Fic: Skip The Airstrip To The Sunset (Kurtbastian, Hard R)

Title: Skip The Airstrip To The Sunset
Media: Fic
Author: GlassParade (aka Glitterdammerung on Tumblr)
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Sebastian Smythe and Kurt Hummel
Genre: Smut
Spoilers: None, future-fic.
Word Count: 2300+
Summary: Kurt decides to play Sebastian’s game. Where will it lead him today? Title from ‘Roam’ by the B-52s.
Europe Is Our Playground ‘verse: Paris | Prague | and so we travel onward…

Message From Sebastian: Figure it out yet?

Message From Kurt: You have a LOT of nerve.

Message From Sebastian: Poor baby. YOU didn’t have to get on a plane to Zurich with a raging case of blue balls.

Message From Kurt: Whose fault is that? Not mine, thank you. So you’re in Switzerland?

Message From Sebastian: Please. I’m easy, but not THAT easy. Want your next clue?

Kurt is exhausted, travel grimy, desperately needs to eat, and doesn’t actually care about any of that right now.

It’s twilight shading to full dark in their particular slice of Europe, but the brick wall Kurt’s pushed up against is still warmed from the sunshine it had been bathed in all day. The heat is seeping through his t-shirt, melting tension and tiredness out of his back, and it’s nice – but not as nice or as warm as Sebastian’s hands, which have slipped up under the hem of the t-shirt and are sliding up along Kurt’s torso, thumbs stroking steadily over his nipples until both of them are peaked and pebbled and Kurt is fighting not to groan too loudly.

They may be concealed by the shadows falling with the night, but care must still be taken. They’re still surrounded by throngs of tourists, and there’s a noisy beer garden not too many steps away. Kurt can hear the shouts and laughter, the boisterous music and the clinking of bottles.

The thrill of potential discovery makes Kurt arch his hips forward, pressing his groin hard into Sebastian’s even as he drags this enigmatic lover down into a kiss that leaves them both panting.

Along with his excellent hair and boyish good looks, one thing that has not diminished since Kurt Hummel was a teenager is his ability to be fabulous on a budget. In fact, it’s more well-rounded than ever, having branched out from its roots in his impeccable high school wardrobe to encompass inexpensive but impressive cooking, ferociously fashionable thrifted furniture – and, best of all, travel.

Kurt has money, of course. Being the next Alexander McQueen, the new darling of the fashion world, the toast of debutantes and socialites on multiple continents, it does have its perks and money is the best of them. But Kurt is also very much his father’s son and a creature of habit. He doesn’t see the point in spending more than he has to in pursuit of fun and fabulosity, so he doesn’t. He’s been a member of five frequent flyer programs since he was eighteen, uses credit cards that earn him double and triple miles per transaction, and after several painful years of practice, he’s finally learned how to travel with nothing more than two excellently packed carry-on Vuittons.

So he is perfectly prepared and well-equipped for playing Sebastian’s little game.

Or he would be, if he knew where he was going. His bags are packed, his hotel room is in impeccable order, and he’s got his favorite travel agent on speed dial. Kurt is ready to leave Prague whenever Sebastian is ready to be a little more forthcoming.

1 New Photo Message, his screen helpfully blinks.

Sebastian’s hands seem to have minds of their own, the way they roam over Kurt’s body, squeezing and pinching and lightly scratching here and there. Kurt feels completely covered and consumed in Sebastian’s desire, lets himself be happily carried along on a tidal wave of rising lust. He’s not idle himself, keeping himself busy with kisses and caresses and learning exactly what makes Sebastian groan helplessly into his mouth.

The slow roll of Kurt’s hips into Sebastian’s – check.

A long, tugging bite at Sebastian’s lower lip – check.

Hot breaths in Sebastian’s ear just before Kurt seals his eager mouth against the long column of his throat – check.

Kurt – check.

Well, that’s awfully empowering.

Picture Message From Sebastian:

Message From Sebastian: Better?

Message From Kurt: The Little Mermaid? What the hell’s in Copenhagen?

Message From Sebastian: Uh, me?

Message From Kurt: …

Message From Kurt: Touché.

A roller coaster goes clattering by overhead, the shrieks of its riders filling the night air and helping to cover the sound of the increasingly frantic little breaths spilling out of Kurt’s mouth. Sebastian has both hands fisted in the material of Kurt’s t-shirt at his waist, clenched tight like he’s clinging for dear life to something that can save him. Kurt’s back against the wall is the only thing keeping him up at this point, his knees are so weak from the kissing and grinding he doesn’t want to stop.

Would the hotel room bed be more comfortable? Of course it would. They could be naked right now. Naked and exploring each other’s bodies with tongues and fingers, the press of warm bare skin and the taste of come. A rainforest shower, air conditioning and 1000 thread count sheets. The decadent promise of room service.

But if anyone were to try and interrupt them now for fucking logic, Kurt would tear them to shreds. He is exactly where he wants to be in this moment, his dick straining hard against his tight jeans, hips jutting forward and grinding against Sebastian’s equally hard cock. At some point Kurt’s wrists got pinned over his head and he feels deliciously helpless, at Sebastian’s mercy. Just as he’s learning what takes Sebastian apart, so is he being studied as well.

Hands-on learning, it always had been his favorite.

Kurt stares at his phone, flipping between the photo of what he now knows is Amalienborg Palace and the picture of the Little Mermaid. He wonders what made Sebastian pick Denmark of all places. Does it have special meaning, or did he close his eyes and point at a map?

For all that there’s history between them, what he actually knows about Sebastian could just about fill a thimble. Kurt doesn’t know what makes the guy tick, what his favorite color is, what he likes to drink apart from coffee or beer, what his opinions are on any kind of music at all, why he ran away from the United States immediately after graduating from law school.

Kurt also doesn’t know why he’s curious about any of this. But time is ticking away, and more important than his curiosity is playing the game.

He swipes his thumb across his phone and ticks Vivian’s number. “Hey, Viv,” he greets his travel guru absently, running his index finger along the thin silver chain around his neck. He always stops just short of touching the object that depends from the chain, avoiding it with an almost superstitious scrupulousness. “Listen, change of plans. Can you get me on the next flight to Copenhagen?” He smiles at her shriek of surprise. “Yes, really…well, I don’t know, I’m having a Hans Christian Andersen moment or something. Can you? Great.”

Sebastian tastes like beer and breath mints, the icy coolness of the peppermint tingling on Kurt’s tongue as he probes and sweeps inside the soft warmth. Each push of their hips, each grind and hitch makes breath come with increasing shortness, heightens the color in their cheeks. Kissing is getting to be extremely difficult now as both men strain harder to be as close as humanly possible given the barrier of their clothing.

Kurt’s head drops, his eyelids fluttering shut as his fingers tense and bend, pulling his hands free to scrape his nails across the back of Sebastian’s neck. The long, deep groan that pours out of Sebastian triggers a fleeting memory of Paris in Kurt’s recollection – but he has only a second to remember what it means before he feels a pair of strong, eager hands slap down to grab his ass and hold him still while Sebastian’s hips move frantically to slide denim-clad cock against neatly trousered dick.

He doesn’t know if he’s riding or being ridden and it doesn’t matter. The head of his cock slips against the silk of his boxers, a delicious friction as Sebastian grinds against him.

Kurt wonders what Sebastian’s wearing under those perfectly tailored trousers.

Part of him hopes it’s nothing at all.

It takes Vivian a few minutes of keyboard clattering to get him a flight, but Lufthansa comes through in the end – thank god for the StarAlliance – and Vivian is instructing him to get moving now, like right now or else -

Actually, Viv…there’s one more flight I need, tomorrow afternoon…yeah, actually, you’re kind of gonna be getting a workout from me over the next few weeks…of course I’ll make it worth your while. Anything from the new spring collection, even my assistants haven’t seen the sketches, you’ll be the first…”

Sebastian wants a game? Well, lucky for him Kurt’s inclined to play along.

“Fuck, Kurt, fuck, Jesus, fuck.” Sebastian has previously demonstrated himself to be more eloquent than this, but Kurt can’t summon up the mental capacity to judge him for being reduced to blasphemies and expletives. Not when they’re mere ticks of the clock away from sweet release. “Hot, Jesus, you’re just…you’re hot, I want you, we’re gonna go back to the hotel room and I’m gonna…fuck, God…show you every fantasy I’ve had about you just today…”

His hands on Kurt’s ass keep trying to pull them more closely together but there’s literally no room left, Kurt has his arms around Sebastian’s neck, hands up and palming the back of Sebastian’s head. They’re in and around each other, frenzied sobbing breaths tumbling between them with every desperate roll of their hips. Kurt’s head dips again, just a quick bob down before he decides he wants to be kissing Sebastian when they start to come.

Kurt catches a quick glimpse of green eyes, heavy lidded and a little surprised just before he jerks forward and sucks Sebastian’s bottom lip into his mouth.

When Kurt lands in Copenhagen, there’s a text message waiting for him.

Message From Sebastian: We’re at the Radisson Blu Royal, room 2015. Text me after you dump your bags.

There’s no shuttle – the airport is too far from the hotel – but Kurt catches a taxi easily enough, and the ride isn’t even that long, really, though it feels like it is because he started remembering the events of the night before while he was on the plane, which made disembarking somewhat awkward. He feels, momentarily, a flash of sympathy for Sebastian, then remembers it’s Sebastian’s fault either of them have blue balls in the first place, and spends the taxi ride in a confusing tangle of arousal and annoyance.

Sebastian isn’t at the hotel when Kurt arrives, which he sort of expected since Sebastian told him to text when he arrived, but it irks Kurt all the same.

There’s a fortuitous burst of cheering from the beer garden when Sebastian begins to jerk and shudder against Kurt, cheering that conveniently covers the satisfyingly loud groan he’s unable to keep behind his teeth. But there’s no time to bask in the smug delight of having dismantled Sebastian so very thoroughly, because Kurt’s burying his own shout of ecstasy in the crook of Sebastian’s neck, shivers overtaking him entirely as he comes.

Hips buck hard, lips are almost bitten through, fingers are white-knuckled with the odd commingling of tension and release.

Message From Kurt: I’m here.

Message From Sebastian: Great. Now leave the hotel.

Message From Kurt: You cannot BEGIN to imagine what I want to do to you right now.

Message From Sebastian: Nope! Surprise me.

Message From Kurt: I’m going to KILL you, you complete asshole.

Message From Sebastian: Someone’s cranky. I can kiss it and make it better.

Message From Kurt: Then you better pucker up, buttercup, because you are in for a SERIOUSLY long night.

Message From Sebastian: Yeah, yeah. Are you outside yet?

Message From Kurt: Yes.

Message From Sebastian: Do you like roller coasters?

Kurt frowns, confused – and then glances up and realizes what’s standing on the opposite street corner from the hotel.


Kurt slumps back against the wall, trying hard to catch his breath. Sebastian, leaning with his head down, can’t even seem to open his eyes. “I’m brilliant.”

The drowsy assertion makes Kurt snort out a tired laugh. “Really.”

“Mmhm. Hotel’s right across the street.” Sebastian pulls back, a lazy grin beginning to turn his mouth up. “As soon as we can walk again, I’m dragging you back to the room so you can shower and then let me fuck you stupid.”

Kurt stretches his arms up over his head, reveling in the feel of his spine popping and unkinking. For the life of him, if someone were to put a gun to his head and tell him to pick which one he’d prefer at this moment, he would be completely unable to decide.

“What, you can’t manage both at once?”

Sebastian sleeps like the dead and neither of them are into cuddling, so it’s easy enough for Kurt to slip out of the bed late the next morning and get ready to leave. He gets a delicious but all too short shower – a pang of regret spears him right in his appreciation of luxury, he should have told Vivian to book his flight another day out – and chuckles softly to see Sebastian still deeply asleep, snoring lightly and sprawled out across the bed like a cat. The white of the bedsheet contrasts nicely with his light tan, and Kurt takes a valuable moment to appreciate the lean, well-muscled and lightly freckled expanse of his back.

Mmm. Nice. Very nice.

Before he can talk himself into calling Vivian and rebooking, Kurt grabs his bags and quietly lets himself out of the hotel room. Only when he’s safely buckled into his airplane seat and the flight attendants are about to tell them to turn off their electronic devices does he perform a quick image search, sending his favorite result to Sebastian.

Message From Kurt: Catch me if you can.

Picture Message From Kurt: