Poor, Pathetic Fool
Sometimes, people just have to learn there are things you don't do, lines you don't cross, and individuals you simply don't mess with.
Not if you want to keep your limbs and sanity intact.
Santana had been staring at Lady Lips for the first two hours of the day. There was something different about him.
Finally, come third period, she had had enough.
He was sauntering around the corner, in the general direction of his class, when she grabbed his arm and dragged him into the janitor's closet, before he could so much as protest.
"What do you think you're-?" he started to demand, anger and a teensy bit of fear coloring his high-pitched voice.
Santana rolled her eyes and flicked on the light. As soon as he recognized his assailant, Kurt's unwavering attitude returned, and he pointedly raised a brow.
Eyes scanning their location, he finally asked, voice sharply amused, "What is it, Santana? Are you finally looking for my help to come out of the closet?"
"Shut up, Rainbow," she snarked back, blocking his escape by leaning heavily against the door, arms crossed over her chest. "Now, spill."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Satan," he answered, cooly.
Pushing off from the door, the cheerio stalked closer, until her face was mere inches from his own.
It wasn't any enormous change, like that he had suddenly started wearing lumberjack clothes again. No, this was subtle. The way he held himself was more confident. He'd always acted that way, but now it seemed like even he believed it was warranted. His eyes and lips were both crinkled slightly at the edges, like there was a sweet, secret smile lurking there. And he finally seemed to have recognized his own hotness and the desire others might have for him, if the way he was refusing to back up from Santana was any measure.
Add all that to the tender kiss this morning with his over-gelled hobbit, and Santana came to the natural conclusion.
"You totally lost your v-card last night!"
"What?" The blush that spread over the boy's cheeks was cherry red against his pale skin. "N-no! I mean, that's just-! Why would you even-?" Finally, he sighed and dropped back against the wall. "How could you tell?"
She scoffed loudly. "Oh, come on, Porcelain. I'm the freaking queen of sex at this school, got it? If I can't see it, I'm doing something seriously wrong." Then she slinked closer, a feral smile lighting her lips."So, how was it?"
Kurt had both wanted to keep everything that had happened with Blaine to himself, something he could think of as sacred and special and just for the two of them, and he desperately wanted to gush to someone. But if it was Mercedes or Rachel, the news would be out in seconds. Brittany would nod sagely, then ask how long until they were going to have gay unicorn babies that she could adopt. Quinn was only just getting clear of her "skank" phase. The one who he had seriously considered mentioning it to was Tina, but everything with Mike and his father had been her greatest focus lately.
Santana had never even been a consideration. She was his friend, yes. They could rule the school, Lima and the universe together if they so chose, yes. But he did not want his first sexual experience with the boy he loved to be laughed at or undermined by the wicked tongue of the all-too-experienced Santana Lopez.
And now, here she was, the only one who had recognized the truth without any hints, demanding the dirty details.
As he considered exactly what she could say, an odd thought came to mind.
Sebastian is an awful lot like Santana.
So he decided to throw her a bone.
"Well, it started with Artie, who apparently told Blaine and Rachel they needed to not be virgins if they wanted to play Tony and Maria correctly. But what really changed things was when Blaine went to visit the Warblers, and there was this new guy, Sebastian Smythe…"
A few hours later, Sebastian Smythe, new Daltonite and Warbler, formerly of Paris, London, Rome and New York, whose family had been made rich in the fashion industry, sauntered out of his dorm building and headed in the direction of his lamborghini, ready to give this whole "seduce Blaine Anderson" thing another try.
He would never admit that the relationship Blaine and Kurt had seemed solid, real. That would get in the way of his plans, after all. He would never acknowledgement the jealousy that had flared, just a little, watching the two dance at Scandals, with how wrapped up they had been in one another. That kind of puppy love never lasted, right? And if he could teach them that, and get some great sex out of Blaine at the same time (maybe even be the one to pop the guy's cherry), why would he even consider slowing down?
Then he reached his car, and came to an abrupt halt.
Lounging casually on the hood of his vehicle was Kurt Hummel, and a girl he recognized as the one who played Anita at McKinley's production of West Side Story.
Only this time, the girl wore a short red skirt, along with a tight black halter and matching jacket, heels long and thin enough to commit manslaughter, and her hair was in loose curls all around her face.
Kurt's outfit was matching, with tight red skinny jeans that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, a black v-neck shirt that ended just before the waistband of his pants, a black leather jacket, and a pair of converse to accessorize.
Both wore the same pair of reflective sunglasses.
When he'd first seen Kurt, Sebastian had brushed him off. He was as far from Sebastian's type as it was possible to get. He preferred someone shorter, muscular, dark. Definitely not an over-dressed girly boy who probably spent hours on his skin and hair. That kind of guy always took way more work to get into their pants than it was worth. Now, he couldn't help rethinking his earlier assessment. Kurt had muscles, that was clear thanks to how the shirt seemed like a second skin. And the little flash of light hair snaking down over that strip of abdomen he could see made his mouth water.
All his plots and schemes had been aiming towards one thing: prying Blaine from the grip of his anal, diva boyfriend and into Sebastian's bed. Hell, a bathroom or the back seat of a car would do, for that matter.
In the blink of an eye, this was abandoned, in favor of the absurdly arousing fantasy of a threesome.
"Hey, Kurt," he grinned widely, his patented "I want to take off your pants and make you moan" grin firmly in place.
He was more than a little shocked when, for the second time in a week, that unfailing grin was ignored. Instead, Kurt continued to lounge, lips tight, then slowly turned to the girl.
"You know, Santana, he really reminds me of you more and more every time I meet him."
Sebastian blinked, eyes flashing to the chick.
She raised her sunglasses, giving Sebastian a thorough head-to-toe scan and licked her lips. "Mmm, just my type. Too bad he's gay as the fourth of July."
Their simultaneous laughs caused a wary chill to creep up the Warbler's spine, and he shifted uncomfortably.
"Oh, now look at that, Satan," Kurt pouted prettily. "You made him scared."
"What? I am not-"
Santana cut him off like he hadn't even spoken. "Well, I did learn how to spread fear like the plague it can be from the very best."
Nodding sagely, Kurt whipped off his own glasses, stretched a bit, making his shirt ride higher over a pack of well-defined abs, and yawned. "I think we've done almost everything we came here to do. Would you like to take it from here?"
The girl's grin was all teeth, and if she looked any more like a predator, Sebastian would have expected her to unsheathe a set of razor sharp claws and leap for his throat.
He gulped, without thinking, and took a large step back, fight-or-flight finally kicking in as the two slid off the car's hood and sashayed towards him, two pairs of hips swaying sexily in unison.
Then Santana was right in his face, and he was caught in her glare, unable to so much as move, like a deer frozen in the headlights.
"Listen up, you pathetic little prick, Blaine is Kurt's man. They're together, in every way, and you are not going to so much as flirt in his direction again, or the two of us will back to rip out your intestines and see how much distance they really cover, you got that? You're nothing but some jackass preppy boy, whose desperately trying to find happiness in every willing body you can trick into bed with you. Well guess what, none of them is going to make that gross feeling in your stomach that says you're not worth anyone's time or the actual effort it takes to be in a relationship, go away. You'll still be a self-loathing piece of shit who is so convinced there's no such thing as love that you spend the rest of your miserable existence sexing your way through everyone, until you're so old and ugly you'll have to pay to get what you want, and then die alone. Got it?
"And I am not gonna to watch you even attempt to screw up what my favorite pair of gays have, 'cause while it may make me vomit a little from how effing sweet they are together, I also can't help wishing for something like that." She stopped in her furious snarling to take a deep breath, and when she continued, voice cold and calm, Sebastian had never been more terrified in his life. "Anyway, the basics is this: You can still be friends with Eyebrows, but you do anything, and I do mean anything, to try to get him to do anything as simple as dance with you, I will be back. And Kurt and me, we've got plans that involved ruling the world. If you'd like to be alive, and in possession of your limbs and wits when that happens, you'll back off Blaine right the hell now, or we'll eat your eyes and liver with barbecue sauce, then throw the rest of you in the tiger pit of the nearest zoo."
Pulling back, she turned to Kurt. "Anything else you can think of?"
"Oh, not much," he hummed easily. "Just that if you touch Blaine the way you did in that club, or ever again refer to him, to his face, as and I quote "sex on a stick", I do know where you live, and our Coach trained us based on her time with the Green Berets. Unless you want a bowie knife somewhere painful, you'll leave it alone." Then the sunglasses slid back on, and the two turned, linking pinkies, and strode away, their asses causing several passerbys to stop and stare.
As for Sebastion Smythe, he sank onto the concrete of the parking lot, shaking and unable to process, let alone walk.
It was two full hours before a friend came outside and noticed the huddled wreck that had once been the most confident and flirtatious boy on campus.
That weekend, for no reason that Blaine could understand, Kurt insisted they invite Brittany and Santana out on a doubledate. And if afterwords the boys used the excuse that Kurt was sleeping over at Brittany's to cover up the fact that they were actually planning to spend the weekend in Blaine's bed… well, that was just good planning, now wasn't it?