A/N: After Sebastian shows up to Kurt's house early Christmas morning, Kurt treats himself to a little indulgence in the arms of his sub.
The second part to 'A Dalton Boy Snowed in for Christmas'.
Kurt had told Sebastian once during an impromptu session that his two favorite forms of torture were hot and sharp – and they are, especially heat. Kurt adores heat play in all forms, but mostly wax play. He loves melted candle wax on skin, the contrasting colored paraffin forming like scabs, overlapping drips hardening into miniature mountain chains. He loves the hiss that comes from a sub's mouth when he pours hot wax on him. He loves dripping it on himself, the initial flash of too much, followed by the raw need, wanting more, even if more is dangerous, even if more can possibly do irreversible damage.
Even if more could scar you for life.
The way Sebastian has done to him.
But Sebastian's freezing cold skin against Kurt's hot flesh has him second guessing himself.
Again, the way Sebastian has done to him.
There's an erotic chill to the way Sebastian's frigid, shaking fingers undress Kurt, peeling away his clothes with a speed that borders on urgency. His cold knee nudging against Kurt's crotch as he climbs over his Dom to kiss him makes Kurt tremble outside of his control; Sebastian's shivering wet stomach making Kurt hunger to hold him when he rolls Sebastian onto his back, pinning him to the mattress, and keeping him still with the weight of his body. But probably the most sensual part of mingling Kurt's hot skin with Sebastian's cold is the way their temperatures even out the longer they're pressed together - the iciness of Sebastian's body leeching the heat from Kurt's, warming him up; Kurt's body giving him that heat freely.
They find an equilibrium without meaning to. Nature takes over and decides that this needs to happen, that they are part in the same.
That they belong together.
It's simple science. Kurt knows this. The concept of cold doesn't exist, only less heat, and more heat will always want to travel to it. Kurt suddenly remembers this because the cynic inside him warns him not to romanticize this encounter, not to make more out of it than it is, to forget that he ever said anything about making love to begin with.
He's heard this warning before and he's bound himself to it, the way his head tells him he should do to Sebastian – tie him down, immobilize him, don't let him change the dynamic, don't allow him steal Kurt's control.
But this time, Kurt doesn't listen. He finds a way to tune it out, focusing on Sebastian's lips as they travel across his skin, his tongue tracing the lines of his tattoos and the scars hidden underneath, erasing them by leaving scars of his own. Kurt feels them tear like shards into his skin, carving out parts of him. But unlike the man whose abuse and betrayal caused Kurt to make those original marks, Sebastian adds something of himself to every single one - a whisper, a kiss, a word, uttering Kurt's name, or the way he calls him Master with such a want to be had, to be used, to be owned, however Kurt sees fit. Yes, Sebastian is eager to submit to Kurt, but in ways that go beyond Kurt's definition of submission. It's not about the physical, being bound, rendered helpless; it's about the vulnerability, the trust. It's about the part of being in a "relationship" that Kurt hasn't had the guts to open himself up to yet. His other subs (when he's had them) have been vulnerable for him, have trusted him, and he's earned that trust, but he wasn't vulnerable back. He didn't have to be. It wasn't what he was there for.
But he's vulnerable with Sebastian.
He trusts Sebastian.
He might even love Sebastian.
None of that matters now. He has to shove it to the bottom of the pile, forget that it exists, but that's nearly impossible when, on top of that pile, sits this boy.
Except, Sebastian's not really a boy. Not entirely. He's eighteen. That qualifies him as a man. Kurt wouldn't be entertaining any of this otherwise. He's not a pedophile. He feels like a cradle robber, though, but only a little. The last time Kurt had an eighteen-year-old between his legs before Sebastian, Kurt was closer to eighteen himself.
It was hot, it was sweet, it was everything it should have been at that age…but he doesn't remember it being half this good.
"Oh, Kurt…oh, God…"
Sebastian's moan as he kisses down Kurt's body, getting off on getting Kurt off, hits Kurt straight in the stomach and spins like a rotor, fast and tight. The sound of a man moaning has always been one of Kurt's biggest turn-ons, but Sebastian moaning is orgasm material all its own. It's equal parts sin and innocence, not because of how sexual his little schoolboy is, but because of who he is. He's still in high school, still an honors student, still that smart aleck little fuck who showed up at Kurt's club out of the blue and turned his entire world to shit…in a good way. Kurt's usually not a huge fan of surprises, not where his whole life is concerned, but Sebastian dropping into Kurt's life has turned out to be one of the better ones.
There's still so much teenaged boy in Sebastian. In many ways, he's just playing with the adults. But when they're in Kurt's room together, Sebastian ages a few years, and Kurt regresses. Like the temperatures of their bodies trying to find balance, they reach a middle ground. Kurt doesn't have to perform. He doesn't have to be anybody. He can give up the ego, dispel the personality. He can sweat, he can moan, he can pull his own hair, touch his own body, and be a heaving mess. He can talk, he can laugh, he can be imperfect.
He can beg.
He can say please.
Sebastian hovers around Kurt's hips, kissing lightly, nibbling marks over the bone, venturing too close to Kurt's cock, throbbing from neglect, and as much as he wants Sebastian to take his time, he can't stand the teasing.
"Sebastian…God, what are you waiting for? Don't fuck around with it. Just…"
Sebastian laughs at his Dom's impatience. He takes Kurt's cock in his mouth, and that's all Kurt needs for the heavy thoughts to float away.
"Oh, God," Kurt gasps. He hears a bit of the eighteen-year-old boy he once was in that gasp. The boy who grew into a man who was virtually broken to pieces by his high school sweetheart. "Oh, Sebastian…fuck…don't stop…"
"No, Master," Sebastian mumbles around the very tip. "I won't stop…"
Sebastian sinks down, taking Kurt as far down his throat as he can. Kurt's hands grab his hair, shoving as he thrusts up, but carefully, conscious and aware that this is just as much Sebastian as a body for his use. Sebastian is in a show choir – a nationally ranked show choir. Kurt's not going to do anything that might ruin his voice.
These aren't the kinds of concerns Kurt's had for a lot of men he's fucked. The subs who come to his club for the "honor" of being his for the night, he doesn't make a point to know well. Nothing beyond boundaries and limits. But he knows Sebastian. Kurt knows Sebastian's school schedule. He knows the grievances Sebastian has with a few guys on his lacrosse team. He knows Sebastian's grades, for fuck's sake. It was part of their reward system. He gave Sebastian something special for every A.
He should have guessed that Sebastian was a 5.0 student, poised to become valedictorian.
Kurt finally knows the story behind how Sebastian ended up at his club in the first place, and what happened after he got home, how the guys interrogated him for days after but he refused to tell them shit. Dom and sub had a good laugh over it. Sebastian even showed Kurt a picture of the little bastards who should have shown up.
Kurt couldn't be more grateful that they didn't.
"Come on, baby…" Kurt decides when he's too close to the edge that he needs more than Sebastian's mouth. "Come up here and turn over. I need to have at you."
Sebastian chuckles, close to a girlish giggle, and even though Kurt rolls his eyes and groans, he does it fondly, because that's what this is all about.
Letting guards down.
Being relaxed.
Having fun.
Entering Sebastian goes quick. There's no hesitation on Sebastian's part now. He doesn't need to be coaxed to a place where he feels comfortable accepting Kurt inside his body. It happens with little effort, little need for preparation. With a dollop of lube and Kurt's expert fingers, Sebastian opens up for him. Sebastian wants Kurt, every inch of him, the sour and the sweet. Kurt puts a condom on, the blunt tip of his cock presses against him, and a breath later, Kurt's moving inside him, grabbing hold of his hips and pounding him hard. They've done slow before, but it doesn't suit them as well as this. This could go on and on for hours, but it needs to be full out, 100% at every stroke, over and over till he has Sebastian clawing the pillows, climbing the headboard, and begging despite himself.
"God…every time with you is like the first time," Kurt moans. "You're so tight…so fuckin' tight…you're going to be the death of me."
Kurt stops himself from saying anything else. He doesn't want to slip, doesn't want any of the emotions bouncing around his tongue uncertainly to fall from his lips when he's not paying attention. Past this point, he doesn't want to say something he'll take back.
He doesn't want to reveal something he'll regret.
Sebastian's been a victim to Kurt's endurance before. He's had Kurt in him, driving him to the brink, then pulling back, over and over and over again till he has to bite his fist to keep from crying. Kurt's kept him at a simmer between ready to explode and almost ruined so many times. Kurt's indulged in long, slow sex that Sebastian might have mistaken for love making if not for Kurt's insistence that it wasn't.
This is different, more desperate, so much expressed without Kurt speaking a word. Kurt rarely has to say anything for Sebastian to know how he feels. The pull of his lips, the glimmer in his eyes, the quirk of his eyebrow says so much. So does the way Kurt touches him, this time with one hand wrapped around Sebastian's cock at the base, rendering all friction static, and another in his hair, fingers threading tight, pulling back till his neck bends, and Kurt bites down hard at the juncture.
"G-god," Sebastian mutters, mouth dry from being forced open, breath shallow and staccato as it hits the air. "Oh, G-god…shit…G-god…"
"God's not here right now," Kurt groans, each word accompanied by a thrust. "Would you mind moaning my name please?"
"K-kurt…" Sebastian shifts quickly, knowing how much Kurt likes hearing his own name. "Fuck…K-kurt…M-master…fuck…harder…"
And Kurt does fuck him harder, even though he shouldn't. He does more for Sebastian than he does for any sub, but what he does for Sebastian, he does for himself, and he wants harder just as much as Sebastian wants it. He wants every stroke to burn into Sebastian the way Sebastian's kisses shred his skin. He wants to never be a distant memory, that no matter what happens between them, when they might part in the future, anyone else Sebastian's ever with will pale in comparison.
Sebastian might fuck a lot of guys in his life, a football team, an entire fucking platoon, but not a single one of them will ever own him the way Kurt has.
"Cum for me, baby," Kurt says, moving the hand on Sebastian's cock till it's almost a blur, slicked up with pre-cum and sweat and his own saliva, the whole mixture so primal and animal. "Don't make me wait. You know I don't like to wait."
"Gah…F-fuck, Kurt," Sebastian moans, tripping over nearly saying God again, stopping himself so Kurt won't take his hand away. That's one of Kurt's crueler punishments for when Sebastian doesn't obey the rules. Not a single spanking, flogging, or amount of time spent on his knees, even kneeling on rice, can rival a ruined orgasm, and Kurt knows how to make them devastating.
Kurt knows how to give, and he knows how to take away.
"Come on, baby," Kurt growls. "Let me hear you. Say my name."
Before Kurt, Sebastian used to think that was the lamest line in the history of lame lines uttered during the act of sex. But with Kurt, it's not a line, and without asking, Sebastian thinks he knows why.
Everyone Kurt's with calls him Master. It's who he is, but being referred to that way constantly, only by a title, by strangers and people he's sometimes intimate with, must be dehumanizing. Kurt can be master and commander of the universe, but take away his name, his real name, and who is he?
"Kurt…" The first Kurt comes out a low moan. "Kurt…Kurt…Kurt…" Sebastian starts to chant to the rhythm of the headboard smacking the wall, pinching his fingers a few times as Sebastian braces against it with hands splayed flat, turning himself into a stolid structure for Kurt to pound away at. The wet slapping of their bodies together is probably loud enough to be heard outside, and Kurt's sure the headboard will leave a chip in his perfect paint job, but that can be fixed, and the neighbors, if they are listening, can suck it.
"Are you cumming?" Kurt murmurs, thigh cramping as he prolongs his own orgasm, holding off so he can cum with his sub. "Fuck it, Sebastian! What the fuck are you waiting for?"
Sebastian has a dozen snide remarks in mind – everything from the trite, "Now you know how it feels," to the challenging, "What do you mean? I can do this all night," with an old man thrown in if he's feeling extra masochistic, or he doesn't care about having an orgasm any time in the next century.
But there comes a split second when he thinks that this could be the time to tell Kurt that he doesn't want this to end, because he's afraid it'll go away and never come around again, in the hopes that Kurt will admit that it never has to end, because he wants this, too.
It's more that thought than the sharp, repetitive slaps to his ass that has him spilling over Kurt's hand, his pillow, his headboard, and the sheets, leaving everything marked.
Claimed.
"Jesus Christ!" Kurt grumbles. "I should have anticipated that. Fuck! Oh well. You'll clean it up for me tomorrow, won't you preppy?"
"Yeah," Sebastian says, sleepily following Kurt down to the bed when Kurt guides him, unwilling to pull them apart just yet. Kurt flips the soiled pillows over, forgetting about the drying cum for now.
"I think…" Sebastian pants, chest heaving so hard his ribs become sore, "I think your bed's a mess now, Master." Sebastian tugs at the corner of the fitted sheet, trying to stretch it over the edge of the mattress.
"Yeah, well, now it matches the assholes in it," Kurt says, swatting Sebastian's hand. Kurt grabs Sebastian by the wrist and loops his arm around his waist.
"You don't want me to fix it?" Sebastian asks.
"It's not something you can fix at the moment." Kurt's not talking about the sheet, but an exhausted Sebastian doesn't catch on. "So, we'll let it be, and see what we can do about it in the morning."
"Are you sure?" Sebastian yawns and holds Kurt tight.
"Yeah," Kurt says, kissing the top of Sebastian's head, and rocking him slightly, "yeah, I'm sure."