characters/pairings: Sebastian/Blaine, Hunter/Kitty

author's notes: prompt by wolfsbane-in-my-courvoisier: bicurious Sebastian. this is a scene of what will become a larger fic, i want to explore the relationship a lot more, but for now, enjoy! special thanks to Inwenalas for beta-reading :)


day 1: college

SO KISS ME


He cracks one eye open with great difficulty, the other noncompliant because half his face lies buried in–well, not his pillow in any case. He rubs a hand over his face and rolls onto his back, blinking up at a part of the ceiling he only familiarizes himself with on mornings he wakes up with a hangover. Luckily there's only a mild headache pounding at his temples now. Nothing a few aspirin won't fix.

He sits up, the rest of the room blissfully empty, Adam considerate enough to leave him a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand, a note added to it that reads 'in case you need it'. He swallows down two pills, wondering if Adam figured out what went on outside the door last night, or if he only heard him tumbling in as he plunked his head at the foot end of the bed.

What had happened last night? Adam had forced him to come out with him, fed up with him wallowing in his heartbreak or wounded pride or whatever else he was feeling, but left him to his own devices once they hit the bar. He'd had quite a few drinks before Blaine even joined him at the table, his usual flirty self, and by then Adam had already left because he needed to be semi-lucid for his early morning class. Blaine had listened to him talk about his life and his break-up with Santana for what must have been hours.

Everything after that was a bit of a blur, but Blaine had driven him home, helped him up the stairs all the way to his dorm room door. And right there, Blaine's hands still at his waist to keep him steady, he'd looked down into Blaine's eyes and found a moment of pinpoint clarity. He'd been curious for weeks now, what it would be like to kiss a guy, to have sex with a guy, and he can't deny Blaine had been the protagonist of many of those fantasies–Now that he was blissfully unattached again, where was the harm?

And Blaine knew, he must have, because their lips had met somewhere halfway in the space between them, Blaine's barely-there moan and his fingers digging into his hips now carved into his memory, the way Blaine tasted and the faint smell of raspberries, his lips moving full and greedy against his, tongue stroking into his mouth–

If he hadn't been absolutely wasted he would have his answer, but he'd had a lot to drink and his head was swimming and he's still not sure–was it a great kiss because he was drunk, or because he really was attracted to guys as well?

He likes the friendship he's been building with Blaine, one that didn't avoid conversations on a topic that had been preoccupying most of his headspace. What if he ruined that now?

One thing's clear: he needs to talk to Blaine.

Blaine shares an apartment with a friend somewhere off campus, an address he finds quickly thanks to Adam's astute organizational skills. If he ever plans on figuring anything out, about himself or any feelings he might harbor for Blaine, this is the only sensible thing to do. He's not the guy who runs away from these things or waits for them to blow over.

Twenty minutes later he's showered and dressed and standing in front of a dark oak door adorned with the number 26. He knocks without hesitation, because the longer he spends pondering this issue the harder it'll be to talk about it, and he owes Blaine an explanation for his behavior last night.

The door opens to a sight he won't soon forget, a guy wearing only a pair of slacks, brown hair sticking up every which way, green eyes narrowed on him as if he just woke up. Blaine could've warned him his roommate had the body of an Olympic swimmer.

He tears his eyes away from the guy's torso. "Is Blaine here?"

"Yeah, he's in his room."

A squeal sounds through the apartment, a distinctly female one, followed by a loud "Hunter!"

Blaine's roommate – Hunter – laughs and shakes his head, padding back into the apartment, taking little to no note of him. "Baby, it's a toaster," he hears Hunter say. "It won't bite you."

He ventures a few steps inside, hesitant to disturb Hunter and his lady friend once he catches them lip-locked in the kitchen. Hunter's girlfriend is tiny compared to him, a cute blonde only dressed in one of her boyfriend's shirts.

The apartment's bigger than he expected, the kitchen adjacent a large living room, two bedrooms on the far side, one of them with the door still closed. That must be Blaine's room.

Hunter's girlfriend giggles and he decides he's already taken enough time postponing the one thing he came here to do. He leaves the happy couple behind him and marches to Blaine's door, raising a hand.

"Don't bother knocking," Hunter calls. "He won't hear you."

He takes a deep breath and pushes through the door with no further doubt clawing at him, even though he's decidedly nervous now and it's not like him. But he reminds himself he's never kissed a guy before, and even if it had somehow all made sense yesterday, it's a post-hangover early morning mess right now; he doesn't know where he and Blaine stand.

The room is windowless, small compared to what he glimpsed of Hunter's room a few seconds ago, his double bed squeezed into a corner. Blaine's sitting cross-legged on his bed, textbooks laid out in a half circle around him, listening to his iPod.

Blaine looks up immediately, one of his earbuds falling out. "Sebastian."

"Your roommate let me in."

Blaine pulls out the other earbud and shrugs. "Hunter and Kitty get really loud," he explains.

"I see."

His eyes wander to the rest of the room, because now that he's here, in this space Blaine occupies on a daily basis, he remembers last night even more clearly, Blaine's thick curls between his fingers, the way Blaine had raised himself on his toes, their chests heaving together.

"I'm sorry about last night," he blurts out, scratching the back of his head. "I took advantage and–" He draws in a breath, ignoring the steady contradictory thump in his chest. "I crossed the line."

A silence falls he hadn't anticipated. He'd hoped Blaine would accept his apology as it came. Maybe it'd been stupid to think Blaine would forgive him for being a dumb drunk.

But Blaine huffs a laugh, eyes searching his face. "You're being serious," he says, and gets up from the bed.

"Of course." He blinks, surprised by the sudden turn of events. "I was drunk and depressed. You were there and I–"

"I'm glad I was," Blaine interrupts, and shrugs. "You did say you've been curious."

"Well, yeah," he breathes a laugh, "but that's not exactly what I had in mind."

In truth he has no idea what he had in mind, a date and a goodnight kiss, another dance at the club that turned into something more... But forcing his curiosity on Blaine because he was the only gay guy within reach was most definitely not on the list.

"I don't let people use me, Sebastian," Blaine says, a conviction in his voice that hides a painful truth. He'd already figured out someone hurt Blaine not too long ago. "I've done that and I'm never going to be that guy again."

Blaine takes a step closer, hazel eyes finding his. "You wanted to kiss me and I let you."

He searches Blaine's eyes for any signs of apprehension, but finds none. This is the side of Blaine he admires most of all, his confidence, his absolute conviction that he is who he's supposed to be and he doesn't care what other people think of him. He always thought that was one of his own stronger characteristics, but lately he's not so sure.

"It was a great kiss," Blaine adds, unable to stop himself from blushing. "And if that was only true for me, that's okay. I won't lose any sleep over it."

"No, I liked it," he rushes to say, burying his hands in his pockets, unease settling in his skin. "I just don't know if it was the alcohol or–" his voice trails off, uncertain of what to say next.

How can he explain that he took exactly what he wanted and still didn't get any answers?

He studies the rest of the room, the small desk cluttered with notebooks, pencil shavings and dirty mugs, a shelf on the wall lined with pictures and high school show choir trophies. A smile pulls at a corner of his mouth; of course Blaine was in show choir.

"Do you want to find out?" comes Blaine's unexpected question, echoing through the room as if he asks it over and over again, underlain with an uncertainty he choses to ignore–wouldn't this be taking advantage of Blaine all over again?

He swallows hard, but his heart beats with a resounding yes. He wants to try this again, find out if last night was a fluke or if his body will throb in all the right places, if this attraction he feels for Blaine stretches beyond the limits of his blood-alcohol content.

"Blaine–" he starts, but Blaine reaches forward for his hand and guides him to the bed, and before he knows what he's already agreed to they're both seated on the bed, their legs touching, Blaine's eyes bigger than he's ever seen them.

And Blaine doesn't ask again nor does he resist again, because next thing he's licking his lips and there's the gentle caress of Blaine's fingers curling around his neck, pulling him closer. Blaine's eyes dart between his eyes and his mouth, before he closes them and presses his lips to his. His lips tingle, a sensation he hadn't registered last night, and he breathes in deep, letting it all wash over him again, Blaine's scent and taste and the little sigh at the back of his throat he tries to hold back but fails to, Blaine's morning stubble grazing his skin.

It's nothing like last night, this time Blaine's the one in control, his fingers sliding down his neck, palm hot through his shirt once his hand settles on his chest, tongue a tentative tease to his lips. And that's all Blaine gives him, little teases of his tongue, his lips moving against his, but it's enough for his head to turn dizzy, for his muscles to string together until he loses sense of them, his skin now tingling all over.

He acts on instinct and raises his hands to Blaine's face, drawing him closer, licks into his mouth and moans, a slow burn settling at the base of his spine. Heat twists in his stomach and Blaine's hand now clasps at his shoulder, and he wants more. So much more.

He releases Blaine's lips to catch his breath, but as soon as he does another squeal booms through the apartment, followed by loud laughter and more screaming.

"God, they're impossible," Blaine exasperates, while the noise outside turns into moaning, and seconds later they hear a door slamming shut. He understands why Blaine chooses to block this out with music.

Blaine's hand falls away from his chest, leaving a cold spot. "You okay?" he asks.

He clears his throat. "Yeah. That was really–" what was that?

Blaine smiles. "Not just the alcohol then."

Only last night was nothing compared to this, it was merely a shadow of the feelings coursing through him right now, his body throbbing, heart pounding and a heat pooled deep in his stomach he recognizes all too well. He really likes kissing Blaine.

He wouldn't mind doing that again.

"Sebastian," Blaine starts carefully, tapping into his confusion, "let me help you. With whatever this is."

He licks his lips, his mouth gone dry.

"If you have questions or you want to–" Blaine ducks his head, blushing again, and if he didn't know Blaine better by now he'd call this his shy side. "–fool around."

He casts down his eyes, but can't help a small smile. "I can't ask you to do that."

"I'm offering," Blaine says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not looking for anything serious. And you're not exactly hard on the eyes."

He chuckles before meeting Blaine's eyes again, catching on his lips and there are few thoughts that veer from any future fantasies playing out between them.

"Let me help you," Blaine insists. "In your own time."

He nods. "Okay."


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