Part One of Three: February 2015

Sitting outside the dressing room, Sebastian congratulated himself on hatching the genius plan of the century.  He'd been angling to get his best friend, Blaine, into bed for … God, it had literally been years. He'd never worked this hard for a lay in his life, but elusive young Mr. Anderson-Berry was more than just a piece of fine ass to him.  Blaine was a challenge, a puzzle to be solved.  And last night, he'd finally lit on the solution.  

Sebastian was sure that he could give Blaine more in every department than Kurt Hummel could, but Blaine had carried a torch for that prissy, uptight gay-face since he was a little kid.  Blaine idealized Hummel to such an extent that Sebastian was sure no guy, not even St. Kurt himself, could live up to the hype Blaine had created in his mind.  As long as Kurt remained afantasy, he would remain perfect and ideal.  So Sebastian was working a long game.  He'd help Blaine get with Kurt, and then … when Blaine got a dose of reality, when he saw what a wet blanket Kurt really was … when he got bored …

Sebastian grinned.  When Blaine got bored, he would swoop in.  

“Okay, Killer.  Let's see the finished product.”

Blaine stepped out from the dressing room in the snug black leather pants and dress shirt Sebastian had picked out for him to go clubbing tonight.  He walked stiff-legged to the mirror. “I really don't know about these pants, Sebastian.”    He was staring into the three way mirror with a dubious look on his face.  “You can see my … my package.  And I think my butt looks enormous,” he complained, turning sideways.  “What size are these even?”

“We're going to a gay club, you want to advertise.  And your butt is perfect,” Sebastian said.  “It looks like a juicy, ripe apple.  I'd know love a bite of that,” he teased, swallowing hard to keep his tone light.  

“It looks like an over-inflated tire. I can't even bend over,” Blaine objected.  He squatted down, trying the pants out, and Sebastian nearly swooned off his bench.  “I mean, I like my pants tight, but these squeak when I move.  And they don't breathe at all.  I can't see spending $600 on these just to play your wing man for one night, I'll never wear them again.”

“Jesus, Blaine,” he whispered hoarsely.  “Please get the pants.  I'll pay for them if you don't want to spend the money.”

“No.  I'm getting a yeast infection from these and I'm a guy,” Blaine insisted, with an adorable pout. “They're just not me.”

“Okay, okay,” Sebastian grumbled.  “I'll get you the next size up, and you can wear a bow tie and a vest I saw out there.  But you're getting leather pants, and that's final. It's a crime against nature for you not to.”

* * * *

Adam dragged a subdued Kurt into their club, their special place where they'd had their first real date, their first dance, their first kiss. This was the perfect venue to recapture the magic between them that seemed lost somehow. Kurt had been spending entirely too much time at his apartment lately. Ever since Kurt asked Blaine to go home to Lima with him when his dad was ill, and hadn't even stopped to tell Adam he was going, he'd been hurt and worried. Sure, Kurt insisted Blaine was just a friend. But he was closer to that kid — who clearly wanted him as more than a friend — than to Adam, who was supposed to be his boyfriend.

Tonight that would change. They'd have an adult night out, one that would contrast with what 16 year old Blaine could offer, and he'd remind Kurt that what he needed was a man, not a little boy. “Let me try to get to the bar!  Your usual?”

“Sure,” Kurt said, looking …resigned.  Not really the reaction he'd hoped for.  He saw Kurt looking disapprovingly around at the packed club. Maybe Kurt wasn't into the bar scene tonight, the crowded dance floor.  “Get us a seat someplace private!” Adam yelled over the din.  

Kurt's smile was strained as he nodded and shouldered his way through the crowd to the sitting area.  **Adam sighed and turned back toward the bar.  There was a dense crowd around it, and he impatiently waited his turn, shifting from foot to foot as he inched toward the bar.  Finally, he reached it and ordered two frozen strawberry daiquiris, Kurt's favorite.

“Do I detect an Essex accent?” the bartender asked, smiling brightly as he mixed the drinks.  

“Good ear,” Adam said.  He couldn't help smiling back.  It was nice to get chatted up a bit, reminded that some people found him charming.  Kurt was so distant lately, so preoccupied.

“Jaywick, am I right?  East Essex, at the very least.”

Adam raised an eyebrow.  “Impressive.  You should take your act on the road, you'd make a killing.”

The bartender winked coyly at him.  “Not all that impressive, I'm afraid.  I'm from the area - - Clacton, actually.  Quite a change, all this, isn't it?”

“That it is.”  

“I'm Colin, by the way.”  Colin expertly poured the daiquiris right up to the very brim of the glass, with a flourish.  “And you are?”  He slid the two drinks across the bar toward him.  

“Adam.  Thirty, right?”  He fished in his pocket for some cash, but Colin waved it away.  

“Those are on the house.”

Adam winced slightly, and slid a twenty and a ten onto the bar, and another five into the tip jar. “Listen, I'm here with somebody - - “ he said apologetically, and carefully picked up the brimful drinks from the bar.

Clearly offended, Colin picked up the money and shoved it in the register.  “Really?  Because that hot guy you came in with looks like he's having the time of his life with that cute little jailbait over there.”

He whirled around, sloshing some of the cold red liquid over his hands, and sure enough, across the room, Kurt was dancing close and hot with someone else.  And that someone else was none other than Kurt's sixteen-year-old roommate.  Blaine.  They seemed oblivious to anyone else on the dance floor, their arms wound around each other, and then, to Adam's horror, that little slut Blaine actually licked Kurt's neck … and suddenly, before his very eyes, his boyfriend was making out feverishly with another man.  

Not even a man.  A boy.

His legs propelled him of their own accord across the dance floor, still gripping the two ridiculous, candy-flavored drinks one in each hand, dripping cold down his wrists.  He'd known Blaine was after Kurt, but he'd wanted to believe Kurt wouldn't cheat on him. Here, in their hangout, with his back barely turned.  The hurt and anger and humiliation washed over him in bitter waves, and he reached them  just as Kurt turned around and stared with a guilty, horrified look.

Beside Kurt in an instant, Blaine met his gaze defiantly, his chin high and the gauntlet clearly thrown down, but then again Blaine had never pretended otherwise.  And he had gotten what he wanted, he'd stolen Kurt away, or might as well have.  “You little asshole,” Adam hissed, stepping forward, and flinging the two brightly colored drinks at them both.  

Kurt reached out and shoved Blaine aside, and both drinks landed only on Kurt's face and clothes, with a splatter.  Adam had a brief flash, a memory of Kurt telling him about being ‘slushied' by bullies at his old school.  Watching Kurt standing there with blinking eyes and plastered-down hair, gasping from the cold, Adam added shame to his already painful mix of emotions.  So much for the high road.  Or dignity.

There was nothing to say to each other after that, and he was acutely conscious of the snickering clubbers watching the scene, so he shoved the empty glasses in a stranger's hands and escaped to the coat check.  He hurriedly threw down his ticket.  He just wanted to get out of here.

Scrubbing at his dripping face, Kurt caught up with him at the door of the club.  “Adam, wait,” he begged, while Adam shrugged his way into his coat.  

“Find your own way home,” Adam snarled.   “What in the bloody hell was that, Kurt?  How long have you been  fucking that kid?”

Kurt looked completely contrite and guilt-ridden.  “No!  It's - - it's not like that - - nothing's happened between us until just now. I lost my head somehow.  I haven't cheated on you with him.  I swear.”  His babbling voice got higher and higher as the excuses piled on.

Adam wouldn't let him off the hook, not this time.  Not at the very end.  “That's a lie.” Adam retrieved his beanie from his coat pocket and pulled it on.    He waved a hand at Kurt's spluttered protests.  “I don't mean about sleeping with him. I'm talking about what's been happening between you emotionally.  You just haven't admitted it … not to me, maybe not even to yourself.”  

Kurt struggled visibly for a response, and finally just whispered. “I didn't want to hurt anybody.”

“I know.”  Yes, he knew.  As if it mattered, really.  He would have been less hurt if Kurt wasn't such a wonderful, caring person.  Then he could have convinced himself he was better off without him.  This asshole couldn't stop being perfect for five minutes to give him a damn break.  ”Goodbye, Kurt.”

He glanced over Kurt's shoulder and saw Blaine hovering at the edge of the dance floor, glowering at them.  He shook his head and headed out to the curb.  A couple walked past him, one man lighting the other's cigarette, and he called out, “Can I bum one of those, mate?”  Kurt hated it when he smoked, and he'd given it up when Kurt insisted. It's terrible for your voice, Adam!  And it causes heart disease and cancer!  I care about you too much to let you hurt yourself that way!  

Yeah, right.  He took the proffered cigarette and a light, and mumbled his thanks.  He took a long draw on the cigarette, holding the smoke in his chest for a moment and then breathing it out slowly.  Letting the familiar warmth and comfort spread through him, though it didn't touch the depths of his suffering.  He was humiliated, and he was heartbroken.  He leaned against the club wall, and put the cigarette back to his lips again, when he saw Blaine storm out of the club alone.  He perked up, but a moment later, Kurt rushed out and followed him down the street.   He caught up to Blaine halfway down the street, and from the looks of it … Adam sighed, and took another pull on the cigarette.  It was over for him and Kurt, that was clear.

“That stuff'll kill you, y'know,” a midwestern drawl, dripping with smug sarcasm, came from beside him.  He turned slightly and saw Sebastian Smythe staring after Kurt and Blaine with an odd expression.  Sad.  Resigned.  But … proud?

“Do tell me something everyone doesn't know, Smythe.”  He finished the cigarette and dropped the butt in the street, crushing it out.  “You all right?  I take it you got thrown over tonight too.”

“I'll survive,” Sebastian smirked. “How about you?  You at least had a relationship with Kurt, and now he's obviously dumped you for a much younger man.  I have an idea, though.  Wanna get even?”

“Get even?”

Sebastian reached over and straightened Adam's coat collar.  “Well, Kurt hates my guts, so.  Fucking me would be the perfect revenge … and as a plus, you'd get to fuck me.”

“I'm not into revenge fucks, but thanks.”  Adam headed toward the curb and looked up and down to see if there were any cabs to be had.  Not a one in sight.

“So don't call it revenge,” Sebastian persisted.  “Call it two people who just watched the guy they like pick somebody else, and maybe need to … not be alone.”

Adam glanced back. “C'mon, Adam.  I've got my car here,” Sebastian wheedled, looking plaintive and wistful.  

Adam knew that the guy had a thing for Blaine from way back.  How much it was just a sexual interest, as opposed to love, Adam didn't know.  He also didn't know how much of all this sad puppy look Sebastian was sending him was an act calculated to get into his pants.  

What Adam did know was … Sebastian was right.  He didn't want to be alone.   Not after losing Kurt, and Sebastian was hot and willing and available.

“Okay.  Let's go back to your place, then.”