A/N: Again combining two anon prompts - 'Sebastian is hiding a secret from Kurt' and killer!Sebastian (for the purposes of my story I made him a contract killer). Rated M for language, mention of outdoor sex, and killing (which includes a mention of blood, but nothing too graphic).

The oven timer goes off just as Kurt positions a piece of lavender fondant over the second tier of a five tiered maple walnut cake – Burt Hummel's absolute favorite, but this version Kurt made with only egg whites to cut down on the cholesterol and applesauce instead of sugar. This way his father can indulge without going off his diet.

"Bas," Kurt calls, carefully laying the fondant down on top of the cake, frowning when all that answers him is silence. "Sebastian! Can you come in here and help me please?"

Half a second later Kurt hears heavy footsteps clamoring down the staircase that leads from the upper level to the living room. Sebastian races in, already dressed for dinner in slate grey slacks and a white, button-down Brooks Brothers dress shirt. The door still swings on its hinges as he crosses the kitchen and grabs the pot holders from where they hang on the knob handle of one of the cabinets.

"Upper oven or lower oven?" he asks, dancing in front of the glass doors.

"Upper," Kurt says, sighing with deep, spiritual satisfaction as the fondant drapes perfectly. "The pinwheels are ready."

"You made pinwheels?" Sebastian gasps. "You know they're my favorite."

Sebastian slips the burgundy quilted pot holders on his hands and pulls the top oven door open. He breathes in as a wave of hot air sweeps over him, carrying with it the savory smell of filet mignon stuffed with feta cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, and spinach – a Kurt Hummel specialty. Kurt's pinwheels were a linchpin in their relationship. They ended fights and mended fences. Kurt and Sebastian celebrate every birthday/anti-Valentine's Day/Christmas/Arbor Day with them. These pinwheels are one of the reasons Sebastian fell in love with Kurt; not that Sebastian hadn't been completely head-over-heels the moment he saw Kurt on that fated subway ride in Manhattan more than three years ago, but this dish – this delectable, mouthwatering dish – played a big part in winning Sebastian Smythe's heart.

"Well, you said to pull out all the stops." Kurt grabs a dish towel off the counter and wipes small beads of sweat off his forehead. He watches Sebastian balance the cookie sheet of pinwheels, looking left and right for a place to set them down. Kurt gestures to the burner covers on the stove top. "This has to be the most elaborate Friday night dinner we've ever planned."

"Speaking of…" Sebastian sets the hot metal tray down gently, "I have to run out really quick. I forgot to pick up something."

Kurt cocks his hip and tilts his head, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Sebastian!" he scolds. "Everyone's going to be here in a little less than an hour, and I haven't even gotten dressed yet."

"You'll pull it off. You're a miracle worker," Sebastian says. Kurt rolls his eyes and returns to his cake.

"Fine, but if I'm covered in fondant when everyone arrives, I'll blame you."

"Please do," Sebastian drawls, coming up behind Kurt and kissing down his neck. "Then they won't argue when I carry you away and nibble it all off."

Kurt tries not to giggle, but he can't help it, the image of Sebastian eating lavender-tinted fondant off of his naked body both erotic and hilarious, though hilarious is winning.

"Fine, fine," Kurt says, waving a hand to dismiss his boyfriend before he starts sucking on his neck and leaving marks Kurt will never have enough time to cover up. "Just be quick about it."

"Super quick," Sebastian says, swatting Kurt on the ass as he backs away and heads out the door.

"And pick up another bottle of wine while you're out," Kurt calls after him.

"Red or white?" Sebastian yells back.

"Red!"

Kurt sighs, looking down the length of his kitchen counter piled high with half-decorated cookies, a pan of rising bread dough, and tray after tray of appetizers.

"Asshole," he mutters under his breath, returning to his task with a grin growing hot on his face at the thought of what else he could get Sebastian to eat off his body.

Sebastian puts on his leather gloves as he rushes down Broadway, cutting through back alleys, keeping to the shadows to avoid being noticed. The sidewalks are packed with people; people too wrapped up in their own lives to ever notice another businessman in a long, black trench coat, walking among the crowd, keeping to himself. He keeps his coat collar popped up and his eyes lowered as he weaves in and out of the mobs waiting at every corner for the lights to change or huddled near the bus stop, gathered around the overhanging awning to avoid the light rain that's started to fall.

The crowd starts to thin in the direction Sebastian's going, and he smiles.

He creeps behind a corner, in a sheltered spot with a clear view of the store door.

He sticks close to the brick wall, and waits.

His mark is a jewelry store owner – a suspected terrorist sympathizer with possible links to Al Qaeda. Sebastian doesn't know for sure. He didn't ask questions. He's not paid to know the details. Sebastian accepted the job immediately when he heard about it. He felt it was offered to him as an act of providence. It answered a crucial question; one that he had been mulling over for months now. This job gave him the perfect opportunity to get something that he needed.

Sebastian stands stock still, his eyes darting from the door, to the alley, to the street, and the buildings all around. He remains hyper-aware of his surroundings - the homeless man asleep in the alley across the way, the bodega owner on the corner sweeping his doorway, two kids riding bikes who seem way too young to be out so late. He hears the bells on the door jingle and he knows the time has come.

He counts in his head, ticking off the seconds, what's left of his time here in the alley…

…what's left of a stranger's time on Earth.

Footsteps approach, unhurried, shuffling slightly on the pavement, stopping for a second when the shop owner checks his pockets for his keys and then starting again. Sebastian sees an arm swing forward and he pounces, locking onto the man's elbow and securing a hand over his mouth before the startled man can even think to scream. Sebastian drags him kicking, stumbling, cursing down the alley till they're far enough from the street to avoid being seen. Sebastian isn't too concerned with the tenants of the apartments nearby. From what he could tell the shabby, decrepit buildings house immigrants, druggies, the elderly on fixed incomes - people who are rarely inclined to talk to the police.

Sebastian tosses the man up against the brick wall, trapping him in a space between two large dumpsters. The man blinks into the darkness and Sebastian waits for the man's eyes to adjust and he can see his face clearly.

"Mr.…Mr. Anderson?" the man stutters in confusion. Sebastian smiles like the apex predator he is at the sound of his mark calling him by his pseudonym; actually the name of his nemesis in the game who Sebastian is more than certain calls himself Mr. Smythe when he contracts out. "Was…was their something else you n-needed?"

"Yes, actually," Sebastian replies smoothly, opening his coat and pulling out his concealed Glock, taking a moment to fit a silencer onto the barrel. The man swallows hard as Sebastian stares at him, amused and menacing, twisting the silencer slowly until it threads completely.

"I…I don't understand," the man says, looking from the gun to Sebastian and back to the gun.

"There's nothing to understand really," Sebastian says. "I'm going to kill you. You're going to die."

The man steps back, stumbling into the wall behind him and his knees give way. He slides down to the ground, his entire body shuddering uncontrollably, fear welling in his dull, brown eyes.

"P-please," the man whimpers. "I s-swear to God, I did nothing wrong."

"I don't know your God," Sebastian says with a shake of his head, "but if I'm here then chances are you did something to deserve it."

Sebastian aims his gun and the man makes a pitiful, choked off sound.

"I have money," the man says, sniffling, bargaining with what little time he conceivably has left, "you can have it. All of it. Anything you want, I'll give to you…"

The man cowering on the filthy cement, pleading for his life is cut short by a high, lilting melody coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Sebastian's pants.

Both men freeze and stare awkwardly at each other. The tune continues, and then repeats, and in spite of literally looking death in the face, the shop owner chuckles.

"Is…is that from the musical Wicked?" the man sputters nervously.

"Shut the fuck up, asshole," Sebastian snaps, reaching into his pocket with his free hand to find his phone. "That's my boyfriend's ringtone. It happens to be his favorite song."

Sebastian's eyes flick to the screen of his phone, noticing the man on the ground out of the corner of his eye making moves to run. Sebastian waves his weapon in the man's face and points it at his head.

"Don't get any ideas, fuck face," Sebastian warns, glancing back quickly at the screen.

From: Kurt

You're the one that invited everyone we know in the world over here and now you're late! Where the hell are you? Don't forget the wine.

"I won't forget the wine," Sebastian grumbles, shoving his phone back in his pocket. The shop owner sees an opportunity, a window, using this moment of distraction to rush Sebastian, grabbing for his gun. Sebastian anticipates it. He knew the man would. They always do. Without flinching Sebastian fires, putting a bullet neatly through the man's skull, right between his eyes, but instead of falling straight back, the man spins oddly, teetering on his heels and then lurches forward on twisted ankles, landing on Sebastian, covering his neck and shirt in blood as he slides down Sebastian's body.

"Ugh!" Sebastian groans, stepping quickly out of the path of the dead man dropping to the cement. "Damn it!" Sebastian looks down at his shirt, and the spatters and smudges of blood trailing down to his slacks. "Shit, shit, shit!" Sebastian kicks at the dead man's shoulder in frustration. "How the fuck am I supposed to cover this up?" he mutters to the corpse, as if the man will suddenly awake and start brainstorming some options.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Sebastian chants angrily as he struggles with the body, lifting it into the dumpster to the left with a final grunt of effort and tossing it inside. He's not worried about the bullet lodged in the dead man's skull. He knows the police will dig it out and trace it, and when they do they'll find it belongs to a Glock 23, just like his, owned by Clarissa Mildred Porter of West Fargo, North Dakota, an 89 year-old-lady who passed away three years ago and whose personal protection weapon was never recovered after her death.

Not that Sebastian killed her.

No women or children – that's a rule he lives by.

Diabetes and a long standing love of cigarettes and bacon killed her. He just ended up with her gun.

Sebastian doesn't leave the neighborhood the way he came. He still sticks to the shadows, but now he has to jump a few fences and cut through a couple of sketchy looking back yards to make his way back to Kurt's house in the East Village unseen.

Sebastian loves Kurt's little house. It's more of a cottage, with vines trailing up the aging brick and its enclosed patio shrouded by the overhanging branches of a few large trees, completely obscured from the sidewalk not fifteen feet away. Sebastian can't even count the amount of times they've fucked beneath those trees, in broad daylight with parents taking their kids to the daycare down the street and college kids rushing by on their way to NYU. Sebastian loves how turned on Kurt gets by the idea of doing something so forbidden and taboo. The house is nestled in a fairly exclusive neighborhood. Kurt swore once that he saw Michelle Williams walk by with her daughter Matilda, and even though both men agree that they love her work in Brokeback Mountain, they were far too eager to get started on round two to throw on their clothes and find out.

Sebastian looks down at his ruined clothes and curses. How is he going to explain this to Kurt?

Sebastian creeps toward the back door cautiously, eying the sidewalk and the front of the house, looking for signs that any of their friends saw him approach from the side street and are running out to meet him. He opens the door and peers into the kitchen. The sounds of loud talking and boisterous laughter coming from the living room tell him that everyone they invited over for dinner tonight showed up; there's no way he'll be able to sneak past them without being seen. He opts for the stairs in the back of the house that lead up to the second floor balcony. They're vintage - cast iron and in need of some repair so they're going to squeak like a motherfucker, but hopefully everyone is too distracted with catching up and Kurt's delicious cooking to notice. He backs away, heading out of the kitchen on his way toward the door as Kurt bustles in from the living room carrying an empty tray.

"Oh, great, Sebastian!" Kurt gushes, putting down the tray on the nearest empty surface and rushing forward to greet his boyfriend. "You're back! I…"

Kurt stops dead, coming to a halt so suddenly that he trips over his own feet at the sight in front of him; Sebastian – his clothes, his skin, his disheveled hair – spattered in blood.

"I…I…" Kurt slowly raises a hand to his mouth, his jaw dropped, his eyes widening in horror.

"Kurt…" Sebastian raises his hands, inching forward slowly, preparing for the chance that Kurt might run off, "I can explain."

"You're…you're covered in bl-blood," Kurt stutters, eyes raking over him from head to toe while in his mind he searches for the right words to express his feelings, his confusion, his anger. "You…you…you're a fucking idiot, Bas!" Kurt advances on Sebastian, icy blue eyes threatening to slice him apart. "You knew we were going to have a house full of people tonight! Why did you have to go and take a job tonight?"

Kurt glares at Sebastian's soiled clothes and the smears of blood around his collar, staining his neck. He recoils with a disgusted grimace and a disapproving shake of his head.

"For Christ's sake!" Kurt laments in a harsh whisper. "Did you hit him over the head with a sledgehammer?"

Sebastian opens up his coat and lets Kurt see the Glock in his holster. Kurt tuts, taking his dish towel and wrapping it around Sebastian's gun, shoving it in the trash can concealed beneath the sink for the time being.

Kurt gives Sebastian another once over, Sebastian's face fighting to look repentant but darkening with lust at the way Kurt fusses over him. Kurt throws his hands up in exasperation.

"And you forgot the wine."

Sebastian snickers, biting his lip, leaning in to kiss Kurt's neck, seeking out that spot that makes Kurt forgive everything.

"But I promise I brought home something better."

Sebastian's lips barely brush Kurt's skin when a hand to his chest stops him.

"Not now," Kurt smirks. "We don't have time. Go upstairs. I'll cover for you." Kurt blows Sebastian a kiss by his right ear.

"What about my clothes?" Sebastian asks, watching as Kurt does a last second tidy in the kitchen, stopping first to wash the traces of blood off his hands.

"They're ruined," Kurt says definitely. "I don't have enough pre-treater in the world to get all that out. We'll stick them in the incinerator and get you a new outfit tomorrow."

"Really?" Sebastian asks, blown away even after all these years at how nonplussed Kurt can behave under pressure.

"Of course." Kurt turns at the kitchen door and gives Sebastian a wink. "You look fucking hot in it." Kurt pushes through and returns to the gathering with not a single chestnut-colored hair out of place.

Oh yeah, Sebastian thinks, a smug smile on his face as he walks out the door and hurries up the metal stairs, patting his pants pocket and the tiny ring box it holds, chomping at the bit for later tonight when Sebastian gets the chance to give it to Kurt. I am definitely marrying that man.