Summary: While in the steam room at his father's country club, Sebastian encounters an intriguing man who's not shy about taking what he wants.

"Hey, Sebastian!"

"Hey, Ms. Melanie!"

"Haven't seen you here in a while!"

"Sorry. Been busy." Sebastian reaches out a hand for a locker key. "School, lacrosse, getting ready for graduation, you know how it is."

"Absolutely!" Her smile grows as she hands him a towel from the warming cabinet beside her desk. "My Mark's going through the same. I barely see him poke his head out of his room on the weekends with all the homework school gives the seniors."

"Yeah. You think they'd let up a bit considering we're leaving."

"Not a chance! For the money we spend to send you kids to Dalton, they'd better stuff you full of knowledge right up to the very end!"

"Trust me, they've been doing that all year. It would be nice if they let us relax."

"You can relax when you're dead!" Melanie laughs at her own joke, and Sebastian laughs with her. Usually he wouldn't. He'd roll his eyes and walk away. He wouldn't be polite about it either, so he's sure Melanie has noticed over the years. And yet, here she is, as sweet and kind as ever, teasing him as if he were an old friend.

What an ass he's been, treating her like she's beneath him because she worked at his father's country club handing out towels and her son went to Dalton on scholarship! He didn't do it intentionally. It was always more of a subconscious reaction than a consciously decided action – the unforeseen side-effect of quote/unquote good breeding and constant exposure to the right people.

But he still did it.

He has no problem standing up for himself when sacks of shit like Hunter think they're his betters, but when is the last time he stood up for someone else? Someone who couldn't give him anything in return?

Maybe this is what growing up is – realizing your shit stinks more than you think it does and doing your best to keep it downwind. He'd like to say he came to that realization on his own, but it's more than likely a symptom of the company he's been keeping.

Company that's humbled him both figuratively and literally.

He waves goodbye to Melanie and heads for the locker room, making a mental note to find Mark the next time he's on campus and invite him to the commons for coffee.

He peels off his uniform and tosses it in his locker, rolling his shoulder after every article he removes. He took a few hard hits on the field today. Normally, it wouldn't be so bad, but Hunter seemed to have it out for him. Probably because Sebastian was named MVP of yesterday's game.

Plus, he got some ass last night to boot. That had to irk Hunter, who hasn't gotten his dick wet in God knows when.

Sebastian wraps the towel around his waist before he slips out of his underwear. He's not self-conscious about his body by any means. At Dalton, he has no qualms about tossing off all his clothes in the locker room after practice and strutting to the shower naked.

But this place isn't like the locker room at school.

The boys at Dalton keep their eyes to themselves. They respect one another's boundaries. Even if that's simply a consequence of Dalton's zero tolerance bullying policy, it makes for a safe and pleasant environment.

Not here.

Coming here alone after school has opened Sebastian's eyes to a lot of things about the so-called real world - realizations that are cartoonish in their absurdity.

One of them being that married men think about sex … a lot.

Not necessarily with their partners.

And even though straight adult men around his father's age might turn up their noses at sex with another adult male, that doesn't mean teenaged boys are off the table. Maybe it's because they're attracted to youth and youth can be considered androgynous. Smooth skin and a tight ass doesn't need to belong to a specific gender to make it appealing.

It could also be ego – the alpha inside them eager to dominate a perceived up-and-coming alpha to prove they've still got it. They may never act on it, not in a million years. They may even deny it.

But their eyes tell a different story.

Sebastian enters the thick cloud of steam and walks to the far end of the room, finds an empty space and sits. Finding an unoccupied bench isn't as easy as it sounds. It's seven in the evening and fairly crowded for a weeknight.

It always is.

Sebastian judges heavily the men gathered here who should be at home having dinner with their families. It grosses him out how many of these old farts stare at him while he sits on his bench, trying to ignore their slimy existences. He knows a handful of them – not well, not by name. But he's seen them around the club, old money and new money alike, in the main dining hall, out on the links when he golfs with his dad, over by the pool, a lot of them with their wives and kids.

That makes it worse.

Away from their significant others, they look him over like he's a meal, licking their lips behind the veil of steam, some with their eyes glued to his brand as if they know what it represents. And that makes him wonder …

Do they want to own him, or be him?

The question makes his skin crawl but he doesn't leave. Sebastian came here because he needed to get away from school, from people who barge into his room uninvited and talk his ear off endlessly without taking a breath, as if they don't see him eight hours out of the God dammed day.

But from Hunter especially.

Sebastian had a feeling Hunter would stop by his room after his shower, and he wasn't in the mood for his crap. It filled him head to toe with tension that he didn't need, felt it accumulate in his sore shoulder – the same shoulder as his brand.

The brand Hunter hated with a passion.

So Sebastian chose getting ogled over by pathetic old men in exchange for peace and quiet.

Seems like a reasonable exchange.

He rolls his head back on his neck and closes his eyes, and the second he does, he becomes the center of attention. He doesn't need to see the men looking at him. He knows. He feels eyes on him, eyes that shamelessly stare, and out of pure, morbid curiosity, he opens his again to check.

To silently call them out, shame those of them who have some shame left.

A handful of men do look away. Most of the others can't be bothered, going so far as to rub their erections through their towels as if in invitation.

Make Sebastian reconsider his seat.

But amidst the sea of flabby bellies and greying hair, Sebastian spots a man he swears he's never seen before. He doesn't fit in with the other fogies, which is a mark in his favor. He's not flabby in the slightest, not a grey hair to be seen. He's an older man, but not a dad.

More like a Daddy if Sebastian ever saw one.

From his toned arms and chest to his striking blue eyes, he cuts quite the picture. Sebastian wonders if the pudgy masses haven't been sizing him up, too. Maybe once or twice, but not the way they do with Sebastian. They wouldn't dare. This man gives off some serious apex predator vibes.

And right now, he has his sights set on Sebastian.

This man is gorgeous, which is not a word Sebastian tosses around lightly. He can only recall using it one other time - to describe his Porsche.

Fitting since this man is another thing he's dying to ride.

That thought must manifest on his face because the man smirks and raises a questioning brow. Sebastian nods. He swallows hard. He inclines his head slightly toward the door, attempting to extend a subtle invitation. Sebastian knows nothing of 'steam room etiquette' except what he's seen in a few cheesy ass pornos. He doesn't even know if anything like that goes on here. He'd only started coming here on his own recently and it's definitely not a place he'd choose to look for sex.

But there are exceptions to every rule, and this man is one fine exception.

Is Sebastian actually going to do this? Here? After having judged everyone else around him so harshly for thinking the same thing this man's probably thinking?

Yes. Yes, he is.

He doesn't know this man from Adam, but he's different from the rest if for no other reason than, if he is married, he has the decency not to wear his ring.

So if he's down to fuck, why not?

With eyes locked on those intoxicating steely blues, Sebastian rises from his bench and makes his way out of the steam room, heading for one of the more private rooms down the hall.

Ones with locks on the doors.

A skeevy guy Sebastian swears once asked his dad for stock advice a while back reaches for his towel as he passes, and Sebastian responds the same way his father had: "Not fucking likely."

Sebastian doesn't turn his head to see if he's being followed – unwise considering the wrong man may have picked up on his invitation and Mr. Sexy AF may have stayed behind. But the mere chance that that man is behind him, following him down this hall, has Sebastian aroused eight ways till Sunday, the extreme tenting of his towel leading him like some obscene beacon. He goes to the farthest room and peeks in.

It's empty.

Perfect.

If the man follows him in, it will prove they're on the same page.

That he wants him.

Sebastian walks inside.

He leaves the door open.

It's not a large room – roughly the size of his Dalton dorm room, maybe a few feet bigger, with benches along the wall to seat about five people. There's another bench near the center, mounted in front of a square pedestal that comes up to Sebastian's stomach. The top of the pedestal is recessed to hold rocks and heated underneath. Pouring water on the rocks produces steam. The more water added, the more steam produced. It billows up and over the rocks, down the column of the pedestal, and fills the room from corner to corner.

In a room this size, it's effective at keeping things hot.

Sebastian heads for the rocks and begins ladling water over them.

Behind him, he hears the door close … and lock.

Sebastian stops ladling.

He still doesn't know if the person behind him is the man he wants, and even though it's going to cause one hell of a headache if it's not him, these last moments of uncertainty provide their own erotic thrill.

The man doesn't insult Sebastian's intelligence, doesn't employ any pretense, doesn't sit down on one of the benches to make it seem like he's there for any other reason than to pursue his prize. He puts a hand on Sebastian's shoulder, palm pressing into his brand, and spins him around.

And there he is – sculpted cheekbones, toned chest, blue eyes and all. He stares pointedly into Sebastian's face and says, "Tell me to leave."

Sebastian grins. "Why would I do that? I led you here."

The man puts a bold hand on Sebastian's ass and pulls him close. Sebastian feels every inch of the man against him – unforgiving planes and muscles, including his cock, resting against his own. "If we do this," he whispers, "am I going to be your first?"

"Does that matter?"

"Not if it doesn't matter to you. I just wanted to make sure you're not the wine and roses type."

"Actually, I think I'm the fast and hard in a steam room type."

The man grins. "You jewel." He grabs Sebastian by the back of the neck and kisses him, reaching for their towels and tugging them away, tossing them on the bench behind. Salty sweat on skin mix, dripping down Sebastian's upper lip till he can taste it on his tongue. The man reaches for their cocks and strokes them together. Sebastian's stomach spasms. He doesn't know how to react, where to put his hands, how to participate. This is happening so fast, it makes Sebastian's head spin. This man isn't like the boys Sebastian has made out with, fondled, felt up, jerked off. This man knows what he's doing, knows what he wants. He pushes Sebastian down onto the towel-covered bench with no hesitation, gets on his knees, and sucks Sebastian off, holding on to his hips a little too hard.

But Sebastian likes it.

"Jesus Christ!" he groans, hands locking onto the bench beneath him and holding tight. He'd always considered himself well-endowed, but this man has no trouble with him, taking him all the way down his throat without gagging an inch. The man goes at him hard. Sebastian tries to back up, to slow him down, but the man won't have it, squeezing his hips harder, digging his thumbs into pressure points until Sebastian submits. And submit he does, lying back like a lion in surrender, arms and legs draped over the sides, his abs tense but his mind giving up control, allowing only for the uttering of one weak word: "Yes … yes … yes …" Muscles in his thighs and biceps twitch as he fights not to cum, but there's little he can do to combat this man's voracious mouth and his exceptionally talented tongue.

Sebastian cums.

The man's mouth disappears, and the air around Sebastian's cock cools even though the room is sweltering.

"Oh, God," he moans, nearly rolling off the bench in his attempt to stand.

"Nu-uh." The man puts a hand to his branded shoulder and pushes him down. "I'm not done with you yet. Not by a long shot."

"Good," Sebastian growls. He may be out of his league, but that doesn't mean he's not enjoying it. "But I'm not too sure I can get hard again right away after that."

"Let me worry about that. Besides, I don't need you hard. I need you open."

"Then open me up." Sebastian realizes that's a dangerous thing to say to a stranger in a locked room, but it's hot in here, and he's still riding high off that orgasm. Between steam and lust, he's feeling woozy.

"So, you like being used?" The man grabs Sebastian's ass cheeks and pulls them apart, spending a long time just looking without touching.

"As long as you're doing the using."

The man chuckles. "You don't even know me."

"Do I have to?"

"That depends …" The man spits onto his fingers and wipes them over Sebastian's asshole in a crude attempt at lubrication "… you're not going to get attached to me or anything, are you? I'm not sure I need you following me around like a puppy dog."

"Hey, you followed me, remember?" Sebastian grits his teeth when he feels one finger, slick with spit and sweat, make its way inside his body. It doesn't hurt. Sebastian's too relaxed for it to hurt.

"But you led me in here. You said so yourself."

Another finger joins the first, and despite Sebastian's mellow exhaustion, he starts bucking back.

"A-ha. I led you in here so you could fuck me, not talk about it. So why don't you get on with it?"

The flat of a hand smacks his ass as a third finger forces its way inside. It stings like all get out, but when Sebastian clenches, he and the man behind him moan.

"God!" the man growls, fingers disappearing. The head of his cock replaces them at Sebastian's entrance, becoming his sole focus. "I've gotta be in you! Now!"

"What? No condom?" Sebastian teases. He doesn't have enough blood left in his brain to recognize that this is one of those moments they warn you about in sex-ed. He's so far gone for this man, so ready to be fucked, he couldn't care less about the consequences.

"Nah. I need to feel you." The man's voice shakes as he eases inside Sebastian's body, snapping his hips and fucking him before he's even all the way inside. But the first long thrust that slams Sebastian's prostate brings his face straight to the bench.

"Fuck!" Sebastian grips the bench with knuckles white to keep from sliding off on his sweaty knees.

"Your wish is my command," the man jokes, going back to what he seems to do best – fucking and fucking hard, spreading Sebastian's cheeks wider and driving into him so deep, Sebastian swears he can feel the head of his cock hit the back of his throat. He's tempted to ask this man if fucking is his day job, but he doesn't because what if it is? What if that's the reason he's here? What if he's a professional, making a few extra bucks trolling a den of pitiful rich old fucks stepping out on their wives?

If that's the case, this man has earned so much of Sebastian's respect.

If Sebastian has to fork over a few thou after this encounter, it'll be well worth it to support him doing God's work.

"Here …" the man switches positions, sitting on the bench and pulling Sebastian down on him "… sit on my lap. Help me out. Arms up. Hands behind your head."

The posing makes it difficult for Sebastian to move, but a moment later, he realizes the need. The man's arms wrap around him, his hands roaming his body from clavicle to cock, massaging muscles and toying with his nipples before they settle between his legs. The man fondles him – balls with one hand, shaft with the other – and Sebastian's flaccid cock springs back with a vengeance.

So much for not being able to get hard right after. He just needed to find a man who knew his was around his body.

"Fuck … fuck … fuck … fuck …" Sebastian grunts, doing his best to keep going when what he wants to do is sit on this man's cock and let him stroke him to completion.

"My, my, my, what a mouth you have. We really need to find some way to shut you up. Maybe with my dick next time. Whaddya think?"

"Yes," Sebastian moans.

"I want you full of me," the man grumbles, pushing down on Sebastian's thighs with his forearms to make him go faster. "I wanna tie you down and take turns fucking you and having you suck me off. Whaddya think about that?"

"Ye-" Sebastian mutters, finding it impossible to speak the closer he gets to cumming, bobbing on this man's cock becoming sheer but exquisite torture.

"Here …" The man holds Sebastian steady in a crouch position inches above his lap "… stay like that. Don't move." He leans back, starts driving his hips up, and Sebastian's legs begin to shake. "You're an athletic young man. You should be able to stay like that till I'm through with you."

Sebastian's tongue slips. He says something he had no intention of saying, no intention of calling anyone. "Yes … Sir …"

"Sir …" The man purrs. "I like the sound of that. I like the sound of that … very … much …" The man pulls Sebastian down into his lap and holds him there, bucking inside him with small, deliberate thrusts until his entire body devolves into seizure-like shakes, his cock pulsing inside him as he cums, trapped in Sebastian's incredible heat.

And there's so much of it – heat enveloping his cock, heat clinging to his skin, heat pouring down his hand as he wrings Sebastian's cock dry, heat drying out his mouth and throat, making it difficult to breathe. With Sebastian pressing on his stomach, he feels like he might suffocate.

But all in all, this wouldn't be too bad a way to go.

"Scene … scene …" Kurt mutters, unable to get the word over out of his mouth as he pants for air, comfortably crushed beneath Sebastian's body in the irrepressible heat.

Sebastian gasps, bending at the waist, fighting to find cool air beneath the oppressive blanket of hot "So … what … did you think … of that … Master?"

"I think you have one hell of a dirty mind on you, preppy. Shit!" Kurt laughs, wrapping an arm around Sebastian's midsection, laying kisses over his spine. "I'm so glad I made you pick this time! I didn't know this was one of those steam rooms! Your folks are really getting their money's worth!"

"I-it's … it's not, Master," Sebastian says, reluctant to reveal the truth with his Dom up his ass, kissing his back.

The kisses stop, and despite the world around them being somewhere in the vista of 110 degrees, Sebastian's entire body freezes solid.

"It's not?"

"Uh, no."

"So, what you're saying is …"

"We may want to jet before they call my dad."

Sebastian can't see Kurt's reaction to this new information, and the longer he has to wait, the sicker he begins to feel. He expects to get yelled at, feel nails rake down his sides, maybe even get shoved to the floor.

Kurt snickering into his skin relaxes him a hair.

His full out guffawing lets Sebastian know everything's going to be okay – between them, at least.

"Holy shit!" Kurt snorts, pushing Sebastian off his lap, but gently. "You really have issues with symbols of societal standing, don't you?"

"I … guess? Is that bad, Master?"

"Not at all." Kurt throws Sebastian a towel and ties his own around his waist. "I think I'm beginning to see why the fuck it is you and I get along so well."

Notes:

I personally feel that in a sexual relationship like Kurt and Sebastian's, roleplaying is a really good way for us as the audience to get into the minds of the characters. You see the things that they don't necessarily express in dialogue, even in inner monologue, including how they see themselves interacting with the world around them - how they feel despite what they say.