make it sound as a needy groan, but to which Blaine responds with a surprised look.
"You've just eaten." He notices, but Sebastian is never unprepared when he has occasions like these (the birds of prey bite asyou bleed).
"You call that shit they make you eat in the hospital 'food'?" He asks, finally removing his hands from the couch. "It's as if I had swallowed disgusting liquids, everything fell apart from the spoon, it's awful. The health services in this country were more efficient once." He mumbles and sees Blaine rolling his eyes, a sign of the fact that he has already surrendered at the idea.
"Okay, I'll cook you something." He mutters, before he finally loosens the grip of his arms around his chest and heads in the direction of what Sebastian remembered to be the kitchen - a bit darker, but still his kitchen.
He makes sure that Blaine has disappeared through the door, carefully watching his shadow reflected on the wall. Once he's sure about it - poor naïve Blaine, leaving him alone so easily - Sebastian considers the two hypotheses he's got: the first idea is beginning to rummage through the house, investigating until he finds something that would help him find out more about Kurt, and another is to follow his instincts, which of course are pushing him to sit on the couch.
He remembers what Blaine has said about the shape of his ass. Associated with these words, the instinctive gesture probably means that it's something he has always been used to do, that he has spent much time on this couch, now carpeted in a color that he doesn't recognized at all.
He walks around it, watching it as if this piece of furniture could be a threat, as if it could attack it at any moment (after all he has felt strange for the whole trip in the car, he has felt strange since he had woken up, he wouldn't surprise him that a sofa or a stupid color could really damage him) and when he has carefully pondered his choice, he puts his hand on it again, stroking the bearings this time.
He moves towards it with the rest of his body and, cautious and slowly, he sits down. It almost seems like a military operation, except that he doesn't have any idea of how a military operation actually works.
He shifts slightly, leaning forward to study the thin cover of the mattress, passing his fingers on it. The fabric is caught between his thumb and his index finger that pull it, just lifting it a bit. There's another sheet under it, which allows him to be able to stretch enough to make the color of the sofa visible.
He thought it'd be simply an analysis, but as soon as his eyes catch the white sofa beneath the coating, he needs to close his eyes, feeling a sudden jolt of adrenaline run through his spine.
He knows for sure what is happening. He has already learned to recognize the feeling.
/
"Kurt, honey."
He hears himself murmuring, hands placed under the chin of the boy in front of him. It hits his cheek with a light gentle slap, trying to get him back on himself. He can see the other boy's lips move in small spasms and struggle to keep the eyelids open while his body is pressing to relax definitely.
"Kurtie?"
He calls again, grabbing his shoulders and beginning to shake him, even though he's not sure that Kurt would understand immediately. He seems quite shaken.
A flash within the flash.
He sees his hands on him, quick and incautious, invasive with no hesitation, especially sure about the way they're exploring his slender abdomen.
The birds of prey take what they need.
He comes back to the present.
"Kitten?"
He whispers, gently stroking his neck, his shoulders, his hair.
"I think I went too hard on you this time." He whispers, swallowing, starting to feel guilty - a feeling which he's not used to and that puts him deeply uncomfortable. "I'm so sorry, honey. I just wanted to play. You should tell me when your head starts spinning, you know? You're making me ... Do I have to call an ambulance?"
He starts to think he has gone a bit over the limit, but it's not his fault: Kurt is so hot, so perfectly willing to anything he wants to do with him that he doesn't even give him a chance to be able to think to suppress some of his desires. If he has the chance to, why shouldn't he put them into practice?
"Answer me, babe." He moves slightly forward, beginning to feel the sting of an unusual fear explode inside his stomach. "I need to hear your voice."
His lips move nearer to the other's, kissing them softly. He tries to keep from tasting, to make those lips his each time. He only kisses him tenderly, trying to help him feeling better, somehow.
"Bastian ..."
A murmur slips inside of his mouth and Sebastian smiles nervously, breathing out a sigh of relief.
"Welcome back." He mutters, resting his forehead against the other's, while those big blue eyes begin to open completely and his irises are moving quickly from one point to another, trying to focus on the situation.
"Where-"
"My apartment." He says quickly, looking at Kurt as he arches his eyebrows to express his doubts. "I thought you were collapsing. You scared me."
"Have you tied me up?" Kurt asks hesitantly.
Sebastian's lips curve into a smile that looks as natural and spontaneous, while relief invades his body.
"Not this time."
/
He opens his eyes, pointing them on the dark walls of the apartment: then, white - a dense stab hits his head at the simple thought as further evidence - there has to be something with white that helps him to remember.
Remember, not imagine.
He's surer now; Blaine isn't going to win this over: Kurt is real; he isn't a stupid vision of his head caused by a damaged brain. It's all too real and consistent to be part of his sick imagination.
He gets up quickly from the couch, being careful not to be too loud as he moves easily from one room to another, as if he knows that it could prevent him from doing anything he wants.
He passes quickly over the carpet in the middle of the living room, leaning over the door next to the television. He remembers that this is Blaine's room, unless he has changed something in the distribution of the rooms too.
He leans against the door, looking at the way Blaine has obviously changed his room. Maybe there was no need, but he has done it anyway and Sebastian wants to be pleased at that concern, but he has a mission and when he tries to do something, it's hard to keep him from his goal.
He runs the room with his eyes, tracing the furniture, shelves, books, the desk, the carpet, and finally the bed.
One quick look is enough for him to arch his eyebrows and catch the detail that is out of place.
He tightens his eyelids and his eyes catch the slight shadow over the headboard of the bed, which means it is slightly offset from the wall.
Immediately, he walks inside the room, still silent, until he reaches the mattress with his knees. As always, he trusts his instincts, pressing his legs against the bed until it can't move it anymore. He startles when he hears the noise caused by that impact and gets that feeling again: a storm explodes inside him.
He lowers his hands, quickly grabbing the edges of the bed.
He makes it slide harshly along the bed, the distance created earlier, and then pushes it back toward the wall. When it makes that sound again, Sebastian sits on the mattress, a familiar chill caressing his spine. He slightly arches fingers, squeezing around the winter blankets until his knuckles become completely white.
Before he can notice it - in an instinctive and uncontrolled gesture of his body, which makes him realize that his subconscious is working again - he is squinting his eyes, moaning and pulling Blaine's covers lightly.
/
His skin is sweaty and hot pressed against the boy beneath him who is moaning uncontrolled, making him only feel the need to go deeper, faster, to get more. Moremoremore.
"Kurt ..." He murmurs against his body, leaning up to his neck and nibbling his skin. The movement helps him to press his chest against his while with one slow but steady thrust, he pushes completely in the heat sink of his body. The way in which the other's body twitches around him, makes him realize that he is probably experiencing pain for the invasion. "Does it hurt?" He asks, feeling drops of sweat along his forehead as he is lost in the heavenly feeling of being totally wrapped, hard and tense, in that pale body that looks so fragile and that stimulates his worst perversions.
"N-no." Kurt stammers, but the words choke in his throat when Sebastian thrusts stronger within him, beginning to take possession of his body frantically, almost consuming it. "N-no, I ... need more, Sebastian, I-"
It's a wonderful feeling, that amazing tiny body into his hands, which makes him feel even more powerful than he is used to feel like.
"Tell me you want me ..." He bites his skin, his shoulder, tasting it, marking it, "Tell me I'm the only one you want, tell me that when you walk down the streets you don't have eyes for anyone because you think of me all the time ..."
"I do ..." That wonderful blend of hoarse and shrill slams into his system, and with one firm thrust he sinks definitively into him, moaning uncontrollably, "Only you ..."
/
'Only you.'
From the moment Sebastian opens his eyes, he is more than sure that it can't be pure imagination: those words sound so clearly inside his head, like a thunderbolt into a light sky that is has real features. This has nothing to do with his accident, now he is sure.
"Sebastian?" He hears Blaine's voice calling him from the other room and his eyes focus again on the shadow of the bed pressed against the wall. "Sebastian, where are you?" He asks again and Sebastian can clearly hear a bit of agitation in his voice - the birds of prey watch - enough to understand that, of course, he's worried that Sebastian might wander around the house and find something he shouldn't.
He hears his footsteps down the hall and rolls his eyes: he adores Blaine's kindness, as always, when he has temperature for example, but the way is on him right now is fucking irritating. It doesn't help to calm the nerves, in fact, it only makes him purely more nervous.
"Sebas-" He is already calling again, when he stops at the door. "Hey, you're here."
The sweet tone he's used and that thoughtful smile, almost make Sebastian hesitate. He shakes his head imperceptibly, focusing on the target and putting on a fake smile.
"I was ... looking at the way you've settled your stuff." He says, giving a quick look at the room and then following with his eyes Blaine as he sits down beside him on the mattress. "There is one thing I need to ask you." He mutters in a low voice and sees the boy beside him nod hesitantly: he knows that when he asks for something, it can be complicated, given that Blaine probably has no idea how to explain most of the things that are happening.
"Anything." He whispers, finally, with that kind smile still printed on his face, before setting out: "Unless it has to do with other imaginary Kurts."
Sebastian lifts his eyebrows, feeling kike Blaine's teasing him. Then he realized that, deep down, Blaine can't understand what it means to look at the world through his eyes, so he's never going to get how much it's clear to him that he is lying.
He decides that keep on pretending is the best way to achieve his goal.
"We've never had sex, have we?" He asks, but Blaine scowls at him and Sebastian realizes that he didn't get the question. "You and I." He adds then and sees him burst into laughter as he reaches out a hand to pat him on the shoulder.
"You must have taken a great blow to your head during the accident." He comments and Sebastian winces at the lack of seriousness with which he takes his question: he has suffered a trauma, he might be confused, it takes a bit of delicacy when talking about it.
"So, you and I never had sex in this room, right?" he asks again and Blaine shakes his head.
"You and I never had sex, period, either in this room, or anywhere else in the world." He explains, shrugging his shoulders and pulling the hand away from him. "Either in a bathroom or in a pub or in your precious Lamborg-"
Blaine freezes instantly, catching Sebastian's eye on himself: his eyelids are wide open and his face is remark in the typical expression of who has got some troubles coming up.
"My …?" Smythe asks, frowning.
However, there was no need for Blaine to add some more, Sebastian's mind is connecting everything quickly, as if it were invaded by a wave of thoughts: he never had sex with Blaine, but worse, he had sex with Kurt in Blaine's bed, and he had a Lamborghini, in which - judging by how his brain is reacting - he had sex with Kurt, whoever Kurt is.
Blaine realizes, however, that the damage is already done, so he doesn't hesitate any further.
"Your Lamborghini." He mutters, looking down, and Sebastian can feel a wave of fury run over his body.
"I ... I ... If I had a fucking Lamborghini, why are we driving that fucking crap?" He asks, seeing him roll his eyes. "Where's my car?" He asks and Blaine takes a deep breath.
"I had to sell it because ..."
"You had to what?" He asks incredulously, keeping his mouth open. He jumps out of bed, running a hand through his hair, and when he turns back to Blaine, he notices immediately that he's pretty scared from the reaction. "You sold my Lamborghini?" He asks then, trying to look calmer.
"I had to." Blaine murmurs again. "You think I have fun selling your stuff? It's ... I have to do this, it's for your own good."
Sebastian takes a deep breath, runs his hand again through the hair, evidently trying to calm down. He doesn't want to react badly: of course, he knows that Blaine is hiding something - several things indeed - but he is also the person who is taking care of him after a coma.
But is fucking Lamborghini is way too much.
"I need to rest." Sebastian mutters, moving away from him and heading for the door, trying to suppress his natural instincts.
"I was cooking-"
"What?" Sebastian asks, turning to Blaine with anger in his eyes. "You were cooking a Lamborghini? If the answer is no, I'm sorry, Blaine, I really don't care about whatever you were doing."
Without giving him a chance to reply - and cursing a bit for his own rudeness, but ... his Lamborghini! -, he walks down the hallway, breathing in fully only when he's reached his room. He closes the door behind him, without even paying attention to how the walls, decorations, furniture have nothing to do with his personal taste (he has always preferred the bright walls).
When a violent stab hits his brain, Sebastian realizes he's thinking too much and, maybe, he's been muttering that name too many times into his head. Immediately, it makes him feel tired and worn, as if remembering, thinking or imagining only takes away twice the energy.
He leans awkwardly with his head on the pillow and narrows his eyes, as if he's trying to force his sleep. He quickly begins to sweat cold, that feeling of weakness that he hates with all his heart and that makes him feel extremely fragile. Then, in a second, he realizes that he can't fight anymore and that sleep is already holding him fast.
He feels the muscles give up and his breathing changing its tempo. Everything is too fast in the new times of his body.
Everything is so confused.
/
"It's ... amazing!" That little voice, terribly sweet and sharp, is murmuring at his side, as they walk in the middle of a place that Sebastian can't recognize clearly: a blue cloudless sky, a natural road, them walking toward something. His eyes fly rapidly towards the object of their little pilgrimage and he stares at the car that the other guy is admiring charmed.
"It is." He says with wearing pride in his voice. "My baby."
His gaze passes quickly on the car, before turning to the guy next to him. If nothing else, the right word to define his face at that moment is 'happy'.
Kurt - whoever Kurt is - was happy with him.
