Chapter Text
By the approaching midnight, Sebastian could finally conclude that he was officially having a flop of a day and there was no turn-around in sights for the near future. So far, he had managed to oversleep and bolt through the streets of Upper West Side like a maniac, a Central Park coffee shop barista his friend has a crush on had mixed up his order, he had forgotten to turn in some boring-as-fuck assignment from his ethics professor who still lives in the stone age and didn’t ‘receive students’ work to his email’, granting Sebastian a 15-point reduction for missing the submission deadline. Not to mention, while trying to recover from a group work induced headache on line 1, he nearly got puked on.
His great plan to rebel against his newly appointed least favorite professor and the entire New York City subway system had further gone south as he found himself stuck at a suspicious looking dive bar instead of finishing the assignment like he had originally planned before the soak in the subway barfed on the floor next to him and he had to walk past that while wearing his nice shoes. Sebastian wasn’t sure if he was really upset about walking on misplaced stomach content or was it more realizing he had had an instant ‘not-on-my-shoes’-reaction that reminded him of Hummel and all of his cheap lookalike twinks at The Monster, which gave him the original idea to drink in the middle of the week anyway.
Hunter, however, had suddenly decided he was “entirely too straight” to go to a gay club once or twice in a month with him. Well, Sebastian wouldn’t bet his money on the straight, but it may have something to do with a certain cute barista at that café they frequented and that fancy business school bullshit ‘reputation’ he had to upkeep.
Hesitant to call any of his previous, decreasing amount of New York lays as they might get hands-y with a little hint of needy and Sebastian wasn’t in the mood for any of that, he had ended up bar hopping with his art school friend and her friends, but managed to lose them to an unspecified side quest and was now stuck at the bar with some wasted gay dude-bro rambling about his boner for one of the regulars who was quote unquote, a sex god. A truly shitty day a ‘la Smythe.
Sebastian at 12:02 a.m.:
Snooze fest alert
Lucy at 12:05 a.m.:
Brb, we are having a girls bathroom moment <3
After sending half a dozen undeliverable texts to his friends’ way and glaring at the ‘No service’ at the top of his phone taunting him as the space gradually filled with bodies, he had eventually settled on at sulking at the bar with a freshly fixed in-house brew and was now plotting on an Irish goodbye instead of spending the night drinking and dancing his worries away. Sadly, even getting drunk with hot New York gays and girls seemed really fucking depressing to him today. Not to mention that his 15-point reduction was about to turn into a 25-point one at any given moment.
“All the guys are talking about him here, bro. You really should see him, he’s fucking wild, like some- uh, nympho”, the guy whose name he didn’t remember catching went on and on.
“I slept with him once, and he’s down for anything, he took my dick like a real good–“
Jesus. Sebastian wasn’t that into kiss and tell until after he has gotten some.
“Do you know anything about the nymph, other than that he’s a good fuck?” Sebastian opened his mouth after a time that felt like forever, smirking at the poor guy’s direction.
The dude-bro, stunned by Sebastian’s sudden contribution towards his monologue, stared at a wall at the back of the club for a while and then grinned back at him. The glint in his eyes made Sebastian want to roll his eyes off and then throw them at him, but he just settled for sighing. Internally.
“I think he was a theater fairy, studying at Tisch or some shit– Jason says the guy took dance classes I guess, he dances like a sex god and is so flexible I could bend him into all kinds of positions–”
Yadda yadda yadda. Sebastian had zoned out halfway through frat-boy’s Kamasutra fantasies. He didn’t come here to hear bad erotica recited at him. Now all he could think about was not getting laid, that stupid assignment and whether he should have a warm, freshly ground coffee at that one place in Greenwich Village and then walk home, as well as attempting to calculate the ultimate likelihood of getting mugged in the process at this hour. He barely even noticed that his new unfortunate acquaintance had abruptly stopped talking and was tapping his shoulder. He was so over this conversation. This better be worth it.
“Bro”, the man next to him practically giggled. The DJ was shuffling with his equipment at the distance as the song changed into something Sebastian recognized as a Madonna song and he raised his gaze from the counter.
“He’s here”
Sebastian turned around, half out of spite and half morbid curiosity, where the dude-bro was pointing and searched the crowd, finally landing on a tall and slim, brown-haired man grinding in a sea of people, lazily conversing with a tall, dark-haired man. He could admit that he kind of gets what the guy was rambling about, the man has nice figure and was pretty hot. At least his backside was.
He found himself staring, and as the man spun around, laughing and holding his dance partner, Sebastian released a ragged breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding as the dude-bro continued to praise a guy that now has a face. And then his stomach took a dive jump straight into hell. A face with high, slimmed down cheeks, expressive blue eyes and slight tinted drunken blush that was creeping down his neck, blissfully unaware of his newfound fan club.
“Not your type?” the guy teased. He didn’t think that the damn Kamasutra nymph would be his type, but the world just really hated him today.
“I know him”, Sebastian finally managed to chuckle out as he scanned the dance floor, his throat feeling slightly dry, then having to unfortunately admit he wasn’t seeing things. Theater fairy, tall and brunet. Of course. Of course.
So the ‘nymph who dances like a sex god and never says no to a good time’ was Kurt? What the fuck? Sebastian could practically point at the tiny rush that passed through his body and didn’t have even a damn second to psychoanalyze why he was so worked over the situation, not to mention identifying what the underlying feeling really was. He quietly ran his fingers through his hair and still had a hard time wrapping his head around the fact he just had spent over a half an hour of his life to listen to an over-aged frat boy talk about fucking Kurt Hummel in graphic details.
Hummel, Ohio’s gorgeous and snide bitch, whose favorite hobby was to sit at Lima Bean with his gel-overconsuming Warbler-traitor of a boyfriend and rub their perfect relationship in everyone’s face while talking about Nude Erections’ set list and Avant Garde fashion. Hummel, with his head high and his voice clear as crystal and his ‘holier than thou’ attitude, who used to snark at Sebastian’s habit of going to gay bars and tell him that he ‘smells like craigslist’.
Kurt was the one working his hips on the crowded dance floor to a Madonna song about guns apparently, like that somehow made sense, like he belonged there, face flushed, shameless and without a doubt, wasted off his face, running his pale and slim fingers through some guy’s newly ironed shirt. Someone who was definitively not Blaine, you know, the guy who had given everyone the yucks when he organized and executed the cheesiest, and very much most stereotypically gay public proposal in the human history for Hummel no less than a year and half ago. And the worst of all, Sebastian didn’t even want to launch himself into the sun, quite the opposite. This night was finally about to get interesting.
Sebastian felt a little breathless at the unexpected sight, he could admit that much. Kurt looked great. Well, Kurt had always looked great. But back then he was overly-defensive-Blaine’s-boyfriend-Kurt, who in Sebastian’s books was fairly gorgeous, especially when he was driven bitchy mad, but way too much trouble. And now he was gaybar-NYADA-Kurt, relaxed and in his element, dancing his heart out to the queen of pop, and Sebastian’s interest was definitely piqued. After stealthily double-checking Kurt’s relationship status on Facebook, he might or might not have been hypnotized by Kurt’s free-spirited performance for a moment until the dude-bro he had already forgot existed started yadda yadda yadding again.
“Really? Can you introduce me to him properly? Do you have his numb-“
“Yeah, umm, fuck no”, he retorted, jumping off the bar counter. Dude-bro just had to bite the dust tonight.
There was probably a good reason why numbers weren’t exchanged between the frat that has a straight best friend named Tom and Kurt. Sebastian hadn’t even realized until after he had uttered the words that he had this weird combination of protectiveness and recent found infatuation for Kurt, and that dude-bro was so not having his way with him, even if it meant he could possibly get punched by Hummel in the process of preventing that from happening. And if the hottest item in the club really happened to be Kurt Hummel tonight, there was only one reasonable choice for him to make.
He pondered on it for around a second while trying to spot his friend somewhere in the crowded hallways to talk some sense into him. About a new leaf, consequences and karmic checks and balances. But Lucy was still AWOL. Why not? Well, why the hell not, he decided but noticed that his feet were already moving in the crowd, determined. Kurt’s now former dance partner slightly raised his eyebrow at Sebastian’s glare but didn’t say anything, so Sebastian figured that the amount of how much he needed this was literally written on all over his face like a drunken prank sketch and hell, he had never even realized how he needed this.
Or maybe he had, sometimes blaming it on a transient aneurysm and not getting laid during his senior year finals. As Madonna waned into the background and Kurt started to head towards the edge of the dance floor to catch his breath, he finally managed to catch up to him.
“Hey there, Hummel”
Kurt glanced back at him, quickly lifting his gaze and Sebastian nearly stumbled; his eyes were bright and steely, and somehow even more blue than he had remembered. Sebastian hesitantly leaned on Kurt, pulling him gently closer towards the edge of the hallway as a large party of wasted university students rushed right past them. Kurt, who he hasn’t seen since he had been tasked at choreographing a part of his proposal. But that ring finger looked fucking empty.
“Sebastian”, he simply stated like it was a full-blown sentence, tilting his head to see Sebastian better in the dusky night club. It took a while for the shorter boy to register what was happening before his face contorted into a frown-like bitch face, but he didn’t seem to particularly resist his high school nemesis’ attempt at a nearly civil conversation.
“It’s been a while, Princess. I demand a dance with that perfect ass of yours”, Sebastian hollered back at him, deciding to go with flattery rather than pure negging, quickly miming some dance moves into the air as Kurt rolled his eyes.
He tried his best to suppress a surprised snort as he heard Kurt mutter ‘not long enough’ under his breath and took a moment to enjoy being able to catch Kurt off guard again, even if it was only for a mere second. For a while, neither of them said anything, music buffering the palpable tension, and Sebastian just smiled at Kurt’s half angry, half confused, mildly inconvenienced drunken expression.
“You do realize my gay face and my ass come in the same package, right?” Kurt deadpanned but made no attempt to move away. They were supposed to be half-civil now, correct?
“Don’t be like that, just one dance”, Sebastian retorted back. –“une” he lilted in French and waved a single finger in the air. Kurt paused with a huff and looked like he was seriously contemplating it for a while, eventually returning his gaze to the boy before him. When has Sebastian ever wanted to ‘just dance’?
“I’m gonna need a drink first. And you’re going to buy it for me, Smythe”
Sebastian conceded, throwing his hands in the air gently as acknowledgement, and then placed his hand near the arch of his lower back to dig for his wallet. Kurt was quite sure someone had put something in his drink at some point, and seeing Sebastian hitting on him, or whatever this pestering was meant to be, was a fever dream, a mirage. Was he too old to get roofied for the first time? Did Sebastian even realize from his drunken state who he was about to take home tonight? Maybe Sebastian was the one on drugs? “And you’ll keep that craigslist dick to yourself”
“You are getting dick from Craigslist now? Do I need to preach you about safe sex?”
“Like you’ve ever had any”, Kurt mumbled wryly, and Sebastian mock pouted back at him.
“I’ll buy you ten drinks”, Sebastian casually hollered back at him over of a remix of that one Tove Lo song playing from the DJ booth, “But I don’t make promises I won’t plan on keeping”
Kurt just blinked back at him, processing what he was hearing. He certainly had come a long way, for even reluctantly agreeing to play these games with Sebastian. But he could admit, to be wanted by him, even by implication, a tensive, twisted joke, felt kind of great against his bruised ego. Even if Sebastian did have some sort of an angle, maybe he would just like to see what the fuss was about. He would drink first, decide later.
“Let’s do that”
“Hi Kurt, the usual?” the tall, dark-haired man Sebastian instantly recognized as the one bopping to Madonna with Kurt earlier, now stood safely behind the bar and greeted them.
“Extra cherries?” Sebastian tried, even though he probably should steer away from any nostalgia.
“Stop talking while you’re still ahead, Smythe”, Kurt quipped as they settled into the bar “Hey, I’ll have a Long Island iced tea, the largest one you have, pretty please. And no fucking cherries” His tone shifted rapidly, silently confirming Sebastian that he and the bartender were somehow acquainted as well.
“You got it”
The dude-bro had been dragged somewhere by his equally-as-fratty friends, but the second bartender recognized him and quietly nodded at Sebastian’s direction while drying a martini glass with a plain white towel, looking amused. Kurt, when not distracted from playing with the complimentary umbrella in his drink, was chugging down his cocktail at a remarkable speed, as Sebastian twirled his thumb against his glass bottle, flashing a half-attempted smirk.
“So, what brings you to grace us with your presence this evening, Your Highness?” he asked Kurt, who had defiantly crossed his legs. No apparent bite in the tone, just plain curiosity. Kurt looked at him and licked his lips before carefully placing his drink back to the counter. Fuck, was that a tongue piercing?
“I mean, all the gay shops that sell women’s clothes are closed”, Kurt chattered back with a tiny hint of self-irony, still skeptical of the younger man’s intentions.
“Jesus Kurt, put the bitch-claws down. My bad for asking”, Sebastian chuckled out, shaking his head as Kurt rolled his eyes lightly, letting out a laugh that came out as mildly strained at best. The male bartender side-eyed Sebastian but didn’t intervene. Another silence settled between them, and Sebastian fiddled with the label peeling off his drink, staring at Kurt’s silvery star bracelet tangling in the dark, softly reflecting the light behind the bar. It looked like vintage Tiffany’s, Sebastian mused.
“They make great drinks here”, Kurt finally added, an action Sebastian gracefully recognized and accepted as an olive branch.
“Subpar at best”, Sebastian stated and then instantly wanted to bite his tongue for coming off as entitled and bratty. They were in Kurt’s own neighborhood now, at least if he still lived where Blaine had told him they did. Kurt just gave him an unreadable smile back, gently leaning into his face with his free hand.
“You just have to catch the right person in the right mood”, Kurt simply said, quickly glancing into the nearby corner where the two bartenders were now serving a small crowd.
While they sat in near silence, the neon-sign reflecting off the nearby wall, he had a chance to watch Kurt bit more closely as he was busy casually scanning the room. His face was now a bit more angled and less reserved, but his eyes were still as sharp as ever, even if they looked slightly softer towards him. And now that he was staring directly at his face, he did seem a little bit sad. His glossed eyes made Sebastian want to kiss him better, but he doubted that an unprompted kiss from him would make Kurt any less sad.
Kurt broke the brief silence first; with another expression on his face Sebastian couldn’t for the life of him name, “What about you, what are you doing in New York, NYU?”
“Columbia”, Sebastian hummed before taking a sip of his drink.
“Show off. Following in daddy’s footsteps?”
Sebastian smirked back faintly at the snark, the smile quite not reaching his eyes. Sebastian was quite sure Kurt was mocking him, but his tone felt playful, and Sebastian could swear it was almost flirty. He was still staring at him with that cryptic new expression he had never seen on Kurt’s face before, resembling a sultry half-smirk. It made his heart race. He didn’t answer for a while, letting the question hang in the air, hoping it would eventually be sucked into and dissolve in the smoke machine near the dance floor.
“To be determined. What is this, twenty questions?” he finally said, hopefully confidently.
“Getting too personal for your usual type of connection?” Kurt carefully leant into his personal space, gaze sharp even through the glassiness. Something in the jab made Sebastian pause. Was he flirting with him or fucking with him? His smirk faltered for just a second too long, voice lightly cracking before he realized it.
“Kurt—”
“Sebastian.”
Sharp, final. The single word cut him off clean, leaving only the hum of music and the bartender’s barely disguised eavesdropping. Sebastian swallowed down whatever thought had almost surfaced, and Kurt, without another word, tipped back the rest of his drink like a dare. Then his hand landed on Sebastian’s wrist, firm, deliberate, almost domineering. “Don’t”.
Sebastian understood it was not his place to ask any of the questions that were burning down his throat or even entertain the idea of getting some real answers related to Kurt and Blaine. Or Kurt, Sebastian and Blaine. Or his personal favorite, Kurt and Sebastian.
“Dance with me, it’s been a while”, Kurt finally spoke up again, and Sebastian could swear he just spotted a flicker of something in his gaze. It wasn’t a request. It felt like a weird do-over, with the power balance now completely leaning towards Kurt’s favor. Sebastian wasn’t sure if he liked that but yet:
“Okay”
Two beats blurred together in a mess of lights and bass, and Sebastian couldn’t tell if he was following Kurt’s rhythm or if Kurt had pulled him into entirely. A song Sebastian didn’t instantly recognize was playing and their bodies slid against each other at a steady pace. Hummel really was a good dancer, and two and half songs later Sebastian had gathered enough liquid courage in his system to find out that he was also a surprisingly good kisser. It felt foreign but completely natural at the same time, when their lips finally met for a hungry, experimental kiss. He was still left wondering why they were doing it and what exactly in their stiff interaction had prompted it.
By the time the third songs waned into the background, Kurt’s mouth crashed back against his again, and Sebastian didn’t really care anymore. It was reckless, messy, inevitable, the kind of kiss that felt both like a mistake and like a preordained gag from the universe.
“You kiss like you fight,” Sebastian muttered against his lips, half-breathless. “Messy.”
Kurt only smiled pointedly, tugging him closer until their chests were flush. Then there was the same goddamn ambiguous tone again, ready to slice him right open:
“Nothing about me is messy, Smythe. But you seem not to get enough of it, anyway”
And fuck him, he didn’t. The taste of tequila, rum and a hint of cinnamon lip balm left him dizzy, and the press of Kurt’s hips against his unbearable. He let his mouth wander to Kurt’s throat, catching the faint hitch of his breath, and thought distantly that Kurt Hummel should be above a bar like this. He used to be vehement about his plans, aspirations and goals instead of giving into any of the ineluctable rare temptations Ohio had to offer, leaving Sebastian envious and as a fellow overachiever, somehow admiring him.
He should be elsewhere, on a stage, in the spotlight, living some gleaming version of the future he’d always had mapped out on his visions boards. Not grinding against Sebastian Smythe in an overglorified dive with sticky floors. He would never admit it to anyone, but Kurt was way too good to be in a place like this, and he used to acknowledge it. Not even Sebastian came here to enjoy himself today; he came to feel bad about himself, his future GPA and his puke-soaked dress shoes, so maybe Kurt was seeking an escape from something. Or someone. But then Kurt’s mouth brushed his ear, and any conscious thought he had held scattered like smoke.
“Sebastian.”
“Mmh?” Sebastian groaned, too lost in the warmth of him.
“I think we should finally get it out of our system, don’t you?” Kurt casually whispered to his ear like a secret, or an inside joke.
For half a second, the world stilled. Jesus Christ. This twink was going to be the death of him. No, they probably should not, his conscious mind decided but his body disagreed with his command and didn’t get the memo, as usual. He should say no, he really should. But Sebastian wasn’t known for measuring any of the possible future repercussions while a cute boy was palming his cock. And he obviously was never saying no to a good time, either.
During their cab ride, the engine gently humming in the fresh autumn air, they fell right back into their usual snark routine, but Sebastian swore that the faint glimmer in Kurt’s eyes held a promise. They barely made it into the elevator before they were all over each other again, kissing while mumbling half-hearted insults. Kurt was pinned against the wall and Sebastian held him, gently running his fingers through the reddened mark he had sucked on Kurt’s neck just a few moments ago.
It most certainly would leave a dark purple mark, and it strangely made Sebastian’s dick twitch in his jeans. All he wanted was to leave marks all around his pale body for Kurt to stare and feel the day after and to find out if it was only his neck that tastes and smells like vanilla. Sebastian was quite confident that even his cock probably tasted like vanilla, but you could never know for sure when it came to Hummel.
“Nice pad, Trust Fund. I was honestly expecting a lot less”, Kurt smiled venom, voice breathy, while leaning their foreheads against each other, the ever-continuing snark returning.
He was already tugging him toward the bed when Sebastian sank to his knees, more instinct than a calculated, conscious decision. He looked up at Kurt, smirking, because of course he would, but there was something else in it too, a flicker of reverence he couldn’t quite mask.
“Nice tattoo. Can we get to the point now?”
“God, you’re insufferable,” Kurt muttered, fingers quickly threading into Sebastian’s hair, guiding without hesitation. His voice wavered on the last word when Sebastian licked along the vein, slow and deliberate.
Kurt Hummel’s cock didn’t taste like vanilla but indeed had the same taste of Kurt-ness that made Sebastian’s head spin, and Kurt swore his head was spinning as well and not just because of the alcohol. Of course, he refused say it out loud because Sebastian’s hyperinflated ego didn’t need any more expanding, but dear god he was good at doing that and especially while looking up like that. He silently congratulated himself for not ripping off Sebastian’s bullshit-spatting tongue in high school like he had often planned because this, this was much better use for that filthy meerkat mouth of his.
“I like you so much better when you’re not talking”, he couldn’t help but moan and Sebastian chuckled around him at the comment, the vibration making Kurt shudder.
He was supposed to be the uptight one, the perfectionist who planned his life down to the hex number of his tie and had a calendar full of neatly organized, color-coded events in his phone. But here, with his shirt half off and his hand tightening in Sebastian’s hair, he was urgent, unguarded. It was almost cruel, how much Sebastian liked seeing him like this. Control was not something he liked to give up either, but there was something in Kurt’s soft way of occasionally praising him between the insults that made Sebastian genuinely want to please him.
It was no secret that Sebastian loved blowjobs and their ability to make even the straightest men fall apart right at his feet, but seeing someone as reserved as Kurt shake and come undone because of him was unusually delicious. He loved the power of it, loved undoing people with his body, but this felt different. Kurt wasn’t just detached; Sebastian’s opinion didn’t matter to him, not really. Sebastian pushed deeper, his own control unraveling at the small, broken noises spilling out of Kurt’s throat. For once, he didn’t want to win, didn’t want to prove anything. He just wanted to hear more.
Kurt’s grip tightened, ragged breaths spilling out like confessions he’d never say sober.
“Oh, Sebastian—” Kurt breathed out as a warning, maybe a surrender, and then he broke apart, shuddering hard, his head dropping back against the wall. Sebastian swallowed, slower than usual, drawing out every last tremor out of him. When he finally pulled back, lips slick, he leaned up to kiss Kurt like it wasn’t about ego at all, but Kurt knew him better than that.
“God those pretty noises you make, Hummel. Have you ever considered making porn if the theater thing doesn’t work out?”
“Screw you, Sebastian”, Kurt immediately retorted and purposely ignored the cocky “Kinda already doing it, you’re welcome” that followed. He instinctively grabbed his neck to shut him up with his drunken kisses since it had worked like a charm earlier that night. He didn’t need any additional verbal reminders on why this was in fact, a terrible idea.
The rest of the night, the image of Kurt exploring his body while he had incited him with half-attempted insults was trapped around a hazy blur Sebastian would spend the next weeks trying to decrypt, constantly balancing between it being deplorable and his most enchanting experience in New York so far in his brain like a metronome. He clearly remembered there being a tipping point where their mutual insults had transformed into his stream of begging for the Ice Queen to take him, incoherent sentences, and some rushed late-night confessions, but he’d rather not think about it at all.
“Color me impressed, Smythe,” Kurt had eventually cooed at him in the dark, voice steadying, eyes not quite meeting his as he gently ran his fingers through Sebastian’s hairline, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul” Sebastian, while he tentatively caressing Kurt’s toned back, felt like crying, for no reason at all.
The older man was also the first to move away, even though his legs were still trembling and his head felt light, and it took everything in Sebastian to not take it as a humiliation, a sign of defeat. Sebastian wasn’t sentimental like that. And he never, ever loses. Kurt pulled on his boxers with brisk, deliberate movements, as if every tug of fabric could stitch his walls back together, and Sebastian quietly followed his form around his dim apartment. His hands fussed at his shirt, smoothing imaginary wrinkles, the ritual sharp and precise. To Sebastian, it didn’t look like vanity, more like a compulsion. Sebastian propped himself on one elbow, watching him with a lazy smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Your pacing is exhausting. Sit down before you collapse.”
Kurt ignored him, running a hand through his hair until it laid nearly perfectly again. “I need to go.”
“Stay,” Sebastian said, almost too quickly, too eagerly. Damn his wicked tongue. He tried his best to roll it back into a jest:
“Otherwise you’ll get mugged, Princess. Or worse, wake up somewhere in Queens like the fucking queen you are.”
Kurt snorted, finally glancing back at him.
“You live in West Village, Sebastian.”
The way he said it wasn’t mocking so much as weary, like he wanted to ask why Sebastian cared at all. And then those eyes, wide, sad, waiting for the punchline that never came, along with the rest of his flushed face, formed the same unreadable expression he had been trying to decode all night. It made Sebastian’s stomach twist in knots. He wanted to say something clever, to turn it into their game of infinite rounds again, but what came out, instead, could be only be described as raw and clumsy.
“Some crackhead threw up in the subway today and I stepped into the puke in my Allen Edmonds”, he blurted out. Kurt would likely be one of the few people he knew that would instantly understand the value of his shoes just by glancing at them.
“And I’m probably failing my ethics class. Which, don’t laugh— doesn’t fucking feel great. How do you ethically bribe an ethics professor?”
Kurt froze for a while, halfway through folding his sweater into his bag. His eyes quietly turned to observe the black pair of leather loafers, carefully quarantined from the others near the entrance as he bit his cheek to hold back a genuine laughter. He then decided that Sebastian had been humbled enough for one night. His hand brushed Sebastian’s hair, gentle, absent, grounding as he eventually laid next to him. Neither of them spoke for a long while.
The room felt heavy with the sound of their breaths evening out, the white noise of the metropolitan leaking through the window. For a certain amount of time, Sebastian listened to Kurt’s breathing, wondering if he was already sleeping, and whether he was dreaming of anything.
“Can you believe my life sucks so bad that meeting you was the highlight of my day?” Sebastian murmured finally, so soft it almost dissolved into the dark, as he stole a glance at the closed Macbook laying on his kitchen table. At least he had something to keep him busy for the next few weeks or he would be riddled with the temptation to pull out the tapes where Kurt sings in French in his cheerleading uniform again. He’ll probably do it anyway.