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Waiting In The Dark

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“Come on, baby, you can take me better than that.” Sebastian growls in his ear, and Blaine’s forehead drops to the mattress.  He feels the strong flex of Sebastian’s fingers into his hips, almost enough to bruise if he kept them there long enough, and the hard pounding of Sebastian’s cock in and out and in again. Blaine forces out whimpers and moans, which Blaine is very accustomed to faking.


But not in front of Sebastian.


Sebastian knows how Blaine sounds when he’s blissed out and taking him willingly. He knows because Sebastian is the only one who can pull such pleasure from him to allow Blaine to let go of his inhibitions and just feel, not be afraid of how loud he is or what he says. Sebastian lets Blaine be Blaine, and Sebastian is well acquainted with maximizing Blaine’s experience.


So Sebastian knows when Blaine is bullshitting.


There’s an angry grunt above him, and Sebastian’s hand reaches around Blaine’s waist and wraps harshly around Blaine’s cock. Soft. Completely soft. Blaine releases a heavy breath into the sheets, readjusting his propped-up elbows against the springs of the mattress digging into his skin.


“What the fuck, Blaine?” Sebastian’s fist drags down his cock, at the last minute jerking his fingers at the underside and sending his pliant cock slapping up against his chest before flapping back down between his legs, lifeless. Blaine sighs, not able to look at Sebastian at the moment for the shame coursing through his veins. “Who do you think is fucking you here, Hugh Hefner?”


Blaine mutters out an apology, feeling tears burn his eyes, and he clenches them shut to prevent them from falling. His knees are starting to shake subtly, and he allows his torso to drop and his ass to rest on his ankles, Sebastian’s cock slipping out of him as he does so.


Things have been…strained to say the least between Blaine and Sebastian lately. It started when Blaine may or may not have accidentally called out Kurt’s name while he was taking a particularly brutal pounding from Sebastian, leading to an even more severe punishment. Afterwards Sebastian has cornered him about it, asking if that was the reason why Blaine had been so distant. Blaine reluctantly confirmed, and that only made Sebastian seem more upset, referring to Kurt as “that twink fashionista that’s been salivating all over” Blaine.


Blaine had struck back at that, literally, with a resounding smack across Sebastian’s face. Which Blaine paid for with enough smacks to his ass to last him until the next time Sebastian picked him up. Blaine had kept his mouth shut after that, but there was tension now that hadn’t been there previously. If one thing was clear, Sebastian liked his plaything. And he did not want to share it. But he also expected Blaine to comply with Sebastian’s wishes, as he had fully before Kurt came into the picture.


When Sebastian’s nails scrape dully down Blaine’s bare cheeks, Blaine shudders. But the blow to his ass catches him off guard, and Blaine squeals with it, the skin of his ass burning from the blaze of Sebastian’s hand. And Sebastian isn’t playing around. Not anymore. “Look, bitch, when I’m fucking you I expect you to take it.” Sebastian’s voice is cold, cold enough to chill Blaine’s bones and cause bumps to rise on his arms.


There’s a clear edge to Blaine’s voice when he responds, his head turned to the side to not muffle the words. “I was taking it, Sir. Nowhere in the fine print does it say I have to enjoy it.”


The second spank is much more expected, but Blaine still jolts forward with it, clenching his teeth. “You don’t speak to me like that, you little slut.” The words are biting, and not even in a playful way. Sebastian is mad at Blaine, which is just fine because Blaine is mad at him right back. “I bought you.” Sebastian spits out, gripping the flesh of Blaine’s ass cheek and plowing his fingernails into it with intensity, and now Blaine knows there will be bruises. “I bought you, you fucking whore, and you will respect me and do what I tell you.” He lets go of Blaine’s ass, but he can still feel the deep, half-moon indentations, all five of them, marking him.


Sebastian never talks about him like this unless they’re in a scene. Sebastian never makes him feel like he’s worth less than Sebastian. It’s one of the reasons he enjoyed being with him so much. When they were together, Blaine wasn’t a whore, he was just a person. Money aside, Blaine always willingly gave himself to Sebastian because when he looked at him, he was willed with an overwhelming amount of trust.


That’s why hearing Sebastian drill him like this has Blaine hurt, but also angry. Sebastian knows how much Blaine appreciates that he treats him well. Sebastian knows Blaine’s weaknesses, and he’d made himself incredibly vulnerable in front of him, and now Sebastian was throwing it all back in his face. He was using all of this against him, and Blaine hated him for it.


Blaine huffs out a breath and shoves himself upright onto his knees and turns himself to look behind at Sebastian, fixing him with a hard glare. “You may have bought me, but you will never own me, Bas. You can’t make me do anything. I’m not some fucking Ken doll.”


Sebastian’s hand lashes out, yanking Blaine’s head back by his hair, and Blaine’s breath gets caught in his throat. Sebastian is staring down at him with contempt, his eyes flicking down to the shifting of Blaine’s throat and then back up to his eyes. Blaine hears the sound before he can register what it is, but then a warm splash of saliva jets out of Sebastian’s mouth and splatters on Blaine’s face. Blaine’s head rears back in shock, taking in the fact that Sebastian just spat on him. “Get out of here.” Sebastian grits out, lurching Blaine’s head forward, his curls snagging on Sebastian’s fingers as he wrenches them out of Blaine’s hair and making him cry out momentarily in pain.


Blaine raises an arm to his face and uses it to wipe the cooling spit from his forehead, over his nose, and between his eyes, but then Sebastian’s broad hand is at the back of his neck and forcing his face down into the sheets with nothing but a cut off yelp from Blaine. The voice in his ear is unforgiving. “I’m not paying for some limp dick whore. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”


The hand is removed just as Blaine jerks his elbow back to injure, but Sebastian dodges the attempt. Blaine scrambles off the bed and snatches up his jeans, rummaging for the hundred dollar bill in his pocket and unfolding it before holding it up in front of Sebastian. Without further ceremony Blaine promptly rips the bill clean in half, crumpling each end and chucking them both in Sebastian’s face with spite.


Sebastian blinks as the projectiles bounce off his chest, not even phasing him that Blaine just ruined a perfectly good hundred dollar bill. Sebastian never cares about money. He’s got enough of it to never worry again. He’s got enough to buy a better prostitute. One that won’t talk back, one that will do exactly what he says. And suddenly, Blaine doesn’t even care.


“Go to hell, Sebastian.”


Blaine wrangles on his clothes in a dense, seething silence, and bursts out of the apartment without another word.


Blaine’s life has been a disaster since “The Kiss”, which literally has quotations in his head. He can’t stop thinking about the sensation of Kurt’s lips on his, the way his breath got heavy, the stroke of his perfect nose along Blaine’s cheek. Blaine had thought that everything would only go uphill after that. The kisses would become more frequent, sexting would naturally occur, phone sex more often initiated, and maybe, just maybe, Kurt would actually go to bed with him.


Well, that’s not exactly what has happened. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. Blaine hadn’t heard from Kurt since the kiss. Not once. Kurt hadn’t passed by his corner like he usually does from time to time, hadn’t called him to tell him about the stupid things Rachel had said, hadn’t even contacted him at all. And it scared Blaine.


Instead of the kiss making things better, things only got worse, and now Blaine doesn’t even know how to approach Kurt. The obvious answer was to go to his apartment. Blaine knew that. But the thing is Blaine knows that Kurt obviously doesn’t want to see him, and he’s terrified that if he pushes too far, he’ll fuck up their relationship forever. It’s clear that Kurt thought that the kiss had been a mistake and now he’s keeping his distance to piece his mind back together.


On the other hand it’s been weeks with no Kurt, and Blaine is starting to go off the handle. His street work has been royally fucked and he hasn’t been able to get it up for anyone, including Sebastian, and he’s pretty sure if he doesn’t get a hold on himself soon, then the way Sebastian treats him will be the least of his problems. Kurt will find him in that same alley where they met, and Blaine isn’t so sure that Kurt will take him in this time. Not with the way Kurt’s been ignoring him.


Blaine lets his foot dangle out the open window as he sits perched on the windowsill, his arm resting on his other leg that’s propped up on the ledge. His cigarette jostles in his hand as he taps the ashes out the window and takes another drag, trying his best to blow the smoke out into the outside world, along with his problems.


“What’s up, bro?”


Blaine starts, his leg nearly kicking out and knocking the ashtray in front of Blaine’s foot down the fire escape, and he clutches his heart. “Jesus christ, Sam.”


Sam shrugs, leaning against the opposite side of the window. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”


Blaine shakes his head, bringing the cigarette back up to his lips, but halting before he slips it inside. “No, it’s my fault. I’ve been on edge all day.” He lets the smoke billow into his mouth, holding it in for as long as he can, and then releasing it out the window.


“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Sam says, indicating to the ashtray that happens to have about half a dozen butts buried in the grey rubble. Blaine winces with a little embarrassment, but he takes another puff anyway. “Not to mention it’s not even eleven yet and you’ve already called it quits for the night.”


“Yeah, well I just wasn’t doing it for Sebastian tonight. Apparently he didn’t want a flaccid fuck. Turns him off a bit.” Blaine pulls his eyes from the dark sky and fixes them on Sam, where he spies curiosity and concern, two things that Sam is and expert at executing. “Have you ever had someone who came into your life out of nowhere and then just fucked everything up in every possible way?”


Sam’s lips quirk upwards at that, and Blaine already knows that Sam is perfectly aware who Blaine is referring. “Yeah, I’d probably say you.”


Blaine’s eyes narrow playfully. “You love me.”


“More than any sane, proven straight guy should.”


Blaine dips his head with a smile and quiet laugh, looking back up with a soft grin to his roommate. But the smile fades quickly as he opens his mouth once more to speak. “I just don’t know what to do, Sam. He won’t answer my calls, my texts, my facebook messages—anything. It’s like he’s forgotten I exist. Or he doesn’t care that still I do.”


“Or he just doesn’t know what to say.” Sam offers.


“He’s ignoring me, Sam. He isn’t even giving me one-word answers. He just isn’t answering, period. And I have no fucking clue how to fix it if he won’t talk to me.”


“Then go find him, Blaine. Drop by his apartment tomorrow night.”


“He won’t want to see me.” Blaine mumbles, putting his cigarette to his lips again.


Sam rolls his eyes. “That’s his problem. You’re both so goddamn stubborn, you’ll work it out.”


“I am not stubborn!” Blaine bursts out, accidentally exploding smoke into Sam’s face, causing him to cough and wave it toward the open window. When he’s recovered, Sam stares pointedly at him and Blaine stamps out his cigarette on the windowsill, tossing the stub out the window. “I’m not stubborn.” Blaine mutters, pouting just a little bit.


“For god’s sake, Blaine, go and get him.” Sam insists, his tone forceful as he points to the front door.


Blaine protests, “It’s eleven—!”


“Go!” Sam shouts, stabbing his finger towards the door again.


Blaine stumbles off the ledge of the window and slams it shut, grabbing his half-empty pack of cigarettes off the floor and shoving them in his pocket. “You’re so bossy.” Blaine says with a dirty smirk as he passes Sam, nudging his shoulder lightly as he goes.


“Keep the snake in its cage, Blaine.” Sam throws over his shoulder, and Blaine laughs as he shuts the door behind him.




Blaine spends the entire subway-then-walk over to Kurt’s apartment going over what he’s going to say to Kurt. By the time he walks through the doors, he still has no idea what he’s going to say. He even takes the stairs to buy him some time, but he still finds himself in front of Kurt’s door at a loss for words.


Taking a deep breath, he knocks lightly on the door and waits.


No answer.


He knocks again, a little louder, and calls out. “Kurt?”


Still nothing.


“Rachel? Are you in there?”




As a last ditch effort, Blaine tries the handle, and to his surprise, it’s unlocked. Blaine is hesitant, but he slides it open slowly, and slips inside.


Which Blaine quickly learns was a mistake.


“Uhn, fuck yes, give it to me.”


Blaine’s blood runs cold and he feels his body lock up. Moans and vulgarities come floating from Kurt’s section of the loft, and there’s a definite outline of two figures fucking behind the draped curtain, separating Kurt’s room from the rest of the space. A few candles lit in Kurt’s room cast shadows against the fabric, supplying quite a sharp image of Kurt on his back and another man above him, fucking into him hard and fast.


“God, harder, please.”


“I’ve got you baby, open up that ass for me.”


 The second voice is distinctly British, and yeah, that’s probably Adam—


“Jesus, Adam, so fucking big, fuck me with that huge cock.” Kurt groans beautifully, and he can see Kurt’s hand fly up to claw into the lithe shoulders above him.


Yeah, that’s Adam, then.


Blaine feels like he’s going to be sick. He can see Kurt’s head tilted up, his back arching, and if he’s not mistaken, the hard bob of his cock between them. The wet slapping of skin is deafening in Blaine’s ears.


And Blaine will never, ever get the sounds spilling from Kurt’s mouth out of his head.


Blaine runs. He’s not positive, but he thinks he slams the door shut behind him, and takes off down the stairs at a sprint. He collapses against the bricks of the building as soon as he’s out the doors, panting and gasping as he tries to catch his breath and clenching his eyes shut to try and get all of the chaos out of his head. The drawl of Kurt’s moans, the outline of him being taken on his bed, the same bed that Blaine had imagined doing those very things to Kurt on countless times before. The way Kurt had begged and pleaded for someone that was not Blaine.


His eyes fall open to the alleyway next to Kurt’s apartment building, and he feels a burning in his throat, almost like he might throw up—


No, he’s definitely going to throw up. He hurtles himself to the trashcan on the nearby corner and empties his stomach into it, his chest heaving with exertion after he’s finished and shoved himself off of the reeking metal receptacle. He spits onto the sidewalk and he walks.


Blaine is so stupid. Of course, Kurt doesn’t want to see him because he’s back with his ex. Back with his ex who isn’t out fucking all walks of life at ungodly hours in the morning, who doesn’t take money in exchange for his body, who isn’t a hooker. Blaine was stupid to even think that Kurt would ever want him. He’s stupid to even be upset about walking in on Kurt getting fucked by someone who isn’t him. Kurt wasn’t even his to begin with, so he has absolutely no right to be upset.


That doesn’t stop him from feeling his stomach start to churn again.


He walks until he finds a bar (admittedly not very far), and he enters without a second thought, throwing himself onto a stool, dropping his forehead onto the bar, and only looking up to ask for vodka shots, stat. He throws them back quickly, and his head is spinning in record time, and Blaine is flying.


He must call Sam after he’s already mentally gone, because some time later he’s got an arm around his shoulder and Sam is dragging his ass back home as he babbles about the night’s events and the finer aspects of matching his socks with his scarves. He promptly crashes onto his bed as soon as Sam guides him into his room.


In the morning, he doesn’t remember coming home, but he remembers Kurt. He remembers Adam. And that’s all it takes to have him curling up in a ball and crying until he can’t breathe, just until he passes out to do it all over again.