FIC: In My Veins 5/?
Title: In My Veins 5/?
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Warnings: AU, stepcest, language
Summary: He’d only introduced Carole to his father so that he could get closer to Sebastian - it was just a simple crush at first. He didn’t expect to become his stepbrother. And he certainly didn’t expect to actually fall in love. Kurt/Sebastian and Kurt/Blaine.
The dinner started off well enough - he’d even made a point to address the makeover he’d given Carole, including the replacement of those terribly unflattering mom jeans. But at some point after the calamari had arrived, Sebastian had brought up last month’s Buckeyes game against the Wolverines, and it all went downhill very quickly after that as they jumped from basketball to football.
Now his dad and Sebastian are discussing the merits of college versus NFL games, and Kurt might as well be invisible.
“There’s more variety in offense in college,” Sebastian says around a bite of bread. “Each team has a particular style. You kind of lose that edge when you go pro.”
“Not to mention - most of the guys in the NFL?” Burt adds, taking a swig from his glass of Coke. “It’s about money and pandering to the media. It’s more about business than it is about the actual game. The trash talk’s pretty entertaining though.”
Kurt isn’t sure what to feel.
This was what he wanted, right? He wanted their parents to bond. He wanted to get closer to Sebastian. He wanted this union to be like the Bouviers and the Kennedys. But when he watches them closely - just their faces, their body language, not necessarily what they’re talking about - his stomach turns. His dad’s got this look in his eye - enthused, involved, completely in his element.
The last time Kurt saw that look was when he played that one game for the Titans back in the fall - when he hadn’t come out yet. His dad had been so proud of him for kicking that stupid goal, that smile stretching across his features - and now he’s giving that same smile to Sebastian. Smiling like he’s his son, when his real one is sitting just across the table.
He sinks back into the booth and puts his fork down as unobtrusively as possible, leaving his no-dressing, no-chicken salad untouched. Coach Sylvester would be so proud, he thinks bitterly.
“Kurt, sweetie?” Carole says, concerned. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he manages weakly, determined to keep his eyes on the table. “I’m just not hungry anymore.”
---
He should probably be more gentle with ripping the swatches down from his wall, but he really doesn’t care right now. This redecoration was supposed to be a welcome change - along with other things that he refuses to think about, but things are going way faster than he anticipated and they are all wrong, wrong, wrong.
“I don’t see why you can’t just pick one, they all look the same to me.”
At the sound of his father’s approaching voice, his head begins to pound and he feels like he’s about to be sick.
“Maybe if they were different colored sports, you’d work harder at telling them apart,” he says venomously, throwing the swatches into the waste bin with more force than necessary.
“The football talk - it was just talk, you weren’t supposed to take it personal.”
“How could I not?” Kurt asks, and god he knows he sounds like a child right now, but he can’t stop. It’s all coming out. “You’re never that engaged in a conversation with me.”
Burt frowns. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want.”
Already he can feel the familiar prick of pressure behind his eyes - and damn, he really doesn’t want to cry. “I want you to know how hard it is for me to see you bond with the son that you’ve obviously always wanted.”
His vision blurs and he stumbles to sit down at his vanity. Maybe a sense of connection is what he needs, a physical link anchoring him down, keeping him stable. It doesn’t work.
“What - Kurt, that’s not fair,” Burt’s frown grows deeper. “I love you, and I’m sympathetic to all your stuff, but come on, we’ve got a deal here - we don’t try to change each other, right?”
Kurt looks away. His head hurts.
“You’re my son,” Burt assures. “And a little guy talk with another kid isn’t going to change that.”
“Guy talk?” Kurt forces out, his voice broken. “I’m a guy.”
“I - come on, that’s not what I meant.”
This is wrong. This is all wrong. Sebastian was supposed to be spending more time with Kurt, he wasn’t supposed to be stealing his dad away. And okay, maybe he sounds like he’s five years old with that kind of reasoning, but Kurt’s already got so little going on for him, and if his dad gets taken away... he’s not sure what he’ll do. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s too soon for you to get serious with someone.”
Burt looks at him like he’s been slapped, and Kurt feels like an awful person. “Your mom’s been dead eight years.”
He bites his lip, refusing to answer that, and Burt stares at him for a moment before walking away. He doesn’t get very far and turns to speak, his voice trembling. “Why’d you set me up with Carole anyway, huh? Wasn’t it to make me happy? Because that’s what you said.”
That was supposed to be a bonus, not the main reason, he wants to shout but doesn’t, and the thought makes him feel even worse about himself. He really is horrible. “Can you go? I’m behind on my moisturizing routine and I need to get up early tomorrow.”
It’s a lie of course. As soon as his dad leaves, Kurt’s going to be sobbing into his pillow and no amount of eye cream is going to fix how puffy his eyes will be. But his sinuses feel like they’re about to crack with pressure and his skull feels like it’s about to collapse in on itself and - he can’t do this right now.
When Burt’s footfalls upstairs fade away, a long moment passes and Kurt almost wishes that his father was still down here. At least during the argument he’d had a distraction. But now, in the silence of his room, his own thoughts are deafening and he can’t ignore them if he tried.
“Why didn’t you text me back on Sunday?”
Kurt tenses at the sound of the voice and takes a swig from his water bottle. “Seriously, Sebastian. You can’t keep showing up during practice. At some point Coach Sylvester is going to pin the blame on me and then she’s going to drill me with nonstop roundoff back handspring back tucks, and honestly I’m still terrified of doing them.”
Sebastian stares blankly at him for a moment. “Okay, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about but that’s not important right now. You didn’t answer me.”
“I was busy.”
“Yeah, I’m sure those Grey’s Anatomy marathons are just oodles of fun.”
“Are you done here? Go away,” Kurt snaps, and he’s mildly surprised by his own hostility. He didn’t think he had it in him. Sebastian’s still the guy he likes, after all, and yelling at him isn’t exactly going to win any points in his favor.
Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he spends too much time dwelling on the fact that Burt’s been going over to Carole and Sebastian’s to watch basketball and talk about going to a Cubs game.
Crush or not, Sebastian gets his dad, he gets that glint of excitement going in Burt’s eyes - with his stupid athletics and sports talk. Sebastian does, not Kurt. Not his own son.
The whole crush thing is completely irrelevant now. He knows it’s stupid and petty and childish, but what else does he have besides his dad? Glee, maybe, and Mercedes - though honestly they’ve been less like friends this week and more like personal extreme weight loss coaches reminding each other not to eat. And - why is he still thinking about this?
“I have to get back to practice,” Kurt says crossly, trying to ignore the pounding that’s started at the back of his head. “You should leave.”
Sebastian crosses his arms and glares. “What the hell is with you? You’ve been acting so weird recently, starting with that diva fit you threw when we all went to dinner that night.”
“Diva fit?” Kurt scoffs. “I suppose you’re right. My apologies for not being man enough to talk sports.”
“What - ” Sebastian cuts himself off, trying to understand. He studies Kurt for a short while before his eyes narrow in comprehension. “You felt left out.” It sounds accusing, almost, like Kurt is the one to blame.
“As you can tell, I’m not exactly the poster child for NFL enthusiasm,” Kurt answers, looking away. “So forgive me for wanting to spend my spare time watching fine ladies like Judy and Barbra and Patti instead.”
“Well, you’re worrying for nothing,” Sebastian says, and his tone sounds almost amused. “I don’t have an elaborate plan to steal your dad or anything. That’s not my intention.”
“Then what is your intention?” Kurt hisses. “Do tell, because - ”
He shuts up. This is not how he wanted to ask about the open house thing. He didn’t want to shoehorn it into a separate argument as cheap ammo when he’s angry and hurt. This can’t end well. The throbbing at the back of his head has only grown faster and stronger over the past few minutes - maybe he should have had that apple for lunch after all - and this is not the time to be dealing with this.
“We’ll talk later,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument, and he takes a second to enjoy the frustrated look on Sebastian’s face before standing up to return to practice.
But he stands up and turns around too quickly and suddenly feels weak, and everything is blurry and the sky is spinning, spinning. He can barely make out a couple of Cheerios across the field performing a basket toss before everything goes black.
Next
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Warnings: AU, stepcest, language
Summary: He’d only introduced Carole to his father so that he could get closer to Sebastian - it was just a simple crush at first. He didn’t expect to become his stepbrother. And he certainly didn’t expect to actually fall in love. Kurt/Sebastian and Kurt/Blaine.
The dinner started off well enough - he’d even made a point to address the makeover he’d given Carole, including the replacement of those terribly unflattering mom jeans. But at some point after the calamari had arrived, Sebastian had brought up last month’s Buckeyes game against the Wolverines, and it all went downhill very quickly after that as they jumped from basketball to football.
Now his dad and Sebastian are discussing the merits of college versus NFL games, and Kurt might as well be invisible.
“There’s more variety in offense in college,” Sebastian says around a bite of bread. “Each team has a particular style. You kind of lose that edge when you go pro.”
“Not to mention - most of the guys in the NFL?” Burt adds, taking a swig from his glass of Coke. “It’s about money and pandering to the media. It’s more about business than it is about the actual game. The trash talk’s pretty entertaining though.”
Kurt isn’t sure what to feel.
This was what he wanted, right? He wanted their parents to bond. He wanted to get closer to Sebastian. He wanted this union to be like the Bouviers and the Kennedys. But when he watches them closely - just their faces, their body language, not necessarily what they’re talking about - his stomach turns. His dad’s got this look in his eye - enthused, involved, completely in his element.
The last time Kurt saw that look was when he played that one game for the Titans back in the fall - when he hadn’t come out yet. His dad had been so proud of him for kicking that stupid goal, that smile stretching across his features - and now he’s giving that same smile to Sebastian. Smiling like he’s his son, when his real one is sitting just across the table.
He sinks back into the booth and puts his fork down as unobtrusively as possible, leaving his no-dressing, no-chicken salad untouched. Coach Sylvester would be so proud, he thinks bitterly.
“Kurt, sweetie?” Carole says, concerned. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he manages weakly, determined to keep his eyes on the table. “I’m just not hungry anymore.”
---
He should probably be more gentle with ripping the swatches down from his wall, but he really doesn’t care right now. This redecoration was supposed to be a welcome change - along with other things that he refuses to think about, but things are going way faster than he anticipated and they are all wrong, wrong, wrong.
“I don’t see why you can’t just pick one, they all look the same to me.”
At the sound of his father’s approaching voice, his head begins to pound and he feels like he’s about to be sick.
“Maybe if they were different colored sports, you’d work harder at telling them apart,” he says venomously, throwing the swatches into the waste bin with more force than necessary.
“The football talk - it was just talk, you weren’t supposed to take it personal.”
“How could I not?” Kurt asks, and god he knows he sounds like a child right now, but he can’t stop. It’s all coming out. “You’re never that engaged in a conversation with me.”
Burt frowns. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want.”
Already he can feel the familiar prick of pressure behind his eyes - and damn, he really doesn’t want to cry. “I want you to know how hard it is for me to see you bond with the son that you’ve obviously always wanted.”
His vision blurs and he stumbles to sit down at his vanity. Maybe a sense of connection is what he needs, a physical link anchoring him down, keeping him stable. It doesn’t work.
“What - Kurt, that’s not fair,” Burt’s frown grows deeper. “I love you, and I’m sympathetic to all your stuff, but come on, we’ve got a deal here - we don’t try to change each other, right?”
Kurt looks away. His head hurts.
“You’re my son,” Burt assures. “And a little guy talk with another kid isn’t going to change that.”
“Guy talk?” Kurt forces out, his voice broken. “I’m a guy.”
“I - come on, that’s not what I meant.”
This is wrong. This is all wrong. Sebastian was supposed to be spending more time with Kurt, he wasn’t supposed to be stealing his dad away. And okay, maybe he sounds like he’s five years old with that kind of reasoning, but Kurt’s already got so little going on for him, and if his dad gets taken away... he’s not sure what he’ll do. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s too soon for you to get serious with someone.”
Burt looks at him like he’s been slapped, and Kurt feels like an awful person. “Your mom’s been dead eight years.”
He bites his lip, refusing to answer that, and Burt stares at him for a moment before walking away. He doesn’t get very far and turns to speak, his voice trembling. “Why’d you set me up with Carole anyway, huh? Wasn’t it to make me happy? Because that’s what you said.”
That was supposed to be a bonus, not the main reason, he wants to shout but doesn’t, and the thought makes him feel even worse about himself. He really is horrible. “Can you go? I’m behind on my moisturizing routine and I need to get up early tomorrow.”
It’s a lie of course. As soon as his dad leaves, Kurt’s going to be sobbing into his pillow and no amount of eye cream is going to fix how puffy his eyes will be. But his sinuses feel like they’re about to crack with pressure and his skull feels like it’s about to collapse in on itself and - he can’t do this right now.
When Burt’s footfalls upstairs fade away, a long moment passes and Kurt almost wishes that his father was still down here. At least during the argument he’d had a distraction. But now, in the silence of his room, his own thoughts are deafening and he can’t ignore them if he tried.
“Why didn’t you text me back on Sunday?”
Kurt tenses at the sound of the voice and takes a swig from his water bottle. “Seriously, Sebastian. You can’t keep showing up during practice. At some point Coach Sylvester is going to pin the blame on me and then she’s going to drill me with nonstop roundoff back handspring back tucks, and honestly I’m still terrified of doing them.”
Sebastian stares blankly at him for a moment. “Okay, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about but that’s not important right now. You didn’t answer me.”
“I was busy.”
“Yeah, I’m sure those Grey’s Anatomy marathons are just oodles of fun.”
“Are you done here? Go away,” Kurt snaps, and he’s mildly surprised by his own hostility. He didn’t think he had it in him. Sebastian’s still the guy he likes, after all, and yelling at him isn’t exactly going to win any points in his favor.
Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he spends too much time dwelling on the fact that Burt’s been going over to Carole and Sebastian’s to watch basketball and talk about going to a Cubs game.
Crush or not, Sebastian gets his dad, he gets that glint of excitement going in Burt’s eyes - with his stupid athletics and sports talk. Sebastian does, not Kurt. Not his own son.
The whole crush thing is completely irrelevant now. He knows it’s stupid and petty and childish, but what else does he have besides his dad? Glee, maybe, and Mercedes - though honestly they’ve been less like friends this week and more like personal extreme weight loss coaches reminding each other not to eat. And - why is he still thinking about this?
“I have to get back to practice,” Kurt says crossly, trying to ignore the pounding that’s started at the back of his head. “You should leave.”
Sebastian crosses his arms and glares. “What the hell is with you? You’ve been acting so weird recently, starting with that diva fit you threw when we all went to dinner that night.”
“Diva fit?” Kurt scoffs. “I suppose you’re right. My apologies for not being man enough to talk sports.”
“What - ” Sebastian cuts himself off, trying to understand. He studies Kurt for a short while before his eyes narrow in comprehension. “You felt left out.” It sounds accusing, almost, like Kurt is the one to blame.
“As you can tell, I’m not exactly the poster child for NFL enthusiasm,” Kurt answers, looking away. “So forgive me for wanting to spend my spare time watching fine ladies like Judy and Barbra and Patti instead.”
“Well, you’re worrying for nothing,” Sebastian says, and his tone sounds almost amused. “I don’t have an elaborate plan to steal your dad or anything. That’s not my intention.”
“Then what is your intention?” Kurt hisses. “Do tell, because - ”
He shuts up. This is not how he wanted to ask about the open house thing. He didn’t want to shoehorn it into a separate argument as cheap ammo when he’s angry and hurt. This can’t end well. The throbbing at the back of his head has only grown faster and stronger over the past few minutes - maybe he should have had that apple for lunch after all - and this is not the time to be dealing with this.
“We’ll talk later,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument, and he takes a second to enjoy the frustrated look on Sebastian’s face before standing up to return to practice.
But he stands up and turns around too quickly and suddenly feels weak, and everything is blurry and the sky is spinning, spinning. He can barely make out a couple of Cheerios across the field performing a basket toss before everything goes black.
Next