Title: There’s A Heartbeat In The Wire
Author: GlassParade (aka Glitterdammerung on Tumblr)
Beta: Tina (Idoltina on Tumblr)
Pairing: Sebastian Smythe and Kurt Hummel
Spoilers: None, future-fic.
Word Count: 2100+
Europe Is Our Playground ‘verse:
Paris | Prague | Copenhagen | Barcelona | Amsterdam | and so we travel onward…
Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating a quiet hotel room that overlooks the roiling sea.
A suitcase is touched by the light first, revealing it to still be mostly packed, the few articles of clothing removed from it draped carelessly across the chair on which it sits. As if its owner had lost interest in unpacking and wandered off.
The television in the room is on, but muted, speechless newscasters narrating video footage of the freak storm that has risen seemingly out of nowhere to engulf and isolate this small jut of land at the base of Spain. No storm like this had been seen in almost a decade, they had said earlier. All flights into and out of the tiny airport had been grounded indefinitely, the port closed to any ships that were fool enough to try to sail in.
A second streak of lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating a bottle of Rioja sitting uncorked and half-empty on the bedside table. A glass sits nearby, a tiny red puddle all that is left of the wine that had once filled it, as if whoever had poured it had been possessed of a deep need to drink.
On the same table, a platinum band threaded onto a silver chain sits piled next to an iPhone that is silent and dark. But to skim a thumb across its screen would reveal a single message left unread, as if its recipient had been too overwhelmed by the disappointment of the preceding messages to read this one before he set the phone down and opened the wine.
Message From Sebastian: I’m sorry, Kurt. I tried.
Alone in the large bed, Kurt Hummel sleeps as the storm of the decade, if not the century, batters the peninsula and rages around the hotel.
Even in dreams, his face is creased with a frown and darkened with disappointment.
Sebastian picks up the phone on the first ring, a little startled. “Hey.”
"Hey." Kurt’s voice is wide awake and playful on the other end of the line. “I couldn’t sleep either.”
“Mm. Too noisy outside?”
“Not really. I find wind and thunder to be soothing, actually.” A clink of glass on glass, a gentle sipping sound. “So, what are you wearing?”
It’s still dark out when wakefulness drags Kurt out of the uneasy depths of his restless sleep. He rubs gently at his eyes, grimacing at how gritty they feel. Clearly he hasn’t slept enough, and a check of the bedside clock confirms this, red numbers steadily proclaiming it to be 3:00 AM.
The other side of the bed is still empty, not that he expected anything different. Even if he hadn’t demanded that Sebastian not rent a car and drive in, even if Sebastian had done so anyway – and Kurt wouldn’t have been surprised in the least at that – he probably wouldn’t have gotten here yet. When they’d last spoken, Sebastian had still been racing to catch his freshly booked flight from Amsterdam into Madrid. And then from there he’d have to haul ass to grab his flight into Málaga, and then it was another almost two hours to drive from there to Gibraltar in good conditions.
Outside, the storm hasn’t really abated at all. He can still hear thunder booming threateningly, and good conditions seem like they could be days and days away. Kurt slips out from beneath the sheet that covers him and pads across the carpet to the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony.
When he steps outside into the downpour, he’s soaked to the skin in seconds.
Caught in the middle of taking a swallow of the beer he’d opened, Sebastian nearly chokes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Kurt’s voice drops, low and dark, an undercurrent of amusement rippling through it like water. “I’m asking what you have on, right now, at this moment.”
“Ah…” It’s not often that anyone can catch Sebastian off guard, but Kurt seems to have had a knack for it from the moment they met. And Sebastian has always, always felt like he’s playing catch up – he’s good at covering up his scrambling, but he knows it’s there. The good news is that these days, verbally sparring with Kurt Hummel is fun, and more than a little sexy. “Not a damn thing, as it happens, why do you ask?”
Like he doesn’t know where this is going.
“I think you can figure out why.”
Sebastian sets his beer aside and slumps down into the armchair he’s occupying, slinging a leg over one of its arms and reaching for his rapidly filling cock. “Well, then. Fair’s fair. What are you wearing?”
“Disappointing. I was hoping you’d ask me what I’m doing.”
The thing is – and this came as a surprise – Kurt is having trouble sleeping for the first time since this whole thing really started.
Two years plus he can’t sleep soundly for more than two hours at a stretch. Two years of waking up no matter what his doctor prescribes, no matter how expensive the white noise machine, no matter how perfect the temperature in any bedroom nor how comfortable the bed. Without Blaine, Kurt hadn’t been able to sleep.
In Copenhagen, he’d been startled to wake up after four hours. That was a record, one swiftly broken in Barcelona when he slept for six and then was able to get back down for two more after waking Sebastian up with a handjob and getting himself fucked back to sleep.
In Amsterdam, he’d gotten a full night’s sleep every night and their room had been facing De Wallen, he should have been up and complaining the entire time. Instead he’d slept like a baby. As if he were asleep next to Blaine.
But Sebastian isn’t Blaine. Far from. He’s cocksure and arrogant, frequently thoughtless and he snores. The annoying kind of snore that’s barely a snore, but you know it’s there, it’s always hovering just on the edges of your hearing.
And Kurt still sleeps through it. He can’t sleep when there’s silence, can’t sleep when there’s the occasional stranger in his bed, but next to Blaine and now next to Sebastian, he can sleep.
He’s been avoiding thinking about this, but now, wide awake and alone, he has nothing else to do but think about it. And he has no idea what to think of it.
A sigh rocks his body from top to toe, and he closes his eyes, tipping his head back up into the moonlight and rain. Cool water sluices down his face and body, runs chilled rivulets through his hair even as he runs his fingers through it. Kurt stands like this, hands knotted into his hair, face tilted to the dark clouds and veiled moon, until he’s freezing cold and still can’t follow the trail of his thoughts to a satisfactory conclusion.
Sebastian’s mouth has gone entirely dry, it’s an effort to get the words out. “Tell me.”
God, Kurt’s sexy, playful chuckle makes Sebastian want to pin him against a wall and fuck him senseless. “Well. I’ve got this five star bed all to myself…and it’s huge.” A hum of pleasure slips down the line, it sounds like he’s stretching – Sebastian pictures him, all arms and legs and teasing smile sprawled across a king size bed with nothing on and oh God - “Which,” Kurt goes on, sighing, “is a shame, since I booked this hotel specifically so I could have the choice to fuck you on either this amazing bed, or the balcony overlooking the Bay of Gibraltar.”
“The balcony?” Oh, Sebastian is hard as a goddamn rock by now. “You wanted -”
“I went out there earlier. Before I called you.” Kurt still hasn’t said what he’s doing, but Sebastian isn’t sure he needs to, he can hear the hitches in Kurt’s voice, lazy little catches and sighs, it’s easy to imagine him with a hand wrapped around that gorgeous cock, pulling in a rhythm Sebastian knows intimately and is echoing with his own hand, his own cock. “I was wet to the skin the second I got outside. I’m going to have to send my pajama pants down to the laundry tomorrow.”
The mundane detail doesn’t do a damn thing to distract Sebastian from the mental image of Kurt out in the storm, bathed in moonlight and pouring rain, his charcoal colored sleep pants soaked through and clinging to his perfect ass like a second skin, plastered down to his legs, outlining his cock. And there is no way Kurt doesn’t know what this is doing to Sebastian, no way he can miss the gutteral moan that growls out of Sebastian’s throat as he begins to stroke faster. “You’re an asshole, Kurt.”
“Really? Just for that?” Hand in hand with the amusement comes a new breathless quality to Kurt’s voice. “I can do better.”
Oh, sweet fucking Christ. “Tell me.”
“You’re on speakerphone, Sebastian. It’s the only way I could jerk off and fuck myself at the same time.”
When lightning whips across the sky again, it illuminates a trail of soaking wet pajama pants, boxer briefs, and several towels dropped carelessly on the floor. The ozone smell of the storm drifts into the room through the storm screens on the open windows to mingle with the sandalwood scent and steam that fills the air from Kurt’s shower.
Message From Kurt: It’s okay. Not your fault Mother Nature’s got a case of PMS that rivals Rachel Berry’s. Where are you?
Kurt himself is propped up against the headboard of the bed, phone in one hand as the fingers of the other idly toy with the silver chain he’s picked up from the bedside table. He’s not really expecting a response to his text message, it’s almost five in the morning now…but still, he hopes.
Message From Sebastian: I finally got to Málaga but can’t get a flight to you, and I was dumb enough to promise you I wouldn’t drive.
Message From Kurt: Excuse me if I didn’t want you skidding off the road and dying in a horrible car accident on a treacherous road during a storm.
Message From Sebastian: Oh, whatever, I’m a good driver.
Message From Sebastian: And I’m still going to make it up to you. Meet me here day after tomorrow, if you can get out?
Picture Message From Sebastian:
Message From Kurt: I’ll think about it.
Message From Kurt: I wasn’t expecting you to still be awake.
Message From Sebastian: I couldn’t sleep.
Breath catches and stills in Kurt’s lungs, and all he can do is blink owlishly at his phone, a tiny, silly smile beginning to tug at his lips.
And he has an idea.
It surprises Sebastian to find out he can come just to the sound of Kurt fucking himself, to just the groaning and soft whispered profanities slipping down the line. To the mental image of Kurt pushed up against a headboard, legs spread wide and knees pulled up so that he can push his long, graceful fingers up inside himself while he bites his lip and slips his hand along his hard cock.
He vows to actually be there watching the next time that happens.
Sebastian doesn’t even try to hold back his noisy groan when the familiar, welcome sound of Kurt’s orgasm tips him over the edge. The delicious ache as he arches his hips up and fucks his dick into the tight circle of his fist is his favorite sensation, right behind the feeling of coming down Kurt’s throat. Since he can’t have that, he falls into the sound of Kurt’s voice, of fuck, yes, fuck, wish it…wish it was you…
It takes all his strength to crawl out of the chair and fall into his bed, entirely deflated and boneless. 80 miles of rainy Mediterranean coastline away – so close, yet so far - Kurt’s breathing is ragged as he comes down; he sounds so wrung out that it’s easy to picture him grabbing a handful of tissues to clean up and then just rolling over, cocooned in his blankets. “Why, Kurt Hummel, I think you just used me for masturbation nap fodder.”
“Whatever, you like it when I use you,” is the snarky, drowsy reply.
Sebastian laughs and shakes his head, feeling sleepy himself. “Not denying it, just calling you out on it.”
“Mmph.” It sounds like Kurt is winding himself even more tightly into his blanket ball. Groping around, Sebastian drags the sheet over his legs and yawns, curling his arm up behind his head. Just as he’s wondering if Kurt’s actually dropped off - “Sebastian?”
“Don’t hang up.”
…but he was about to say the same thing.
Sebastian falls asleep to the sound of Kurt’s breathing, two hours and a violent storm away.
The title of the story comes from the song ‘Simple Joys’ by Beautiful Small Machines.