It's Easter Sunday, and Kurt has chosen to observe the holiday at home with his sub instead of at his club, by eating chocolate and decorating ... eggs.
This is another little scene to break up the tension from the last chapter to the next chapter (coming up soon). I wrote it in honor of Easter, but I felt a little sacrilege posting it yesterday, all things considered xD Dedicated to freakingpotter on tumblr, to whom my paint brush reference belongs (because she's an amazing, wonderful artist, so when I put artist specific things in a story, it's usually for her :D) because I miss her :(
"Are we staying here tonight, Master?" Sebastian asks, watching Kurt walk back in to the bedroom after being left for close to an hour unattended. Sebastian didn't misbehave. He wouldn't dream of it, and not just because he couldn't move, bound on his back on the bed. Obedience is the road to reward in Kurt's house, and reward is usually Kurt. Besides, Sebastian can't assume that just because Kurt's not in the room with him that he doesn't know what Sebastian is up to.
Kurt has an uncanny sixth sense when it comes to Sebastian, which leads Sebastian to believe that Kurt has a nanny cam or two set up where Sebastian has yet to find them.
Kurt had left Sebastian tied to his bed comfortably, the way he does whenever they're about to partake in a more sensual session – silk scarves wrapped around his wrists and threaded underneath the mattress, pulling his arms out to his sides; ankles cuffed in fur-lined leather on the opposite end, keeping his legs spread. Kurt eliminates discomfort and forgoes the use of pain so that Sebastian can concentrate on absorbing pure, rapturous pleasure … and not respond to it.
Scenes like this are some of the hardest for Sebastian to handle because they skirt the boundaries of emotion. They're psychologically taxing, straddling a border between Sebastian acting as an object, a mere receptacle, and being a lover. Kurt lavishes Sebastian with attention that shadows lovemaking – gentle caresses, tender kisses, and selfless body worship. Sebastian isn't required to wear a blindfold or a gag. He is encouraged to watch Kurt work. He has permission to talk and moan, unless those privileges are specifically taken away, but the trade-off is that he doesn't get to touch or kiss.
And he isn't allowed to cum.
"We are, preppy," Kurt answers, kicking the door shut behind him. Sebastian finds it odd and unnecessary that Kurt would do that, seeing as they're in his house alone, but it's a ritual for Kurt – a way to lock them inside their own little world, a space where ex-boyfriends and ex-lovers, work stress and school strife, have no place. It's symbolic, the way almost everything with Kurt is steeped in symbolism, from his clothes to his décor to his intricate tattoos.
"But … don't you need to be at the club? Don't you have something special planned for Easter, Master?" Sebastian knows that Kurt usually spends his holidays at his club, and that he plans special theme events for his customers. Kurt's club is more his home than his actual house is, and his regulars are like his family. Kurt is never alone when he's at his club. There's always someone available to fill his voids when he needs them filled. But since Kurt met Sebastian, they've spent the holidays together. Sebastian likes that. He likes the intimacy of having his Dom all to himself. Here in Kurt's house, Sebastian doesn't feel the pressure of having to act like the perfect submissive in front of anyone. He's just Kurt's sub here, in the most comfortable, erotic, and personal atmosphere imaginable … and he doesn't have to fight for Kurt's attention.
Though he has to less and less now. Kurt has developed a singular focus when Sebastian's around, and that's Sebastian.
That may mean that Sebastian undergoes more vigorous sessions, more inventive methods of fulfilling Kurt's sadistic needs, but Sebastian's not complaining.
Kurt extinguishes his clove in the purple ashtray on his bedside table before he climbs up onto the bed. With both hands occupied, his legs and abs do all of the work balancing his weight. Watching Kurt's toned stomach clench above the waistband of his black lounge pants, the effort accentuating his six-pack, makes Sebastian, bound and immobile, salivate. It would be the greatest reward in the world to lick Kurt's abs, nose his waistband down over his hips and work his mouth over his Dom's cock.
But Sebastian knows that if he wants Kurt's cock, he's going to have to earn it.
"Yeah, we do, but it's not my turn to wear the bunny costume this year."
Sebastian has to bite his tongue hard not to snicker at the image his brain produces of Kurt dressed like a rough trade Easter Bunny, with a carrot-shaped dildo clutched in his furry-gloved hand, and a clove cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. But then, Kurt dressed in silky white panties, and wearing leather chaps along with fluffy ears and a tail, black kohl eyeliner, dark red lipstick, and a spiked collar around his neck … that would be something to see.
"Besides, handing out candy and hiding eggs are the kinds of things that littles like to do, and I'm not really down for that. Elliott's much better at coordinating that crap than I am. I'd much rather celebrate at home."
"Celebrate? But I thought you were an atheist, Master."
"You don't have to be religious to eat chocolate and paint eggs, preppy. You just have to be creative …" Kurt pauses, chills zipping down Sebastian's spine with a flash of Kurt's signature Grinch-like grin - the corners of his mouth curling up his cheeks while his brows draw together in the middle "… and inspired."
Sebastian watches Kurt crawl between his legs carrying a palette of paints in his right hand, a paint brush and a towel in his left, but not a single egg in sight.
"Wh-what eggs, Master?" Sebastian asks, afraid that "eggs" might be a code they haven't discussed yet.
Kurt's face darkens, the kiss he blows signifying that something deliciously devious is about to begin.
"Yours, preppy," he says, nudging Sebastian's balls with his knee. Kurt puts his palette down carefully between Sebastian's thighs and lays his towel over his sub's left knee. The brush, he keeps. He holds it between his thumb and his fingertips, holding it up for Sebastian to see. "Today we'll be using a Da Vinci Maestro Round Brush, size 16, with bristles of Siberian Kolinsky Red Sable fur."
Sebastian nods as if any of that meant anything to him. He's never taken an art class. The last time he tried his hand at painting a picture, he was using a Crayola watercolor set, and he was maybe ten years old. But Sebastian goes completely speechless at the mention of sable. One of his mother's favorite coats while Sebastian was growing up was made of sable. Sebastian had a kind of creepy love affair with petting the damned thing behind his mother's back (which means, ironically, that Sebastian spent a great deal of his formative years in a literal closet). Sable is one of the softest materials Sebastian can imagine touching his skin, aside from Kurt's own magnificent tongue.
And if Kurt is implying what Sebastian knows he's implying, he's going to be painting Sebastian's junk with it.
Kurt scoops up a dollop of bright pink paint onto his bristles and lowers the brush slowly to Sebastian's crotch, while Sebastian's eyes, wide and unblinking, follow his every move. With the lightest touch, Kurt swirls the bristles over the head of Sebastian's cock, covering it completely in pink paint, then outlines the ridge. Sebastian swallows hard as Kurt strokes, fighting not to close his eyes at the delectable tickle of his delicate swipes.
"We'll get you all decorated from abs to anus, then we'll take some photographs," Kurt mutters. He wipes excess paint off on the towel, then switches to green, and paints a stem and leaves down Sebastian's shaft to go with his now pink tulip head. Sebastian imagines the tip of that brush circling his entrance the second Kurt suggests it, wet like Kurt's tongue but cold, the stiff but soft point of the bristles dancing inside. His cock bobs without permission, blurring the line Kurt was creating, but Kurt doesn't look upset by it. He looks pleased. Every bob, every pearl of pre-cum leaking from the tip, is a strike against Sebastian – another golden opportunity for punishment. Kurt licks his lips as he changes colors, and starts a line of smaller, red flowers down Sebastian's shaft over the drying green paint. "Mmm, I absolutely adore this body paint, preppy. It's one of my favorites. You have no idea."
"A-and why's that, Master?" Sebastian asks, stuttering when Kurt's brush dips down and around, glancing ever so gently behind his balls. Sebastian is thankful he has permission to talk. He needs the conversation to keep his attention away from what Kurt's doing. If he wants to last, he needs to start thinking of something other than this implement that feels too much like a tongue stroking his skin.
But Kurt knows. He knows what Sebastian's small talk means. He can appreciate coping mechanisms. Everyone has them, even the great Kurt Hummel.
But Kurt doesn't like easy ways out. That he considers cheating.
Kurt winks at Sebastian while making another blind stroke along the base of his sub's cock, one that finally drags the moan that's been building in Sebastian's throat past his lips.
"Because it's made of chocolate," Kurt says, "which means it's edible." Kurt chuckles when Sebastian swallows again, and an actual, "Oh God," takes the place of the second moan in his throat. If Sebastian can't stand strong against a paint brush, what will he do against Kurt's talented tongue, especially when he's not allowed to cum? "And I do love me some chocolate."