#kurtbastianfic

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Not It” (Rated G)

Now that Blaine is living at Sebastian's house, he decides to become a member of Westerville Ice-plex's junior coaching team. On his first day as a coach, he discovers he has a lot to learn. (1036 words)

Part 30 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3

“Well, well, well … look who we have here?”

Their conversation interrupted by that remark, Kurt turns away from his boyfriend and in the direction Sebastian’s looking to see what’s suddenly grabbed his attention. Kurt smiles immediately when Blaine swivels to a stop beside him, dressed in a puffy, bright blue, ankle length, Westerville Ice-plex coach’s coat, so new that it still smells like the plastic it was packaged in.

“Hey!” Kurt greets him with open arms and a big hug, then proceeds to skate a slow circle around his friend, appraising him up and down. “Wow! You look pretty snazzy in your new coat!”

“Do I?” Blaine blushes at Kurt’s praise as he self-consciously tugs at the seams. His new coat fits him the way that style of coat fits the rest of the coaches, regardless of body type – like a cone, cinched at the neck, becoming gradually larger on the way down, then flared out at the hem, which is why most of the coach’s dress in layers and keep their coats unzipped.

Blaine has yet to get that memo. With his head peeking out above the collar and his arms hanging at his sides, he looks like a toddler wearing his first ever snowsuit. Kurt pictures him falling on his back, then flailing back and forth on the ice like a flipped turtle, unable to get back to his feet again without help. He bites his lower lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“Absolutely.” Kurt subtly helps him out by pulling down the zip half way, then giving him a wink so he doesn’t feel embarrassed for not knowing. “In fact, I think Sebastian may have some competition now with you around.”

“Competition?” Blaine peeks over Kurt’s shoulder in time to see Sebastian roll his eyes.

“For the coach that the pre-teen girls will fight tooth and nail to impress,” Chandler explains, tickled pink at having this opportunity to send a few subtle jabs in Sebastian’s direction.

“Yup,” Kurt agrees, if for no other reason than to re-direct his boyfriend’s laser eyes away from his giggling friend. “I predict you’re going to have your fill of nine- to sixteen-year-olds begging you to help them with their Chinese spirals.”

“You … you make that sound kind of dirty,” Blaine says as Kurt finishes adjusting his collar, finally succeeding in flattening a corner that was reluctant to do anything but curl into Blaine’s cheek.

Creeping up behind his boyfriend, Sebastian smirks. “Just wait.”

“Okay, guys!” Jane skates their way, holding a clipboard in her hands high for everyone to see. “We’ve got three workshops this morning, but since I know you’ve all only got one on your minds this morning, we’ll get that one out of the way …”

“Not it!” Kurt says before she’s even finished, putting his finger on his nose. Blaine’s eyebrows shoot straight up, not necessarily at the comment, or the fact that Kurt so emphatically barked it in his face, but at the gesture, the tip of his index finger resting on the bridge of his nose, apparently meant to solidify his stance over whatever it is.

“Not it!” Sebastian follows.

“Not it!”

“Not it!”

“Not it!”

“And that means you’re it, new guy,” Jane announces, bumping Blaine with her hip. “My condolences.” Blaine looks at the other coaches in front of him with their fingers on their noses to indicate that, whatever is going on, they are not it – Jane (whom he’d just met a few weeks ago, but whose wit and humor he was quickly becoming fond of), Mason (the twin brother of one of the ice dancing coaches, the pair of them so optimistic and plucky all of the time, Blaine is convinced they have to be cheerleaders), Chandler (who, as far as Blaine can tell, is Sebastian’s arch-nemesis), Kurt, and Sebastian – with a confused and (frankly) frightened look in contrast to the grins on their faces. He feels a little bit like a lamb surrounded by wolves, ripe for the slaughter.

“Wh-what do you mean – I’m it?” Blaine asks, looking to his best friend for help in this situation.

“You, my lucky friend, are going to be teaching Moves in the Field today,” Jane explains. “Novice six thru twelve.”

“Oh!” Blaine sighs in relief. “Well, that sounds like fun. What are they working on?”

“Twizzles,” Kurt says, looking mildly guilty.

“Pft!” Blaine says with a wave of his hand. “Those are easy! You guys had me worried for a second!”

“A-ha. Do you remember when you started learning Twizzles?” Sebastian asks, wrapping his arms around Kurt and hugging him from behind.

“Yeah!” Blaine laughs thinking back on it. “Oh God! I got so nauseous, I almost ralphed! Oh, I remember this one kid in my class actually did …” Blaine stops, his eyes going wide. “Oh ...”

“Uh, yeah.” Sebastian takes the clipboard from Jane and holds it so that Kurt can sign them up for their respective workshops.

“Don’t let them scare you, Blaine. It’s not that bad,” Chandler says, patting Blaine on the shoulder as he reaches for the clipboard. “You have a 50/50 chance that no one’s going to actually lose their lunch.”

“Though, there are about twenty-five kids signed up for that workshop this time,” Mason mentions. “And it’s after lunch. The odds are someone’s going to toss their pizza.”

“Just keep your eyes peeled for the telltale signs,” Jane suggests.

“Hand over mouth,” Sebastian says.

“Lips clamped shut and face turning green,” Kurt adds.

“Shifty eyes,” Chandler says, giving a brief demonstration. “If you notice any of that, keep your distance and you should be fine. Oh, and grab a towel.”

“For … for what?” Blaine asks, watching the coaches disperse, heading off to their respective areas of the rink.

“For the ice,” Mason calls over his shoulder. “If someone pukes, you’re gonna have to clean it up.”

“Eww!”

“Oh, and Blainers?”

“Yeah?” Blaine turns to Sebastian standing beside him with a mixture of pity and amusement curling the corners of his mouth.

“Lesson number one on the way things work around here - the next time someone yells not it, don’t wait for an explanation. Just say not it.”

[samandcolbyfan]

Tagged by : @kurtbastian-land

4 ships

Kurtbastian (glee)

Snowbarry, ElongFlash, SaviFrost (the Flash)

Last movie

Birds of prey

Last song

Glad you came (the weekend /warblers)

Reading

You saved me (kurtbastian)

Food I'm craving

Pizza

Tags @underworldsheiress @kurtbastianfics @im-a-writer-right

[lady--divine]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Code 69″ (Rated M)

Kurt wears some deliciously tight pants to a Vogue party, and Sebastian, standing behind a potted plant, drooling over his boyfriend’s ass, needs to find a way to tell him that they have to find a secluded spot to f**k...now!

Inspired by this gif set (thank you @loosellps for linking it to me :)  )

It’s the pants that do it.

Those skin tight pants Kurt decided to wear tonight.

Sebastian can usually ignore his urges, put aside his fantasies and play nice with the straights until they get home, but those pants - they’re his kryptonite. A secret weapon Kurt created to turn him on, seduce him without words, stoke the fires of every dirty dream he’s ever had of worshipping Kurt’s ass – deep kissing his beautiful, dusty rose asshole; fingering him so deep his toes cramp from curling; fucking him up against a wall with his legs wrapped around Sebastian’s waist, holding on tight while Sebastian takes his time, reminding Kurt through rough strokes and soft kisses how smoking hot he is.

And the kicker, the bear trap around the balls that makes Sebastian insufferably hard, is that Kurt doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it. If he was intentionally teasing Sebastian, wearing fuck me pants and wiggling his ass at inopportune moments to see Sebastian tent his Armani dress slacks, Sebastian might see it as a challenge and be able to deflect him. But Kurt, working the room, talking to journalists and posing for photogs, laughing over private jokes with other designers and a few influential buyers, doesn’t seem to have a clue how much Sebastian is suffering, how tightly he’s closed his jacket in front of his crotch, how desperately he’s clinging to his flute of champagne as if it’s the single last unwinding thread of his sanity. He’s finally forced to hide behind a planter to obscure his erection when Kurt drops his pen and bends over thoughtlessly to retrieve it.

Kurt actually designed and made this particular pair of torture-inducing slacks, so they’re tailored to him. They hug every one of his subtle curves perfectly, accentuates that gorgeous, taut, tomato ass that Sebastian’s dying to take a bite out of.

Sebastian figures he can play the good boyfriend for once, travel from ficus to ficus when he needs to make his way across the room, endure in silence until the evening winds down to a close, and then beg his boyfriend to put him out of his misery.

He replaces his champagne flute security blanket with his iPhone and checks the time.

10:53.

These parties usually go till around two in the morning.

Jesus Christ, he’s never going to make it.

He breathes in deep and blows it out, ignoring the way his dick bobs when he does, the poor guy assuming that some sort of action’s going to start if Sebastian needs more oxygen. Sebastian figures if he just stands still, if he doesn’t breathe, doesn’t think, stares off into space with a not-too creepy but unengaging smile on his face, he should be fine. He’ll survive. He will make it through.

Suddenly and unbeknownst to Sebastian, a band enters the room from out of nowhere, sets up on stage, and music starts. Kurt, never one to sit out on a Gloria Estefan cover band, joins the tipsy masses on the dance floor, letting the rhythm of a mock Miami Sound Machine claim another willing victim. Of course, being true to their lineage, the first song they play is Conga. There Kurt goes, shaking his luscious rump, and Sebastian almost drops to his knees.

Good God, Sebastian moans inside his head. That thing has a mind of its own.

It moves separate from his body, and when Kurt thrusts his hips up, Sebastian knows that they have to leave…now.

Sebastian gauges the distance between his current potted plant and the next in his head, planning a route from pottery to table to cluster of drunk dancers, all the way to his boyfriend. When he has every inch of it mapped out, he makes a break for it, hoping that his current route takes him far enough away from Isabelle Wright’s table to keep him from getting cornered by Kurt’s shrewd boss.

She’s a friendly enough woman, but she can also seem to sense an untimely boner a mile away.

There’s a tense moment when Sebastian almost gets caught up in the throes of an impromptu Conga line, but he muscles his way through, taking hold of Kurt’s arm and God, he’s so hot from dancing and thrusting and shaking his ass that he’s sweating through his Versace shirt, and he doesn’t even seem to care.

“We have to go,” Sebastian says, urgently pulling Kurt by the elbow.

“What? Why?” Kurt asks with a tiny pout, thrusting out a lip that’s begging to be bitten. “We’re having such a good time.”

“It’s…uh…an emergency,” Sebastian says, looking around the room for anyplace closer – a bathroom, a coat room, maybe the kitchen? Okay, Kurt would never consent to sex in the kitchen…

“Oh,” Kurt says, confused. He glances down at the phone in Sebastian’s hand. “Did you get a call or something?”

Sebastian’s eyes widen.

“A text, actual,” Sebastian lies, thinking quickly, figuring he’ll explain when they’re away from the prying ears and eyes of admirers trying to coax Kurt back out on the dance floor. “And it’s uber important.”

Kurt’s brow wrinkles as he tries to understand.

“Our Uber driver sent you a text?” Kurt asks, having difficulty hearing Sebastian over a sudden surge of trumpets blaring.

“Uh…no…not exactly, I…” Sebastian looks left and right, leaning in to talk into Kurt’s ear. “I’m having a personal issue right now, and I really need you to help me with it.” Sebastian opens his jacket, revealing his covered crotch, and motions down to it with significant sweeps of his eyes, but in the dark between them, Kurt sees nothing amiss.

“Did you…rip your pants?” Kurt asks, shaking his head. “Do you need a needle and thread? Because I think that Chase…”

“Kurt!” Sebastian hisses, hoping to find a way to get him to understand without having to say it. Normally, Sebastian wouldn’t care, but this is a party for Kurt’s work. Kurt’s up for a promotion. This job is very important to him, and Kurt is very important to Sebastian. Sebastian doesn’t care about being crass because he doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him.

Except for Kurt. He really cares about Kurt’s opinion of him.

“Yes, Sebastian?”

“I’m having…” Sebastian does come up with one thing. It’s lame, but he hopes it works – “a code 69 emergency.”

“What?” Kurt says, a smile lifting his cheeks.

“Kurt!” Sebastian shifts on his feet, trying to readjust himself with grabbing his dick, the chafing of his head against the waistband of his underwear and his pants becoming intolerable. But Kurt mistakes what he’s doing for dancing, and loops his arms over Sebastian’s shoulders.

“Aw, Sebastian. If you wanted to dance with me, all you had to do was ask,” Kurt purrs as the next song starts. The beat’s still a bit racy, but Kurt can definitely sway in place with his boyfriend…and if he can grind up against him while he’s at it, then all the better.

The first brush of Kurt’s crotch against Sebastian’s aching member makes Sebastian see stars.

He grabs Kurt’s biceps and pushes him away, gritting his teeth. “Kurt…”

“Sebastian…” Kurt giggles nervously at the look of strain on his boyfriend’s face. “What’s going on? You can tell me.”

“Kurt, I’m trying…”

“Sebastian?”

“Kurt…”

“Sebastian! Just spit it out!”

“Kurt!” Sebastian growls, forcing the words through his clenched jaw until he’s almost yelling. “Your…urgh! Your ass looks hot in those pants, I have a raging boner, and we need to find a place to go fuck…now!”

Kurt’s smile drops. His entire face drops. But, unfortunately for Sebastian, his erection doesn’t drop. In fact, that perfect ‘o’ shape of Kurt’s lips makes his throbbing hard-on that much harder.

Luckily for Sebastian, nothing major or earth shattering happens after his revelation. The music doesn’t stop with his voice rising over the crowd to announce to all those gathered that he has a hankering to shove his dick into his boyfriend’s ass. But a few people close by take a collective step away, giggling behind their hands, and Isabelle Wright appears out of nowhere, in a puff of smoke in Sebastian’s opinion.

“Uh, sweetie. A moment, please,” she says, taking Kurt and Sebastian by the arm and leading them toward the door of the ballroom.

Oh great! Sebastian thinks. She’s kicking us out. Kurt’s boss is kicking us out, he’s going to lose his job, and I’m never getting laid again. Better start liking the color blue, Smythe, because as of tonight, your dick is going to be that color till you die.

They stop right at the door, Kurt looking at Sebastian with pale, frantic worry, Sebastian looking back at Kurt with an apologetic frown, and Isabelle looking at both of them with bright, cunning eyes and a wide, toothy grin. She reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out something that looks like a credit card.

No, Sebastian realizes. Not a credit card. A key card.

Thank fucking God, that’s why Kurt calls her his fabulous fairy godmother!

“Vogue has a suite in this hotel for that sort of thing, just so you know,” she informs them. “All you need to do is tell me and you’re free to use the room until someone else needs it.”

“That’s…good to know,” Sebastian says, calmly sliding the key card from between Isabelle’s matte black stiletto nails.

“Thanks?” Kurt says, mildly disturbed, stumbling over his feet as his overanxious boyfriend yanks him away.

“Oh, and guys – if you see any red blinking lights, just ignore them,” Isabelle says, winking as Sebastian picks Kurt up over his shoulder caveman-style.

“Wha---Isabelle…” Kurt calls, but Sebastian yells, “Will do,” and races out the door.

[superscanaries]

A Night on the Couch

Ship: Kurt/Sebastian (Glee) Plot: Kurt sets rule that Sebastian must sleep on the couch until he learns how to properly do the laundry, but sleeping alone is more bothering than he'd thought. Notes: I was having a conversation on twitter with my beloved Yara and this happened. (I would also post it on AO3 but my wifi is bitching so I'll edit this tomorrow and put the link in case)

"Sebastian!"

You are pretty much aware of the fact that you’re yelling, but you also know that this time you cannot be blamed. Being in a relationship with Sebastian actually, you can’t be blamed for yelling most of the time and sometimes you wonder if the high is worth the effort.

Every single time though, you come up with yes as an answer, so you can’t shut down the thing between the two of you anyway.

"What’s up, babe?" Sebastian calls from the living room just as you enter.

He's sprawled on the couch, channel surfing and looking like he has no clue why you could possibly be mad at him. Which only makes you more upset of course.

You don’t say much, let the facts do the talking by just rushing to stand there and swing the shirt in your hand right before his eyes.

Sebastian stares at it and frowns, then giving you that ‘what am I supposed to get from this’ look that makes it almost impossible for you to stay calm. Well, it's not like you’re calm but you’re not raging either. Yet.

"It’s your shirt." Sebastian states blankly. "The one you wear on Sunday morning coffee dates."

If you weren’t so anxious to call him out on his shit, you’d probably make fun of the fact that he remembers what you used to wear on Sunday morning coffee dates. Or the fact that living together is still such brand new information that he talks about those days as if they weren’t in the past. Sunday is for breakfast together at the table of the apartment you share now, which is so much better in your opinion. You get to cook and sometimes teach him, but most of the time just dirtying the tip of his nose with cream to kiss it off, because Sebastian can’t do much more in the kitchen than stand there and look pretty.

On any other day, you’d probably be too warm with fondness and memories to go through with this - actually you kind of hate yourself for thinking about it when you’d rather be cold and just scare him the way you know you can - but you loved that shirt and it’s not the first time this happens.

"Brilliant." You roll your eyes. "How useful of you, Sebastian. I just hit my head and accidentally forgot about the only thing I wouldn’t forget about if I ever had amnesia: my clothes."

"Aw you wound me, Kurt." Sebastian pats the spot on his chest where his heart is. "I’d have to be the thing you wouldn’t forget. Because it would be such a pain in the ass to try and teach you the names of all my relatives again.”

You blush a little, just barely, because you do remember that afternoon and how long it took for you to learn them all before the wedding of Sebastian’s sister. But mostly, you know that Sebastian resorts to that when he’s trying to avoid a topic, which means he clearly figured he is in trouble.

"Look." You say, spreading your shirt over his face. "Tell me, honey, what is it that you see?”

The nickname sounds way too sarcastic and it makes Sebastian gulp (now it’s not the time to think about how … charming it is that you can have Sebastian wrapped around your finger so easily in any kind of situation).

"Oh, babe,” Sebastian says back, although it’s very cautious and hesitating. “I look at it and see your flawless sense of fashion.”

"Oh my God, cut the crap." You throw the shirt on the couch harshly, fighting an amused grin as Sebastian stiffens at the strict sound of your voice. "I can’t believe you did it again, how many attempts is it going to take before you learn how to do the laundry without ruining my very expensive wardrobe!?”

Sebastian guiltily bites the inside of his mouth.

"You know what? Forget that!" You say, hands on sides as you look down at him. "It’s not about my clothes, it’s about me telling you hundreds of time you can’t mix white with other colors and you still do that. It’s like you’re not even putting yourself through the effort of listening when I talk to you."

Sebastian looks even guiltier now, because it’s like he realizes it is about more than just material, it’s about your relationship and despite his attempts at hiding it, it’s clear that he is concerned.

"I’m sorry, okay?" He sighs eventually. "I just … it’s like my mind blackouts when you speak sometimes because you talk to me like you honestly think I’m not capable of doing it-"

"Don’t you dare, Sebastian Smythe." You point a threatening finger in his direction. "Don’t you dare blame this one on me. I know you’re capable, smartass, and I see what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work. You won’t listen to me, you don’t want to do the laundry and you’re trying to exasperate me so that I’ll end up taking care of it myself.”

"It’s not-" Sebastian starts but you don’t want to listen any of that.

"It’s so.” You say and breathe out dramatically before you add, tone flat, “I’m expelling you from our bedroom.”

Sebastian looks at you with clear shock and confusion over his features.

"You can’t expel me, it’s our bedroom.” He whines and tries to give you that stupid puppy face, with his eyebrows arching like a cartoon pet. “I can’t sleep at night when you’re not with me, your smell makes me feel safe-“

"How many years of living together will it need for you to understand you can’t compliment your way to forgiveness? Because it's very annoying." You cross your arms. "You’re sleeping on the couch until you learn how to properly do the laundry. Don’t." You point at him again as soon as he opens his mouth. "Don’t you speak. I’ve made up my mind. You know you’re wrong, you know I’m right."

Sebastian sinks in the couch and looks up at the ceiling, clearly defeated.

You smirks at yourself, very aware that your next move is actually cruel and unnecessary, but also way too amusing to let it go. You move in, arching down until you can reach Sebastian’s ear while still standing. His body stiffens with the shock of proximity, considering you’re not on peaceful terms at the moment.

"I’m only doing this because I know that having me back in the same bed as you will be a motivating goal." You whisper lowly and, when you pull away, you’re satisfied to see how frustrated he is. He’s giving you that wide-eyed ‘so want to jump on you right now but I know that I can’t’ look. Exactly what you wanted. "Be a good boy, Sebastian." You wink and pull away, anger faded and turned into new rising hope that this time Sebastian will behave.

While you’re walking away from him and into the kitchen, you can hear Sebastian yell, “I can get in your pants anywhere I want to, I don’t need you to be in the same bed as me!”

Your intention is to make that impossible until Sebastian is frustrated and desperate enough to listen to you. You guess it might take days but you're motivated too. Actually, you manage to spend most the day away from him, not only when you're out but also when you're back home.

Night, however, is a battle you weren't prepared for. It seems like the words Sebastian was trying to win you with apply to you in reality. You stiff in your bed, groan and hate yourself for not being capable of sleeping without Sebastian's arm around your waist or viceversa. You miss his heat, miss his smell, miss falling asleep beneath the almost imaginary press of a kiss through your hair.

The thing you hate yourself the most for though is that you actually throw the sheets away and put on your slippers, walking quietly around the house like you're on a secret mission.

Once you're in the living room, you feel cold and weak. Arms crossed to your chest you look down at where Sebastian is lying on the couch, looking very uncomfortable and unfairily pretty with his hair messed up and his face pouting even in his sleep.  

You're aching to be close to him, but you can't just wake him up and tell him to come to bed. First of all, because Sebastian is unbearable when he's woken up, but considering he wouldn't mind on this occasion, without a doubt, it's mostly that you still want your point to stand and you're not going to give up on this so easily.

Technically you didn't say you weren't going to sleep together. You said Sebastian was expelled from your bedroom - God, you so wish this didn't sound so pathetic in your own head already because it's making it hard to put it into practice - that is completely different.

Plus, you're well-known for being smooth, so, positively, Sebastian won't even find out about this embarassing night excursion. By the time you've rested enough, you'll go back to your bed and it'll be as if nothing happened.

As discreetly as you can, you snuggle in, trying to fit in the little space on the couch Sebastian accidentally left while sprawling. It already feels warm and pleasant as you shift and cautiously brush Sebastian with your back.

It's so much better this way.

You're not even touching, not really, but you can feel him hot and relaxed behind you, which is enough to have you relaxing as well.

You've almost drifted to sleep already when Sebastian shakes behind you as he chuckles quietly. You can feel yourself heat up, blush spreading over your cheeks as you try to come up with some explanation that would make it look like anything but what it is. You quickly realize that there isn't one.

"Shut up." You say instead, shivering when Sebastian throws his blanket over your lap so that you're both covered.

"My boyfriend kicks me out of our bedroom and then joins me on the couch because he misses me so much ..." He whispers sleepily in your ear. "Sweet."

You cuddle in despite your best intentions, letting Sebastian wrap an arm around your waist and resting your back fully against his chest.

"I still want you to do the laundry." You insist, aware that your voice sounds too soft for scolding.

"I know." Sebastian says, kissing the skin behind your ear. It makes your stomach flutter. "And I know I didn't try hard enough, but I wasn't blaming it on you when I said sometimes you talk to me like you believe I'm not capable of doing anything. You do talk to me like that."

With no fight or scolding between the two of you, you can clearly see that he means it, he's not playing games. You stay quiet though, because you're not sure how to repair a damage you can't measure yet. You don't know the size, can't figure if it's awful or just annoying.

So Sebastian talks again, when he realizes you won't.

"I know I'm no perfect domestic boyfriend at the moment, but I do want to be with you like this and I am willing to learn." He says quietly, the intimacy in the room almost making you dizzy with emotions. "I'm willing to take my scoldings down the road when I deserve it, but it's hard to learn when you sound like you don't even trust me to do so."

You gradually feel yourself grow weaker and self-doubt starts clouding your maybe-arrogant confidence. Did you actually make it sound like that? You could have. Sometimes you sound annoying and superior even in your own ears.

"I'm sorry." You sigh. "I do trust you to do it though. I know you can, it's just the laundry and you can basically do anything you feel like doing. It's the opposite you see? I'm very annoyed because I know you can do anything, you're smart and strong and brilliant, so I felt like you just didn't want to."

Sebastian pulls you closer, holds you more tightly.

"I can and I will." He says. "I promise. And I'm sorry too. About your shirts."

"They're just shirts." You say, then scoff. "I can't believe I just said that."

"Give me my boyfriend back." Sebastian teases happily and you feel happier yourself.

Being with him, being okay feels so much better than fighting over the laundry. Having your guilty part makes it easier for you to forgive Sebastian for the loss of your shirts and to fall asleep in his arms.

It will take Sebastian just one more ruined shirt to learn how to do the laundry and you will personally consider it an enormous achievement.

[youaremycourage]

My head told my heart "Reread acitw" My heart told my head "This time no. This time no"

[morethantonight]

Fixing The Daddies [3/?]

A fill for this prompt at the Glee Kink Meme: “Klaine never got back together. Kurt and Sebastian got married and had a son, Hunter. Brittany makes a time machine and Blaine uses it to go back it time to stop himself from cheating and save his relationship. Hunter finds out about this and has to go back in time to make sure Blaine fails and his parents get together. He goes to Sebastian tells him his identity and convinces him that they need to go to New York so Sebastian can win Kurt over.”

A huge shout out to Tess who betaed this for me <3

FFnet  A03 

[tennssi]

Title: Please Remember I Love You (When You've Forgotten Your Way)

Summary: “This is to Kurt, for always being there.”

“This is to Kurt, for always being there.”

(“Well hello, there Kurt. Fancy seeing you around here,” came that familiar confident smirk that Kurt grew to endure the past few months.)

“Kurt…he…is like nobody I’ve ever met. No, seriously, I’m not joking. He’s completely different than everyone else.”

(“Leave me alone, Sebastian. I don’t have time for you.” Kurt crossed his arms and looked away. But even in the dim lights, Sebastian could see the way his eyes shone with unshed tears.)

“When I first saw him, I knew…that I wasn’t going to like him.”

(“What’s wrong, Kurt? You seem a little down. Where’s the Gay Cyclops?” Sebastian kept his tone light and casual but his eyes were studying Kurt critically.)

“Unlike the others, Kurt didn’t flinch from my mean words. Instead, he swallowed them and spit out a few meaner words of his own.”

(Kurt did not reply right away. But when he did, Sebastian could hear the break in his voice.)

“I didn’t want to have anything to do with him and I’m confident that he felt the same way.

(Blaine had cheated on Kurt. Again. And from the way Kurt trembled from his effort in remaining still, it had left Kurt extremely hurt and broken.)

“But you see, that was kinda impossible. We kept on bumping into each other at random places.”

(Kurt had turned to him, with tears already escaping his eyes and his bottom lip trembled. “I just wanted someone to love me. Is that too much to ask?” he asked in a small voice.)

“We ended up talking a lot. Well…arguing most of the time, I guess.”

(At some point, the two of them had gotten drunk. Sebastian had offered Kurt a drink as a form of comfort to which the boy had accepted. He did not realize that one drink could easily become six.)

“He never lets me win in arguments and that got on my nerves. I’m used to having things go my way.”

(He did not know what happened in between but somehow the two of them had ended up at Sebastian’s dorm room, kissing and clinging on to each other desperately.)

“But over time, it was something that I grew to get used to.”

(“Oh, fuck, yes…” Kurt moaned when Sebastian continued to thrust harder and faster, his fingers gripping Kurt’s hips tightly.)

“In the end, I sort of missed it.”

(Kurt woke up with a feeling of dread. What had he done? He squeezed his eyes shut and his breathing quickened when he felt Sebastian’s arm draped over him.)

“Somehow…we ended becoming friends. It was…weird. Yet…I kinda liked it. Friends…huh.”

(There were more tears from Kurt, with shaky explanations that no, this should not have happened. He was drunk. It was all a big, stupid mistake.)

“When Kurt began to have some problems in his life, I was always there, for some reason. It wasn’t intentional, but somehow, Kurt always managed to find me.”

(Sebastian had looked at him with serious eyes, and clasped Kurt’s hands before kissing him, deep and passionate.)

“And when it was me who’s having problems, Kurt’s always there. It was weird…in a good way. I’m not making much sense, am I?”

(“It’s not a mistake for me, Kurt. It shouldn’t be for you, either.”)

“…”

(The two of them ended up hanging out after the whole incident, keeping in touch pretty often through phone calls and texts.)

“I…don’t know…what to say, now.”

(And when Kurt cried again over Blaine, Sebastian had held him through it.)

“I mean, what else can I say?”

(Somehow, in a way that Kurt thought was never possible, they had fallen in love. But the confession itself was messy, with shouts, screams, accusations and a lot of tears.)

“What else can I say about Kurt without…”

(But they made it through, in the end, as if clinging on to each other in the pouring rain while murmuring promises never to leave each other ever again was not enough of an indication.)

“Without…having the urge to punch something?”

(It was four years later, Kurt was twenty-two and in his final year at NYADA, and Sebastian was twenty-one, in his third year in law school, when Sebastian had knocked on Kurt’s apartment door, surprising the boy with a bended knee and a beautiful silver ring.)

“I…I can’t tell you…No words can possibly explain how much I miss him.”

(The wedding came only eleven months later when Sebastian graduated law school and Kurt became a permanent employee at Vogue.com. It was simple yet sweet and each of their friends attended the ceremony.)

“Like…’missing him’ doesn’t even cover it.”

(Even Blaine, with his new boyfriend of two years. Kurt had forgiven him some time ago, deciding that they’re just not meant to be together. He was happy for the two of them, though.)

“Every time I hear a Broadway song that I knew Kurt recognized, I would imagine him singing it.”

(The Hummel-Smythe household in an apartment in New York was only completed five months later, when the pair had adopted a baby girl as their daughter. Rachel, who was now re-engaged to Finn, suggested the name ‘Sophie’. Sophie Hummel-Smythe. Kurt liked the sound of that.)

“Every time I see a Wicked poster, I see him, dancing around with his witch hat.”

(Sebastian worked as a lawyer while Kurt continued his work at Vogue.com while involving himself with one of Rachel’s Broadway works if he had the time.)

“Don’t even get me started with Defying Gravity.”

(Kurt was Finn’s best man at his wedding. Sebastian was Blaine’s when Blaine got married a few years later. But of course, Kurt helped with the decorations. )

“Glee clubs remind me of him, too. You have no idea.”

(“I love you, Sebastian,” murmured Kurt one night in their bedroom, Kurt was twenty-nine and Sebastian was twenty-eight, stroking Sebastian’s hair lazily. Sebastian thought he heard something wrong in Kurt’s tone of voice, but he chose to dismiss it.)

“It’s hard, not being with him, anymore.”

(A year later, it was clear to anyone who was not blind, that Kurt was sick. His skin was paler, his eyes were duller. He lost appetite. Sebastian knew something was terribly wrong.)

“Sometimes, I’m so mad at the world for doing this to me. To him. To us.”

(When he heard that dreaded word, he tensed so hard that he was vibrating in an effort to remain still. Beside him, Kurt simply looked sad. He knew this was coming, after all.)

“…”

(“Your husband has blood cancer. Leukemia,” the doctor added, as if Sebastian did not already know. “It’s already in the terminal stage.”)

“…Kurt…”

(Everything was a blur after that. Sophie spent most of her time in the hospital after school, by Sebastian’s side, as they both watched Kurt lie in the hospital bed, wasting away by the minute.)

“…I’m so sorry…”

(Sebastian knew leukemia had a cure if Kurt had a matching donor. The trouble was…he did not.)

“…”

(Kurt always smiled, though. The curve of his lips were always there on his face even through the midst of the pain. They brightened when people came to visit. Kurt smiled so wide when Blaine came to visit, even having the time to take note of Blaine’s puffy red eyes even though he himself was getting skinnier day by day.)

“Why…aren’t you here anymore, Kurt?”

(There was one night that Kurt was temporarily discharged from the hospital. Sebastian remembered the way they made love that night, desperation and want and promises clear in every kiss and touch. Sebastian remembered holding him that night, tears stinging his eyes.)

“It seemed so fast. Too damn fast, Kurt.”

(It was 11.56 p.m. on December 31st . Kurt was half-asleep and Sebastian was holding his hand. Kurt smiled at him, weak and fragile. “Just…four more minutes…huh?” he croaked out.)

“Kurt, aren’t you the stronger one out of all of us?”

(“Yeah…” Sebastian replied. Kurt reached out to stroke Sebastian’s cheek, his skin getting cold. Something in Sebastian’s heart grew cold.)

“Aren’t you one of those that fought the hardest amongst everybody in this damn planet?”

(“I’m so glad I ever met you, Sebastian. So…” Kurt smiled. “Glad to have known you.”)

“You’re always telling that some things are worth fighting for.”

(“I…love you. I love Sophie. Both of you…so very much.”)

“I’ve been fighting for you for so long.”

(Sophie stirred from her sleep. She looked at Kurt with some sort of wonder in her expression. “Daddy…” she said. “There’s an angel beside you.”)

“I really did.”

(“Kurt..I…I love you, too,” Sebastian choked out. “So very much. God, Kurt, please…please don’t-,” But Kurt simply smiled one last time, closing his eyes. His hand in Sebastian’s grasp went limp.)

“Kurt, I just wanted to say…”

(It was midnight. Outside, the fireworks went off, casting beautiful colors across the sky. Kurt’s breathing had finally stopped.)

“I..”

(“Kurt…I…”)

“I love you, so very much.”

(“I won’t ever forget you.”)

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Pas de Deux” (Rated T)

Kurt is minding his own business, teaching his little group of beginner skaters the basics, when a spy from the opposite side of the rink infiltrates his midst. (1637 words)

This is a one-shot for a larger story that I’m writing called “Outside Edge” with Kurt and Sebastian as rival figure skaters. I’m just putting this out there to see who might be interested. Let me know what you think in the tags. :) Teenage crush AU. 

Edit *** For those of you who have been asking, there will not be any B*laine in this story, so no worries about B*laine unfriendliness :) 

Read on AO3.

Kurt takes a spin around his little group of novice skaters, counting heads as he glides along on their coned-off section of the rink and double-checking that everyone is accounted for. He’s glad he was able to snag the ages five through seven pre-alpha group. It’s so nice to be able to usher an excited gaggle of beginners towards their first swizzles down the ice, even if he will have to scoop up a few along the way. But that’s all right. That just means less arm and chest work he’ll have to do at the gym later on.

He has an even dozen, which is a good size for a group this age, at this skill level. As they progress, he’ll be able to choreograph a number for them, something they can show off to their parents on the last day of class. It helps that Kurt is currently co-captain of Westerville Ice-plex’s official competition figure skating dance team – ParadIce. The kids in his group – boys and girls alike – stare at him in envious, open-mouthed awed as he twirls around them, dressed in his bedazzled black team jacket.

Nope, he doesn’t foresee any discipline problems here.

“Okay guys, we’re going to start with a simple swizzle – forward and back, just like I showed you last time …” He demonstrates it again while he speaks, just to be sure they understand “… and then we’re going to take it down the ice. So let me see you guys swizzle.” Kurt smiles encouragingly as the lock-kneed and slightly shaky group tries their hands at this elementary move, the lot of them swaying back and forth like unsteady ships on an ironically calm sea. One poor boy in a puffy red jacket drops straight to the ice the second his feet move from start position while, at the front of the line, a taller-than-average girl with curly brown hair peeking out from underneath a rainbow tie-dyed helmet catches on right away. Kurt smiles at her approvingly. There’s usually one natural in the bunch, and Kurt already knows she’s going to be the one to beat in this group.

“Good,” Kurt says, rushing to catch the little boy in the red jacket before he hits the ice for a fourth time. “Now we’re going to travel down the length of the ice in pairs. I want to see long necks, heads up, shoulders squared, and arms out.” He strikes this pose, and the kids do their best to mimic him. It’s so adorable, he wishes he could stop and take a picture. He’ll have to remember for next time. Parents love to see their kids on the website. It pretty much guarantees they’ll sign them up for the next session. “And … begin.” He steps back as the group passes, some with excellent form like the girl in front, and some barely managing to stay upright, like the boy in the red jacket, arms already windmilling, threatening to take two other kids with him the next time he falls. “Swizzle, swizzle - good, swizzle, swiz—” Kurt pauses when he sees a lone skater bringing up the end of his group. Kurt watches him expertly swizzle down the ice, almost giving the girl in the front a run for her money. Except, unlike the rest of his class, who are mostly bedecked in figure skating leggings from Justice, puff jackets, colorful helmets, and white or black figure skates, this boy is wearing a long-sleeve tee, jean shorts, shin guards … and hockey skates.

“Hold up, hold up, hold up,” Kurt calls as his small group reaches the wall, rushing to grab the narrow edge as if their bowed-legs and lives depended on it. Kurt catches up to the last boy just as he skillfully skids to a stop. “You, in the jorts …” Kurt points, indicating the boy’s style choice while suppressing a pained eye roll “… are you in my class?”

“Uh, yeah,” the boy answers with a smirk … one that’s all too familiar for Kurt’s taste. “Sure.”

“A-ha,” Kurt says, catching on quickly to what’s going on. “And what’s your name?”

“Michael.” The boy’s shifty eyes dart down the length of the ice while he tries not to snicker. “Michael Clemens.”

“Yeah, I don’t have a Michael Clemens on my roll call sheet,” Kurt says without checking it.

“That’s because I’m new,” the boy says, lips pulling tight so he doesn’t laugh. “My mom just signed me up this morning.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. He can’t believe this. The immaturity. He stands up straight, looking over rows of skaters to the other side of the rink where another boy his age, working with a group of hockey players, shoots a look back at him, doing a better job at not giving himself away than the boy in front of him … but not by much. “I see. Jane?” Kurt waves at another instructor off-ice. She looks up at the sound of her name. “Can you come here, please? I need you for a second.”

“Surely,” she says, smiling at Kurt’s group of confused skaters. She steps on the ice, ready to take over for the moment.

“You guys stay by the wall and practice your swizzles,” Kurt says to his pre-alphas. “Jane’s going to keep an eye on you. Except you.” Kurt points at the boy whose face has gone scarlet while he fights not to break down. “You come with me.” Kurt motions with his finger, leading the boy around the outer edge of the rink to where a group of similarly dressed children are practicing T-stops.

Jorts, Kurt judges silently. Why are they all wearing jorts? What? Did he make that a requirement or something? Those poor kids.

“Very nice,” their leader cheers, clapping his hands with enthusiasm, extremely focused on his skaters. But Kurt can see his eyes clearly now, and the twitching in his cheek as he forces himself not to watch Kurt glide to a stop beside him.

“Smythe, do you really need to send your minions down to my end of the rink to infiltrate my class as an excuse to talk to me?”

“Hummel,” Sebastian replies without taking his eyes off of his slightly more advanced group of skaters, “I think you’re the one using it as an excuse.”

“Me?” Kurt crosses his arms. “How am I using it as an excuse?”

“Well, you didn’t have to escort him all the way back over here. He knows the way.”

“I’m just bringing him over to make sure his instructor gets the message.”

“And what message is that?”

“That you and your band of ruffians need to stay on this end of the rink so that me and my figure skaters can get to the business of practicing grace and elegance.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sebastian peeks over at Kurt’s pre-alphas on the other end of the rink in time to watch a boy in a red jacket flop backward, knocking over one other boy and the substitute instructor. “Good luck with that. And what will you do if we don’t?”

Kurt closes the few feet between them, coming to a stop inches away from Sebastian’s face. Sebastian’s eyes, glowing with mischief, turn from his skaters to the young man beside him, standing close enough for Sebastian to smell the floral cologne he wears, feel the heat of his breath wash over the cold of Sebastian’s cheeks. “Why don’t you meet me at my pond after class and you’ll find out.”

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth climbs into a smirk. Kurt wonders how many times he smiles like that during class seeing as it’s started to infect the kids in his group. “I guess I will,” Sebastian promises, giving Kurt a wink before he returns his attention to his class, which is fine by Kurt, since he has a group of his own to go back to. He pushes backward on his left blade, spins on one leg, and heads back to his end of the rink.

Sebastian watches Kurt skate away, swaying left to right as he sashays back to his pre-alphas. Sebastian tries not to be too obvious about his ogling, especially with parents close by, but he can’t help whistling low at just how snug Kurt’s pants are, how tightly they hug his legs.

“So, how did I do, coach?” Michael pipes up, having creeped up on Sebastian’s right when he saw Kurt leave.

“Excellent,” Sebastian says, offering the kid a high-five. “Perfect. You definitely earned that Snickers bar.”

“Yes!” Michael cheers, doing a victory dance on the toes of his blades.

“Why don’t you go back to practicing stops with the other kids?” Sebastian says, shooing Michael away with a pat on the shoulder. “Okay, guys and gals. I need another volunteer.” Hands shoot into the air. For the promise of a Snickers bar, most of his kids will do anything. Sebastian points to one young lady bouncing up and down, her slick black ponytail thrashing behind her as she lands. “Okay, Sheila. You’re up.” She jumps to it, hurrying through the crowd of kids going back to their T-stops.

“Okay, buddy.” Sebastian takes a knee. He watches Kurt relieve the substitute coach, helping her brush off a patch of snow from the back of her jacket before he rejoins his group. Kurt raises his arms. He looks across the ice in search of Sebastian. He seems disappointed when he doesn’t see him, but returns to his kids, grabbing for the boy in the red jacket as he drops out of sight. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, coach,” Sheila says, giggling as she prepares to take off on her mission. Sebastian waits until Kurt starts his kids up again, swizzling back across the ice, then gives her a nudge.

“Go.”

[tubbingtonbopp-blog]

Origami

Title: Origami

Pairing: Kurtbastian. Or... pre-Kurtbastian, and past Klaine.

Rating: PG? But with some swearing.

Word Count: ~2,000 words

Summary: Sebastian gets in the way of Kurt's relationship mourning period.

Author's Notes: This just popped into my head after all the Klaine spoilers from last night. I HAVE NO IDEA WHY. Then tonight I sat down and wrote it instead of working on If Work Permits. I am very, very sorry, but maybe this will be fun for you guys? Apparently I just really like putting the boys in situations that could possibly lead to them getting together, and then not writing about that eventuality. Heh.

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The hardest thing about being broken up with Blaine was that the world at large really didn’t seem to care. The sun still came up each morning and set again every night. People were still too pushy while getting on and off the subway. The baristas at the coffeeshop still smiled pleasantly as they spelled his name wrong. Everything was the same. Only Kurt’s world had been turned upside down. 

Though everything felt different to Kurt, he knew his life probably didn’t appear any different to outsiders. Blaine hadn’t been living in New York, anyway. Blaine wasn’t here now, but he had never been. The only difference was that now he never would be. Kurt wouldn’t get texts about his day anymore, or call Blaine before bed to say good night. There would be no visits, no more plans for the future. 

It was a loss that Kurt didn’t have time to properly mourn. His job was as stressful as always and all of his friends tried to keep him busy after work. Two weeks had passed before Kurt decided he had to make some time for himself. Rachel had plans to spend the upcoming three day weekend on a trip to Boston with her dads, and Kurt had originally planned on going back to Ohio. He canceled his trip without informing Rachel, knowing that if she knew, she would try and convince him to come with her family so he wouldn’t be alone. He needed some time alone, though, to sit and cry and eat junk food and think horrible things about Blaine with no one to hold him back or tell him he was being unreasonable.

By 7pm on Friday, Kurt was sitting on his couch, two diet sodas and one piece of cheesecake into his own personal pity party. Rachel had left as soon as her 11 o’clock class had gotten out, and Kurt had the apartment to himself until Monday afternoon. He had taken the shoebox where he kept all the little notes Blaine had written him when he was in high school into the living room, intending to rip them up or, if he was feeling extra dramatic, light them on fire, but all he had been able to do was read them one by one, cry, and place them gently back into the box. When he had gotten through about half of the notes, he heard a key turning in the front door’s lock. Rachel hadn’t texted him about having any problems, so she must be in Boston by now. The only other person who had a key to the apartment was their neighbor, and that was only for emergencies. Something wasn’t right. Kurt got up from the couch quickly, hoping to have time to run into his bedroom to retrieve his Swiss army knife so he would at least have some protection from the intruder. It was too late, though. The door was open before Kurt could even reach his bedroom door, and a tall, brown-haired guy wearing jeans and polo shirt walked in, throwing a backpack on the floor and shutting the door behind him.

Kurt’s fear slowed down his reaction time a bit, and it took him a second to recognize that the intruder was Sebastian Smythe.

Though Sebastian was not someone Kurt particularly wanted in his apartment, he was relieved. At least Sebastian being there made some sense. A few weeks ago, Rachel had run into Sebastian at a party and, somehow, they had started cultivating a friendship. Kurt couldn’t imagine what they had in common, but she had gone out with him several times since they had met up, and each time, she tried to convince Kurt to accompany her. She claimed the two of them would get along if they actually tried, and promised that Sebastian was no longer actively trying to sabotage any former or current members of New Directions. 

“You’d like him,” she had trilled. “He reminds me of you! And I think he’s lonely. He doesn’t seem to have made too many other friends in his classes. Isn’t that sad?”

“You haven’t made many friends in your classes, either,” Kurt had pointed out.

“I don’t need to. I have you!”

If he hadn’t just broken up with Blaine, Kurt may have been more interested in hanging out with Sebastian. Kurt was a forgiving person, and he didn’t hold much of a grudge against Sebastian anymore, but after what had happened with Blaine, Kurt didn’t think spending time with Sebastian would be the best idea. Rachel was not always the best judge of character, and if Sebastian started mocking him for losing Blaine, Kurt wasn’t sure he’d be able to do anything except burst into tears. 

But Sebastian was here now, anyway, standing in the entryway of Kurt’s apartment, holding a key.

“What are you doing here?!” Kurt asked when he finally recovered from the shock. “Why do you have a key?”

Sebastian jumped at the sound of Kurt’s voice. “Fuck,” he said, grasping at his chest. “You scared me!”

“Oh, did I?” Kurt asked, his voice verging on hysterical. “How rude of me to question the person breaking into my apartment!”

“Hey, I didn’t break in,” Sebastian replied, holding up the key. “Rachel gave me a key. She said you were going to be gone all weekend.”

“I canceled my plans,” Kurt told him. Though he was glad to know that Rachel had given him the key, this whole situation still didn’t make a whole lot of sense. He took a deep breath to calm himself before asking for more information. “Why would she give you a key? Did you need to pick up something here, or...?”

Sebastian looked embarrassed. “No, I, uh... well, since you guys were supposed to both be away this weekend, Rachel said I could stay here.”

“Don’t you live in the dorms?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian replied. “My roommate’s girlfriend is visiting for the three day weekend, and even if I did get along with my roommate, I wouldn’t want to be stuck there listening to them fuck all weekend.”

Kurt could sympathize with that. When he had planned on going to NYADA, the idea of living in the dorms had unsettled him. “Why didn’t you just get a hotel room? Or tell them to get one?”

Sebastian shrugged. “It was Rachel’s idea. But, uh... yeah, a hotel is a good plan. I’m going to do that. Sorry.”

“Okay,” Kurt said. He was trying to decide if he wanted to ask for the spare key back. Kurt supposed it wasn’t Sebastian’s fault that Rachel had offered it to him, though, and the whole situation was already awkward enough. Kurt could just tell her to take the key back on Monday, after he gave her a stern lecture on giving people permission to live in their apartment while they were out of town. 

“Okay,” Sebastian echoed, picking up his bag. “Uh, sorry. For walking in on you. I didn’t know that...”

“It’s fine,” Kurt assured him. Now that Kurt had calmed down, he really just wanted Sebastian to get out of the apartment. Kurt saw him looking around the room, taking in the junk food, the box of brightly colored notes, the crumpled tissues on the floor, and Kurt’s own tearstained face. He had been caught, and it was embarrassing. He knew he’d never hear the end of it from Rachel. “It was nice seeing you,” Kurt said, walking toward the door in hopes of getting Sebastian on his way. “Sorry about the mix-up.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Sebastian said as Kurt opened the door for him. “I, uh...” He sighed. “Are you okay? I mean... did something happen to make your plans get canceled? Because you look sort of...”

“I’m fine,” Kurt snapped, dropping the guise of politeness he had been trying to uphold. 

Sebastian wasn’t deterred. “Are you sure? Because Rachel seemed pretty sure that you were going to be gone all weekend, and...” He looked over the living room again, then back at Kurt’s face. “Is this about Blaine?”

Kurt frowned. “How did you know about that?”

“I’m friends with him on Facebook,” Sebastian replied with an apologetic shrug. “And Rachel told me.”

“Of course she did,” Kurt muttered. He let out a sigh before continuing. “Yes, this is about Blaine. I am spending the weekend alone to mourn the loss of my relationship. Is that okay with you?”

Sebastian lifted his hands in surrender. “Of course, it’s just... well, it’s been almost three weeks, right? I just figured you’d be out of the crying stage by now.”

“Three weeks is not a long time,” Kurt said, narrowing his eyes. “Not that you’d know, having no relationship experience.” Sebastian opened his mouth to reply, but Kurt barreled on. “And it’s not like I’ve been sitting here crying for three weeks. I’ve been busy. I had to schedule my crying time, Sebastian.”

“You are a very strange person,” Sebastian said, cocking his head to one side.

“And you are a very annoying person,” replied Kurt. “Can you go now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sebastian said, taking a step into the doorway. “But hey, if you ever get bored of...” He looked over at the box of notes on the couch. “Making origami?”

“They’re love notes Blaine wrote me in school,” Kurt explained. “I’m going to burn them.”

Kurt expected Sebastian to laugh, but he just looked confused. “Why would you burn nice things someone said about you?”

“Um...” Kurt thought for a moment as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I guess... they’re not really relevant anymore? I don’t know.” He sighed. “I wasn’t actually going to burn them,” he admitted. “I was just reading them.”

“Well, that sounds like a delightful way to get over a break-up,” Sebastian said, “but as I was saying, if you get sick of that, you should give me a call. We can go out or something. Do you have my number?”

Kurt frowned. He didn’t know which was stranger - Sebastian asking him to go out, or asking Kurt if he had his number. “Why would I have your number?”

“I don’t know,” Sebastian said with a shrug. “Rachel tends to overshare?” He held up the key in his hand as proof. 

“Good point,” Kurt replied. “But she didn’t give me your number. And, uh... I’m not really interested in going out this weekend, anyway.”

“Oh,” Sebastian said, looking disappointed. “Okay. Well, um, sorry again. I’ll see you around, maybe.”

“Maybe,” Kurt agreed, watching Sebastian start to head down the corridor. He felt guilty. Sebastian must be pretty lonely, if he’s so desperate to hang out with Kurt. Maybe Rachel was right, and he was just looking for friends. He had been expecting a place to stay, too, and even though Kurt knew that Sebastian would have no trouble paying for a hotel, it seemed that he would have preferred to stay here instead, and it wasn’t really his fault that Kurt had lied to Rachel about being away.  “Hey, Sebastian?” Kurt called. 

Sebastian turned around. “Yeah?”

“Were you planning on sleeping in Rachel’s room?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sebastian said. “She actually told me if I touched anything in your room you’d murder me.”

“Well, she was right,” Kurt replied. “But... you can still stay in her room, if you want? I mean, I’ll be here, but you won’t bother me too much.”

Sebastian looked unsure. “Yeah? That wouldn’t bother you?”

“Probably not,” Kurt said. “Unless you’re really loud and it disturbs my moping.”

Sebastian laughed. “I won't be,” he promised. “I have studying to do. I’d be pretty quiet while I was here.”

“Well,” Kurt said, taking a deep breath. “I guess there’s no reason for you to go find a hotel, then.”

“You’re sure?” Sebastian asked. “Because I don’t mind...”

Kurt wasn’t sure, not really, but his weekend of mourning had not had a very auspicious start. Maybe being busy was better than sitting around crying. The world was going to keep on turning whether Kurt allowed himself an appropriate break-up grief period or not, and at the moment, the hopeful look on Sebastian’s face was more appealing than that box full of notes on the couch.

“Yeah,” Kurt said, holding the door open wide and motioning for Sebastian to come back inside. “Come on in.”

[lady--divine]

Kurt barely remembers this stuff when he’s concentrating on it. How does Sebastian expect it to stick in Kurt’s head with his hand doing what it’s doing, teasing pre-cum from his cock, making him moan over every other sentence? Of course, Sebastian’s seductive baritone voice curling around the words ensures that Kurt at least attempts to listen. “Despite these implications,” Sebastian reads, pausing long enough to dot kisses around Kurt’s hairline, “and although these are interesting changes of attention” – he stops for a moment when Kurt stretches his arms and legs and moans, weaving his fingers through Sebastian’s hair and holding tight – “we still do not have a good explanation for their cognitive purpose or function. What is the point of being able to shift attention in this way while dreaming?” Floating along on the brink of a massive orgasm that’s been slow building, but has now reached the point of do or die, Kurt clenches his legs tight around Sebastian’s hand, holding off his need to cum. He doesn’t want to make a mess of one of his favorite vintage t-shirts and distressed jeans, but more than that, he needs his boyfriend so bad right now that even the best hand job in the world will feel like a letdown. “What is it, gorgeous?” Sebastian asks, letting go of Kurt’s cock so he’ll release his hand. “I think that, maybe, I’m just not much of an aural learner,” Kurt says, sitting up and detaching slightly. “I see,” Sebastian says with a thoughtful nod. “Well, thankfully, there are other things we can try.” Kurt raises both brows. “Like what?” “Clothes off,” Sebastian commands. “On your hands and knees, and this time, you’re going to read to me.”

Study Session

[youaremycourage]

can someone write a kurtbastian fic based on the song Out On The Town by fun.?

please?

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Fear of the Subpar” (Rated NC17)

Kurt is having doubts about his manuscript. Sebastian helps him overcome those doubts the way he does best - with a heart to heart talk, a lot of positive affirmations ... and sex afterwards. (2134 words)

So, after I discovered that a couple of people described my work as subpar, and apparently the reason why they no longer search the Kurtbastian tag on AO3, I decided to take that to task using one of my favorite writers as my mouthpiece - Kurt from Deliver Me. Call me petty, but my work is my outlet. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it, but you also don't have to be rude about it. This comes somewhere in the middle of Special Delivery, but that doesn't really matter so much. Not knowing where this falls in the timeline really doesn't make this confusing or anything. Also, as a side note, I have disabled anonymous reviews for this one-shot on AO3 and FF.net - not for me, but for you. If you feel the need to be critical of or mean about my work, you should have the balls to sign your name to it. So I'm just helping you along. But, you know, it's always better to build someone up than to tear them down. Remember that any time you're moved to comment on someone's writing. Your karma will thank you <3

Dedicated to @kurtbastianalways

Read on AO3.

“Whatcha got there?” Sebastian set two mugs of freshly brewed coffee on the coffee table and flopped down beside Kurt on the sofa. It was raining outside, and a good, torrential, New York rain storm went perfectly with a mug of steaming hot coffee … and sex. All day sex. Dirty couch sex (which Sebastian was hoping for), and slow, passionate, under-the-covers sex (which they could certainly get to later). But in the middle of making coffee, Sebastian had gotten struck by a case of domesticity, and ended up cleaning the kitchen while Kurt worked on his manuscript. When Sebastian returned to the living room (shaking his head out how much of a homebody he’d become), Kurt did have a manuscript on his lap, but it wasn’t his. This one was thinner, the font was wrong, and there were red notations scrawled all over it.

Kurt always did edits on his own manuscript in blue pen, and with the aid of a yellow highlighter.

“It’s a manuscript I started reviewing a long time ago and never got the chance to finish.” Kurt hummed when he sniffed in and caught a whiff of mocha sitting in front of him, but he was too caught up in reading that he didn’t put down his pen to reach for it.

“I thought you were going to put your job on pause for a while and focus on your own book?” Sebastian slid an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and sat back against the cushions, dragging Kurt with him, trying his best to pull Kurt away from other people’s work that shouldn’t matter to him as much anymore.

“I know,” Kurt said, resting his head on Sebastian’s chest, but bringing the manuscript with him. “And I am, I promise, but … I don’t know. I feel like I owe it to some of these people.” Kurt tilted his head to look up at his boyfriend. “You know how I feel about that.”

“Yeah, gorgeous. I know how you feel.” Sebastian kissed Kurt’s forehead. If Sebastian were in Kurt’s shoes, he’d say, “Fuck everybody else! This is my time!” but he had no reason to argue with Kurt over this. They were both dealing with their pasts in their own ways. And even though Sebastian wished that Kurt’s ghosts would go away once and for all and leave him in peace, he had no right to criticize. “So, tell me, is it any good? Is this one the “hidden treasure” you search for? The “diamond in the rough”?”

Kurt’s eyes returned to the manuscript. He laughed sheepishly. “Nope. Not even close.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s …” Kurt picked through the pages, trying to find words to describe it “… I don’t know. It’s passable. Subpar, I guess, is the word I’m looking for? I try not to be too harsh with my criticism, but it’s just … it’s lazy writing.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, it’s really trope heavy. A lot of smaller publishing houses are fine with that – you know, strictly for ebook publication. But for ink and paper, it’s not worth the money. There’s a ton of exposition in the first paragraph.” Kurt one-handedly flipped a few pages, searching for examples to back him up. “They didn’t take the time to build a world. They just took the entire setting, condensed it into four lines, and then slapped it at the beginning of the story. I could forgive that maybe. It’s an anthology of short stories, so each installment is going to be compressed to a degree. But then we have repeating dialogue – three whole instances of Look, I’m not an idiot in three out of six stories, and by a character so similar, they’re interchangeable. We get it already! You’re not an idiot! Say something else!”

Sebastian chuckled at the way his boyfriend became passionate over things; anything, not just his work – cooking, art, musicals, America’s Next Top Model ...

… Sebastian …

“And it rushes,” Kurt continued, flipping more pages. Sebastian felt guilty for not paying attention to the parts of the manuscript that Kurt so fastidiously hunted down to show him, but Sebastian was too focused on Kurt’s head on his chest to concentrate on much else, the warmth of Kurt’s cheek seeping through the cotton of his t-shirt, the way Kurt shifted up, then snuggled into the softer rises of Sebastian’s relaxed pecs. “Like … in this one - we’ve got some decent build-up, we get to the meat of the story here, I finally become the teeniest bit interested, and then boom. Just a straight rush downhill. They wanted to get to the H.E.A. …”

“The H-E-what now?”

“The happily ever after.”

“Ah. Continue.”

“They wanted to get to it so quickly that any chance they had to give the characters depth or purpose or true conflict goes straight out the window. So by the time person A tells person B I love you, not only does it not sound authentic, I’m not even invested. I couldn’t seriously care less if these two get together. It’s like they’re assuming the audience knows something that they haven’t bothered to show us. I’m all for not leading readers by the hand, but clues would be nice, maybe a little exposition. A satisfying ending doesn’t matter worth snot if everything else is blasé.” Kurt closed the manuscript and sighed heavily, sinking not only deeper into the sofa, but inside himself.

“Okay, those are fair points ...” Sebastian had been rubbing a hand up and down Kurt’s back, and felt tension knotting Kurt’s spine, winding tighter as Kurt spoke. It radiated off his body. “But why do you seem so upset over it? It’s almost like you’re taking it personally. This isn’t your manuscript.”

Kurt laid a hand over the work as if to protect it. “The person who sent this in probably didn’t realize it had these flaws. They didn’t have an editor, didn’t get it proofread. This could be the best work they could turn out, and they were proud of it. Proud enough to send it in. Except, it’s not up to the caliber of being published.”

“So …?”

“So, that’s my opinion. It’s an educated opinion, one that comes from years of experience. And I get paid for that opinion. But it’s not everyone’s opinion. There’s no industry standard - not really. What I do is very subjective. I’ve seen books that I would have personally never approved get published, and become famous. What if all of those things I feel about this work are what people are going to think when they read my book? I mean, it’s my first work officially. I want everyone to love it, but I know that’s not realistic. You know what they say about those who can’t do, teach? My job so far has been to critique other people’s work, but I don’t take criticism all that well. That’s probably why I’ve been hiding behind other people’s names for so long.”

Sebastian wrapped an arm around Kurt’s body and gave him a comforting squeeze. “That definitely is a lot to think about.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed. “And, unfortunately, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I happen to think that your work is incredible. And yeah, there are people who aren’t going to like it, but you can’t worry about them. You can’t please everybody. You became a writer for you and no one else. Recognition is nice, and you deserve all the recognition in the world. But in the end, you have to be proud of what you’ve put down on paper. What you attach your name to. That’s all that matters.”

Kurt nodded. He knew Sebastian would say something along those lines. And Kurt agreed that it was true. But he’d hoped that it would feel a little more reassuring. Give it time, he said to himself. Kurt had spent so much of his life being judged by others. At one point, his safety relied on their opinions of him. Now he had to start doing for himself, pleasing himself.

And, possibly, one other person.

“And what about you?” Kurt asked.

Sebastian smirked. He held Kurt hard against him, breathing in when Kurt breathed, getting as close to Kurt as he could. “You please me just fine, gorgeous.”

“I mean, my writing!” Kurt chuckled. “What do you think about my writing?”

“It moves me, Kurt,” Sebastian admitted. “The same way you move me. Your words weave a certain magic. I’ve never read anything like it.” Sebastian remembered the first time he’d read Kurt’s manuscript – the fear it invoked, the pain. It tightened around Sebastian’s heart, tormented him in his sleep, forced him out of a warm bed in the middle of the night and brought him to Kurt’s front door. Nothing in the world has ever touched him the same way. “Now, I may be a little biased, but you are, by far, my favorite author.”

Kurt smiled at him, eyes bright. “Really?”

“Absolutely. James Patterson, Michael Crichton, Danielle Steel – not a single one of them has a thing on you.”

“What about J. K. Rowling?”

“Well …” Sebastian hemmed and hawed, but only for Kurt’s benefit “… she comes close, but no. No cigar. But that’s just my humble opinion.”

“And don’t forget, it might be biased.”

“A little bit. But that doesn’t mean I’m pulling your leg. Your work is amazing, Kurt. Really. And the world deserves to see it.” Sebastian put his hand over Kurt’s where it rested on the manuscript. “You said you feel like you owe it to the writer of this manuscript to read it, but you really don’t. The only person you owe anything to is yourself.”

“And what do I owe myself?”

“Time,” Sebastian said, the word catching in his throat, swelling with gravity. “Patience. Forgiveness.”

Kurt turned his head into Sebastian’s chest and laid a kiss on the spot above Sebastian’s heart – Kurt’s favorite place by far on Sebastian’s body. It’s where Kurt felt the most connected to Sebastian. He felt Sebastian’s heart beating, and knew that a part of it beat for him. “Thank you.”

“For what, gorgeous?”

“For making me feel better.”

“I’m just telling you the truth.”

“Well, thank you for telling me the truth.”

“You’re very welcome.”

They sat there together in silence, listening to the rain beat against the window. The sound became stronger as the sky grew greyer. Lightning flashed above the building across the way, and thunder shook the sky. A smile blossomed on Sebastian’s face. In the midst of all this heavy talk, Sebastian had nearly forgotten his plans for the day. Now would be a good time to implement them. “But, you know, I think I know something else that might make you feel better.” Sebastian tugged on Kurt’s shirt, dislodging it from his jeans, and slid his hand underneath. The first touch of Kurt’s skin was always Sebastian’s favorite - especially since Sebastian was the only person who got the honor - though every touch after tied for a close second.

“Really?” Kurt sat up a hair, untucking the front of his shirt to help Sebastian along. “And what’s that?”

“Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“Are you ready to ditch this manuscript and get a little naked?” Sebastian gave the papers lying on his abs a flick.

“A little naked?” Kurt asked, his eyebrow arching up.

“Okay, maybe a lot naked,” Sebastian said, his hand creeping down to grab Kurt’s ass.

Kurt jumped at that and laughed. He still had a bunch of work on his own manuscript to finish - work that he’d been avoiding - but he had to concede to Sebastian’s superior plan. A day like today wasn’t made for sulking … or working. It was made for making love, as many times as humanly possible.

“Why not?” Kurt smiled, his eyes going over Sebastian’s reclined body once like he was already pulling off Sebastian’s t-shirt, already unbuttoning his fly. He stood, even though that meant dislodging the hand from his right cheek, but Kurt reasoned that it would feel much nicer without denim between them. “I’ll just leave this …” He went to drop the manuscript on the coffee table, but Sebastian intercepted it.

“No, no, no. Allow me.” Sebastian stood, too, following his boyfriend’s lead. Kurt performed a flirty spin and sashayed away towards the bedroom. So, slow, passionate, under-the-covers sex it was.

Sebastian could roll with that.

He waited until Kurt slipped through the door to their bedroom. Then he diverted to the kitchen and tossed the manuscript in the recycle bin. “There you go,” he said, covering it with toilet paper rolls and shredded mail to hide it. “Right where you belong.”

[lady-divine-writes]

It gets better!

That boy at our rink that looks like season one Kurt Hummel … he sounds like him, too! Squee​!!

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian fic - “Always and Forever” (Rated NC17) 4/24

After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a “fixer upper” and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt’s love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

This chapter inspired by the K*laine advent drabble prompt “dessert”.

Read on AO3.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

That evening, Kurt sets his alarm. He needs to take control of his life. No more depending on his circadian rhythm to wake him up on time. From now on, he sets his own rhythm and follows it. Kurt has always followed the beat of his own drum. He needs to go back to that.

For his sanity if for nothing else.

So his alarm goes off at seven. He gets out of bed, gathers his skin care products and his clothes for the day, and heads to the bathroom. Before he turns on the shower water, he sets another timer. He’ll give himself an hour. Half-an-hour seems like rushing, but if he stays in there for longer, he might as well bring a sandwich and set up shop because he’ll be there all day.

Sebastian used to joke about Kurt and his “two hour showers”, claiming that Kurt’s showers alone deprived most of the city of hot water. He blamed three separate water shortages on Kurt (even though none of those droughts affected their area). So on the mornings that Sebastian went to work late, he’d join Kurt in the shower. As soon as Kurt broke out his body wash and started soaping up his skin, Sebastian would relieve him of that responsibility, and Kurt’s “two hour” solo shower would turn into a three hour orgasm.

As much as Kurt misses those, he doesn’t want to remember them. He’s not ready for those to make a comeback.

An hour in the shower is fine.

While he lathers up, he starts making a list of things to do to keep his mind from wandering. First, he needs to finalize those orders sitting in his shopping cart since yesterday. After lunch, Kurt didn’t go back to working on the house. Instead, Sebastian lured Kurt into another movie marathon. Movies are the way that Sebastian deals with his depression. As a child, he and his father loved going to the movies together. The minute the newest blockbuster hit the theaters, they were the first two in line. But adult Sebastian can’t stand going to the movies. He doesn��t like anything about it, from the overpriced tickets to the sticky floors, and the popcorn, which Sebastian accuses of being stale even if it’s freshly popped before his eyes. He says it’s because he has no desire to waste his time in a stuffy, poorly ventilated theater, watching a movie that will be on Netflix in a few months anyway, especially when there’s book reading and fucking to do.

Kurt thinks that might have something to do with the falling out Sebastian and his father had after Sebastian and Kurt got married, but Kurt has yet to ask.

If he did, Sebastian probably wouldn’t talk about it.

Sebastian hasn’t cracked a book since Grace got sick. Reading gives him too much time inside his own head with his intrusive thoughts. And fucking … well, that isn’t something they did anymore.

So movies it is. Sebastian can get lost in movies. He can shut off his brain and just follow along with the words and the action, seeing everything, hearing everything, having it all handed to him without exerting any effort, and absorbing nothing. Kurt will ask him, on occasion, about the show that he’s been watching so intently, but except for the prior five minutes, Sebastian usually can’t tell him what the plot is. Even without Kurt by his side, he usually falls asleep with the television on.

The television is on in their room right now, cycling from one episode of Lucifer to another on a continuous loop.

Kurt’s list making grinds to a halt when thoughts of his husband lying in their bed, curled on his side with the television on, interrupts his contemplating over whether he wants to refinish all of the floors, or does he want carpet on some. Sebastian. His marriage. That’s something Kurt’s going to have to work on, too. But is that the kind of thing that you jot onto a list filled with stuff like order paint, hire a contractor, and call Terminix to make sure there are no termites in the exterior wood before he starts tearing out drywall? Kurt does have a habit of living his life by lists. If it’s not on a list, it often times gets forgotten.

So, yes, working on his marriage makes its way onto his “to do” list.

He rinses off and gets out of the shower before his timer goes off. After he dries, moisturizes, and dresses, he grabs his sketchbook and ventures downstairs. In the few days they’ve been there, Kurt hasn’t spent more than five hours total in the downstairs of the house. He’d better get a move on if they want to enter the New Year with more than a handful of chairs, an old flea market coffee table, and a futon.

Or maybe he should have Sebastian send for the rest of their furniture from the penthouse.

Does Kurt really see himself going back?

Rustling around in the kitchen, getting a pot of coffee started, covers the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Kurt wanders from room to room as his coffee heats, but the footsteps join up with him in the room that will become Sebastian’s office.

“I didn’t think I’d find you down here.”

Kurt doesn’t look up when his husband stops in the doorway, but Sebastian sounds tired. If the man’s still tired, why doesn’t he stay in bed? Kurt wonders. It’s not like he really needs to be anywhere.

Of course, he could be doing like Kurt, setting a schedule and sticking to it, all in an effort to stay sane.

Kurt can respect that.

“Yeah, well, there’s a ton of work to do in this house of yours,” Kurt says, walking the room. “I can’t rest on my laurels.”

Sebastian frowns at Kurt’s distinction. Sebastian had seen this as their new house, their new start, but apparently Kurt doesn’t see it that way. “Well, it’s nice seeing you out of your studio,” Sebastian says with slight, petty emphasis in an attempt to get Kurt to correct himself.

He doesn’t.

Kurt’s first thought is to come back with, ‘Don’t get used to it,’ but he can’t. He has to remember that he’s supposed to be trying. He promised he’d try.

“Thanks,” Kurt says instead. A long silence stretches between them, but those have ceased to become awkward. It’s a consequence of them learning how to communicate with one another again. When they first met in their teens, they had such similar temperaments, which made talking (and insulting) one another simpler. But nowadays Kurt is more prone to flying off the handle, and in response, Sebastian has become submissive, more likely to roll over and expose his belly than instigate a fight.

Kurt hates that. It might be easier for him to decide what he wants to do – stay or go – if Sebastian hadn’t begun to change. But Sebastian’s adjusting to Kurt, so Kurt only has himself to blame.

Then again, cheater, so …

“Was there something you wanted to ask me?” Kurt says while focusing on his drawing, deciding in what ways the layout he created matches the layout of the actual room.

“Uh, yeah.” Sebastian steps in, but not closer to Kurt. He’s simply occupying a similar vicinity. “I wanted to know … do you need me here this afternoon? To keep you company or anything? Because I thought I’d run some errands.”

Kurt doesn’t really give his husband’s question too much thought. He doesn’t know what he’d need Sebastian for if he stuck around. “No. I’ll be fine. You go ahead.”

“Okay. Did you need anything from outside?”

Another non-thought. “Nah. I’m all good here.”

“Do you … want to know where I’m going?”

Kurt stops pacing. Does he need to know? He has to learn to trust his husband again. If there’s no trust in their relationship, then this relationship is never going to work. And just this morning, Kurt promised to make a greater effort. Here’s Kurt’s chance to prove that he wants to. “That’s okay,” he says, waving Sebastian away. “You have fun.”

“Yeah. Right. Loads,” Sebastian says with a nervous laugh and an audible eye-roll, neither of which Kurt seems to catch. “Oh, I peeked into your studio to see how things are coming along, and you still have the wallpaper up. I thought for sure that was the first thing you’d tear down.”

It would be if you weren’t hiding crap under it, Kurt thinks. He’s been wavering on his belief that Sebastian doesn’t know that word is there. He may not have put it there himself, but he could have gotten someone else to do it. He sent a colleague here - what was his name? - Tristan. He’d sent Tristan to the house to look it over. Facetimed with him, too. Kurt wouldn’t put it past Sebastian to tell the man to write it if he thought it would win Kurt back.

“I am. But I want to find a decent floor guy before I get started on the walls. That floor is a disaster. I’d like to do them both at roughly the same time. Minimize clean up.”

That wasn’t true at all. It was hard for Kurt to take the plunge. He wants the room to be perfect, but considering his design, he’s apprehensive to see what it will look like when it’s done.

“Is that the sketch of my office?” Sebastian has gotten closer, step by step while Kurt paced, without Kurt noticing.

“Maybe,” Kurt mumbles, changing direction.

“Can I see it?”

Kurt curls his sketchbook towards his chest. He had erased everything he had added to make it unique, to give it a bit of Kurt Hummel flair. But after having the night to think it over, he feels he copped out. But if Sebastian looks at this bland drawing and loves it, Kurt will realize that writing himself out of the picture might be what Sebastian wants. “Not yet. It’s not ready.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see it when it’s done.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, then his eyes. “Wh-what if you don’t like it?”

Sebastian cocks his head, smiling at the worry on Kurt’s face. It’s nice to know that his husband still cares what he thinks. “That’s not too reassuring, going into this project assuming I won’t like it.”

“But what if you don’t?”

Sebastian doesn’t want to answer that. It sounds too much like a test, and Sebastian’s too afraid of failing any more of those. “You know, I’m not even considering that a possibility because I know I’ll love it.”

It annoys Kurt that Sebastian didn’t answer the question, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. But the blank, disaffected face he makes instead, his default face for anything that falls between sadness and anger, Sebastian can’t stand.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go do my thing,” Sebastian says. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Kurt nods, returning his attention to his sketch. “Take your time.”

***

Kurt remembers talking to Sebastian that morning before Sebastian left, but he doesn’t realize Sebastian’s gone until he’s been gone for hours. Loneliness seeps into his skin all the way to his bones. Kurt feels his chest tighten, and hears a ringing in his ears in place of conversation. Kurt doesn’t have a problem being alone, he just doesn’t do it well. This house is not the best place to be alone, he’s begun to realize. It’s steeped in spirits. Kurt can hear them in the wood when the house creaks, talking to one another in the eaves when the wind blows. Kurt doesn’t mind ghosts – he has plenty of his own - as long as they leave him alone. But these ghosts are beginning to discover that he’s there, and they’re trying to get his ghosts to come out and play.

He’s thankful he’s not back home, alone in the penthouse. After Grace died, their home filled with a brand of silence that Kurt never got used to. It was cruel, held memories of laughter and jokes and singing that would never again be heard within those walls. Kurt tried to bring it back by watching old home videos, but he couldn’t stand it for too long. It was too painful.

With the specters of this new house closing in around him by way of lengthening shadows across the floors, he didn’t enjoy being stuck in this silence either. Would he ever be able to handle being alone again? Why couldn’t he exist by himself in his own flesh for longer than a few hours? He tries putting on music, runs upstairs to find something on his iPod that he can blast throughout the whole house, noise ordinances be damned, but nothing he finds helps. Every song he knows, every playlist he has, has a connection in one way or another to someone he’s lost – his mother, his stepbrother, his father, Grace … and Sebastian. Kurt’s about to switch to radio and settle on a Spanish station when he hears the front door open and shut.

“Kur-rt. I brought you desser-rt,” Sebastian calls, crossing through the empty living room to the kitchen and setting a bakery box on the table. “Something I know you’ve been missing.”

The silence broken, the ghosts go back into hiding, and Kurt’s relieved to have Sebastian home.

That’s why he needed him, Kurt thinks with a mental scoff. To keep the ghosts away. Shit. That makes Sebastian damn near invaluable.

“Really?” Kurt asks. He ventures down the steps, intrigued. He sees Sebastian open the lid and his eyes light up. “Cheesecake?” he gasps. “You bought me a cheesecake?”

“Yup,” Sebastian says, going into the cabinet for plates.

“Where the heck did you find cheesecake out here in the boonies?”

“Kurt, we haven’t left civilization, you know. They have a mall out here. It even has a Nordies.”

“Well, thank heavens for small favors.” Kurt doesn’t wait for a slice, digging out a piece with his fingers and popping it into his mouth. He doesn’t chew. He doesn’t have to. The cream cheese goodness melts on his tongue. He closes his eyes and sighs. Yes siree. That’s the good stuff.  When Sebastian doesn’t give up the name of the bakery, Kurt takes a peek at the lid. If there’s a place anywhere near them that sells cheesecake this heavenly, Kurt’s going to send Sebastian there every day. But when Kurt flips the lid down and sees teal writing against white paperboard, he doesn’t have to read it. He’s seen this box a hundred times before. “You got this … from Renaldi’s? You went … you went into the city?”

Sebastian puts the plates down on the table gently so they don’t clatter. He doesn’t go back for the forks. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” Sebastian had picked the cheesecake up on a whim. He didn’t have an ulterior motive other than he wanted Kurt to have something nice to bring him out of his funk. It hadn’t hit Sebastian until close to home what he had done. He contemplated stopping off somewhere and getting a plain box to replace the custom one, or pitching the cheesecake altogether, but he didn’t want to keep any more secrets from Kurt.

He was in a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation.

“You … you didn’t tell me you were going into the city.”

“I asked you if you wanted to know where I was going, and you said no,” Sebastian points out.

Sebastian’s answer isn’t an answer. It’s a loophole. A fucking loophole!

Kurt wants to pick up a chair and throw it.

“I had some quick, last minute business to attend to,” Sebastian explains, the last resort of a drowning man who’s sunk his own ship. He knows he fucked up. Now he has to keep his head above water long enough to swim to shore. “You know, tie up some loose ends.”

“A-ha.” Kurt crosses his arms. “Did you go to wrap up loose ends, or did you go to see him?”

Sebastian has to physically stop himself from retaliating, keep the dozen bitter comments that rush to his tongue from firing. Kurt may have built up walls, but Sebastian doesn’t. He forgoes walls entirely in favor of weapons – insults, sarcastic remarks, low blows. They may do nothing to break down Kurt’s walls, but that was never their purpose. They’re there to inflict pain. But Sebastian doesn’t want to do that. He can’t do that. “Actually, I went to see her.”

Kurt’s face goes from red with anger to pale and sick. He suddenly feels sweaty, like he might throw up. “You … you went to see Grace … without me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to go with me.”

“But you didn’t even ask me!”

“I didn’t want you to get upset.”

“Yeah, well, you’re doing an amazing job there!”

“I’m trying to be the good guy, Kurt!” Sebastian says, begging Kurt to see reason, to see his side just once. “I’m doing everything you want! I’m giving you your space!”

“This is different and you know it!” Kurt cries. “We swore we’d never go without each other! You promised!”

“I’m sorry, Kurt. I am. But I … I needed a moment with her alone.”

“Are you sure it’s her you needed a moment alone with? Are you sure you’re not using her as an elaborate excuse?”

Sebastian stares at Kurt as if he punched him in the face, rammed him in the stomach, and kicked him in the balls. “Kurt, that’s not fair.”

“Right.” Kurt hugs himself tight, feeling vitriol rise up inside him and embracing the temporary rush. “I’m the one who’s not being fair. You’re breaking promises left and right and I’m not being fair!?”

“Kurt, I’m trying to do what you want, I swear. I’m trying to fix things!”

“You don’t fix things by keeping secrets from me!”

“I don’t know how to talk to you anymore, Kurt! You’re so wrapped up in your own depression, in your anger towards me that you seem to forget …” Sebastian pinches his lips shut, which makes Kurt curious as hell. He’s never seen his husband slam to a stop in the middle of an argument like that before.

“Forget what?” Kurt says. “Go ahead. Come out and say it.”

Sebastian’s jaw doesn’t loosen when he talks. “That you’re not the only one here who lost a daughter. I lost one, too. The only difference is that now I’m losing a husband as well.”

“Losing?” Kurt laughs at the gall of that statement. “You didn’t lose me. It’s not like I wandered off alone, or you forgot where you put me. You tossed me aside! You stepped out on me! I needed you! I needed you to need me, I needed us to grieve together, and you went to someone else! You don’t get to blame me for that!”

Sebastian takes a breath to calm down. “I know, Kurt,” he says, letting the breath go. “I know. I’m ...”

“You’re what? You’re sorry? Saying you’re sorry without changing things doesn’t fix them! Sorry without action is just a word! And it’s one I’m getting tired as hell of hearing.” Kurt storms away from the table, blowing through the living room to the staircase with Sebastian following behind.

“Kurt! Where are you going?”

“I’m going to work on my studio,” Kurt declares, racing up the stairs.

“But … but what about the cheesecake?” Sebastian asks, grasping at straws to make Kurt rethink himself and stay.

“You eat it. I’m not hungry.” Kurt gets to the top landing and stops. There’s something he’s about to say, buzzing at the tip of his tongue, but he has to ask himself - is he going to say it just to hurt Sebastian? Or is this what he truly believes? Either way, it makes an entrance before Kurt has the chance to stop it. “You know what? You might want to hire a decorator to do your office.”

“What?” Sebastian gasps like Kurt tore out his heart. “But … b-but why?”

“Because I think you were right the first time,” Kurt says, knowing that this is the truth – a heartbreaking truth. “We need our own spaces.” Kurt sees his husband’s face drop, every inch of hope on it crumbling away, and even though Kurt’s mad at him, he can’t leave him that way. “At least … we do for now.”

Kurt marches down the hallway and into his studio, but he doesn’t close the door behind him. He hears Sebastian in the living room. Or, more to the point, Kurt doesn’t hear him, not for a while. Sebastian remains at the bottom step, staring upward in disbelief, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do now. But it’s not long after that Kurt hears stomping across the bottom level, followed by the loud scrape and angry splat of what has to be a cheesecake flying off the kitchen table and hitting the floor.

***

Kurt glares at the walls of his studio, at the floors, and his sketchbook - the top page showing the plans he’s made, plans he’s putting off - and decides enough is enough. No more waiting. He needs to jump in with both feet. That’s what Sebastian does. He doesn’t consider consequences. He just does what he wants. And who tells him no? No one. No one ever tells him no. No one tells him to wait, or he can’t, or he shouldn’t. No one except Kurt. But Kurt’s opinion doesn’t matter. When Kurt says no, Sebastian always finds a way around.

Loopholes.

“You should have known better than to marry a lawyer, babe,” he’d say, and then he’d laugh like it’s so funny. Like it’s such a big fucking joke. A big fucking joke with Kurt as the big fucking punchline.

They had made a pact, and to Kurt, that pact was sacred. But Sebastian doesn’t seem to know the meaning of that word. Their vows were sacred, too, but he found a loophole around those. Apparently grief gives a person carte blanche. Kurt wishes he’d known that was how it worked. Maybe he could have found solace between another man’s legs and chalked it up to grief, too.

But Kurt wouldn’t have even if he could have. That’s not the man he is.

So what does he have? What vices does he get to fall back on? Nothing. He’s never been a vice kind of guy. In all his life, he’s gotten drunk about four times, gotten one piercing (that he took out two days later), and one lame tattoo. And even though he’s standing in the center of a bridge between repairing his marriage and leaving his husband, he can’t bring himself to indulge in one revenge fuck that, by all rights, he’s entitled to.

Well, he’s had it! No more emotional manipulation, no more secrets! Kurt’s not a teenager anymore, sitting on a block of ice, watching Sebastian fuck everything on two legs, waiting in the wings because Sebastian says he’s unsure of his feelings even though he claims he fell in love with Kurt the moment he laid eyes on him.

No more living in fear that one day Kurt won’t be good enough, handsome enough, exciting enough, daring enough (even though those thoughts were Kurt’s and Kurt’s alone – he recognizes that) and Sebastian will leave him for someone else.

Kurt’s living that reality now, even if it was just the one night. In Kurt’s eyes, that should imbue him with a certain amount of freedom, but he feels locked down even tighter. Sebastian cheated on him and yet the burden seems to be on Kurt to make things better. Sebastian says he’s trying to fix things, but Kurt’s the one who’s expected to give him the time to do that.

Sebastian takes, takes, takes, and Kurt gives in.

But no more. No more slip-ups in the name of grief. No more white lies shadowing half-truths. No more, no more, no more!

It’s about time that Kurt starts rebuilding, and in order to do that, he needs to tear something apart other than himself.

And Kurt knows exactly where he wants to start.

His eyes zero in on the torn corner of wallpaper. He barrels up to it, grabs the edge, and tugs. He meets resistance, the glue adhering the paper to the wall much stronger than Kurt anticipated. It’s difficult to hold on to with just his fingers, and it doesn’t want to come down without a fight.

“So you’re not going to go easy, are you? Well, fuck you, then!” He steps back and yanks hard. With a final tug that nearly sprains his wrist, the piece vised between Kurt’s fingers tears free. The corner scores along the seam of the window frame with a dull noise, like linen rending instead of paper, and then snaps free, sending Kurt stumbling back about five steps. Breathing heavy, Kurt looks at the piece of wallpaper in his hand, the word darling printed in reverse on the opposite side, which should tell his rational brain that Sebastian, or Tristan, couldn’t have written it. It had to be underneath the wallpaper when it went up on the wall. Judging by the texture of the paper, the fact that there’s more than one layer of paper fused together, and the pebbly remains of the glue underneath, that couldn’t have been recently. Kurt’s done enough renovations to know that, but he doesn’t care. Whatever this is, he’s determined to blame Sebastian for it, because the fault lies with him. Everything that’s gone wrong in their lives thus far is his fault … his fault! And now Kurt has to pay the price. Kurt crumples the piece of wallpaper in his hands, digging his nails into it until a sharp edge of folded paper digs into his palm. He finally looks at the wall, ready to read whatever else Sebastian had the gall to hide underneath this paper because logic and reason don’t live here anymore. Only hate.

And Kurt’s ready to hate Sebastian more.

But when Kurt sees the writing revealed by the torn paper, his mouth drops open.

What’s underneath the wallpaper isn’t just words. It’s a love letter, like Kurt suspected.

Except, it’s not a letter to Kurt.

And it wasn’t written by Sebastian.

To my darling, my beloved, the love of my life,

I pray every day that things were different between us, that I could be where you are, that I can do more than just send you letters. I want to see your smiling face, touch your hand. I want to know in no uncertain terms that you love me. You tell me you do, but I miss hearing your voice. With every minute that passes, I lose hope that we’ll finally be together. Please tell me you’re still willing to wait for me? I can’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Forever yours, I shall remain –

Blaine

Kurt reads the letter to himself, then once again out loud. He looks at the tear in the wallpaper and sees more words, more letters hidden underneath. They’re not written on the wall. They’re paper letters glued to the wall that were covered up by the wallpaper … several layers of wallpaper, since underneath this top cover is a red rose paisley, followed by a plain seafoam green, and a cream with gold filigree; at least seven individual layers that Kurt can see, as if someone went to great lengths to cover up these letters … and forget about them.

His anger from earlier momentarily forgotten, Kurt reaches up and traces over the name with his fingertips.

“Blaine,” he whispers, narrowing his eyelids. “Who are you, Blaine?”

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian fic - “Stolen Images - Chapter 2: Found Images” (Rated T)

Sebastian realizes that he did something awful to Kurt by invading his privacy, and he feels guilty about it. Normal people would apologize and make amends. But if Sebastian did that, he might have to admit that he likes Kurt.

So instead, Sebastian decides to make a point. (2892 words)

Dalton Academy AU assumes that Kurt and Sebastian are the same grade. The first two chapters are rated teen, but the last will be mature. Mention of B*laine, but no K*laine. No B*laine wank.

Chapter 1 - Stolen Images

Read on AO3.

Guilt tends to make people do weird things - sometimes interesting weird things, sometimes ridiculous weird things, but weird things nonetheless.

For Sebastian, guilt makes him sign up for art class.

But Sebastian doesn’t suffer guilt the way normal people do.

A regular person might feel guilty because they did something wrong and want to make amends, plain and simple.

Sebastian did do something wrong. He acknowledged that he did something wrong (sort of – to himself, at least), but then decided that he didn’t need to make amends.

He needed to make a point.

And that point is that Kurt Hummel isn’t anything special. Sure he can draw and yes, he has talent. But tons of people draw nowadays. In fact, Sebastian happens to think that his rendition of Blaine Anderson dressed in women’s lingerie turned out pretty kick ass. Maybe he can be an artist, too. And if he can be an artist, then Kurt Hummel (artist) isn’t special. And if Kurt isn’t special, regardless of how talented he is, then these feelings Sebastian has every time he looks at Kurt’s sketches - his heart wringing itself in his chest, every image evoking an absurd deluge of emotion - is just a coincidence. Possibly appreciation, but nothing more.

It doesn’t mean that Kurt moved him.

And it definitely doesn’t mean that Sebastian might, in some small or insignificant way, like Kurt. That he’s seeing Kurt differently through his art.

Kurt is exactly the image he makes for himself. He’s a troublemaker. A skank. A loser.

He is not worth Sebastian’s time.

Even if Sebastian does find himself following Kurt down the halls between classes.

Even if Sebastian tries to find ways of bumping into him in the lunch room.

Even if the fact that Kurt has successfully avoided Sebastian for the past week since the incident with the notebook is wearing Sebastian down just a bit, to the point where he’s about to stand on his desk in French class (one of the few classes they share together) and publicly beg for Kurt’s forgiveness.

So to banish any thought that Kurt might be getting to him, Sebastian signs up for art class.

He opts out of taking the classes at Dalton since he’s sure Kurt must be in every single one. And, unfortunately, the classes at the local colleges are out of the question because Sebastian is applying past the deadline. He even checks the status of classes at the community college, he’s that desperate. But those are filled to excess, and there’s a waiting list a mile long, one that, surprisingly, charm and money can’t squeeze him on to. The only class remaining, the one he originally didn’t want to consider, one that he would only take if he had no other choice – and he doesn’t - is being held at the rec center.

The Westerville Recreation Center isn’t too bad, all things considered. They have a sculpture garden, one of the biggest public libraries in the area, and the pool is cool (for a public pool). Plus, they offer tennis classes taught by retired professionals, which Sebastian can respect.

It’s the principle of the thing.

He wants to be just as good, if not better than, Kurt, and Sebastian doesn’t see that happening taking a rec center course.

Still, it’s his only option so he has to give it a go. He’s trying to prove a point, after all. And if he’s right, then taking this class is just a formality.  

Sebastian can be an artist.

Anyone can be an artist.

Kurt isn’t special.

Two weeks in, Sebastian starts to seriously regret his decision, not because he doesn’t think he has talent (even though he may be starting to have one or two doubts), but because, in his opinion, the class is asinine. That’s what’s holding him back – not his own lack of talent, but the class. Two nights a week and one Saturday morning he spends trying to find his inner Matisse. But their teacher, Mrs. Perkins – a string-beanish creature about as tall as he, with watered-down blue eyes and white hair she dyes bright green – is only teaching them the basics, and at a snail’s pace.

It’s mind-numbing.

First, they learned the color wheel. Then, they practiced drawing circles –a whole damn hour spent drawing nothing but frickin’ circles. Then, they learned to shade said circles. Not until the following week did they even try their hand at drawing something that looked like anything, and Sebastian fooled himself into believing that they were actually getting somewhere. But by his second Saturday, the only thing he’s been able to swing is a fairly decent looking pear … except it’s supposed to be an orange. This class is not helping him the way he thought it would.

It may actually be making him worse.

Sebastian has no patience for this. He wants to skip to the end where he puts something down on paper that’s even half as good as what Kurt drew in his notebook.

There.

He said it.

He’ll settle for half.

But as far as Sebastian’s concerned, this class can’t get him there.

It occurs to him, with chagrin, that Kurt could, if Sebastian could convince Kurt to teach him, but wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?

Sebastian has his mind made up by the end of class. He’ll drop out and find something else. Maybe he doesn’t need a class at all. Maybe he can find some videos on YouTube that’ll do the trick. That’s how Jeff learned to play the bass. What about Bob Ross? He taught hundreds of people to paint happy little trees and blissful mountains via his show on PBS.

Yeah. That’s the way to go.

Just Sebastian, a sketch book, and his computer.

No fuss, no muss, and no stupid class.

He gathers his things and heads for the door.

“Goodbye, everybody. Goodbye. Rest well. Have a wonderful weekend. So, we’ll see you next week, Mr. Smythe?” Mrs. Perkins manages to ask from her desk as he rushes to leave.

Sebastian stops short. He tries not to make a face. He was hoping to get away without having to explain anything. Why doesn’t he just say yes? Yes, he’ll be back? Does it really matter if he lies and then doesn’t show up? Why does he feel he owes her an explanation? He doesn’t. She’s part of the reason why he’s not succeeding in his endeavor. But, for some reason, he’s simply not in the mood to blow her off.

“Uh, about that … I don’t think I will,” Sebastian admits.

“Really?” She raises a single, green-dyed eyebrow. “But you’re doing so well. Your pear showed real promise.”

Sebastian glares.

“Why do you want to leave?”

Sebastian sighs, masking his frustration. He’s not in the mood to blow her off, but he’s not in the mood for a lengthy conversation, either. “Because, to be honest, I don’t feel like I’m benefitting from your methods. I mean, I understand your reasons behind teaching us the basics, but it’s not really helping me achieve my goal.”

She considers his words, and gives a thoughtful nod. “Hmm. Perhaps it’s not. Becoming an artist is a very personal journey. My way may not be the path you need to take.”

“Hmm, so true, so true,” Sebastian agrees. He hopes that that will be her final word on the matter, and he can haul ass out of there.

“Maybe it would help if you told me why you want to be an artist.” She gestures to a chair, then folds her hands beneath her chin.

He clenches his jaw and screams internally. He had to go and be a decent human being for once, and look where it got him? All he wants is out of there and now he’s going to be stuck there forever. Well, that’’ll teach him not to lie.

Besides, how does he explain that the only reason he wants to be an artist is out of spite?

Sebastian debates the merits of sitting and talking over cutting and running. Mrs. Perkins, for all her faults as an art teacher, doesn’t know Sebastian as the smug asshole who roams the halls of Dalton Academy. It might be nice if there was one person in the world who didn’t. So he accepts her quiet invitation and sits down, takes a deep breath and capitulates. But not entirely. He can’t come out and say, “I want to become an artist so I can prove that someone else, who happens to be an exceptional artist, isn’t special at all.” Now that sounds like an asshole. He’ll skate around the truth as closely as he can without touching it too much, just to see what she has to say.

“Why do I want to become an artist?” he repeats, like he would if he was about to bullshit his way through an oral report he didn’t do. “Well, recently, I saw a drawing and thought, you know, I’d like to do … that.”

Lame …

“I see,” Mrs. Perkins says. “That makes perfect sense. A lot of people enter into the world of art because they are moved by another person’s work.”

“Moved?” Sebastian barks on a forced laugh. Why would she pick that exact word? Just … why? “I wasn’t … I wasn’t moved. I didn’t say moved. No, not moved. I was …”

“Envious?” she tries.

“No, no, I wouldn’t say envious.”

“But you admired it?”

“Yes,” Sebastian says, giving in a little to truth. “I did. Very much.”

“So, you decided to sign up for art class because you admired someone else’s art, but now you’re having trouble creating art of your own.”

“Not exactly …” Sebastian thinks back on his drawing of Blaine. But then he remembers Kurt’s sketch of him making that drawing, and how it was head and shoulders above his own. Then there’s Kurt’s sketch of Sebastian on the lacrosse field … and the other of the two of them kissing. His mind compares those to his pathetic pear-orange. “Yes,” he amends. “Yes, exactly.”

“It sounds to me like you may lack inspiration.”

“Inspiration?”

“Yes. All of the skill in the world can only get you so far, Mr. Smythe. And as I said, I think your first efforts show promise. But it’s what you put into your art that makes it special, makes it yours, makes it come alive. Talent is a pursued interest. If you’re willing to practice it, put in the time and the effort, then you’ll be able to do it. But without inspiration, there is no passion, and you won’t get much out of it. It won’t be fun. You’ll have no reason to continue. So, if you really want to be an artist, you’re going to have to ask yourself - what are you passionate about? What inspires you?”

Sebastian immediately thinks about Kurt’s sketches and he feels a lump in his chest. He knows what inspires him, what’s been inspiring him during this whole messed up “journey”, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Well, shit.

***

For the next five days, Sebastian tries his hardest to get Kurt to talk to him, everything short of lying down in front of him while he’s walking down the hallway, and the only reason he doesn’t do that is because he knows Kurt will just walk over him. Those Doc Martens he wears look like they would be painful driving into his flank or his stomach.

But now that Sebastian knows for sure how he feels, he needs to get Kurt’s attention. He needs to tell him.

And he needs to apologize.

Sebastian decides he has to do something that Kurt won’t be able to ignore. He sits down at the table where Kurt usually eats his lunch. He takes out his sketch book and Kurt’s notebook, opens them both up, and begins to draw. Except Sebastian isn’t drawing just any picture. He’s copying one of Kurt’s precious sketches.

Kurt notices Sebastian drawing and smirks, ready to walk on by. But when Kurt sees his notebook open on the table where everyone can see, he storms over.

“What the fuck are you doing, Smythe?”

“I’m drawing,” Sebastian answers, not looking up.

“You’re copying my stuff …” Kurt peeks over Sebastian’s arm and pulls a face “… badly.”

“Hey. I’m doing my best.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Kurt asks, sour faced with his arms crossed over his chest.

“No!” Sebastian snaps, not accustomed to sounding sincere. “No,” he repeats calmly. “I swear I’m not. Could you please … sit down a minute?” Sebastian slides the chair next to him out from under the table, but Kurt doesn’t move, and Sebastian’s afraid he’ll lose his chance. “Please?”

Kurt stares at the empty chair, trying to guess Sebastian’s angle, what he hopes to gain from this. When Kurt can’t figure it out, he reluctantly takes a seat.

“You’ve got five minutes.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Sebastian mutters under his breath.

Kurt settles into the chair, slightly slouched, legs spread, the picture of tactless decorum. “Well. Talk.”

“Okay.” Sebastian blows out a breath, his heart pounding. He’d hoped he’d get this far, but he didn’t actually believe he would. He doesn’t want to fuck it up. “I’m trying to copy your stuff because your art … inspires me.”

The sentiment sounds vomit worthy when Sebastian hears it in his own voice, but it strikes something with Kurt. The cold glimmer in his eye thaws and he straightens in his seat.

Sebastian did it. He got Kurt’s attention.

“Especially … especially this one.”

Sebastian turns to the picture in the back of Kurt’s notebook, the one Kurt drew of him and Sebastian kissing. Kurt glowers, his face twisting like he’s about to rear back and hit him.

“I knew you were messing with me!” He bolts up, but Sebastian grabs his jacket and yanks him back into his chair.

“I like this one,” Sebastian growls out between his teeth. “God, can’t you learn to take a compliment?”

“I can,” Kurt bites, “but you’ve never given me a compliment before.”

That’s true, so Sebastian doesn’t argue. “And it got me to thinking,” he continues, “that I could do this, too. And I tried. Not because I wanted to, but because I …”

“Because you what?”

“Oh, God, don’t make me say it.” Sebastian rolls his head back on his neck and stares up at the sky, praying for some sort of divine intervention.

“If you want me to stay, you’re going to have to convince me,” Kurt says, not knowing what Sebastian’s thinking in the slightest but dying to find out. “And that includes whatever it is you’re not telling me.”

Sebastian sighs. This is going to kill him. He just knows it. But he’s come this far. He might as well go all the way. “I like your work,” Sebastian admits. “Your work moves me. It’s just … so damn good. And I’m sorry I looked at it without your permission, but I’m also glad that I did because it made me realize that I … kinda … like you.”

Kurt’s eyes fly open, a well-placed Go to hell! lingering on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be thrown. But he doesn’t. He decides to see if there’s anything else behind this before he reacts - the catch. Because if there’s one person who can’t even be mistaken for liking Kurt in all of Dalton, it’s Sebastian. And now he claims he likes Kurt? When the hell did that happen? Where was he?

“And maybe I’ll never be good at drawing anything, but to tell you the truth, it’s not all that important to me.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and stands up again. “So why are you wasting my time, Smythe? I’ve never been fond of your jokes.”

“This isn’t a joke, which you’d know if you sat your ass down for longer than a minute.” He grabs Kurt’s wrist and drags him back to his seat a second time. “It’s not important to me, but it’s important to you. And I was kind of hoping … you’d tell me why.”

Kurt chuckles nervously. “Yeah, right.” He looks around, searching for someone videotaping them, or preparing to throw pig’s blood on him. For a whole minute, he sits in stock silence, but when nothing particularly monumental happens, he starts dropping his guard. “For real?”

“For real.”

“No joke? You want me to sit here and bore you with the details of why I’m an artist.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”                              

Kurt quirks an eyebrow. “You know I don’t completely trust you.”

“I get that.”

“And I reserve the right to leave at any time.”

“I understand.”

Kurt waits a moment longer, waits for the punch because he assumes there’s one coming. But the longer he waits, the longer he begins to believe that maybe Sebastian Smythe is being honest for once. No, Kurt doesn’t entirely trust him, but he’s willing to give it a try.

For a chance at making that last picture true, it’s worth a shot.

“You know, Smythe,” Kurt says, pulling his seat closer, a warm feeling growing in his chest when he hears Sebastian sigh with relief, “maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot “Life Choices” (Rated T)

(I really don't want to start this summary with "In a world ..." but ... sigh) At age sixteen, everyone gets the name of their government appointed mate tattooed on their wrist. This is the person you are required to spend your life with, or else. But Kurt doesn't believe in that system. He wants the right to choose who he loves. So he does something drastic. He just hopes that Sebastian can forgive him. (1877 words)

High school AU. Warning for dystopian style angst. Briefest ever mention of B*laine and K*laine, but no Blaine wank.

Read on AO3.

It’s close to ten o’clock when Kurt returns to Dalton. He’s two hours past curfew, but that’s fine. Every senior knows how to get into the dorms after the resident advisors lock the doors for the night. It’s a rite of passage that the juniors are taught at the end of the school year by the class of graduating seniors. Kurt is pretty confident that the administration knows about the senior’s “great escape”. It’s not that devious a secret. There’s a fake panel in the floor of the groundskeeper’s shed. It leads to an underground passage that lets out in the boiler room. From there, a ladder goes up to a rarely used utility closet. It’s kind of obvious, especially on Sunday nights, when scores of boys come streaming through, one at a time and in three minute intervals like they’re actually being stealthy. But the higher ups at Dalton haven’t fixed it. Maybe they agree that an eight p.m. curfew for seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds is asinine, and that breaking out every once in a while is an important step to their boys becoming men – finding their way out into the world on their own, practicing independence.

Which would be ironic considering the one thing that happens to everyone during their teen years without consent – the thing that Kurt is trying his hardest to run away from. Kurt has gone through many rites of passage over the past four years, none of which he’s had the power to affect … until now.

He didn’t tell anyone he was going. He just up and left after English class, turning off his cell phone so he wouldn’t be tempted to answer it. He didn’t want anyone trying to stop him. Not that they could have. He’d had this decision made from the second the registrar showed up at school (McKinley at the time) and their goons tattooed a name on his wrist - the name of his government appointed “mate” as chosen by the Department of Health and Human Services. That tattoo was the catalyst that put a mountain of change into motion – a bully at his school, one who had been making his life hell, kissed him, revealing some apparent pent up longing for Kurt which needed to be expressed when he discovered that he and Kurt weren’t meant to be together; moving from McKinley to Dalton, since going to where his mate lived was easier than convincing his mate’s family to transfer for Kurt; and then falling in love, incidentally not with his government appointed mate, which was a problem.

A problem that Kurt needed to fix, and he didn’t want to be delayed. The man willing to do this for him was only available during a brief window of time that afternoon. After tonight, he’d have to leave. Kurt’s is the first cover up of this kind that he’s ever done, but aside from it, other things he’s been doing aren’t exactly legal.

He has to leave Ohio soon before he gets caught.

Four hours Kurt drove till he reached his destination, but the process took only one hour to complete. After it was done, Kurt felt relieved. Lifted. Like the biggest burden of his life had been removed from his shoulders.

For the first time since he’d turned sixteen, Kurt felt free.

But returning to Dalton, stepping into the dorm, a cold chill sets in. Maybe he should have just gone back to Lima, hid out at home and planned his next move. At homeroom in the morning, everyone’s going to see what he did, and then he’ll have to face the consequences.

That’s only twelve short hours away.

He’s not going to be able to sleep. In fact, he’ll probably just stay up all night and vomit until then.

But the reason he came back to Dalton is one of the reasons why he drove four hours to do what he did.

Kurt can’t leave the boy he fell in love with behind.

This part of the dorm – uninhabited after several floors (minus this one) were retrofitted over twenty years ago – is normally quiet and empty when the boys return. That’s what Kurt’s hoping for, but he finds Sebastian waiting for him, sitting in a gold gilded wing chair at the far end when Kurt sneaks out of the utility closet. Kurt had a feeling he would be. Sebastian has been obsessed with Kurt’s tattoo, and the name cutting black across his porcelain skin, since the moment Kurt arrived at Dalton. There’s a 50/50 chance that Sebastian is going to be furious over what Kurt did, but Kurt had no other choice. He had no intention of being locked into this antiquated system, a system which he didn’t agree to. This is his life. Only he gets to live it. He has to have the right to make his own decisions.

And he’ll live with the consequences of those decisions. He just hopes that, in time, Sebastian understands, and can forgive him.

“You didn’t tell me you were going,” Sebastian scolds.

“Yes, I did.”

“Fine.” Sebastian rolls his eyes at Kurt’s irritating need to be so frickin’ specific all the time. “Correction - you didn’t tell me you were going today.”

“You would have tried to stop me.”

“You’re damn right I would have tried to stop you!” Sebastian launches from his chair, trying to tower over Kurt, intimidate him. It doesn’t exactly work. Sebastian’s only an inch taller. And it doesn’t matter. Kurt is a difficult boy to intimidate. “Kurt, this wasn’t a good idea!”

“What did you expect me to do?”

“Put up with it! Make the best of it! Just like the rest of us!” Sebastian says, raising his arm to wave his own tattoo, blazed across his wrist, in Kurt’s face. “At least you could have talked to me about this before you did it. Asked me how I felt.”

“Why? Regardless of whose name is on my wrist, it’s my life! Besides, didn’t you tell me that you hate this system as much as I do? I’m doing both of us a favor.”

“By throwing your life away?” Sebastian chuckles with a cruelty that comes from his heartbreaking. This wasn’t Kurt’s only choice. They could have figured something else out, something that wouldn’t possibly get him arrested. “Some favor.”

Kurt’s eyes water, but he refuses to let Sebastian see him cry. “Are you really mad at me?”

“Yes,” Sebastian huffs, crossing his arms. But it’s not a gesture of anger. It’s a need for security. Sebastian hugs himself hard, trying to stop shaking, and when he can’t, he decides it’s time to face the music. “Well, let me see it,” he says, not sure that he wants to. Because if what Kurt did actually sets him free from this arranged mate b.s., what does that mean for Sebastian, with a name still on his wrist?

What does that mean for the two of them?

Kurt rolls up his sleeve and presents Sebastian his wrist. The artist who covered Kurt’s tattoo put a piece of clear plastic tape over it to protect it. Sebastian can’t feel the skin underneath, but he can see the new image blotting out the old.

“I … I can’t believe you covered it,” Sebastian murmurs, staring at the vividly rendered blackbird surrounded by a flourish of rainbow musical notes where Kurt’s mate’s name used to be. “How … how could you do that?”

“I warned you,” Kurt says, defending his actions instead of offering an explanation. He’s already explained a dozen times. If Sebastian doesn’t understand by now, one more explanation isn’t going to do any good. “I told you I was going to.”

Sebastian continues to shake his head. In awe? In disappointment? He wishes Sebastian would get past this initial shock and just tell him what’s going on in his head. “You’re going to get in so much trouble.”

“I don’t care,” Kurt groans, done with this part of the reveal, ready to move on with making plans for the rest of his life as if this one action might not stop that all in its tracks. “How is whatever they can do to me any worse than not being able to live and love on my own terms?” Kurt wants to sound more confident, more sure of his place in the world than he does. Even though every day of his life up until now wasn’t guaranteed (because no one’s is), for the first time, he can feel the weight of tomorrow’s uncertainty pressing on his shoulders. “This is my life. I decide how to live it. I decide who I love, Sebastian ... and I love you.”

“You could have learned to love Blaine,” Sebastian argues, his voice crackling, curling at the corners like a sheet of paper catching fire around the edges, being slowly eaten from the outside in.

“I do love Blaine,” Kurt says. “But I love you more.”

“And what if I told you that you did this for nothing?” Sebastian asks, tears hiding underneath the words, something Kurt has never heard in Sebastian’s voice before. “That the registrar was right? That I agree I should be with Hunter and not you?”

Kurt puts his hand over Sebastian’s in a way that doesn’t hide his new tattoo. No matter what, Kurt can’t hide what he did. “I can’t take this back. So if you do want him, I need you to tell me now …”

“So you can run away? Hide and be safe?” Sebastian asks, ready to pack Kurt’s things and shove him out the door if he agrees.

“No. I still intend to fight this system. It isn’t right. I just need to know exactly what I’m fighting for.”

Sebastian holds Kurt’s arm and stares. He didn’t expect Kurt to feel so strongly about this. But he isn’t the only one. Most everyone at Dalton agrees it isn’t fair. A lot of the teachers blocked the doors in protest the day the registrar showed up, hoping to spare their students this fate, but there was nothing they could do. Many of the ones who weren’t arrested were fired on the spot until the rest backed down. Both Kurt and Sebastian know it’s not up to the adults to fight this time. It’s up to them to step forward and say no. No more.

“This … has never been done before,” Sebastian says, his voice losing volume as his argument starts losing stamina.

“There’s always a first time. Someone has to be that first.” Kurt raises Sebastian’s hands to his mouth and braves a kiss across his knuckles. Kurt doesn’t expect Sebastian to pull away, but that’s all he can expect. He knows how Sebastian feels about him. He knows Sebastian loves him. He just doesn’t know how Sebastian, son of a state’s attorney, feels about bucking this system – a system that Sebastian’s father happens to think works well. If Sebastian goes along with Kurt, he has a whole lot to lose, and only one thing to gain – Kurt.

“Then I guess …” Sebastian lets go of Kurt, but only long enough to wrap his arms around him and hug him tight “… I’ll be the second.”