Title: We Glide Past Every City Light
Author: GlassParade (Glitterdammerung on Tumblr)
Pairing: Sebastian Smythe and Kurt Hummel
Spoilers: None, future-fic.
Word Count: 2600+
Summary: After eight years, a chance encounter half a world away from Ohio leads to an unexpected outcome.
Additional Notes: Title is from the song ‘This Orient’ by Foals, and it was selected because it felt right.
Masterpost: Europe Is Our Playground
It’s one night, he tells himself, and he doesn’t know why a knot of disappointment settles in his stomach at the thought.
Sebastian glides his hands up the smooth body before him, starting with cupped palms covering hipbones, sliding thumbs over the slight dip of reclining abdomen, fingers crawling over ribs to underarm to tricep, slipping up up up past elbow to forearm until he’s pinning Kurt’s wrists over his head.
They lay there, silent but for breathing, steady gazes locked and charged with challenge and want.
A gay bar in le Marais is the last, and yet the most clichéd and obvious place Sebastian Smythe would have expected to run into Kurt Hummel.
Eight years since high school and he would have known the arrogant tilt of Kurt’s head anywhere in the world, any time. The familiar faint upturn of his lips as he listens to the pretty French boy yelling in his ear over the house beats. And the wide-eyed expression of shock as he spots Sebastian smirking at him.
All as familiar as the back of his hand. Feeling his smirk grow wider, Sebastian lifts his drink in an ironic salute.
He’s hyperconscious of how warm Kurt’s skin is against his, how it completely fucks with his lingering high school perception that Kurt must be as cold to the touch as his attitude was frosty. They’re pressed tight together from the waist down, Sebastian’s thigh nestled between Kurt’s legs and up against what’s turned out to be a surprisingly substantial erection. It’s all heat, no ice, and when Kurt raises an eyebrow and arches his hips up in an unspoken ready when you are, Sebastian feels nothing but fire streaking down his spine.
Bending his head down, he catches Kurt’s mouth with his, grinding his hips down reflexively. He feels the moan ripped out of his throat as much as he hears it, swallows down the gasp Kurt gives him in return. They haven’t exchanged words since the hotel room door closed behind them twenty minutes ago, letting their bodies and fingers do all the communicating that was needed in ways clearer than any speaking.
Sebastian is ready, is surprised to realize that he has been ready for this for a long, long time.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Kurt trills, voice unchanged, still clear and sharp as the ring of a crystal bell. A glass of red wine is held loosely in his cupped hand, and he sips from it as he waits for Sebastian’s response.
“Oh, I don’t know if I’d call it fancy,” he drawls lazily, grinning at his own stupid joke. He’s rewarded with a roll of those fascinating color shifting eyes and a short, light laugh.
“I did walk into that one,” is the rueful admission, accompanied by an easy little smile with none of the animosity that used to color their interactions.
Sebastian keeps Kurt’s wrists pinned with one hand and lets the other trail a winding path back down that toned stomach to the thatch of glossy chestnut curls between Kurt’s thighs and then points south. His fingers trace along the crevice of Kurt’s ass, not invading or intruding, merely asking permission. He doesn’t completely care which way this plays out, really, he just wants them to enjoy themselves, but a part of him is leaning a little more towards wanting to bury himself inside the other man this first time, to observe Kurt falling to pieces from the vantage point of being on top, to know definitively if the heat he feels on the outside is as intense inside.
Kurt’s response is another upward press of his hips and a thready hissed “Nnnnyessss,” before he bites down on his lower lip, and Sebastian presses forward a little to let his fingers graze over the soft, dry skin for a moment before he pulls back to locate what they need next.
“Law?” Kurt’s eyebrows are raised over his coffee cup. Curiosity had led them to try too hard to talk at the club, and they were hoarse in short order. Sebastian wasn’t about to let his first contact with home in months escape him, so he’d tilted his head towards the door, Kurt had nodded, and they’d hustled out of the club to the streets of Paris as quickly as they could without physically throwing people out of their path. “You’re a lawyer?”
“I’m a law graduate,” Sebastian corrects, fiddling with the sugar packets. They’d walked and talked for a good half hour before finally deciding to stop at a streetside café. “I don’t know if I want to be a lawyer. Yet.”
Kurt shakes his head, putting his cup down. “I think what’s throwing me is that you’re interested in law at all.”
“Call it repentance for being such a felonious little shit.” With a shrug, Sebastian starts building a little cabin out of the packets, not really interested in discussing the personal post-degree crisis that had sent him scurrying off to hide in France. “Or familial expectations. Or both. So, Fashion Week, huh?”
When his slick index finger breaches the tight ring of muscle, Sebastian hears a long, melting hum of pleasure spiral out of Kurt’s mouth like a ribbon unfurling from a spool. He’s not used to something so unexpectedly musical during his frequent hookups – is more accustomed to falling into rooms and beds while simultaneously tearing away clothing and trying to shove his tongue down his temporary bedmate’s throat. It’s quick and dirty and fun and he definitely does not spend hours of his life talking to these guys, no.
It’s always a carefully but swiftly negotiated exchange of brief words and speaking looks and crude gestures. And he’s fine with that, because permanence is neither something he is used to nor is particularly sure he desires.
With Kurt he’s taken the night slowly. First because he wasn’t sure it would end up here and then when it did, he kept the leisurely pace because for once, he’s fascinated by what it’s like to sleep with someone who isn’t a complete stranger, someone who even knows him somewhat well on a certain level. Someone he knows in return. To see the expressions flitting across Kurt’s normally composed face is like watching an entirely new person.
Two fingers, now, and he’s biting his own lip to keep from letting his own groan escape as he watches the long column of Kurt’s neck curve up and another sweetly agonized hum spins out.
“…Parsons by day and cattle calls by night, all through college. By the end of it all…” Kurt tilts one cashmere-clad shoulder up in a self-deprecating shrug. “I love performing, but it seemed unfair to not heed the call to help turn tragically clothed celebutantes into Cinderellas, so here I am.”
“Here you are,” Sebastian echoes, shaking his head with a grin. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns…” He lets the quote trail off, laughing as Kurt rolls his eyes indulgently. But his curiosity is burning him from the inside out; why is Kurt in Paris, the world’s most famously romantic city, alone? “So…what about Bl-”
He’s cut off before he can get any more of the name out, and Kurt’s sitting ramrod straight in his tiny café chair, eyes much too bright and smile much too brittle. “And what about you? What brings you to Paris while you figure yourself out? Visiting old haunts?”
By the time he’s sliding three fingers easily into Kurt and has watched the flush of arousal spread rosily from chest to neck to high cheekbones, Sebastian is tremendously hard, aching and feeling a sticky warmth slip down his cock as pre-come slowly beads at the tip and then trickles away. Kurt is hard too, just as hard and Sebastian can’t resist the urge to dip his head down and let his tongue furrow gently into the slit at the head of Kurt’s cock, gathering up all of the pearly droplets he sees dimly gleaming in the moonlight.
He thinks he might be addicted already to making Kurt emit moans and gasps and long, low whines of want.
Because they’re both wound tight as watch springs and he needs to be inside of Kurt like, now, Sebastian allows himself only that barest of tastes before he pulls his fingers out and grabs for a condom. Need and lube make his usual swift handling of the prophylactic a little clumsy, but he manages well enough, and then he’s leaning over Kurt, one hand braced on the mattress to hold himself up and the other wrapped around his cock, poised to enter.
Kurt’s hands come up and pull Sebastian down into a hot, sloppy kiss, tasting of wine and coffee and clove lip balm. Strong fingers are gripping the nape of his neck, fingernails digging ever so slightly into his scalp in a way that makes him groan uncontrollably, now, and Sebastian’s hips buck forward, the head of his cock pressing against and then suddenly into Kurt before either of them quite realize it’s happening.
So, fine. They both have secrets, then. The man sitting across the table from Sebastian is both acquaintance and stranger all in one, familiar and not, foe and friend. Maturity has been extremely kind to Kurt Hummel, who Sebastian can now admit was already unfairly gorgeous even in high school. He’s more self-possessed now, less tightly strung, faint laugh lines of good humor around his eyes and mouth. He seems to be hanging on to no old grudges and his shoulders are uncurved, his back straight. Apart from the sour hiccup when Sebastian tried to bring up Blaine, Kurt seems to be…comfortable. With himself, in his skin, in who he is.
Sebastian, lost wanderer of Paris that he is, envies it.
Sebastian also wants Kurt. Badly. With an intensity that rocks him. He wants to touch him and taste him and he absolutely wants to make him come and come to pieces.
It might be a long shot, but in looking Kurt over, in seeing the easy smile and quick laugh and, the real giveaway, Kurt’s abrupt lean across the tiny table and into Sebastian’s personal space, scattering the sugar packet cabin with a chagrined yelp…well. Maybe not so long a shot. Maybe they can have tonight.
He takes a breath, tilts his chin up. “This café is going to close soon. I have a bottle of wine back at my hotel if you want to continue talking.”
Sebastian slows himself back down, easing carefully into Kurt one teasing, tantalizing inch at a time. His breath is coming in shuddering exhalations now, forehead pressed to Kurt’s as he steadies himself with both hands, using only his hips to push forward. When Sebastian casts his glance down, he catches glimpses of himself as he disappears into Kurt, sees the head of Kurt’s cock resting dark against the pale stretch of his abdomen. It’s a hot enough sight that he barely remembers how to breathe in anymore.
As he bottoms out, he sucks a long kiss out of Kurt, feeling the aroused moans vibrating his lips and teeth and even his throat, they’re so intense and go on so long. Sebastian breaks away with an exhalation that’s half sigh and half groan, presses his forehead back against Kurt’s, and squeezes his eyes shut, all his concentration centering on his cock and the incredible tight heat that surrounds it as he begins to thrust in earnest.
Kurt’s legs are wrapped around Sebastian’s waist, pulling him in so tight and close that all Sebastian can do is roll his hips forward over and over, unable to pull out very far before he’s buried deep all over again. He’s braced down on his forearms, now, fingers woven together and clasped over Kurt’s head, so there’s just about no inch of one man that isn’t touching the other. There’s nothing between them but light sweat and heat and then, slowly, Kurt’s hand. It slips between their stomachs to trail down to encircle Kurt’s straining erection, a lush sigh of delight puffing out of his mouth as he begins to stroke himself.
And Sebastian loves it, loves that he’s made Kurt make those sounds, that he’s made Kurt need to touch himself, need to come. With anyone else it’s always been about each participant making sure he gets his, but it turns out fucking someone you know is just really a whole lot different, what with finding out what’s beneath the clothing both literally and metaphorically. He feels like he’s back in law school again, learning something new and fascinating, only, you know, way more naked than in any class and having a lot more fun with the whole process.
“Oh, fuck me, yes, nnnnyes, fuck, yes,” and wow, Sebastian would never have pegged Kurt for a dirty talker, but it’s amazingly hot and what can he do but obey?
“I’m not interested in wine,” Kurt says, arching one eyebrow and there’s that smirk again.
“But I am interested in your hotel room.”
They’re both gasping incoherently through gritted teeth when Kurt comes first, the tendons in his neck stretched tight as he throws his head back, hot ejaculate streaking across Sebastian’s abdomen. The hand not holding his twitching cock is wrapped around the back of Sebastian’s neck again, fingernails digging in harder now right before Kurt grabs what hair he can and pulls and that is it for Sebastian, his hips thrust hard in against Kurt’s amazingly tight thighs and ass (and oh, yes, he wants to explore that entire area later tonight, he does, with his tongue, if time permits) as he comes in spurts that shake him head to toe.
When the aftershocks stop pulsing through his body, Sebastian surprises himself by surrendering to the impulse to kiss Kurt again, hard and primal, tangling his fingers in that impossibly thick hair and rolling his hips forward once, twice more before finally settling down, withdrawing and rolling immediately onto his back next to Kurt. Disposing of the condom is tended to quickly and discreetly thanks to the trash can right by the bed.
Sebastian is deep in thought.
He doesn’t kiss his hookups once they’re done fucking. Ever. It’s an unspoken rule and they all follow it, and now he’s broken it himself.
Not that Kurt is any kind of normal hookup.
And of course, they’re not done, not if he has anything to say about it. Short on time, maybe, but not done. If they have one night – and he can’t imagine that they’d have any more, it’s insane enough that they have this one at all – then he’s going to make the most of it.
Beside him, Kurt chuckles. “Well.”
“Well?” He turns his head and can’t help but smile at the grin on Kurt’s face that cannot be described in any other term but shit eating. “Don’t you look pleased with yourself.”
“And you don’t?” Raising his arms over his head, Kurt stretches, long and luxurious, wiggling his toes and rotating his hands at the wrist. When he’s done, he lets out a contented hum. “I do not want to get up.”
“You don’t have to.” Outwardly, Sebastian shrugs and makes damn sure his expression is casual. Inwardly, he’s making a mental list of all the places on Kurt’s body he wants to taste. “Bed’s big enough for two, if you don’t have anywhere important to be anytime soon.”
Kurt casts him a sidelong glance. “Funny. I never took you for the sleepover type.”
“I’m not,” Sebastian admits before rolling on top of Kurt and stretching out to cover him head to toe. “Then again, I have no intention of sleeping.”
It’s semantics, but what the hell. He’s already broken one of his personal hookup rules, what could a little bending of just one more possibly hurt?