The Winter Palace in Murmansk, Russia was not quite as grand as the name would suggest; the pipes rattled as if shaken by invisible hands, the radiators, for all their noise, put out enough heat to barely warm the tips of fingers and toes, and complimentary breakfast did not exactly compliment the digestive system. But, Blaine decided as he dropped his single bag onto the creaky mattress and rubbed his aching hands together, he would be content with calling it home.

            Blaine let out a sleepy sigh, stretching his arms over his head, leaning for the bedside table and the oil lamp that rested on it, starting it up and glancing around the shadowy room.

            The furniture was worn oak and looked as if it had seen a hundred lifetimes, all scuffed edges and tired lines. The walls were a dark, paneled burgundy and were marred with spots and cigarette burns in the shape of eyes, and Blaine smiled a little at the thought of all the things these walls must have seen.

            On tired feet Blaine moved to the window and peered through the dingy glass; snow fell in heavy drifts, filtering the sunset over Murmansk, and Blaine took a few minutes just to watch the streets, as the bustle slowed to a crawl in preparation for night, observing his very own personal snowglobe. Eventually, night obscured the glass and Blaine drew the curtains, taking a step back before flopping bonelessly onto his bed, the smell of linen and soap puffing up to linger in his nose on impact. He had just let his eyes drift closed, the mattress beneath him not particularly soft but embracing every line of him all the same, when a gleeful pounding on his door jolted him upright.

            “Blaine! Come on you layabout, drinks are on me tonight!” Rory’s thick accent carried easily through the wood, accompanied by an overexcited whoop that had to belong to Cooper, and Blaine groaned softly, swinging his legs off the bed and striding to pull open the door.

            “When are the drinks not on you, Rory?” he asked the energetic Irishman by way of greeting, leaning against the doorframe with a fond smile. Rory winked and beckoned him down the hallway, tailing behind a humming Cooper, footfalls muffled on the thick carpeting. Blaine heaved out a relenting sigh and followed, knowing full well that every last one of his crewmen would be drunk before the moon had reached its peak in the sky.

            Sure enough, Mike, Artie, and Sam were already on their second round when Blaine reached the bar tucked into the furthest corner of the downstairs lobby, and the raucous cheers they emitted once they saw Blaine rattled the dingy chandelier above the front desk. Blaine had acquired a sort of fond acceptance of his crew and their drinking habits over the years, and had learned how to easily dodge Artie’s wheels when he careened out of control, figured out the most efficient way to carry a potentially violent Sam back to his bunk, and how to extricate himself from Mike, who developed an endearing yet overwhelming tendency to cling under the influence of alcohol. Of course, there was nothing to do but sit back and wait when Rory started bellowing Irish curses, Cooper jumped atop a table to burst into Shakespeare, or Joe recited increasingly manic Bible scriptures – Blaine had discovered that the hard way and ended up with one or two accidental boots to the face from dramatic gestures.

            Luckily for Blaine, Finn was the only other member of the crew who drank somewhat responsibly; Blaine stood only around 5’4, which meant he had an excellent view of Finn’s lower torso on a good day, and Blaine would hate to get in range of Finn’s drunken flailings. Blaine had been the one to help stem the flow of Artie’s bloody nose when Finn’s elbow had caught him unexpected on one of those uninhibited nights, and had no desire to be the next man in Artie’s position.

            Tonight, though, Finn was nursing just a single drink and watching the hooting men with a smile that was in the same family as rolling eyes. Blaine bypassed Sam, who was once again listing a hundred and one reasons why Joe’s dreadlocks were impractical, and pulled up a chair next to Finn, returning his friendly nod.

            “What do you think of Russia so far?” Finn asked, voice raised over the small din. Blaine shrugged, stirring ice in his glass.

            “It’s beautiful. The snow’s not exactly increasing visibility of it, though.” Finn laughed and nodded, resting his elbows on the table.

            “Yeah, no kidding.” They sat in a comfortable silence; Finn was not exactly a conversationalist, and Blaine rather liked just being around Finn’s quiet energy. It was calming, grounding, even.

            “What’s it like, growing backwards?” Finn asked suddenly, and Blaine stilled, fingers gripping his glass a little more snugly. Finn immediately flushed a ruddy maroon, throwing his hand down on the table in front of Blaine in supplication.

            “Oh god, that was so rude. I didn’t mean to overhear – I just heard you and Mike talking about it a while ago and – and I’ve been wanting to ask you ever since.” Finn looked properly horrified at his slip-of-tongue and Blaine hid a small smile behind his glass as he took a sip, shaking his head at Finn.

            “It’s fine. No harm in being curious.” Finn relaxed visibly, broad shoulders slumping in his battered leather jacket.

            Blaine contemplated for a few moments, watching the ice spin like a private galaxy inside his glass while Finn fidgeted, shuffling his feet under the table and eyeing Blaine warily.

            “It’s like… you know you’re younger, but no one else does,” Blaine supplied slowly. “Sometimes I feel trapped inside myself, like I landed in the wrong body by accident.” Finn looked enraptured and Blaine shrugged, smiling faintly. “I don’t really have a basis for comparison. It’s just… how I am.”

            “Weird,” Finn said delightedly, leaning back in his chair and staring at a point over Blaine’s head with distant eyes. “So… you’re young, then? Younger than all of us?”

            Blaine did a quick head count; in his mid-thirties, Mike was the oldest, and Cooper, at twenty-five, aged Blaine by only a couple of years.

            “I guess I am.”

            “Huh.” Finn scratched a hand over his hair before resting his chin in his palm, the very definition of intense thought. “It seems kind of sad if you think about it… watching everyone you love die before you do.”

            Finn’s words clunked heavy in Blaine’s stomach. He had never thought about it like that before, the simple fact that if he was growing younger, then ultimately those around him would age until decades and then death separated them. He thought about it then, the lines and the wrinkles fading from his face to appear on his crew’s, trading aches and pains for early mornings uninhibited by cracking joints while his friends became stooped and gray. He thought about funerals, and old bodies once young while he stood in life and youth. All at once, Blaine realized how awful a responsibility it was.

            He must have looked upset, or pained, because Finn backpedaled wildly, leaning in closer to Blaine with a panicked look in his eyes.

            “No, I mean, it works like that anyway, doesn’t it? Everyone dies eventually, no matter who’s there to see it. I mean, we’re meant to lose the people we love, aren’t we? If we didn’t, we wouldn’t really know how much they mean to us.”

            Blaine stared at Finn for a moment, seeing the sort of open earnestness on the older man’s face, and Blaine couldn’t decide whether to smile or cry.

            He settled for a hand on Finn’s and a gulp of gin, a half-smile and a “You sure can pick when to be profound, Hudson.”

            Finn snorted and nodded down at his glass, a little sheepish.

            “I can, can’t I?”

            Blaine left his crew at the bar once Sam broke a beer bottle on the handle of Artie’s wheelchair and uttered some vulgar war cry, content to let them sort it out themselves and mourn their hangovers when it came time to work the next morning, while Blaine enjoyed a long night’s sleep.

            Finn’s words rested heavy and pressing in Blaine’s mind as he called the elevator and tightened his coat against the draft floating through the hallway. It was not often that Finn shared his insight on the world, but when he did, it always left the cogs and wheels in Blaine’s head spinning like clockwork.

            Was that meant to be his fate? Enjoying the glow of youth while everyone he held dear was lost to the clutches of age? Something thick stuck in Blaine’s throat and he jammed the lift button with an angry finger, wishing only to fall into bed, wrap himself in a cocoon of safe, warm blankets, and do anything but think too long about life and death and watching his mother and Kurt die and everything else he was most afraid of.

            The lift finally arrived, clattering and banging as it came, and Blaine murmured his floor to the operator with a sigh, running a rough hand over his tired eyes.

            “Hold the elevator!” someone barked, and Blaine startled as the operator flung an arm out to catch the metal doors as they closed. A tall, elegantly dressed man ushered a thin-faced woman into the elevator, nodding curtly at the operator while his eyes skimmed over Blaine completely. Blaine retreated quietly to the back corner of the elevator, tucking his hands in his pockets, and found he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the tight-jawed stranger, who shrugged off his wife’s touch with a flash of his clear green eyes and stood tall and rigid, the top of his neatly combed auburn hair a good five or so inches above Blaine’s head.

            Blaine’s eyes traced over the man again, and then again, roaming seemingly of their own accord, taking in the broad set of his shoulders, the cut of his cheekbones that reminded Blaine fondly of Kurt – and Blaine supposed he should feet at least slightly bad for admiring this man so freely when Kurt was back in New Orleans waiting for his next letter, but Blaine had just a hum of alcohol in his veins and this man was… he was beautiful. Not in the way Kurt was, not really, Kurt was softer and sweeter, apples in his cheeks and cherries in his lips (at least, that was how Blaine remembered him – it had been nearly three years since he had last seen Kurt) whereas this stranger was hardened, all chiseled lines and pale color except for his eyes and hair, the expensive clothes he wore fitted and buttoned up just so. Blaine hardly registered what the woman at his side looked like, noticing only the beginning tendrils of gray in her hair and the inward set of her shoulders. Pale as the man was, he outcolored his wife by an entire spectrum.

            The jolt of the elevator snapped Blaine from his staring, just for a moment before the man guided his wife from the elevator and threw a hard glance over his shoulder. Their eyes locked and Blaine’s heart took up residence somewhere behind his Adam’s apple.

            “What are you looking at?” the man demanded bitterly, eyebrows lifting into a defiant arch, and Blaine shook his head quickly, dropping his gaze to his feet and thinking that if his heart could cause bruising, his throat would be black and blue in the morning.

            “Sebastian,” the woman said sharply, turning to stare pointedly at the back of Sebastian’s head (Sebastian, Se-bas-tian, Blaine wished he could sound it out and feel the syllables click against his teeth). The man – Sebastian ­­– huffed out an aggravated sigh, whirling stiffly and storming out of the elevator.

            Blaine watched him go, caught somewhere between astonishment and disbelief, and Sebastian twisted back for just one second to pierce Blaine with the darkest, most speculating look Blaine had ever received.

            Sebastian Smythe was, apparently, well known for those looks. The lord to some wealthy, worldwide company, Blaine learned that Sebastian and his hotheaded wife traveled the globe, staying in hotels such as these for lengthy amounts of time while managing business in the particular city. Mike seemed to know a lot about the Smythes, but if his condescending tone was any indication, he was not fond of them.

            “They work with my father sometimes,” Mike told Blaine over a cup of piping hot coffee to soothe his hangover the next morning. “Stuck up, arrogant bastards, all of them. Not exactly the kind of people you’d want to spend quality time with.”

            They had to get to work then, shoveling snow from the deck of A New Direction and shuddering against the icy blasts of wind that swept through the dawn at the harbor, and Blaine decided he would ask Mike more about the cold, hard-eyed man later.

            The funny thing was, Blaine seemed to have a habit of becoming trapped in the lift with Sebastian Smythe. He would catch the elevator right before the doors closed, scarves and coattails trailing behind him as he tried to make up for an accidental late morning, and Sebastian would be there, wearing a silk dressing gown that looked entirely too thin for the drafty hotel, heavy bags under his eyes, and a thin eyebrow that raised at the sight of Blaine. He would stumble in with a clinging, wasted Mike on his shoulder at three in the morning on the weekend and Sebastian would look up, let out a sigh through his nose and tap a polished shoe against the floor. He would shrink in the corner while Sebastian and his wife snarled at each other in clipped, hushed voices that were still too loud for the confined space, and Blaine would look pleadingly at the operator, silently begging for him to make the elevator go faster. Sebastian was everywhere, and Blaine both hated it and enjoyed the slight thrill that shot up from his toes at every chance encounter.

            Mike laughed at his peril and Blaine thought of different ways to trip Mike as a way to distract him from the arctic temperatures out on the water, and every day Blaine exchanged a cursory glance with Sebastian Smythe. They had never spoken, save for the “What are you looking at?” in the very beginning, and Blaine tried to keep his eyes to himself, but it was difficult when the cut of Sebastian’s button-ups gave him a very clear view of the smooth, creamy skin just below his throat. Sebastian… fascinated Blaine, at the very root of it. He pondered the man’s strange sleeping patterns, the perpetual angry scrunch of his brows, the hard set of his jawline. Sebastian Smythe was an enigma to Blaine, who could usually read people like an open book, and the simple fact that he couldn’t was slowly driving Blaine mad.

            Blaine worked hard, filling his day to the brim so he didn’t have to think about Sebastian and the distracting pink of his lips any more than strictly necessary. He fell into bed each night with limbs that screamed their discomfort and eyes that drifted shut immediately, sometimes before he could even remove his shoes, exhausted to the point of delirium by nightfall.

            He hadn’t written Kurt in nearly a month.

            It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but Blaine wasn’t sure what he would say. I’ve been spending what time I’m not working on the boat to stare at a stranger who looks at me like I’m something stuck to his shoe didn’t exactly have the best ring, though Kurt would surely laugh at his dilemma. If Blaine could pick one word to describe his situation, it would be floundering.

            There came a night where Blaine lay flat on his back on his bed, drowning in his own exhaustion but unable to close his eyes. He traced over every crack in the ceiling, flipped onto his stomach and hummed a sleepy tune into his pillow, walked fifty paces back and forth from his bed to the door, but the clock ticked resolutely past midnight and Blaine was no closer to sleeping than he was to finding a solution to his perpetually cold toes.

            Finally, he huffed out a long sigh and pushed himself up, groping for his glasses and robe, stuffing his chilly feet into slippers and moving towards the door with a soft groan. The hallways were quiet as he padded through them, almost as if Blaine was the only living soul in the entire building, and he shivered a little, clearing his throat just to break the eerie silence. A warm glow of light met his toes as he reached the staircase, cigarette smoke just barely reaching his nose, and Blaine had descended the first three steps before he realized that, sitting in the lobby with a cigarette to his lips, was none other then Sebastian Smythe.

            This was just getting ridiculous.

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” Blaine said quickly as Sebastian looked up, retracing his steps back up the stairs before Sebastian waved a long hang and said sharply, “It’s fine – it’s a hotel, isn’t it?” Blaine swallowed and shuffled down the remaining stairs, stepping onto the plush rug that adorned the hardwood floors of the lobby while Sebastian returned his attention to the piles of paperwork in his lap with a drag of his cigarette, barely sparing Blaine a second glance. Blaine toyed with the tie of his robe and eyed the bottle of vodka sitting on the coffee table by Sebastian’s knee as he made his way towards the tiny kitchen. He’d tried vodka before, and it usually didn’t taste very pleasant without something to wash it down.

            “Do you want anything?” Blaine blurted, catching the doorframe of the kitchen and leaning back towards Sebastian. He was met with an imperious eyebrow and the glow of embers at the end of the dwindling cigarette.

            “I mean, you’ve obviously got – ” Blaine gestured at the vodka, already regretting his loose tongue. “Just, I was going to make some tea, if you were interested…?”

            Sebastian exhaled a lazy cloud of smoke, pulling the corner of his lip just slightly between his teeth, and Blaine swore his heart forgot how to beat for a few seconds.

            “I’m fine, thank you.” Sebastian replied coolly, and Blaine ran through a list of ways he could possibly swallow his tongue as he nodded jerkily and ducked back into the kitchen.

            His cheeks were flaming as he fumbled with the stove and kettle, and he took a moment to bring the cool metal up to his face and let out a nervous breath. He didn’t understand why Sebastian had to get him so… flustered. He was just a man with an ego that could rent out at least five of these rooms, whose radar did not even save a blip for Blaine – in fact, Blaine was almost positive Sebastian didn’t even know his name –

            “It’s Blaine, isn’t it?” Blaine almost dropped the kettle full of water right on his feet. Sebastian watched him slam it down onto the stove with more force than necessary from where he leaned against the doorframe, something that looked closer to a smirk than a smile playing on his lips.

            “Yes,” Blaine said quickly, relieved that for once his tongue did not wag out of his control. Sebastian nodded slowly and ground his cigarette out on the edge of the counter, slender fingers flicking the butt carelessly to the corner of the room. “It’s – Sebastian…?”

            “Smythe, yes.” Sebastian tucked his hands into the pockets of his expensive slacks, cocking his hip as he shifted his weight against the doorframe. Blaine offered a hasty smile and returned his attention to the stove, grateful for the excuse to look away from Sebastian’s scrutinizing eyes, but his eyes strayed, tracing the breadth of Sebastian’s shoulders as the man reached up to the shelves, taking down two mugs and crooking an eyebrow.

            “Change your mind?” Blaine murmured, smiling faintly and jerking his chin at the mugs. Sebastian shrugged lazily and crossed the small space to fold his lanky frame into one of the chairs.

            “It’s chilly in here.”

            Blaine and his toes agreed whole-heartedly.

The whistling of the teakettle broke the straining silence and Blaine poured the water, plucking teabags from the basket by his elbow and dropping them in the mugs, turning to sit across from Sebastian. He slid the mug towards Sebastian, who accepted it with a small nod and cupped his hands around it, sighing in the steam. Blaine cleared his throat slightly and stared down at the table, wondering if he was supposed to start conversation or let the silence become a solid wall.

“Not the best accommodations here, I’ll have to admit.” He forged ahead, nodding at the shambly kitchen, and Sebastian allowed a tight smile as he tested the heat of his mug with his fingertips.

“After living here for thirteen months, I can’t say I’ve grown fond of it.”

Blaine gaped slightly and Sebastian smirked and brought the mug to his lips for a cautious sip. “Thirteen months?”

“Mm. Unfortunately. Business here has not been as… smooth as preferred.”

Blaine couldn’t imagine staying here that long - several weeks in and he was longing for the warmth of his own bed and the smell of Quinn’s perfume for the first time in years. The chill of this place settled in your bones, leaving them achy and brittle, and the emptiness stretched nights into eternities, and it was starting to take its toll on Blaine. Sebastian’s bitter smiles and sharp tongue seemed more and more understandable by the minute.

            “What do you do for a living?” Sebastian asked, tone politely interested, and Blaine suppressed a smile at the thought that this man was actually curious to know about Blaine’s life.

            “I’m a tugboat man,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve been out with the crew for a good few years now. I’m heading back home in about a month, I believe.”

            “Ah. Do you enjoy it? The freedom?”

            “I do.” Blaine tilted his head to the side, considering Sebastian, who cut his eyes back down and busied himself with his tea. “You don’t have freedom? Clearly you’re from a wealthy family, you can travel wherever you want…?”

            “It’s not that simple,” Sebastian said sharply, and Blaine pressed his lips together and scraped at a knot in the table with his thumbnail. “It’s… never mind. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

            “Try me.” Sebastian’s eyes flickered up, impossibly green in the dim light, and for the first time Blaine saw what was beating against those irises: loneliness. Sebastian felt as alone as Blaine did in the middle of the night, in a hotel whose walls were too thin to keep out the cold.

            “It’s never what I wanted,” Sebastian said lowly, tracing the lip of his mug with a finger. “None of this. Not the job, not the travelling, not the money… not the marriage…”

            Blaine shifted as Sebastian peeled back, layer by layer, breaking down the perfect wall he had so painstakingly built around himself, admitting things that, in the dead of night, did not seem as awful as they might in the light of day. A hotel kitchen can hold secrets as well as anything else, and Blaine felt as if it were closed off from the rest of the world, a tiny haven where class and lack of familiarity did not matter, and Blaine as watched the set of Sebastian’s shoulders relaxed, the lines around his eyes began to smooth, and when he let out a laugh at one of Blaine’s stories about his crew’s misadventures, it was so genuine that Blaine was almost afraid the moment would shatter to the ground like glass.  

“I just… I want to do something that means more than this,” Sebastian said, sighing a little. He was leaned back in his chair, ankle hooked at his knee, tea lukewarm and forgotten in the midst of the conversation. “I don’t want to go through every day pretending that this is what I wanted for myself. I’m so… exhausted with this mask I wear every moment.”

“I don’t see it now,” Blaine said softly, and Sebastian blinked at him, eyes just slightly heavy with the late hour, and Blaine watched the part of Sebastian’s lips, imagined leaning forward –

“It’s late,” Sebastian breathed, and unless Blaine was sorely mistaken, Sebastian’s eyes were currently burning a hole in Blaine’s mouth as well. Blaine swallowed tightly and nodded, shifting back and gathering his empty mug with a shaky hand. He could almost feel Sebastian’s eyes on him as he rinsed the mug in the leaky sink and he tried to reason with himself.

He’s married. To a woman.

We’re just making conversation.

I’m staring at him like he’s something to eat.

He’s staring back.

A woman!

Even if he wasn’t it would still be wrong.

Wouldn’t it?

“Why did you always watch me?” Sebastian asked, and his voice was low, sending a tremor running the length of Blaine’s spine. He gripped the edge of the sink, gathering himself before turning back to face Sebastian, now leaning against the table, arms folded across his chest. “Back in the elevator, you were always looking.”

Blaine was not exactly in control of his tongue whilst under pressure.

“I was noticing how lonely you look.”

Sebastian stared at him for several seconds that felt weightless, and if Blaine hadn’t known better, he would have said that Sebastian looked vulnerable. Blaine took in a trembling breath and lifted a shoulder, flushing a little.

“You look lonely,” he said softly, and there was a beat of absolute silence before Sebastian was crowding Blaine against the side of the sink, hands fisted in Blaine’s shirt before Sebastian crushed his lips to Blaine’s. Blaine jerked back, shocked, but Sebastian was working his lips open, kissing hot and desperate and nothing at all like how the prostitute back at the brothel all those years ago had kissed, and Blaine figured he should be panicking, throwing Sebastian off him in disgust and horror, but the simple fact was, Sebastian was very adamant and very, very male, and it was all Blaine could do not to moan and melt into a puddle right then and there.

Sebastian’s hand raked up Blaine’s chest to grip the back of his neck, twisting into Blaine’s hair, and Blaine couldn’t help but whimper as Sebastian darted his tongue across the seam of Blaine’s lips, and Blaine could taste Sebastian, hot in his mouth and heavy in his breath and he scrambled at Sebastian’s shoulders, trying to drag him closer.

Sebastian huffed out a muffled “god” against the corner of Blaine’s mouth, allowing Blaine half a second to draw breath before they were kissing again, clacking teeth and open mouths, completely uninhibited and messy until Blaine’s brain caught up with his tongue and he pulled back with a wet noise that sent a thrill all the way down through his toes. Sebastian’s hair was fallen over his forehead, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red, eyes half-lidded and closer to starving than hungry, and Blaine pressed an open hand to his chest, feeling Sebastian’s heart pound heavily in his palm.

“You’re married,”  Blaine whispered breathlessly, feeling every line of Sebastian against every line of him and wanting nothing more than to bring Sebastian’s mouth back to his, but god, Sebastian was married and this was wrong –

“It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” Sebastian said easily, a dark smile spreading like a stain across his lips, and Blaine faltered, but the edge of the sink was digging into his spine and it was starting to hurt.

“I – I guess –” Blaine was usually so good with words, sure of himself and level-headed under pressure, but every ounce of that was balanced on the tip of Sebastian’s finger. Blaine tried to level himself, think of how reckless this was, think of what Kurt, with his big eyes and innocent smile, would think of him now, but Sebastian was inching closer, mouthing teasingly at the length of Blaine’s neck, and Blaine’s brain was beginning to white out again.

“It is late,” he gasped, dipping his head back to give Sebastian better access to his neck anyway, and Sebastian hummed noncommittally against the bump of his collarbone before straightening back up, looking dejectedly in agreement.

“That it is,” he whispered, sliding his hand down Blaine’s arm and stepping back, relieving the pressure on Blaine’s spine and letting his eyes wander down Blaine’s body with a sly smile. “Sleep tight, Blaine. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

And, with a blinding grin, Sebastian left Blaine standing there in the kitchen with knees like jelly and lips still swollen, shocked to find his pajama pants too tight across his front and wondering if it was all just a colorful dream.

            But the next night, when Blaine ignored the twisting feeling in his stomach and ventured downstairs, Sebastian was there, wearing his dressing gown and an inviting smile, and Blaine sat gingerly on the couch next to him, looking for any sign that Sebastian regretted the previous night and finding none. Their shoulders brushed and Sebastian complained about the paperwork he was doing in an amused, friendly way, and Blaine smiled and nodded along, feeling content and warm not the slightest bit tired. He agreed without second thought when Sebastian suggested they meet again the following midnight.

            They drank the cheap wine from the kitchen on the third night, and Blaine watched in giddy amusement as Sebastian shuffled across the dusty carpet, humming a half-familiar tune and twirling with the wine bottle still clutched in his hand.

            “You have a nice voice,” Blaine called softly, and Sebastian snorted, so completely undignified and relaxed that Blaine almost wiggled his toes in delight.

            “Mmm, if only it were good for something,” he sighed, rounding the coffee table and clunking the wine down, smiling slyly before promptly straddling Blaine’s waist, one hand smoothing up Blaine’s chest.

            “It – it could be. Someday.” Blaine inhaled sharply, tripping over his words again, and Sebastian leaned over him, resting his forearms on the back of the couch.

            “Do I make you nervous?” Sebastian whispered, bumping his forehead against Blaine’s. Blaine stammered out something that could have been a “no” but was more than likely not English, and Sebastian grinned, all teeth and arching eyebrows.

            “Clearly.”

            “I just… I barely know you,” Blaine admitted in a whisper, resting his hands almost unconsciously on Sebastian’s waist, and Sebastian frowned a little, cocking his head to the side. “And… you’re married.”

            “And I said I didn’t care,” Sebastian said lowly, shifting back on his thighs and meeting Blaine’s eyes seriously. “All I need to know that when I’m with you, I feel something other than hatred for this fucking façade I put up every day. I don’t care that it’s only been a few days. I don’t care that you’re older. I don’t care.”

            Blaine sucked in a sharp breath, thumbs rubbing anxiously into Sebastian’s hips, felt the air in his lungs tremble as the rest of him did.

            “Being here with you…” Sebastian shifted in Blaine’s lap, squeezing a hand at Blaine’s shoulder. “I feel happy. It’s freeing. You are freeing.”

            Blaine smiled tremulously, tracing the embroidery of Sebastian’s dressing gown with his fingertip. “That’s all I want,” he murmured. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, is to make people happy.”

            Sebastian’s fingers found Blaine’s chin and Blaine looked up and saw the world in Sebastian’s eyes before they were kissing, needy and wanting and shaking for each other.

            “Dance with me,” Sebastian whispered, and Blaine did.

            “Are you alright, Blaine?”

            Blaine jerked up, nearly stumbling right into Mike, who steadied and appraised him with a stub of a cigarette in his teeth, eyebrows raised.

            “What?”
            “You’ve been almost falling asleep on the job for days now. You alright?”

            Blaine felt himself flushing pink, and hoped Mike would blame it on the cold. “I’m fine. Definitely fine. Just… the beds make sleeping difficult sometimes.” The fib was easy; the beds really were a tragedy.

            “Mm. Alright, then.” Mike nodded at Blaine and turned away, flicking his cigarette over the rail Blaine rested his weight against. Blaine gazed out at the water and sucked in a breath, blinking through the cotton in his head.

            He had been crawling into bed at nearly four in the morning every night for the past week, limbs light and floaty and his head spinning miles away from his body after hours spent with Sebastian. They met every night when the chandeliers were low and the cold was stronger than the fortress of a blanket, but they kept each other warm.

            Sebastian smoked sometimes, a long arm draped over the back of the sofa and a curl of smoke on his lips, a touch of ash on his teeth when they kissed. Blaine spread creased hands over Sebastian’s and guided his fingers above the keys of the piano, not touching, silent so they kept the hotel sleeping, but Blaine could hear the melody anyway, when Sebastian smiled up at him.

They talked endlessly, about everything from life to death, marriage and loneliness, dreams and fears that kept them lying awake at night. Blaine had never felt more connected to a person before, not even to Mike or Kurt. Sebastian seemed to understand him, didn’t blink an eye when Blaine admitted his condition in a small, trembling voice, and he told Blaine his own secrets, matter-of-fact and blunt in the privacy of the tiny kitchen.

Sometimes they ventured out, clicking the deadbolt open and crunching through the snow, naming the stars and trying to make shapes and rings with their icy breath, finally giving up and kissing long and unafraid in the sleeping streets.

            They kissed everywhere. Draped across the sofa in the lobby, Sebastian slotted long and lean between Blaine’s thighs; the kitchen, pressed up against cabinets and pans with the taste of herbal tea still on their lips. They kissed on the stairs, the hallways, against the wall by Blaine’s room, and Blaine couldn’t believe what a pair of lips on his own could do to him, how it could shake him loose and stammering with clumsy fingers and the inability to speak. When he wasn’t kissing Sebastian and was instead on the freezing deck of A New Direction, he thought about kissing Sebastian, the small noises in the back of his throat, the way his hands grasped at Blaine like he was special, like he was normal, like he was wanted, and a nervous, heated thrum would start up low in his stomach and the hours seemed to drag triple until night fell and the hotel became their own again.

            As of late, Sebastian’s hands were wandering, lower and wider, searching and teasing and asking but Blaine always evaded them, distracted Sebastian with a sucking bite to his lower lip or a tug on his hair. He wanted, God, he wanted, but he was afraid. Afraid of not being good enough, desirable enough, young enough; Blaine feared being a toy with not enough uses and too short a time to discover them all.

            But the first time Blaine worked up the courage to touch himself, locked in his room while Mike and Sam drank downstairs and Rory snapped at Cooper about his awful impersonation of an Irish accent, the sheets were twisted around his knees and the sweat was hot on his brow, and Blaine thought of a different set of hands and he was no longer afraid.    

            It started with a key, snagged from its hook behind the front desk. It was small, bronze, marked with a number only glanced at before they were ascending stairs and shuffling down hallways, hands under shirts and mouths exploring necks and shoulders, ears and collarbones in hurried sweeps before crashing back together, wet and desperate.

More accurately, Blaine knew the key was not actually the start of it all (he thought it might have begun with too-tight pants and heat against thighs and a whisper of I want you and the groan of please, yes before scrambling off the couch), but Sebastian’s hands were gripping his ass and squeezing, and Blaine’s fist was so tightly clenched around the key that its teeth were biting sharply into his palm, and his mind was very, very preoccupied.

“No, it’s back a few,” Sebastian gasped, laughing in a huff against Blaine’s neck and nudging Blaine backwards before promptly reattaching his lips to Blaine’s pulse.

“This one? Ah, got it – god, Seb -” Blaine bit back an embarrassingly loud moan as Sebastian backed him against the door matching the key number and rolled his hips in, grinding against Blaine through their thin pajama pants, and Blaine swore he saw stars.

This was entirely new, the grinding, less so the desperate ache in his groin, and Blaine’s brain was still trying to catch up to his dick, but so far, he wasn’t minding Sebastian’s hands below the waistband of his pants, or the taller man’s lips and teeth at his neck. Hell might have a special seat saved for the both of them, but Blaine was enjoying the ride there rather a lot.

Sebastian palmed the key from Blaine’s trembling fingers and fumbled behind him, breath hot and heavy against Blaine’s shoulder, and Blaine took the moment to sag back against the wall, sucking in deep gulps of air. Every inch of him was tingling, tense and coiled with the chemistry humming between the pair of them. Finally, Sebastian got the door unlocked and shouldered his way in, tugging Blaine after him and taking a brief pause to slam and lock the door behind them. In a heartbeat they were kissing again, Sebastian’s fingers yanking at the buttons of Blaine’s pajama shirt, Blaine’s hands hesitantly sliding down the small of Sebastian’s back to rest on his ass. Sebastian hummed his approval into Blaine’s mouth, tongue twisting filthily as he pressed backwards into Blaine’s hands.

The darkness jumped back to the corners of the room as Sebastian flicked on the lamp, dropping back onto the bed and grinning up at Blaine, eyes dark and hungry.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, drawing Blaine close, and Blaine pulled up a shaky smile and straddled Sebastian’s waist, hands grasping at his shoulders as they both settled flat onto the bed. Sebastian surged up again, the kiss open and messy before it even started, and Blaine let out a tiny whimper as he ground down into Sebastian’s lap, pants tented too tight and heat throbbing through his whole body. Sebastian gasped harshly, grabbing Blaine’s waist and rolling, hitching Blaine’s leg around his hip and thrusting his tongue into Blaine’s mouth. Blaine noticed dimly, squinting through the heat pressing against his eyelids, that Sebastian’s shirt was already gone, and Blaine raked his palm down Sebastian’s toned chest, sighing breathily at the way Sebastian shuddered under his touch.

“Can I –?” Sebastian slid the arms of Blaine’s shirt off his shoulder, a questioning eyebrow raised, and Blaine nodded readily, helping Sebastian toss the shirt to the side and moaning when Sebastian leaned down to kiss wetly across Blaine’s chest. Their bodies rocked together, every tilt of their hips catching like sparks and sending bursts of pleasure up Blaine’s spine, settling heavy in the pit of his stomach, and he gasped for breath, throwing his head back against the pillow. Sebastian’s fingers hooked in the waistband of Blaine’s pants, and Blaine caught at his hand, a moment of brief panic seizing his limbs.

“I’ve – I’ve never –” Sebastian’s eyes blazed in the dim light and he ran his hands slowly up Blaine’s ribs, whispering, “I know. Don’t worry.”

Blaine dropped his arm across his eyes and nodded, tilting his hips to let Sebastian tug his pants down around his thighs, feeling the rush of cold air hit his flaming skin and biting back a moan as Sebastian bent to suck a bruise into Blaine’s hip, tongue soothing the sharp pinch.

“God, you want it bad, don’t you?” Sebastian whispered, pushing himself off Blaine to wiggle out of his own pants, and Blaine nodded again, mute at the sight of Sebastian, bare and disheveled and hungry for him, practically whining for Sebastian to kiss him, touch him, anything. Sebastian surged forward to slam their lips together, rolling his hips hard into Blaine’s, skin sliding feverishly against bare skin, and oh, oh, fuck.

"Tell me that you want me," he growled in Blaine’s ear, breath hot and panting against Blaine’s neck, and Blaine grabbed a fistful of Sebastian’s hair, surprising even himself, and drug Sebastian’s lips back to his.

"Tell me," Sebastian ground out, and there was a desperate edge to his voice that Blaine was getting used to hearing. 

 "I want you," Blaine whispered, a breathy moan dragging through the last word, and Sebastian groaned, straddling Blaine’s thigh and yanking Blaine’s hips up. 

The first dry, rough touch to Blaine’s cock jolted him up off the bed, a harsh whine breaking high and long from his lips. Sebastian leaned forward, dragging a breathy kiss over Blaine’s lips before swiping his tongue over his hand and returning it to Blaine’s cock, fisting loosely and pumping upwards in a rough stroke, and Blaine thought he could actually hear his brain leaking out his ears. It was too dry and filthy and nothing at all like Blaine had ever imagined this encounter going, but he wasn't very well going to ask Sebastian to stop, not when he was panting and whining and rolling his hips into Sebastian’s hand, needy to the point of desperate.

"Fuck," Sebastian gritted out, groaning through his teeth as Blaine writhed, no longer aware of whether or not the sounds stumbling from his lips were full words or not. "I need to... god, I need to fuck you. Okay?"

Overwhelmed and quickly losing the ability of brainpower, Blaine twisted his hands into the sheets and nodded, keening a little as Sebastian abruptly dropped his hold on Blaine’s cock, and Blaine wondered briefly if someone could actually die from this, from feeling so achingly hard and desperate that it was almost a taste on the back of his tongue, an atom bomb thrumming through his whole body, down to the tips of his curling toes.

Sebastian sat back on his heels, hair falling over his damp forehead, one hand pumping himself frantically, so utterly and devastatingly gorgeous and hungry that Blaine had to stifle a low moan in the back of his throat. His heart thundered in his chest, thrumming in his goddamn teeth, and he was terrified but ready, god, so ready to be held and filled and own and be owned by. For twenty two years Blaine had been searching, and if this is what he had been looking for all along, Blaine was damn well going to take it with a smile.

Or a moan, as Sebastian hooked a hand under Blaine’s thigh and flipped him with ease onto his stomach, tugging Blaine up onto his knees so he was open and exposed, and Blaine’s breath caught, suddenly so self conscious. He wasn't prime by any means, his body still so old for his mind and obviously so; lines creased him all over like a dog-eared book and his limbs shook slightly, unused to the sudden rush of blood south, but Sebastian pressed a hard, possessive kiss to the bottom of Blaine’s spine, fingers kneading at Blaine’s ass as he fumbled in the pocket of his dressing gown, and he mumbled, "fuck, perfect," and Blaine decided that for now he would believe him.

Blaine jolted as something cold and wet brushed against the crease of his ass and Sebastian petted a long hand up Blaine’s back, settling him, and Blaine slumped forward against his arms, panting hot in the space between his mouth and the bedsheets, groaning softly as Sebastian’s fingers, slippery with what Blaine assumed was lube (he was not, by any means, completely clueless, not with a crew of experienced boathands by his side every waking moment) worked their way inside him. Blaine bit down hard on his lip, pain flashing both up his spine and through his mouth as Sebastian pushed in harder, spreading two fingers wide and breathing heavily against the curve of Blaine’s back.

The sensation was foreign and terrifying, and crackles of pain shot through him whenever Sebastian shifted, but Blaine found himself rocking back, seeking out the blunt pressure as he throbbed, hard and aching and searching for friction on the sheets beneath him with a stream of nonsense on his lips. Sebastian moaned, long and unashamed, murmuring soft praises mixed with half-uttered curses as he worked Blaine open, fingers deft and quick while Blaine slowly but surely began to pull apart at the seams. His whole body pulsated with a current, breath shuddering too fast, and he gasped harshly when Sebastian pulled his fingers out, leaving him shuddering and stretched open. And then Sebastian was gripping his hips with bruising fingers and Sebastian was inside him, slick and warm and absolutely overwhelming, filling him up until Blaine thought he was going to brim over with it. He hissed against the pain, stifling a cry into the pillow as Sebastian settled, the sounds of his labored breath filling Blaine’s ears while his cock filled the rest of him, and Blaine couldn't think, could barely breathe, he was bursting, every nerve writhing with stimuli, his mind just a steady stream of fuck Sebastian fuck fuck. 

  "God, Blaine," Sebastian growled, and he rocked forward, causing Blaine to tighten up on instinct and Blaine wondered briefly whether or not their combined moans had rattled the ceiling. 

 "Fuck," Sebastian breathed, and his hips rolled again, starting up a rhythm that quickly increased until Blaine swore Sebastian’s hipbones were going to leave bruises against his ass in the morning. But he didn't care, loved it, even, the burn of dull pain giving way to absolute, mind-numbing pleasure. He relished every new angle that jolted up his spine and punched moans from his lips, memorized the hitch of Sebastian’s breath and the scrabble of his nails into Blaine’s back, the building wave of need and Sebastian and oh god taking hold of every limb and dragging him into weightlessness. He turned his head, cheek pressing hard against the mattress, stretching to see Sebastian, wanting to see his eyes blown dark and his mouth open and panting, because Blaine could do that to him. Blaine, who had never had much of an impact on anyone, was wanted and owned and capable of wrecking Sebastian Smythe until he cried out Blaine’s name. 

Come on," Blaine bit out, fingers clenched so tightly in the sheets his knuckles matched the fabric, and Sebastian let out a satisfied bark of laughter and reached around, gripping Blaine’s cock in a sure, flexing hand, and when Sebastian hissed Blaine’s name into his ear, tongue twisting around the word and making it filthy and raw like a curse, Blaine was done. He came with a long, splintering cry and a white heat that burst against his eyes and rocked his whole body, flooding him with an electric charge that surged down through his toes and left him limp and gasping against the bed while Sebastian thrust once, twice, and again before moaning and jerking inside him, body melting forward to spread across Blaine’s back, a tangle of sweaty, shaking limbs and his breath against the knob of Blaine’s spine. 

Blaine's hips slumped down, legs spreading to lay loose and quaking as the haze clouding his head slowly receded, lingering to buzz through his every vein. Sebastian pulled out wetly and they both winced, Blaine letting out a soft whine into the sheets as he clenched down on nothing. His skin felt three times its usual size and deflated, let down from the warm weight inside him and he tried to remember how to move as Sebastian chuckled lazily above him and dropped an open mouthed kiss on Blaine’s shoulder.

"This is a good look on you," he murmured, voice rough, and Blaine twisted his head to see him properly, see the swollen lips and mussed hair, and he smiled, reaching out to push the damp strands from Sebastian’s forehead.

I could say the same for you," he mumbled sleepily, eyelids drooping, but Sebastian ah-ah-ahed and forced Blaine up so they could strip the bed and clean off, dressing slowly and clumsily as the clock on the dresser ticked past three am. Blaine moved gingerly, every muscle he knew sore and the ones he didn't even more so, but the smile on his face seemed permanently fixed as he watched Sebastian dress, long and lean and even more gorgeous now that Blaine knew what he looked like completely exposed and undone.

Sebastian tied the string of his dressing gown in a careless knot and stepped forward, crowding Blaine against the door and kissing Blaine hot and slow, unconcerned with technique as his tongue licked lazily into Blaine’s mouth.

"Remember the room number," Sebastian hummed once Blaine’s lips were swollen and he had forgotten how to open his eyes, and Blaine nodded, reaching behind him to open the door with a fumbling hand.

They went their separate ways, each to a room that was cold and did not smell of each other, and Blaine lay there in the darkness, with every breath replaying the night in his mind until he drifted off to sleep, still feeling Sebastian’s fingers against his skin.