Genre: Romance

Paring: Sebastian/Rachel

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: That's what makes the chasing so fun. The thought it's infeasible.

…

Pieces

…

…

…

I come to you in pieces, so you can make me whole.

He doesn't like the Warbles. There. Plain simple.

They're not his kind of… breed.

Frankly, he sounds self-righteous, sanctified, limited – unco, that sort of thing. He's a lot of things.

He's anything, everything, name it.

But he's not a liar.

Sebastian twists the truth. Fragments and snippets and the little inconspicuous details clutter by his hands. His mouth and tongue and his crafty sage of fudging around – he does not lie.

Not, percipient, albeit.

He's gay.

Fact.

He fucks a few guys along the way. The Warblers, some. The student body, most of them. There's a contamination going around in Dalton Academy. He muses that his eyes have a lot to do with it. They are soul permeable hardware and he's just a little too comfortable and gifted – gifted too – with aiming. Firing happens almost, instinctively.

He's not shy, either.

He vindicates what his descended mother gave him, and fucks what his estranged father bequeathed.

Blaine Anderson is a tricky case.

It's important to primarily confess that Sebastian is emotionally incapable of falling in love. The emotions and worn about needs to fill, the desperate search– the want for more; more sex, more kissing, more touching, more, more; anything and everything that no one else gets to have; he can't feel it. It's not designed for him. It's not there.

It hasn't ever been there.

What he feels for Anderson is desire. Sex, actually, maybe a few kisses along the way. Hot open mouth kisses, sweet French kisses. He always wondered how it would feel like to have a dwarf go down on him, that tongue, wrapped around his dick. Blaine's warily, bed room hair plaited around his fingers and, and... It fuels a lot more than he expected – even tatters against his ribcage when Kurt Hummel stakes behind, glamorous and gay.

He pries him as his.

There's a look that they share. Blaine and Kurt. Their hands envelope; a search completed, a smile, mistaken for a faint tick at the corner at their lips – but it's there. It's a smile.

It's the thought that he can't have him. It tatters against his chest.

The want compounds.

It's not necessary his desire to have anything that takes hardship and patience to get.

Albeit, maybe it is.

Roaming around, irking his way through, and gaining the price. It's hard work that sanctified his voice. It's his struggle that brought him out to the top. He would have been lying if he said that there wasn't any satisfaction in the cunning – the soiling his entire way to the top.

He's not a liar.

He does enjoy it, ever little bit of it.

Because working hard for something, through his way, is precious.

The countenance is insignificant.

The infidelity detail is just what it is.

A detail.

Perhaps Anderson doesn't see him like that.

A desire worth cunning for.

They have a spoken rivalry going on. The two schools in a desperate, not so offhanded, encounter for center stage at Sectionals. They're not up against each other, but that's enough, somehow, enough reason to loathe each other.

He's not disappointed. Sebastian has always had a weak spot for hardships. It's his favorite past time of the day. Enjoyable enough to infiltrate the outskirts of his counterparts past time. Enlightening to get his animosity-mode on; he's practiced a few crafted insults. Raptured ideas, that irks its way quite fondly through his brain.

He's thinking lady-face for Hummelbee, and Sweatshots for Anderson; because the thought of actually taking a shot off that pretty little ass of his is worth recognition and embodiment.

They don't take it too well.

He's only entertaining the idea that his only, worth the time impeding, are the two song birds.

Fuck, he'd make Blaine sing a throatier octave.

Kurt sets his jaw. Sebastian's not even in the slightest façade. The women in Paris had more eerie.

''I was at the verge of announcing; for what do we incur this pleasure,'' Kurt huffs, swiping the hair out of his face. ''But then I remembered, Satan never bears out delight.''

Is that so? He's been told that the Devil likes to play games; he's quite festive. That's plenty of fun.

''You see, Cruella,'' the foul twitch of Kurt's upper lip was more like it. ''I bear plenty of pleasure,'' his eyes involuntary – intentional; he can't really decide, find Anderson's who looks, by the seconds, smaller then he already is. ''I can pick out a volunteer if you'd like a sneak peak.''

Blaine's cheeks redden.

That's what he was looking for.

His endeavors do not go over well, as a snide exterior falls across Kurt's face like a snake launching at his prey.

Who's the deuce now, Hummelbee?

''Maybe you should go, Sebastian.''

Oh, how he adores Anderson's attempts of clearing the air of toxic fumes.

He would rather stay.

Kurt pulls his chin up in the air, wrinkling his nose. ''Do you use that mouth on your mother too, or is it just on the sane, estate people?''

''I'd have to try that,'' he purses his lips and frowns his eyebrows in feign thought. ''I don't think that deceased mothers would like that, though.''

He's slightly trying to get Kurt to scorn; he's slightly trying to get a horrified Blaine; he's fully using his deceased mother to his own benefits.

''I – I,'' Kurt splutters, shaking his head as his eyes widen. ''I didn't – I wasn't – If I stepped out of line…''

Sebastian and Blaine share a look; it's remorse from Blaine's part.

It's something.

''I should leave.'' He announces.

He hears; ''I can't believe you said that,'' from Sweatshots, right before he closes the door to Lima bean.

Who said he didn't soil his way to the top? Not him.

They have an unspoken bond, now. Blaine and Sebastian. It spells; 'I'm sorry for what Kurt said the other day – he didn't know. We didn't know. I'm sorry,' on his mobile phone through a text message sent two minutes ago.

Sebastian vaguely remembers never providing his phone number to any of the students at McKinley High.

But that's okay, because he waits ten minutes before he replies back with a; ''S cool. I kept it a secret. Couldn't have known.'

Their bond exists out of understanding and gratitude.

It's all unnecessary in his book, but it gets Blaine to respond back with a smile and a hopeful:

'Maybe we don't have to be enemies.'

Maybe they don't.

But fucking enemies is so much hotter than fucking friends.

He gangs up on the few people from McKinley High that like to visit the Lima bean; Kurt, Blaine and a girl named Rachel; with the Warblers.

It's merciless, and he smacks them down with the Broadway classic Bye Bye Birdie; he completes his task with a swirl of profanities that are offhanded, unnecessary and mind blowing vile.

Kurt is shocked; his hand is straining around the cup of coffee.

Rachel looks annoyed but in awe.

And Blaine looks weird with his moth tie. It's a fetish weird. He digs it.

It's quite High School Musical-ish; the ganging up, twirling around and emitted high notes.

Grand, in his case.

It's mesmerizing how, from a quiet understanding and distorted gratitude; not even a following glance lacked contempt.

But that's what makes the chasing so fun. The thought it's infeasible.

Rachel Berry is…

He's tossing through the words impaired and extraneous.

Impaired dubs her as a freak. Extraneous dubs her as a special case of freaky; a good kind. He's not sure what's good about midgets and dramatic outburst in alienated schools.

But when she says; ''–and though you have publicly abashed my Glenda and tarnished the sacred sagas of Klaine, I must admit,'' she purses her lips. ''You are not quite as putrid as I have been told.''

It's the way she seems to avoid directly complimenting him.

It's less freaky.

''Okay, then…'' He mutters.

She nods resultantly. ''Okay.'' And then she points her index finger right at his face, and he remarks that she's really short. Fuck, what's with McKinley High and short people. ''Let this be a warning to you, Sebastian Smyth. If you aggress, once more, towards Blaine, for you and me both know what your intentions are, I will unleash my unrelenting ardor on you.''

The infamous Rachel Berry huffs, stomps her tiny feet, and twirls around.

He notices the crowd that parts for her, only ever so little, because her legs…

Isn't it nearing autumn?

(He's not sure why that seemed hot.)

He takes her up on her word.

There's Blaine and him, a lack of Kurt and weird, hot, freaky ardors, altering their decisions.

It's intense, Sebastian notices. Blaine flushes in more ways and different shades then imaginable; it's pink, red and purple, and they haven't even reached the stake of touching each other – doing other things, silly, filthy things.

He's only talking, saying things that, granted, are amatory. But if this is frustrating Anderson, how about when they finally do touch?

He says when, because it's always a matter of when with him. If; is out of the question. If; is imaginative.

''Trust me Sweatshots, you won't regret our,'' he softly clears his throat, keeping his voice low. ''Festivities.'' He arches his eyebrow up, leans over the booth they're sitting in.

''I – I don't think so, Sebastian.'' He has his tough face on, but Sebastian sees the cracks. The what if's, the 'how can I even think about this', the 'this is so wrong', so right. He does that to a lot of people. It's a gift.

''You should think about it. My door's always open.'' For the added effect he affirms; ''324 – my room number. In case you were wondering.''

He shuffles out of the booth, shooting out a smirk. ''Think about it.''

There's a wink, another blush – no bonds.

''How dared you!''

Her grunt, in the middle of the parking lot, alerts him.

He nearly drops his keys as she steps out of a pink Volvo.

Christ! It hurts his eyes.

''I was wondering when I'd see you again.'' He mutters.

He's not joking. He actually counted off the days. It's been three days since his encounter with Blaine – figures that he couldn't man up and take Sebastian out on his offer.

''My. House. Now.'' A low growl emits out of her throat as she emphasizes every word.

He frowns.

''I'm flattered, Hobbit,'' she gasps, offended by his jab on her size. ''But you are not my type. Maybe next time when I'm drunk… and high… and unconscious… Although, that would be considered as rape.''

''I am not going to sleep with you, gross, no!'' She exclaims.

(Whatever.)

''Just,'' she sighs. ''Follow my car.''

He must be losing a chunk of his brain, when he twirls the wheel of his Benz around and follows her to the Berry residents.

She looks at him through her rearview mirror, he notices.

He smirks.

Her rendition of I dreamed a dream is breathtaking.

There, he said it; it's now, approximately, the right time to terminate his very being.

She did it to scar the thoughts that he might have been the best damn singer in Lima Ohio.

Who exactly is Sebastian up against; McKinley High's group of New Dysfunctions or spot light craving prodigy; Rachel Berry?

Perhaps, she did it so he won't forget her. That the nights he tries to wrap his hand around his cock and think about Blaine's mouth, her lips will infiltrate his brain instead.

Scar him well enough to not want anything at all.

Sebastian comes with her mouth ghosting through his brain.

He's heard the stories about Rachel Berry.

The on and off ratio of Finchel, her cravings for a world with bright lights and enormous stages, the depletion love triangle that was Jesse st. James, Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson – and who could forget the egging momentum that peeked at every corner or, if he avows, her spectacular voice? The Warblers feed off the Glee club's tension and the dramatic decampment of their beloved star.

''It's a relishing prime time, Sebastian,'' Nick likes to say. ''Her antics make her vigorously enthralling.''

Sebastian nods reluctantly.

Rachel has always had an acme in her downtrodden ways. Even when she made-out with her boyfriend's best friend, even when she falsely led a girl to a crack house, even, even, even when she kissed Blaine Anderson and decided to pursue a whatever, conscious of his relationship with Hummelbee.

Something redeemed her.

He likes to think it's her tussle to get it right.

She's different. They're not the same. He doesn't want to cross out his mistakes. She seeks resources to create a gum that could erase what she has written in pen.

He has every reason to be enthralled by her complexity.

A visit to McKinley High's auditorium leads him, and the rest of the Warblers, to an unexpected surprise.

He's not in denial; He acknowledges Few Infections as a rivalry group. Manly because Blaine has left a desired mark of his leadership at Dalton Academy and Rachel Berry carries the best set of pipes that Sebastian has heard in a long time. The Aretha Franklin of their group showcases her voice just as good, and Kurt… well, he's not too shabby.

(Finn Hudson is just ridiculous. He can't imagine him sharing Rachel Berry's spotlight.)

But the sight he and his team mates get to see, after a neatly written letter asking them to come over for a friendly sing off, has him clapping his hands after it ends.

And they were not good.

Actually, he thinks the Warblers have a fair chance of winning if this is the actual dreaded show coir he's heard tons of stories about.

Finn Hudson is a horrible co-captain. Three of the students seem bored out of their wits, two of them are play backing, and there's an obvious fight going on between Aretha Franklin and Rachel; he muses about the content of this.

He spots a Blonde girl shooting daggers at Rachel's back. She's gloomy hot. But somehow he finds wretched Blondes less sexy than twisted Brunets.

He'll refrain from touching the dancing portion of the Glee club.

By now he's on his feet, smirking. It looks like Drew Imperfections had a fight before preforming. How could they possible expect to win from the Warblers if they can't even attain their team?

When the song ends, Finn Hudson storms off the stage and out of the door, impassive, leaving a distressed Rachel to stare at his back.

Her eyes find his.

He falters in his clapping.

''Screw this!'' The guy with the Mohawk belittles. ''I'm too big of a bamf to be humiliated.'' Before he follows Hudson's pursuit out of the door.

It doesn't take too long before the team members turn against each other. There are foul words soaring through, random Spanish words that lack their good intentions and strained fists howling for attention.

It would've been a comical sight to see Rachel's attempts to keep the peace, her tiny form moving amidst the members that loathe her.

But it's not. It's not comical at all.

''This is just sad.'' Jeff mutters from his seat.

Nick nods, voicing his agreement. ''You think they'll notice if we up and leave?''

And act like this never happened? Please. Sebastian's not that remorseful.

''We should say something,'' Thad tries. ''I'm kind of scared that Rachel's going to get eaten by the look that Quinn's giving her.''

Oh, so the wretched Blonde is Quinn? Baby-gate, Finn's ex-girlfriend and ex-cheerleader, Quinn Fabray. Well, that explains everything, from the loathing to the envisaged homicidal tendencies.

''It looks like they're blaming Rachel.'' Thad continues. ''This won't end well.''

''What do you expect us to do?'' Jeff shifts in his seat. ''I mean, Rachel's nice and all, but… I'm not down for Santana's wrath.'' He shivers.

And then all the members look at him. As if he carried all the answers.

''What?'' He questions.

''You're the captain. What do you want us to do?'' Wes clarifies.

They can't just go up there and save Rachel from that pack of wolves. Besides, Blaine and Kurt are trying to back up their captain in charge. They seem to do just fine.

(Would she have done that for him though? Would she have saved him, regardless of her obvious hate?)

He sighs, shaking his head.

''Fuck me.'' He mutters, as he protudes his chin towards the stage. ''Let's go.''

He'll regret this. He knows he will.

She looks at him, hopeful, confused– she's baring a fairytale of the knight in shining armor on the big white horse that made his entrance a little too late; he's just that for the few minutes of Dragons slaying.

(That look she shot him? Yeah, no regrets)

'You didn't have to do that.'

It's a text message he receives two hours prior to midnight. He's already lying in his bed and by the time he realizes what he is doing, he's already texting back with; 'how the hell do you sociopaths get my number?'

He's not stupid. He knows exactly who gave it to her.

(Blaine Anderson – Rachel Berry – Blaine Anderson – Rachel Berry – Dwarf one or dwarf two?)

Her text takes no longer than a few seconds.

'It doesn't matter. I just wanted to let you know that you shouldn't have assisted me. I was perfectly capable of handling the situation myself.'

He frowns at the screen of his IPhone. If anything, she seemed minutes away from being thrown of that stage.

'You know, a thank you is very much appreciated.'

'You still shouldn't have.'

By now he's extensively rolling his eyes.

'Whatevs, OK. Thank me, or don't thank me. I don't care. You guys were shitty anyways. I couldn't have received a better thank you then the clear realization that Ew Fixations has nothing on the Warblers.'

That was cold. But his thumb reaches the send button, anyhow.

It takes her a few minutes to reply.

'New Directions. We are New Directions.'

Whatever.

'What for thank you do you want, anyway?'

He's not sure. He doesn't trust his mind or his fingers.

Tomorrow, Breadsticks.

She seals the deal with an OK.

She's fumbling with her hair and out wrinkling her coated dress when he steps through the door.

Rachel smiles, hesitantly.

But it's there. It's a real smile.

''I don't trust you.'' She tells him before he sits down. ''I'm only doing this because … I owe you.''

He's not kidding as he tells her: ''there are other ways to repay me.''

She's actually really enjoyable. Talking to her comes naturally. Looking at her eyes becomes effortless.

Until he catches her tongue tumbling out, peeking.

Rachel is intently talking about her recent conquest at a random singing contest, her hands moving at the parts where she finds the necessity to convey, while she strolls through the words with ease.

He has no problem understanding her, which baffles him. Sebastian can see why Nick finds her enthralling. There's just something about her.

''We should do karaoke.'' He winces the moment the words leave his lips. But they're out, anyway.

Rachel immediately stops talking, narrowing her eyes as if she's trying to figure out a puzzle. ''Why?'' He's become a puzzle to her. Something she wants to put together, he guesses. That's nice. Nobody really wanted to put him together before.

It shouldn't surprise him that she's skeptical about his request. He definitely feels like it's the appropriate sort of reaction. Just not the right one in this case.

'''Cause,'' he shrugs, shifting in his seat and remising the way Jeff did it when he felt uncomfortable. ''You're all about singing, and I am all about singing.'' He frowns. ''What's not to get?'' Rachel rolls her eyes as she huffs, he carries on, ''Besides, Blew Connection sucked –''

''Who is–'' Rachel wrinkles her nose, her eyebrows skyrocketing ''It's New Directions, you buffoon!'' She exasperatedly snarls.

''I'm doing you a favor.'' Sebastian proceeds, deciding to ignore her interruption. ''It'll be a good exercise for your voice.''

''Yes, but I don't get why you want to help me?''

''What? Do you think Hudson is going to get jealous?''

His voice sounds different. Slightly bitter.

''We broke up.'' She states lamely. Her fingers pull at the glass of ice water. ''It didn't work out.'' She ghosts her fingers across the damp of the surface, fixating her eyes at the table.

Aha. He sees. And what is he to her? A distraction?

It wouldn't surprise him if all her morals left with Finn Hudson when he departed through that door.

(She has no clear morals, right now.)

(Holy shit.)

''We could just… make out, too.''

Her eyes shoot up to meet his. ''What?'' She asks astonished, shaking her head. ''I thought you were… gay… and Blaine… and you… how–''

''Look,'' he leans forward, prompting his elbows on top of the table with a thud. ''I kind of wanna get up on that,'' he gestures to her body, shrugging like it's just a simple request. ''The dick wants what the dick wants.''

She does not look nearly as mortified as he expected her too. It's almost as if she's feigning her dismay in order to maintain her divinity.

Her face flushes. ''How dare – and to think…'' She cuts herself off by pressing her lips together. Squinting as if she's thinking about something. Then she rips her purse from the table. ''We should go to my place.''

And just like that, he railed in Rachel Berry.

He wonders what Blaine is doing for just a second. A second gone astray, as he subsides into her Berry flavored lip gloss.

Owing him becomes a regular visit at Breadsticks.

Memorable hours at her house.

He loves kissing her. Rachel does this thing with her tongue and her teeth that just… drive him crazy. She has this thing with taking control over the situation and he finds himself not minding it at all. She dry humps his leg every chance she gets and she moans so soft that he has to crane his neck to glean it all in.

She's talking about something that occurred during Glee today as his teeth skim over her shoulder, he faintly picks up a few names here and there, a few things she wished Mr. Schue had done differently and the complaints she had for their upcoming Sectional set list.

He knows that he should stop her right there. Seduce her into telling him what her Glee club has planned.

But he doesn't.

''You should talk less and kiss more.'' He mutters against her, emitting a huff from her part. ''I'm just saying,'' he removes his lips from her shoulder. ''Your dads could arrive any minute.''

She rolls her eyes as if he just told her Mufasa faked his death and that the thought of him actually leaving Simba to vent for himself is preposterous. ''They won't be home today. We have plenty of time.''

He's about to kiss her again, when he realizes how familiar that sounds.

''They're never home, are they?'' It's just something he has picked up. The, oh so, acquainted taste of a prodigy lacking the proper caretakers. That's how insanity is born.

She shrugs, as if she doesn't care. But it feels like she does. That Sebastian might have something in common with the petite girl beneath him.

''I don't mind.'' She pressures. ''I'm okay with it.''

He nods, a standard motion, as he kisses her lightly on her bare shoulder. ''My dad was never home either, after my mother's death. He spent hours after hours in his office.'' Sebastian shrugs. ''He said we needed the money. He needed to take care of the kid because, after all, he was a widower. '' And that had made stuff so much harder. But the negligence, the extra cash and new cars would make up for that.

It did.

Sebastian told himself it did.

''I don't know why I told you that.'' He affirms.

''Does it matter?'' She wonders, earnestly.

He guesses it doesn't.

''Does it make you feel better?'' She looks at him, softly.

There it is again. He freezes; a quick skip of his heartbeat.

''I think so.''

Her fingers skim the hands holding him up. ''Good.''

A not so secretive bond grows.

He steals secret glances, every now and then, during unannounced visits at Lima Bean.

Sometimes it's not so secretive smiles, and he can hear Hummelbee scolding five tables away; ''you need to reserve those smiles for people who deserve it, Rachel. He's not suddenly your Heathcliff after the macabre incident in the auditorium.''

He wants to frown, emit something vulgar, because, who knows? Maybe he kind of is.

But Rachel rolls her eyes.

She still smiles.

He'll admit; it makes him feel pretty good.

Sometimes she calls him just to talk. He finds himself calling her the times she doesn't call to fill that abyss she leaves every time she's not there.

He's in need to feel her completely.

He can't help but wonder; does she feel this too?

(Maybe Sebastian's just midget-crazed.)

They win Sectionals.

He's not surprised. New Directions was pretty darn good. Putting Rachel Berry as lead on 'Anything goes', was their best decision yet. She probably demanded for the solo, although. There's no surprise factor in that.

He's on his feet when the song ends. Proudly applauding their definite win.

She's a little surprised when she catches his eye in the stands, there, bright lights illuminating her face. How could he ever?

He's not sure. He just wanted to know if she could win, if they were going to face each other at Regionals. Their rivalry soon, sparkling across the stages of a music hall.

There's no doubt in his mind, he doesn't even need to stay to hear the results; she's going to win. New Directions is going to win.

Sebastian waits anyway. He's in the hallway, tapping his fingers against the wall behind him, when she finds him.

Rachel tugs a strand of hair behind her ear. He remarks how beautiful she looks.

''I didn't think you would come.'' She begins, crossing her arms as she comes to stand in front of him.

He didn't think he would come either. But here he is, anyway. Waiting for...

What exactly is he waiting for?

''Yeah.'' He purses his lips. ''I came.''

There's a questionable glint in her eyes, ''why?''

''I guess I just wanted to know who the Warblers would be up against...'' He inhales a deep breath. ''Now I know.''

In the nerve stifling wait for her results, she doesn't question if he has any ulterior motives.

There are random thoughts surfing through his head, questions that he's not sure how to answer. She's waiting for something, and he can't give her anything except–

''We should hang out,'' Sebastian bids. ''Sometime. Do things that don't only involve making-out.''

Her lips quirk up as she shakes her head; Sebastian will not lie. This repetitive feeling in his chest, it's beginning to feel an awfully lot like–

Rachel drops her shoulders, licking her lips. ''Like a date?'' She asks.

Yeah. Like a real date.

Why not, right?

New Directions wins, just like he expected.

It's like he won something, too.

…

…

…

End