2011

He really does come here for the coffee. It's not exactly close to Dalton, but he's willing to sacrifice more than just mileage for passable espresso. The fact that there are other perks is merely a coincidence.

Like this one, for instance.

He watches for a few moments, not at all subtle and not at all trying to be. Gayface McTwinkletoes is far too absorbed in checking his watch every ten seconds to notice him.

Alone. What appears to be math homework and some cliché of a magazine stacked messily in front of him. His coffee cup has been shoved to the side, probably empty. He's been waiting here a long time – stood up, maybe? But that's probably wishful thinking.

Sebastian smiles.

"Hey there, Kurt. Where's your better half?"

There's very little in life that brings Sebastian greater pleasure than the unpleasant grimace that settles over Kurt's face at the sight of him.

"Jesus Christ, can't you stalk someone else for a change?"

Sebastian ignores that. It was a weak rejoinder, not worthy of acknowledgement.

"What, did he find something better to do with his afternoon than babysit his boyfriend?"

Kurt narrows his eyes.

"None of your business."

"Or maybe someone?"

There's a pang of something in the cavity of his chest at the image this conjures, but it's easy to ignore with the hilarious way Kurt puffs up with rage.

"God, I hope somebody calls pest control so we can be rid of you once and for all."

"I wouldn't talk if I were you, Squeaky McGee. Your sad attempt at a McQueen knockoff not only looks like it was constructed by a fleet of sewer rats from the fur of their dearly departed kin, but also does nothing to disguise the fact that, under all the glitter you spray into your hair and the light that flashes 'gay' whenever you open your mouth, you're nothing but a scared little mouse. Stuck here like everyone else, running on that exercise wheel of yours like you think you're getting somewhere."

He folds his arms across his chest and waits. Kurt opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. One hand is gripping the table with white-knuckled strength. It seems he's struck a nerve.

Checkmate.

"At least I'm not on the fast track to contracting syphilis before I'm old enough to vote."

Sebastian snorts. He smiles.

"Maybe I'll call Blaine myself and find out what's keeping him."

"Go ahead." Kurt smiles, icily, and leans back in a forced show of relaxation.

Sebastian pulls up Blaine's name on his contacts list and hits "call," fairly certain that it's going to go straight to voicemail, based on Kurt's reaction. No matter.

He softens a little when he hears Blaine's cheery, familiar message, not that he would ever let that show on his face. It's just so...Blaine.

"Hey, rock star. Just calling to see if you're up for a little pre-Christmas fun this weekend, courtesy of the Warblers. I'm having a little get-together at my place this Saturday night, karaoke and peppermint schnapps provided free of charge. Let me know. The guys are dying to see you."

This last is no exaggeration. They've put Blaine up on a pedestal so high he can't even be seen from the ground. Not that that stops Sebastian.

He hangs up.

"You're high if you think we're going to that party."

He smirks. He can't help it.

"I don't remember inviting you."

Kurt glares. Sebastian raises a perfectly sardonic eyebrow. A standstill. The tension is thick between them, and things are about to get good, but then they get even better.

"Kurt! I am so sorry I'm late. My dad decided he wanted to have an actual conversation, and my phone died, and you haven't been waiting here for long, have you?"

He says it all in an anxious rush, breathless and red-faced from the cold. There's something about him like this, bright and alive and ever-so-earnest, that draws Sebastian's eye like a moth to a flame.

Blaine still hasn't noticed him.

Kurt smiles, torn between ice-queen bitch mode and something slightly warmer.

"It's fine."

His eyes flick over to Sebastian. Blaine's gaze follows.

"I was keeping him company."

Blaine's expression does several interesting things at the sight of him. He lights up in that open, friendly way he has, like he can't help it, but he's also confused, and startled, and just picking up on that delicious tension. Mostly, though, he smiles.

His eyes are big this close, and beautiful as ever, burnished gold peeking up through dark, curling lashes. They sweep prettily down to brush his cheek as he blinks, girlish and lush in a sharp contrast to the masculine line of his jaw. His lips are slightly parted, and slightly wet.

There is no molecule in Sebastian's body right now that isn't sparked with the desire to fuck him.

Goddamn fucking twinkface Hummel.

"Sebastian, hi!"

"Hey, killer, fancy seeing you here. It's crazy, I actually just left you a message."

"Oh, yeah?"

"You should listen to it and call me. Tonight."

Blaine looks down and away, flustered and trying so hard not to show it.

"You were just leaving, weren't you?" cuts in Kurt, teeth gritted so hard it's a miracle the sounds make it through at all.

Sebastian smiles. He claps a hand on Blaine's shoulder. The breadth of it feels good beneath his palm.

"See ya, Blaine."

Blaine smiles, too, and waves his goodbye. Sebastian takes his cue and turns around. If he maybe goes a little slower than absolutely necessary, well. He doesn't want to spill his coffee.

"What were you guys talking about?" says Blaine, as he settles in his chair.

"Oh, nothing. He was just being his smarmy rodent self."

"Kurt."

"I don't understand why you don't just tell him to get out of our lives, Blaine."

Blaine lowers his voice, and Sebastian is out of hearing range by now anyway. It doesn't really matter anyway. He knows why Blaine is playing the game he is, drawing the boundary lines and pulling Sebastian right up to the edge.

This thing will be settled once and for all on Saturday night.