A/N: Written for the prompt 'depraved'. Rated M for smut. Warnings for oral sex, alcohol use, prostitution, mention of drug use, infidelity-ish, mention of Blaine/Klaine.
Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut to better absorb the feeling of slick warmth that surrounded him. Even with his eyes closed, he saw Kurt perfectly – the image he kept in his head crystal clear even in his present state of inebriation. Kurt's eyes, shifting from a calm, pacifying blue to a steely grey as the irises blew wide with want and lust; the twelve or so tiny freckles sprinkled across the sharp bridge of his nose; his delicate pink lips wrapping tight around his cock; Sebastian could see it all.
Sebastian pictured Kurt smiling at him, laughing at him almost cruelly when they fought, poking at Sebastian's insecurities, rooting out all his carefully hidden fears and using them with practiced skill to cut him deep. And Sebastian had given Kurt an ultimatum…a fucking ultimatum. He should have known better. He should have known that if he gave Kurt an out he would take it.
Sebastian looked down at the scraggily head of brown head swallowing his dick and wondered what exactly Kurt was doing to Blaine right now. Was he on his knees in some filthy bar, ruining a pair of $300 jeans just to please Blaine?
Sebastian knocked back a shot of tequila to numb the urgent sensation coiling in his cock. The boy on his knees noticed the movement, heard the heavy gulp, and huffed in frustration.
"You know, if you keep pounding back shots, we're going to be here all night."
Sebastian chuckled darkly.
"Like you have anything better to do," he slurred.
"You don't know my life," the boy grumbled. "And I told you before," he continued with more conviction in his raspy voice, "my name's not Kurt."
Sebastian shoved a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a wad of crisp bills held together with a platinum clip. He pulled one bill free with uncooperative fingers, crumpled it, and tossed it into the boy's face.
"I'll call you whatever the fuck I want to call you," Sebastian muttered, rough hands grabbing a fistful of drab, mud-colored hair and pushing the boy's face back into his crotch.
The boy sneered, but obediently sucked, reaching around blindly to grab up the violated hundred dollar bill. Sebastian considered the distasteful creature on his knees in front of him. He was about Sebastian's age, and could probably pass for Kurt if he took better care of himself, or in contrast, if Kurt became a strung out, dead-behind-the-eyes junkie. Still, maybe Sebastian treated him less-compassionately than he should, but at the moment, he had no measure of pity for the boy. Sebastian had no idea what his name was. It had been mentioned once and promptly forgotten, and why not? This boy on his knees wasn't really a person. He was a means to an end.
Sebastian closed his eyes and tried to conjure up an image of Kurt on his knees, his alabaster skin begging to be marked; his supple, pink lips stretching to accommodate Sebastian's girth; the feeling of Kurt's well-manicured nails raking raised marks up and down Sebastian's legs. The image was so potent, so convincing, that he could almost hear Kurt's strangely endearing judgmental sigh.
"Really, Sebastian? Is this what you've lowered yourself to? I've only been gone three days."
Sebastian heard the words, the high-pitch voiced laced with sarcasm and veiled amusement at his expense, reminiscent of the cruel one that mocked him a few days back, but this one was softer, more forgiving, even considering the position Sebastian was currently in, with his cock shoved down the throat of a male prostitute.
Sebastian's eyes snapped open to see mecca standing before him, hands on hips, dressed in head to toe Marc Jacobs, and smirking like a bitch.
Sebastian made no effort to move, afraid the shimmering mirage before him would dissolve into the air. Kurt sighed, dropping his overnight bag on the floor. He sidled up to Sebastian slowly, hips swaying, a vicious temptation to Sebastian's weakened immune system. When Kurt reached the elephant in the room, the strung-out boy on his knees, Kurt rolled his eyes.
"Could you kindly remove my boyfriend's dick from your mouth and leave?" Kurt groaned, delivering a sharp shove to the boy's shoulder with the toe of his Doc Marten boot and sending him flying backward. Sebastian hissed as teeth scraped down the length of his cock as the surprised boy sprawled on the floor. The boy's eyes went wide when he caught sight of Kurt hovering dangerously over him. Kurt's eyes looked the boy over from spiked hair to worn-through shoes, taking in the soiled off-the-rack clothes he wore in between.
"Eww." Kurt's gaze swept the living room and landed on a blue bottle of Febreeze sitting on a nearby end table. He picked it up, and nonchalantly sprayed the boy's clothes, nose scrunching in disgust and delight as the boy scurried to escape the mist of sweet smelling chemicals.
"God, that smell is never going to go away," Kurt muttered as if he wasn't assaulting a human being with disinfectant. "Now," Kurt said, mildly pleased with himself, "take your money and get out. Go far away and forget where I live…or you'll regret it."
Kurt's tone was threatening, his intent clear, and the boy didn't squeak a single protest – not mentioning that Sebastian had driven him here, nearly sixteen miles away from his home; that walking home with $500 in his thread-bare pockets was basically begging for trouble. Whatever waited for him out on the street was nowhere near as terrifying as the sharply dressed, angelic-looking man with murder in his shining, gunmetal eyes. He scrambled off the carpet and out the door, bounding away like the fires of hell licked at his heels.
Kurt replaced the bottle and brushed off his hands, turning back to the statue of his boyfriend staring dumbly at him, rapidly softening cock hanging from the unzipped fly of his jeans, empty shot glass gripped tight in his hands. Kurt cocked an eyebrow as he took in the sight, and shook his head.
"You know, you were the one who pushed me away," Kurt said, locking the apartment door. "You told me to go see him and figure out what I wanted. You have no one to blame but yourself."
Sebastian swallowed hard in response. Kurt grabbed a pair of yellow latex kitchen gloves and slipped them on his hands. Confident that he was well-protected, Kurt tucked Sebastian's cock back into his pants and did up his zipper. Then, with a scowl, he stripped the gloves off his hands and tossed them in the trash, spraying a fair amount of Lysol in the bag for good-measure.
Sebastian's voice was late in coming, and choked when he finally found a way to speak
"S-so…so did you…"
"Yup," Kurt said simply. "Within an inch of his life, too. And it's safe to say he's entirely out of my system."
Sebastian nodded, stunned and unsure as to what Kurt had actually decided.
"So does that mean…"
"I'm back, Smythe," Kurt said, throwing his arms wide.
Sebastian wanted to smile, but his skepticism wouldn't let him.
Kurt caught the look of doubt, saw the way it settled into Sebastian's emerald eyes and stayed, a fog that lingered to protect Sebastian from any potential pain. Kurt's smile turned less sardonic and more genuine.
"Here's what we're going to do, Sebby…" Kurt put his hands on Sebastian's shoulders and massaged firmly. "We're going to scrub you with hot water and lye, run you down to the free clinic for a check-up because…" Kurt turned his head slightly to gesture after the ghost of the young boy, "…damn. And then we'll discuss where we go from here."
"So…you're back to stay."
Kurt risked a chaste kiss to Sebastian's cheek.
"Back to stay, baby."