Kurt needs Sebastian's total surrender, and he has interesting means of getting it.
Written for lilinas's Bitchmas prompt 'sound', and takes place probably over Christmas break, maybe some time after. I know it's a bit on the short side, but to be honest, these holiday challenge prompts strike me as the kinds of things that are fulfilled with snippets, not fully fleshed out chapters. This is a glimpse into what they do together, and I think it stands fine as is.
"What kind of music you into, preppy?" Kurt asks, but it's a rhetorical question. With the red ball gag in Sebastian's mouth, larger than their usual, and secured extra tight, pulling his cheeks back into an open-mouth grimace, Sebastian can't answer. He can only sniff thru his nose and drool uncontrollably – not exactly an attractive look, but it makes Kurt smile. But Kurt isn't looking at him right now, pacing with his iPod in his hands, switching between playlists in search of the perfect one.
And by perfect, he means one that will wear at the corners of Sebastian's sanity. He needs Sebastian raw, frayed, a trembling mass of nerves and reflexes, utterly disoriented. He wants to alter time in Sebastian's mind, turn the world on its head.
He needs Sebastian's total surrender.
And Kurt has decided to get it with a cocktail of sensory deprivation and overload.
"Because I see you as a Top 40s sort of boy." Kurt walks back and forth in front of his sub who can't see him - a black, silk blindfold secured over his eyes; and can't touch him - arms bound straight out at his sides. All Sebastian can do is listen as Kurt talks; feel as Kurt preps him for today's session by securing a vibrating wand up his ass, and another to his cock with bondage tape. "But that's a symptom of being a Warbler. I mean, do they even sing anything else?" Kurt pauses. In the space, Sebastian tries to grumble an answer. When nothing intelligible comes out of Sebastian's mouth, just a grunt and more drool, Kurt continues. "No. That's right, preppy. They don't. But seeing as it is Christmas time, I think we'll pick something more traditional. Festive."
Kurt walks up to Sebastian and stands face to face with him, nose to nose so that Sebastian knows he's there.
"How do you feel about carols, preppy? Oh, wait a minute." Kurt snickers. "You sing with a show choir, so I know you love them."
Sebastian groans inside his head because Christmas carols and sex? Not his favorite combination. Jamie tried to blow him once while "Silent Night" played in the background. Sebastian isn't at all religious, but the big, swelling, dramatic choir singing their praises to the baby Jesus killed his boner dead.
"So, now that we've got that settled, we'll just stick these over your ears …" Kurt fits a pair of noise cancelling headphones onto Sebastian's head, the earpieces completely covering his ears. They work so well that, if Kurt says anything after that, Sebastian doesn't hear him. He doesn't hear anything until the music starts, and when it does, he wishes more than anything that he could go back to the quiet.
Kurt switches the vibrators on at contrasting speeds – the one on his cock to high while the one in his ass simmers at a medium pulse-pulse-stop, pulse-pulse-stop, mere centimeters away from his prostate. After that, Sebastian feels nothing else from Kurt. In fact, Sebastian doesn't know whether Kurt leaves or not. He sure as hell can't hear him, and with the spreader bar between his ankles pushing his legs apart, then tied to the bed frame in a way that keeps him elevated on his toes, vibrations on the floor are muffled.
Sebastian tries to remain stoic with "Jingle Bell Rock" blasting in his ears – not loud enough to hurt, but loud enough to be fucking annoying, so much so that by the first refrain, he's already done with this Christmas carol bullshit. But before too long, the song finishes, and Sebastian takes a breather. That's fine. He got through that one. Now to focus on the next one. There's got to be hundreds of Christmas carols in the world. Even if one or two repeat, it'll be fine. He realizes that these songs are going to become his sole focus, and that should be a blessing since it'll effectively block out everything else. The wand buzzing in his ass, taunting his prostate - he can shove that aside. The vibrator strapped to his cock - that he can ignore, too, as long as he has the crutch of this music in his head.
As long as he concentrates on loathing it, then everything will be fine.
Except it's not.
Because the next song that comes up on the playlist is –
Rockin' around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party hop …
Jesus Christ! Did Kurt just put this one song on repeat? Why would he do that?
Because he's a sadistic bastard, Sebastian thinks, the tiny voice in his head following that up with duh.
It takes a few minutes of listening, a few minutes of seething, but Sebastian realizes that no. Kurt did something way worse than just put this one song on repeat, because after one more full repetition of "Jingle Bell Rock", it plays again, stops in the middle, and jumps to the next song – "Do They Know It's Christmas?"
But as nerve rattling as that is, it's actually somewhat of a relief. It takes Sebastian's mind off of how irritating this is by giving him the chance to judge.
"Do They Know It's Christmas?" The official anthem for white saviors everywhere? Does anyone even listen to this song anymore? Why in the world would Kurt have this?
Two verses in, Sebastian knows why.
For one, it's obnoxious as hell, but with its repetitive refrain, it becomes demonic when messed with. It starts to slow down, the voices in the chorus melting, becoming cartoonish, disturbing. Then it skids, actually makes a scratching noise like a needle being pulled off a record, which is jarring as shit. Sebastian can't help but be impressed by Kurt's conviction to the devious that he would find a digital file with the inclusion of a record scratch.
But as the music in the headset continues, not a single song plays to the end. It throws him off, sets his teeth on edge. They would grind except for the ball gag in his mouth keeping his jaw separate. Because of all of the skips and jumps, songs stopping in the middle, rewinding to the beginning and starting over again, and then becoming other songs – sometimes seamlessly, sometimes not – Sebastian can't determine how long he's been there.
The vibrating on his cock has long since stopped feeling anything close to good. Now it's just pure pain, the buzzing on his skin like the drilling of a small, hard needle into his penis. As for the one in his ass, it's giving him a headache. He feels the vibrations in the base of his skull, the dark behind the blindfold shuddering. He doesn't see it with his eyes, but with his brain, and it's making his forehead numb. His upper lip itches, and he needs to sneeze. He pulls his arms in reflexively to rub the sensation away, but between the cuffs and the ropes keeping his arms outstretched, he's tied too tight.
Sebastian can't hear the noises he makes over the music playing in the headphones - stopping, starting, scratching, playing backwards - not even in his own head, but what he feels coming up from his chest and working its way around the ball gag seems almost animal. And it doesn't stop, his throat going dry, forcing a cough out of him so violent, it's hard to breathe.
The music stops dead. Sebastian doesn't register the cut off, so he doesn't relax, hanging on the beveled edge for the next horrible rendition of "Jingle Bell Rock" to begin. Maybe it'll be at double speed. Maybe it'll be in Spanish. Maybe it'll be at double speed and in Spanish – backwards. But the music doesn't return. The headphones hugging the sides of his face release, lifting off his head and away.
"Okay, preppy, okay," Kurt coos. "Let's get you unhooked before I liquefy your brain."
Sebastian's ears ring with the remnants of "Jingle Bell Rock". Kurt removes the ball gag. When the straps are undone and the gag removed, Sebastian drops his head. He rolls his bottom jaw, sore from clenching around the ball. He opens his mouth to speak, but he has no words, those repeated lyrics pounding in his ears alongside the high-pitched ripping of the record scratch.
Sebastian sniffs. With the ball gag in his mouth and the music in his ears, he hadn't realized he'd been crying in frustration.
"Oh, preppy," Kurt coddles condescendingly as he turns off the vibrators and removes them from his sub's body. "What can I do for you, hmm?"
Sebastian shakes his head. He moves his mouth, but sound has yet to come out, his throat so dry it stings. Kurt grabs a bottle of Aquafina from his bedside table and hands it to Sebastian.
"Here. Have some of this. It'll make it easier to talk."
Sebastian nods and cracks the bottle open. Once the water touches his lips and he starts to drink, he doesn't lower it till it's empty.
"If I fucked your mouth, would that make you feel better, preppy?"
"Yes, Master," Sebastian mumbles, tossing the bottle aside and dropping to his knees. He rubs his head against Kurt's crotch like a dog seeking comfort. Kurt undoes his fly and lowers his jeans down his thighs. He leans forward, positioning the head of his cock at his sub's lips. This blowjob isn't gratuitous. Kurt's not taking advantage. Sebastian needs something to ground him, and his connection to Kurt is the best possible way to do that.
So what if it's the exact reaction that Kurt was hoping for?
Sebastian whines low in his throat, muttering a quick, "Thank you, Master," before wrapping his lips around him.
"Anytime," Kurt moans, throwing his head back as Sebastian makes quick work of taking Kurt's cock completely down his throat. "You know how much I love to help."