Fic: Breathing In Fumes I Taste When We Kiss (Kurtbastian, NC-17)
Title: Breathing In Fumes I Taste When We Kiss
Author: GlassParade (aka Glitterdammerung on Tumblr)
Pairing: Sebastian Smythe and Kurt Hummel
Spoilers: None, future-fic.
Warnings: Drug use.
Word Count: 4900+
Summary: It’s supposed to be fun, and it is, but lowering Kurt’s inhibitions also comes with a price that Sebastian might find painful to pay.
Europe Is Our Playground ‘verse: Paris | Prague | Copenhagen | Barcelona | and so we travel onward…
“You know, the guidebooks always say to not make this the first place you visit when you get here.” Wide-eyed with astonishment, Kurt glances around the street, at the bustling crowds gawking at storefront windows, at the women posing in the windows, at bicycles and boats and city lights. “Shouldn’t we be going to see the windmills or tulip fields or dikes?”
“Lesbians are not a tourist attraction, Hummel,” Sebastian chastises playfully as he dodges Kurt’s backhanded swat to his arm. “Okay, sorry. That was terrible and uncalled for, you’re right.” Hitching his carry-on further up onto his shoulder, he waves a hand at the street. “Anyway, we’re not here to sight-see, we’re here to check into our hotel.”
Kurt manages to confine his reaction to a single raised eyebrow. “Come again?”
“Are you offer – no. No, sorry again. Hotel? Place in which to sleep and shower and, assuming I haven’t screwed my chances with bad jokes, fuck?” He points to a row of slender buildings all linked together. “Third door down, that’s where we’re staying.”
It’s taking some time for Kurt to wrap his head around what Sebastian is telling him.“You booked us a hotel room in the red light district?”
“No, Vivian booked us a hotel room in the red light district,” Sebastian counters, raising a finger to punctuate his point. “If you want to get technical.”
Sebastian shoves himself up to sitting, wrapping one arm around Kurt’s waist and pushing the other through his hair, tangling them tightly together with gazes still locked and cautious. It’s a charged moment, electricity a tangible crackle in the air before Kurt’s hands pause in their slow journey up Sebastian’s abdomen, curling into fists full of t-shirt.
The better to pull his lover into a kiss with, of course.
Tongue on tongue, slip and slide and probe, flick and taste and touch. Kurt opens one hand to lay flat over Sebastian’s ribs, then curls it shut again, being sure to scrape his fingernails through the shirt over Sebastian’s skin. A groan rides on a hot breath from Sebastian’s throat into Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt swallows it down with a smile, sinks his teeth into Sebastian’s lip and pulls, just a little bit, just enough.
Holding his breath when he pulls back from Sebastian’s lips, Kurt begins to unbutton his shirt with fingers that are less than steady and still. He keeps his eyes on Sebastian’s face, watching tension and anger begin to melt away as desire takes hold, doesn’t look at the hands that are sliding up and down his thighs.
He stops with his shirt half undone, hand still on the next button. “I’m sorry,” he says, not for the first time that night.
Sebastian’s hand comes to cover his, pushes the button through the hole. “Don’t worry about it.”
The argument is only mostly true. Actually what had happened is that Kurt had called Vivian once they decided to head for the Netherlands, and Sebastian had snatched the phone out of his hand with the explanation, “She’s giving you shit, I absolutely want to talk to any other human on earth that can get away with that.”
Kurt had ended up spending the next thirty minutes despairing over his phone bill and watching Sebastian pace their hotel room in Barcelona, phone tucked under his ear. Despair had fallen by the wayside fairly quickly in favor of fascination, Kurt reclining on their bed memorizing each expression, each shift of Sebastian’s shoulders, the mindless twisting of a Rubik’s Cube - of all things - in his long fingers. He was so unexpectedly mercurial and absorbing just to watch…
And now Kurt is being presented with lodgings in De Wallen and Sebastian is taking no responsibility for it. Like it’s Kurt’s fault Sebastian has ended up being so sexy and interesting and – wait, he’s getting sidetracked.
Kurt slides Sebastian a sidelong glance that can and has withered lesser men, but Sebastian, as ever, fails to back down, waiting with hands in pockets, rocking cheerfully on his feet. At last, rolling his eyes, Kurt gives in. “Are you actually using semantic arguments against me?”
“I did spend the last few years of my life in law school,” comes the reminder. “I had to get something out of it.”
He looks at the women in the windows again, women of all shapes and sizes in a truly mind-boggling array of underwear of all qualities and colors. The red lights have gone on, bathing the street and tourists in a garish roseate glow. “We’re gay,” he points out, making sure his voice is as dry as a cracker. “Not sure we’re their target clientele.”
“It’s fun and interesting and a great story to tell your kids one day,” is Sebastian’s breezy reply.
Kurt prides himself on a certain equipoise and maturity, having discarded his wide-eyed Ohio boy wonder within months of moving to New York. He feels very much a man of the world, very liberal, it’s not the prostitution he’s having a problem with.
“It just seems so tacky,” he finally sighs.
Sebastian regards him with amusement for a moment before snatching away Kurt’s suitcase and heading for their hotel. “You’ll live,” he calls over his shoulder as he lopes away.
Blaine would have at least tried to coax and cajole Kurt into going along with it.
They’ve discovered over the last weeks that they both have a thing for nipple play; Kurt for the gentle stroke of fingers and thumbs across his chest until every muscle and inch of skin feels stretched tight as a drum, Sebastian for the scrape of Kurt’s nails or pinch of his fingertips, sharp little twists of pain that zing and echo through his body.
Since Kurt’s decided to take the lead tonight, he’s alternating scrapes and scratches with kisses, licks of his tongue over the faint red stripes he leaves behind. Beneath him, Sebastian twists and squirms, shuddery breaths and sighs shaking his body. His erection is hot even through his jeans, pressed hard against Kurt’s stomach, each helpless roll of Sebastian’s hips feeling like a brand pushing into his skin.
If Kurt bites down while he’s running his nails along tanned abdomen, he earns himself a thready hiss and fingers tangled into his hair, pulling sweet aches into his scalp and neck that make him gasp against warm, flushed skin.
Faded denim is slung low on Sebastian’s hips, the arcs of his hipbones peeking just above the waistband. It’s the work of an instant to slither the leather strip of his belt out of the loops and discard it, two seconds to unbutton the top few buttons of his fly, and just under a minute for Kurt to hook his fingers around the waistband and pull down, leaving Sebastian completely naked.
Kurt wears loose trousers of cotton or linen for travel, Sebastian loose button fly jeans, and for the trip to the Netherlands neither one of them wore any kind of underwear whatsoever because they’re not idiots.
It’s almost too bad they’re going to be getting back to their tease and chase game when they’re done in Amsterdam. That thing in the tiny bathroom on the way here had been a surprising amount of fun.
Who knew Sebastian was so flexible?
“I was thinking we’d stay in tonight.” With a noisy slam, Sebastian shuts the drawer he just unloaded his suitcase into and turns around, leaning back against the tiny dresser. “Like, go get dinner but then come back here.”
Kurt stops in his tracks, still holding a neatly folded pair of trousers slung over a hanger, and his face creases into a frown. “Why? It’s not too late to go to the Rijksmuseum. Or we can go take a canal tour.”
“Jet lag?” The hopeful look on Sebastian’s face will always give him away when he’s scheming. It’s almost cute. Sad how fast Kurt picked up on that, but cute. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Barcelona to Amsterdam isn’t a long enough trip to be jet lagged.” Casting a knowing glance across the room, Kurt resumes his unpacking, actually multitasking – as he bends and stoops to pull things out of his bag, he’s stretching out the kinks that travel has knotted into his spine. Maybe yoga tomorrow, if he can locate a studio. He straightens up and frowns again. “And we took the train, anyway.”
When he bends down again, Sebastian slips up behind him and grabs his hips, snugging Kurt’s ass against the fly of his jeans. “We’re here for three days. You can’t give me one night?”
“I give you every night, Sebastian. And a good chunk of the days.” With a deft twist that makes his spine pop all the way up – ah, sweet relief - Kurt turns and stands, in the next instant pushing Sebastian up against the wall, running the tip of his finger along the mouth he so enjoys kissing. “What are you planning? Hm?”
“Me? Nothing.” But Sebastian has more than one tell, more than one look or gesture that Kurt has cataloged over these last weeks, and there’s the head-tilt and half-smirk that Kurt was waiting for. “What? Oh, come on. Don’t you trust me?”
Kurt scoffs. “Not in the least.” He lets his other hand drift south and tug at Sebastian’s belt, dipping his fingers just inside the waistband of Sebastian’s jeans to stroke at the lean, flat stretch of skin there. “So? Are you going to tell me, or…do I have to persuade it out of you?”
“Well, if there’s a choice…” Eyes darkening, Sebastian lets his head drop back against the wall as Kurt falls to his knees. “I…mm…I really like your…nnnh…methods of persuasion…”
Kurt does not get to spend enough time with Sebastian’s cock.
He doesn’t want to complain, exactly, because the reason he doesn’t get to give Sebastian head very often is because Sebastian likes to give him head. Likes to do it, and is good at it, so who is Kurt to discourage the display of such a remarkable talent and generosity?
Still, he’s getting in his licks – as it were – and things are becoming a lot more equitable. Instance now, for example, when Kurt’s stretched out flat on the hotel carpet, pillowing his cheek on the curve of Sebastian’s hipbone. Sebastian has a hand stroking through Kurt’s hair while he licks and mouths at the shaft of the cock he’s facing, paying it attention and tribute and teasing the everloving fuck out of Sebastian while he’s at it.
“Kurt,” Sebastian groans, and when Kurt flicks his gaze upward, he sees Sebastian pressing his lips together, tormented breaths inhaled sharply into his nose. “Please.”
“Please, what?” Kurt grips the straining erection lightly in his hand, running his thumb all around the head. “Hmm?”
“Please, you giant asshole, will you suck my fucking cock already?”
“Well.” Kurt nudges himself up a little so he can reach better. “Since you asked so nicely.”
“I thought this was illegal.” Kurt is fascinated by the deft movements of Sebastian’s fingers, how sure they seem as they move from the improvised tray made from tinfoil to sprinkle green flakes of marijuana into the thin sheet of cigarette paper held lightly in his other hand. Clearly, Sebastian is no stranger to the art of rolling a joint. Kurt wonders how long he’s been doing this. “It is, isn’t it?”
Sebastian’s concentration is keen as he eyes how much he’s got in the paper before adding a little more and beginning to carefully roll. “It was for tourists, for a while,” he murmurs absently, pressing his fingers along the forming tube. “That didn’t last long, caused more problems than it solved, just like it does back home.”
“Ah.” Kurt’s only tried pot once or twice, stuff supplied by Puck that made him cough and gave him a headache. It wasn’t his most favorite of experiences. “So this is why you wanted to stay in? Smoking up in a hotel in the red light district? Are you determined to turn our trip here into a complete cliché?”
“Oh, because I was the one talking about windmills and tulip fields earlier.” With a smooth lick of his long tongue, Sebastian seals the joint and twists one end of it, offering it to Kurt with a wry smile. “My cliché tonight, yours tomorrow. Deal?”
He doesn’t, of course, not immediately.
Kurt uses both hands to hold Sebastian’s hips pressed down hard to the floor, and he laughs at the stream of curses being rained down on his head while he continues his licking, teasing exploration. Sebastian is continually rendered helpless by Kurt’s fingernails etching fiery red lines into the delicate skin of his abdomen, toes curling with each electric shock of pleasure.
“This is…ugh…this is why I don’t let you…” He strains up hard, tries to align his cock and Kurt’s mouth in a vain effort to make the teasing stop.
Twisting his head away, Kurt kisses a playful trail from the head of Sebastian’s dick to the base, flicking his tongue out here, sucking a harder kiss there. “What’s why?”
“Your…Jesus fuck…” Every muscle in Sebastian’s body that Kurt can feel tenses when he sucks one of Sebastian’s testicles right into his mouth and begins to massage it with his tongue. “Your fucking sadistic streak.”
“…I hope this carpet is clean.” Kurt lets out a low laugh as they lay on the floor, heads touching and staring at the ceiling. “Oh my god, I’m going to have to shampoo twice tonight aren’t I?”
“This is something you actually care about right now? You’re terrible at being high.” Sebastian rolls his head to the side to meet Kurt’s laughing gaze, and lets out a laugh of his own. “Wow. That was only one joint and you’re already kind of baked. Eh. Well, I did get some pretty decent stuff. Organic.” He smirks. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”
“Organic marijuana.” The idea of it makes him laugh, like you can pick it up at Trader Joe’s next to the bananas and mangoes. Ooh, he’s hungry. “I want food, but I don’t wanna go back out.”
Sebastian shifts a shoulder up in a vague semblance of a shrug, still smiling. “Okay, whatever you want.”
He has an idea. “I want you to distract me from my growling, shrinking, starving stomach.” Kurt rolls over until he’s rolled right on top of a surprised Sebastian, straddling his hips and gracing him with a lazy smile. “Truth or dare?”
“What?” With another, more incredulous laugh, Sebastian lets Kurt catch his hands together over his head and pin them there. “You want to play a game? This is what you want?”
“Yeah!” Kurt’s nodding enthusiastically, ignoring how it makes his head swim a little. “Come on, truth or dare, play with me. It’ll be fun.”
Sebastian shakes his head. “I’m guessing I don’t have much choice in the matter?”
“You have two choices!” If he weren’t so busy holding Sebastian down, he’d pat himself on the back for that one. “Go on, pick.”
“Well…” When Sebastian heaves a sigh, clearly pretending to give the matter serious consideration, he shifts his hips up to let his cock grind against Kurt. It’s a blatant effort at distraction, and it doesn’t work. Kurt simply waits until Sebastian says, “Oh, all right. I think we both know there’s no dare I won’t take, so why don’t we skip the part where I’m arrested by Dutch policemen and I go for truth?”
Works for Kurt. Except for the part where he hasn’t thought of a question to ask. He actually was prepared to dare Sebastian to go streaking through the neighborhood.
Tilting his head back, Kurt racks his brain. There’s got to be something he wants to know, right? It seems like he should have a thousand questions, anything from ‘when did you lose your virginity’ to ‘what the fuck was up with that rock salt slushie?’
But in the end, what’s dredged up from the pot-fogged depths of his mind is, “Why haven’t you taken the bar?”
“Get back up here.”
Kurt glances up from where he’s mouthing at Sebastian’s balls, puzzled. “Hm?”
“C’mon, please, I want…” His fingers knead at Kurt’s scalp, pulling gently to try and guide him up. “Please, come up.”
“But I’m having fun.” With an exaggerated pout, Kurt lets the flat of his tongue drag from Sebastian’s balls to the tip of his cock, licking up sticky pre-come and sighing cool air over the damp skin in a way that makes the fingers in his hair knot even tighter.
“Babe, come on, you can keep doing that in a sec, just get your ass up here, Jesus Christ.” It all tumbles out of Sebastian’s mouth in a barely-coherent groan, accompanied by more insistent pulls. “Come on, Kurt, God.”
“Fine.” He crawls up Sebastian’s body until he’s bracing himself over him and staring down, rolling his hips down so his cock slips against Sebastian’s. “Here I am, what do you want?”
“Up.” Sebastian grabs him by the waist and rolls them both over and then up until they’re sitting again, tangled around each other and laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. “OK. Hold on.”
“Ugh, we were having fun, you interrupted a perfectly good blowjob…what are you doing?” Pushing a sweaty lock of hair out of his eyes, Kurt huffs indignantly to see Sebastian reaching for the tray and papers again. “More?”
“I want to show you something.” His fingers move through the now familiar dance of packing, squeezing, rolling, sealing and twisting. “I love doing this.”
With a wink, Sebastian lights up the joint and inhales deeply, sucking in as big a lungful of smoke as he can manage. He holds it for a long, long moment, eyes closed and lips sealed tightly shut. Then -
“This,” is all he croaks out on a thin whisper, a puff of grassy smoke all that escapes before he seals his mouth over Kurt’s and exhales.
Sebastian’s face shutters over. “No.”
Kurt pays him no attention. “No, wait, I actually do want to know that. That’s so bizarre, I mean you’ve spent the last eight years in college and law school but now you’re running around Europe like it’s no big deal that you’re not doing anything with your education. Why would you do that?” He finds the thought so puzzling, he hardly even notices when Sebastian pulls his hands free and rolls out from under him, picking up the marijuana and beginning to roll another joint. “What was the point?”
“I’m not answering this.” Even as Sebastian’s hands are sure and automatic in their movements, Kurt can see them shaking with the anger that mottles his cheeks a dark red. “Pick another question. Or hey, let’s fucking drop this game and go to bed, I’m tired all of a sudden.”
But Kurt, for better or worse, has been tempered by the constant roadblocks and rejections in his life, and he doesn’t back down so easily. Besides, now he’s really curious. “Mmm…no, now I want to know even more than I did five minutes ago.”
“Drop it.” Sebastian fires up the end of the new joint without even offering it to Kurt and takes a long hit.
“No.” Almost definitely a stupid decision at this point, but Kurt stands his ground.
Sebastian’s eyes narrow, a small muscle in his jaw twitching as he grinds his teeth. At last, he exhales a long puff of sweet smoke out of his mouth. “Quid pro quo,” he finally says.
“I’ll answer this, and then it’s your turn.”
Kurt gasps and sucks down the smoke being forced into his lungs by reflex, pulling away with eyes gone wide in surprise. Sebastian is only smiling his little enigmatic smile as he prepares to take another hit of his own, watching Kurt carefully. “Exhale,” he says in reminder just before he raises the joint to his lips and sucks more in.
By the time his lungs are empty, Sebastian’s exhaled his own hit and is pulling another in. “Again,” he breathes, reaching for Kurt.
Kurt is floating again after the third hit, all relaxed and boneless and happy. “K, lemme have you again,” he insists, taking the joint from Sebastian and putting it out before tipping his lover back over onto the carpet. “Wasn’t done.”
“Nah, wait, c’mere.” Sebastian sits up a little, enough to tug at Kurt’s legs. “Flip around.”
“I got busted my senior year at UPenn.” Sebastian has smoked almost the entire joint by himself; it’s down to its last drag when Kurt plucks it from his fingers. “The freshman I was selling the fake ID to…well.”
“Not a freshman?” The end of the joint is so tiny, Kurt narrowly misses burning his fingers and lips when he inhales. The smoke at the end is a little rough, and he doesn’t hold the hit for long before he coughs it out. When he can breathe again, he blinks tears away and focuses on Sebastian again. “Whoops?”
“No, I wouldn’t term a felony offense as ‘whoops’.” Leaning over, Sebastian takes the dead end back and stubs it into the ashtray. “More of an ‘oh fuck’.”
“But you got out of it, right?” What Kurt knows about law schools could fill an acorn on a good day, but he’s pretty sure none of them would look too kindly on that sort of thing, let alone an Ivy League school. And even high, he can manage to put two and two together: Sebastian graduated from Harvard, so he must have gotten out of it.
“Yeah, sure. And it only cost me the rest of my life.” Bitterness is thick in Sebastian’s voice, sharp like a swallow of Campari. “Dad to the rescue, of course. Pull a few strings with some friends and presto, charges all gone, record wiped clean, and I’m taking the LSAT before I really even know what’s going on.”
Kurt is going to have to do some serious skin care to make up for all the frowning he’s done just tonight. “I don’t understand. How did getting arrested get you sent to law school? And why are you here instead?”
“You don’t get it?” Sitting up straighter, Sebastian snorts and hangs his arms over his knees, idly rubbing his wrists like he’s wearing handcuffs that never got taken off. “That was Dad’s price for getting me off. Go to law school and then come work for him where he can keep me under his thumb. For the rest of my life.” He slips an ironic glare over at Kurt, and his smirk is the least playful Kurt’s seen it since this whole thing started. “But hey, if I don’t take the bar, I can’t be a lawyer, right?”
It’s so distracting, this position.
But, oh, God, Kurt does not want it to stop.
Every time he hits exactly the right sucking rhythm on Sebastian’s cock, it makes Sebastian groan, and the vibrations from that are like an extra massage on Kurt’s cock, which pulls a responding desperate moan from his mouth, and it’s a sort of infinite pleasure loop of sighs and sucking and vibrations and, oh, oh God it needs to never stop, ever.
It’s everything Kurt can do to concentrate on licks and sucks, on dragging the tip of his tongue along hot skin, on pulling his lips wetly up the thick shaft before he opens wide and dives back down to take as much of Sebastian into his mouth as he can. The buck and strain of Sebastian’s hips is growing increasingly insistent, each upward push saying as clearly as if he’d spoken the words aloud – so close, so close, so close.
And Sebastian’s mouth is almost mirroring the movements of Kurt’s, each stroke so closely duplicated that it leaves Kurt with the oddly hot impression of almost blowing himself. Damn, I’m good, he thinks, with an excusable touch of narcissistic pride – and then a gasp when Sebastian relaxes a little to let Kurt’s cock slide into the tight heat of his throat.
He goes nearly blind and deaf with the pleasure of it and almost misses the tiny click of the lube bottle’s cap being popped open.
“The big irony, of course, is that I ended up actually liking law school.”
Sebastian is lying on his back again, eyes fixed on the ceiling, long fingers drumming on his stomach as he speaks. “It turned out I was good at it. Go figure. All that learning, memorizing, hunting down precedents, and arguing - the Socratic method was basically made for me. Best three years of my life.” His eyes squeeze shut and his cheeks flush with anger again. “And I can’t do anything with it.”
Whatever Kurt was expecting when he’d asked his question, it hadn’t been this. His heart and stomach knot unpleasantly to see how unhappy this had made Sebastian, how he’s stirred up the murky waters of something so painful. “There must be something you can do,” he whispers softly, hopefully, wanting so much to fix his gaffe.
The confusion of why he cares so much is best left unexamined, really.
“The statute of limitations is out so he can’t have the charges reinstated And legally he can’t force me to work for him.” His voice is flat, affectless, as if he’s simply reading some dusty law text. “But personally? He can still ruin me, he can disown me, he can make my life a living hell if I don’t join the firm of his choice and then work my way up to the State Attorney’s office.
“I was in Paris to buy myself time to get out of it. My father and I are officially in a waiting game to see who blinks first. He won’t come after me, he’ll just wait for me to run out of money and go back home. And since I haven’t been able to muster up the balls to tell him to fuck off, that’s what’s going to happen.” He sighs, so long and heavy with defeat, and right then he looks like a memory Kurt holds of a teenage boy in a coffee shop, sitting in front of himself and Blaine and Santana and Brittany with none of his usual walls up, swallowing hard before he says It’s all fun and games…until it’s not.
Words are not enough, so Kurt crawls across the floor and straddles Sebastian again, hoping the apology in his eyes is clear as he strokes his thumbs across high cheekbones dusted with freckles, but just in case he adds, “I’m sorry,” in a sympathy-laced murmur before he dips down for a kiss thick with the promise of repentance and contrition.
Kurt knows he’s playing dirty when he flexes his fingers and scrapes his nails along Sebastian’s thighs, but goddamn, one of them has to come soon or they’re liable to set the hotel room on fire.
He’s flat out fucking himself down into Sebastian’s throat now, almost whimpering with the need for release. The pot has his sense of time fogged and dilated, he doesn’t know if they’ve been at this for hours or mere minutes, knows only the world of wet heat around his cock, of slick fingers relentlessly stroking inside of him, of -
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Kurt breathes, so close, so fucking close, he can’t concentrate any more on Sebastian. He has to pull his mouth away, leaves just his hand to pull and stroke at Sebastian’s cock as he throws his head back, his desperate panting gasps clouding the air. He wants to come, wants it so bad, needs it so bad, so close so close so please oh god close need it want it please let me oh god and then thank every deity he has never believed in, he’s there, gasps giving way to obscene shouts he doesn’t even try to muffle as Sebastian grips tight with his free hand and swallows it all down.
Dimly, Kurt realizes Sebastian’s coming too, feels the streaks of heat splashing and sticking on his neck and chest, and he smiles because yes, oh, yes.
It lasts for a blissful, electric eternity, the shocks and quakes rocking them until they slump apart, sprawled out on the floor, heavy sighs of breath the only sound in the room, the bustle and shouts of De Wallen filling the air outside of it. Kurt fumbles his hand around until he locates Sebastian’s leg and he drapes it there limply, the touch an anchor.
“Apology accepted,” comes the drowsy mumble from the vicinity of his feet.
When he departs Amsterdam, sadly alone, Kurt locates and sends a photo -
And when he lands, the only message waiting for him is -
Don’t think I’ve forgotten that it’s your turn in truth or dare.
The title of the story is from the song ‘Stripped’, originally by Depeche Mode but I prefer the Shiny Toy Guns cover.
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