A/N: This is an AU ending to Cacophonylights's story 'A Change in the Weather'. I was approached by some fans to write an ending, and after a lot of hoop jumping (which included getting in contact with the author herself) I was given permission to right my own twist on the ending, starting from where the original left off. A copy of her permission can be found tag/blanket%20permission.

I acknowledge that the story A Change in the Weather DOES NOT belong to me, not the story or the original characters or their story line. I am writing this for the fans and in honor of the author. The only thing I take ownership of is what I write.

Since Cacophony has mentioned that she will be continuing her story at a time later to be determined, what you will read from me will be ENTIRELY my AU. I do know how her ch 23 was supposed to go and have (as some of you do) 100 words from that chapter. I thought it would be silly for me to follow her vein since she's going to write it herself anyway. The one thing I am adopting from her notes is her story arc. She had two story arcs planned. The first one ended in ch 21. That story arc was 'miscommunication'. The second story arc in an equal number of chapters was to be 'communication'. And then an epilogue.

So what you can expect from me is around 21 chapters based on the arc theme 'communication'. What does that mean? That means, basically, this is the point where questions will be answered and secrets/intentions/motives will be revealed. We will get a confrontation with Blaine at some point. I am giving Kurt and Sebastian a week at the beach house to work through their relationship before any real s**t hits any proverbial fans.

As for the question of an ending, I'm not giving anything away except that Cacophony's intention was that this was ultimately a Kurtbastian story. That's mine as well. So even if things go wonky, that's where it's headed. How it gets there is another story.

The muted sound of the waves pounding on the surf invades Kurt's dreams. It starts out as a soft symphony that punctuates the quiet moments between Sebastian's kisses, and sings to him long after his eyelids flutter shut and he drifts away to sleep. But the constant ebb and flow persists, waves chasing one another in a constant dance, culminating in a crash against the shore that is almost too loud to be soothing. But exhaustion wins out, and he finds himself swiftly transported to that place where he can review the events of the day from a safe distance, with a tiny dash of the surreal and the bizarre thrown in.

All through the night, Kurt has powerful dreams, so vivid and full of sensation that even when his eyelids open and part the veil between awake and asleep he has a hard time deciphering real life from fantasy. Once or twice in his dreams, time turns back and instead of Sebastian lying beside him in bed, Blaine is there, sleeping deeply, hazel eyes shut behind tan eyelids, a mop of dark curls creeping down over his brow. It's not that he has any desire at the moment to travel back in order to be with Blaine, but that past seemed simpler at the time, his future seemed so assured.

In a single, horrifying dream, he wakes up alone – completely and utterly alone. In this dream, he has no future.

As night inches towards daybreak, Kurt's eyelids start to drift open at almost half-hourly intervals. They sweep around the room, over the unfamiliar furniture, focusing on the large glass windows with their view of the turbulent ocean, then the sky as it passes through gradients from dark to light by miniscule increments, finally settling on Sebastian, just to reassure himself that yesterday was real, and that this incredible boy was a part of it.

Kurt smiles as he realizes Sebastian is more than just a part; he's more like the linchpin. He gave Kurt this opportunity, and not just to spend some time away from his problems in this gorgeous house on the beach, but a chance to try something exciting and new; a chance to lose his heart all over again – this time to Sebastian.

Something about the sound of the waves crashing outside the bedroom window calls to Kurt. He assesses his current situation as the fog in his head lifts and the last traces of dreams are blinked away. He had fallen asleep partially tangled around Sebastian's body. At some point they had pulled apart, but their hands had found each other and held on tight, fingers laced together beneath the thick, down blanket. Kurt catches a glimpse of Sebastian's sleeping face and smiles. The handsome countenance of the sleeping cynic looks so young, so unexpectedly innocent, with just the tiniest hint of his true nature hiding in the curl of his lip, even in sleep. Kurt would happily spend all morning in bed with Sebastian, but the pushing and pulling of the water, its unceasing movement, and the muffled roar of the rushing tide all prompt him to move.

Kurt carefully stretches his sore limbs, shivering when his exposed arms breach the warmth of the blanket and are immediately assaulted by the chill air. With an internal groan at his own damned stubbornness, he slides from the blankets, inch by inch, trying with concerted efforts not to budge Sebastian as he sleeps. Kurt squeaks when his feet come in contact with the ice-cold floor. He claps a hand over his mouth, watching Sebastian's face for any sign that he might wake up. Sebastian takes a deep breath, muttering something so unintelligible that Kurt can't discern a single syllable. Then his face relaxes, and Sebastian is sleeping soundly again.

Kurt patters on soundless footsteps to the windows and gazes down at the water. An early morning fog has settled, a light patch of gray obscuring the horizon, filtering the light from a bright orange sun promising a hot summer day. He considers for a moment the swing sitting on the private patio, swaying back and forth in the breeze coming off the water. It conjures daydreams sitting with a steaming hot cup of coffee warming his chilly hands, a brand new issue of Vogue on his lap as he takes a perfect first sip and sighs, a tiny cloud escaping his lips as his hot breath meets the cold in the air around him. It sounds so appealing that he almost gives in, but no.

It was the sound of the waves that called him from his sleep.

He quickly changes his pajama pants for a pair of skinny jeans, smiling to himself at the memory of the last time he stripped down to his underwear in front of Sebastian. Granted Sebastian was sleeping now, so maybe it doesn't exactly count. Kurt might have to find a way of bringing it up later, tease Sebastian about what he missed, just to see his reaction. Kurt eschews his trusty pair of Doc Martens in favor of the feeling of the cold, loose sand slipping over his feet. Besides, the sand would provide a touch of natural exfoliation for his somewhat neglected feet, which couldn't hurt. The last thing he grabs is the hoodie Sebastian leant him, which Kurt had conveniently forgotten to return, relegating it on his mental 'to do' list somewhere between graduating from NYADA and becoming a Broadway sensation. This time, with only himself to witness his moment of weakness, he brings the fabric of the sleeve up to his nose and inhales deeply, closing his eyes to better appreciate all the scents that clearly belong to Sebastian – a faded trace of lilac-scented laundry detergent, a spicy hint of Sebastian's cologne, and a subtle tone of chlorine. Kurt had refused to wash the hoodie. He didn't want to erase those smells, so strongly linked to memories; memories of Sebastian's dark eyes as he watched Kurt lick tequila off his body, of talking dirty in Sebastian's ear and hearing his sinfully delicious moan, of Sebastian admitting he wanted to take care of Kurt, and of the two of them spooning in bed as they drifted to sleep.

Kurt takes one last look at Sebastian, curled on his side with a single arm outstretched, hand covering the spot where Kurt once lay. Kurt resists the urge to brush the hair from his eyes and peck a small kiss to the smooth, tan skin of his forehead. Another urge bubbles up within him, the urge to wake Sebastian up and ask him to accompany him down to the beach. But Kurt needs this time; he needs to get a little perspective.

The first step out of the house and the brisk ocean air slaps Kurt in the face, waking him up immediately. He rethinks his decision with only a second of hesitation before he trudges ahead, retracing his steps from the previous evening until he reaches the sandy path and follows it up the gentle rise that leads to the water. And suddenly, there it is. Kurt hadn't expected it to take his breath away quite so much as the first time, but it does. The wind whips around him, and gets notably stronger the closer he gets, until he's leaning into the wind to keep from being pushed back. The sand beneath his feet gets more hard-packed and colder. Small droplets of salty spray cling to his clothes as well as the exposed skin of his face and hands. He decides to stop far enough from the water to avoid being surprised by a sudden powerful wave or unexpected rise in tide. He plants his feet into the ground, burying his toes beneath the wet sand, and stares in silent wonder at the spectacle before him.

Kurt watches the water move, gaping ridiculously at its immense power, swaying slightly with the waves as the white cap rushes for him, and then backs away. Losing himself in the churning waves is so cliché. He refuses to make it a metaphor, refuses to make it into anything more than what it is. But watching the ocean seems to have a strange, calming effect on him, as if the push and pull are actually within him, helping his heart pound, keeping his breaths even. His thoughts become clear, and he examines his life from this new starting point.

He pictures a blank slate set against the lightening sky and tries to fit the pieces of his life into place, moving them around until they make sense. Before the gala and Cooper's ill-timed confession, Kurt had been marking time by what was left of the summer and Blaine's homecoming, which Kurt originally dreamt would be full of tearful kisses, confessions of undying love, and long stretches of time alone to get 'reacquainted' with one another. Now all that planning and pining is moot. His new timeline takes him to the end of summer, and when he gets there, a whole new crop of questions and problems will confront him. NYADA is the big one, of course. There's no way he can take $10,000 from Sebastian…not now. It wouldn't matter if it is payment for being a fake boyfriend, or a loan (if Sebastian or his family offered). Kurt would definitely and politely decline, even if his heart did shatter into a million pieces and blow away like dust.

And what about Sebastian? Kurt suddenly feels like a heel realizing that through all this - even as their relationship crossed the bridge from casual archenemies, to sort of frenemies, to friends, to this more that they have as yet to assign a label to, Kurt never thought to ask. He had so many opportunities, but the question simply didn't occur to him. An intelligent young man like Sebastian - a success academically, athletic, with an affluent family - surely has plans, most likely at some expensive, prestigious university. Harvard, Stanford…what if he decides to attend college abroad? Kurt can picture Sebastian walking the grounds of some picturesque campus nestled somewhere between the romantic mecca of Paris and the rolling French hillsides, taking study dates in quaint little cafes while speaking fluent French with an almost intimidatingly handsome and statuesque man with a name like Pierre or Francois…

Kurt gasps, sucking in a sharp, deep breath of crisp morning air, unaware until just that moment that he has been holding his breath while self-doubt crept into his brain and spun the most painful story it could weave, stringing threads from his own fears of failure, connecting them to his ever-lingering self-doubt, and wrapping around his occasional questioning of his own appeal.

Kurt Hummel knows he's a star. He just wants the chance to convince others likewise.

He sighs, not looking forward to the prospects of a year left alone in Lima – no NYADA; his friends gone, following their respective paths; and no Sebastian.

What started out as Kurt's morning of calm reflection has quickly turned into Kurt Hummel's pathetic pity party of one, and if there's one thing he loathes, that's self-pity. He wants to forget about his life and his future for a little while. He longs to climb back up to the house, burrow beneath the covers with Sebastian, crawl into the safety of his arms, and snuggle against him. He finally feels like he belongs there. But with a slight brush of his fingertips beneath his eyes to scrape away some bothersome grains of sand, Kurt realizes to his own disgust that he's been crying. He doesn't relish going back to the house and having to explain why he woke up early to explore the beach just to return in tears. Sebastian would have a field day, and normally Kurt wouldn't mind. In fact, on any other day, moping over any other problem, Kurt would be grateful for the distraction of a good-natured bitch fight.

But not today. Not with this particular problem.

Kurt knows he can't dodge this forever. Sebastian can drive their happy asses up and down the eastern seaboard and back in his sexy red Mustang, but sooner or later, it will all catch up with him. Kurt needs to hash it out, needs to trust Sebastian with the complete, unabridged and unedited story of Blaine and NYADA and the future.

Kurt comes to a decision – probably an extremely selfish decision, but he's pleased with it. It makes him feel better, hopeful; in a pithy greeting card message sort of way, he finally believes that everything will be all right in the end.

He grants himself a week's reprieve – one week to focus on little more than making a go at a relationship with Sebastian. Kurt Hummel is on vacation – the first honest to God vacation he's had all summer. Everything up till now has been such a chore – crying and not sleeping and acting the part of the dutiful boyfriend – it all felt like a job.

He changes his focus and now breathing seems easier, his shoulders seem lighter. The sun is higher in the sky, burning off the fog and sweeping the grey away. Kurt takes another deep breath, one that stings less, letting it fill all the voids and collapsed crevices of his lungs until his entire body feels cleansed. He wipes his eyes one last time, declaring the discarded tears of woe to be the last he will shed this week, and slips his hands back into the pockets of the hoodie, surprised to find another pair of hands filling the space, startlingly warm against Kurt's frigid skin.

Kurt's smile is automatic, ingrained in his blood, like shivering in response to the cold, or crying during the bittersweet beauty that is The Notebook. Kurt knows these hands – they held onto his while dancing, and all night long in the dark while they slept. The simple act of holding hands will always be at the top of an ever-growing list of Kurt's most-loved intimate acts, and the hands holding his in the pocket of the hoodie are quickly becoming his favorite.

"I thought maybe you changed your mind and took off," a rough, gravelly voice confesses, and spaghetti God up above if Sebastian's voice doesn't sound completely debauched first thing in the morning. Kurt can hear Sebastian's patented smirk coloring his voice, but Kurt can detect another tone, too. A small layer of anxiousness, like maybe Sebastian truly thought Kurt had run off and left him.

"Really?" Kurt turns his palms up in Sebastian's hands, and Sebastian laces their fingers together.

"A-ha," Sebastian responds, all trace of anxiety exorcised from his voice as he pulls Kurt closer to him, giving Kurt his warmth. "But you left your phone by the bed, and all your clothes, and since those are two things I know you can't live without, I figured you were either out here, or you'd been kidnapped."

"You don't seem like you were too worried," Kurt huffs, lifting his chin defiantly, unintentionally lengthening the column of his neck.

Sebastian takes that as an invitation to press a soft kiss to the delicate skin beneath Kurt's jaw, right against the spot where his pulse thrums visibly through pale skin. The kiss is tentative at first as Sebastian waits for Kurt to pull away, but Kurt doesn't. In fact, he leans into the kiss, a silent request for more please, and as Sebastian continues to talk, he pecks a line down to Kurt's shoulder. These kisses (Kurt counts fourteen of them total) aren't heated, not too bold. Just tiny brushes of skin against skin, innocent and undemanding, but they still manage to make Kurt tremble, something he can pass off as a reaction to the cold even though Kurt's sure that Sebastian knows better.

"I've seen the muscles on you, Kurt. I'm pretty sure you can handle yourself," Sebastian mutters against Kurt's neck between kisses, and he does feel the shift in Kurt's skin as he trembles after each feather-light touch, watches with darkening green eyes as goosebumps bloom, but he doesn't say anything, opting to store the information for later. "Besides, I figured one wrong move, they ruin your perfect hair, and they'd be done."

Kurt giggles, trying hard not to move too much, not wanting to discourage Sebastian in any way from continuing the trail he's created. Sebastian moves back up Kurt's neck, and Kurt can't help the way he shifts to accommodate, his body moving of its own accord to chase Sebastian's lips, nor can he help the tiny gasps and whimpers a touch to certain sensitive spots elicit, and Sebastian back tracks to cover those spots again. Sebastian kisses slowly towards Kurt's mouth, lips parted, waiting, beckoning, but at the last second Kurt flinches, throwing a hand up over his lips to stop him. Sebastian leans back, startled by the gesture, and stares accusingly into Kurt's wide blue eyes.

"What…you don't want me to kiss you?"

Kurt hears the edge of self-doubt in Sebastian's question, just a thin thread of vulnerability that tugs at Kurt's chest, twining through his heart and squeezing.

"No!" Kurt says quickly, his voice muffled by the press of his hand against his lips. Sebastian lets go of Kurt's hands and steps back, visibly hurt. Kurt turns his back on the ocean, catching up Sebastian's retreating arms as he attempts to wrap them back around his waist. "I mean, yes, Sebastian. Yes, of course, I want you to kiss me, it's just that…"

"Just what, Kurt?" Sebastian demands a little more than asks, his jaw set tight, his back rigid and unyielding, eyes fixed a bit above Kurt's head at the pounding surf. Kurt sighs and finally takes a good long look at the young man in front of him, standing barefoot in the sand, still dressed in his pajama pants but with a navy blue Dalton hoodie pulled over his torso. The hood is down, and his hair hasn't quite been brushed – probably just carded through with tired fingers – but it has such an attractive devil-may-care quality to it. He looks so dressed down, so comfortable, and it warms Kurt's heart that he gets to see Sebastian like this, even if at this particular moment he is scowling hard enough to boil the sea. Kurt bites back the urge to call Sebastian a drama queen, realizing he might not be up for the taunt.

"I…I didn't brush my teeth yet this morning," Kurt stammers, hoping to sound as apologetic as he feels. His admission breaks through the steel of Sebastian's grimace, and he cracks a slight smile, turning his eyes down to meet Kurt's, crowding back into his personal space and tightening the circle of his arms.

"That's okay," Sebastian murmurs, inching closer to Kurt's lips, eyes trained on the spot where Kurt is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "I brushed before I came down here…"

"Wait," Kurt interrupts, looking at Sebastian, his voice suddenly cross, "you thought I might have run away or been kidnapped, and you stopped to brush your teeth before you came looking for me?"

Sebastian rolls his eyes fondly, nipping the tip of Kurt's nose.

"I saw you from the window, doofus," Sebastian chuckles, "so I was already sure you weren't in any danger. Anyway...I brushed my teeth, and rinsed with that disgusting antiseptic shit that burns the inside of your mouth and scalds every nerve ending on your tongue. Ergo, through the transitive property of oral hygiene, I think I've got us covered."

Sebastian smirks triumphantly as he moves in, confident that he has squashed all of Kurt's objections. Kurt holds his breath, waiting until Sebastian's mouth hovers close enough to feel the cool of his breath tingle his skin.

"But, I'm not sure that's how transitive properties work," Kurt mutters quietly, the words sliding in tiny puffs across Sebastian's lips.

"Hummel," Sebastian says firmly, making his point exceptionally clear, "just shut the fuck up and kiss me."

Sebastian doesn't let Kurt object this time, and Kurt doesn't dare try, because this kiss is perfection. There's no other way to describe it. Sebastian's lips are still warm, not suffering the same exposure that Kurt's have, and they slot against Kurt's flawlessly. There's no awkward readjusting, no comical mishaps where noses bump together. They fit seamlessly, like they were made to kiss each other, and moments like this were already written for them, waiting to be played out on beaches, in parks, beneath trees and in the rain. They just had to find them together.

And then Sebastian's hands move - one slipping into the back pocket of Kurt's jeans, just barely able to sneak into the tight fabric; the other traveling up Kurt's back and cupping the nape of his neck. With strong, sure fingers, Sebastian works at the muscles there, massaging in circles and why, oh why hasn't Sebastian done this before?

Because, Kurt realizes, this experience is new for Sebastian. He's experimenting, discovering what it's like to read someone's body in a different way than he's used to. Kurt's hands move, too, not content to sit lamely on Sebastian's hips. He slips them beneath Sebastian's hoodie, toying at the hem of his t-shirt. Sebastian doesn't break their kiss, but nods subtly against Kurt's forehead. The pads of Kurt's fingers brush bare skin, and he feels Sebastian's breath hitch in his throat. In his mind, Kurt can isolate the exact moment when he stole all the air from Sebastian's lungs with a single touch of his fingertips. This new-found power makes Kurt heady, his cheeks flushing when he slides his hands up the muscular lines of Sebastian's back and Sebastian moans into Kurt's mouth.

Kurt is more than a little flustered, unsure of what to do or how far to go, only vaguely aware that Sebastian has a hand shoved in the back pocket of his jeans, outside in broad daylight, but Kurt can't find it in himself to care.

"So," Sebastian whispers against Kurt's lips, unwilling to pull away much further, "is this something we do now?"

"What's that?" Kurt asks, happy to remain within kissing distance of Sebastian's talented mouth.

"Make out in public," Sebastian mutters, as if the answer was painfully obvious.

"I would hardly say we're making out in public," Kurt argues. "Nobody's even here." Kurt's eyes shift left to right, darting down the length of sand that he can see without turning away from Sebastian's face. "Uh…why isn't anyone else here?"

"Well, babe, it's barely past six in the morning, for one. And another thing is this is a private beach."

"Pr-private beach?" Kurt stammers. He can barely wrap his mind around the excessive wealth he's already seen from the Smythes, but this…he never even knew someone could own a beach, except for those islands in the Pacific that always seem to be for sale, and even then, not unless you happen to be Tom Hanks. Kurt is not so awestruck that he can't appreciate the appeal of a private beach, and suddenly another number from his bucket list springs to mind - #71 'Sex on a beach'.

"Yeah," Sebastian laughs gently, that genuine laugh that Kurt loves so much. "Well, mostly private, for a couple of miles at least until the sandbar catches up to the Crystal Coast. Atlantic Beach is separated from us by a short chain link fence and a sign. People jump it from time to time."

Sebastian lifts his head to the sound of irregular splashing in the surf, and raises an eyebrow as his gaze drifts off to a point somewhere behind Kurt's head.

"Like, apparently, those Amish chicks over there." Sebastian gestures with his chin to a spot Kurt can't quite see when he turns his head. His small squeak of confusion prompts Sebastian to turn Kurt's body slightly. Kurt sees two girls, no more than sixteen years old, waving like giddy fools in their direction, and dressed in the most tragically drab grey linen dresses Kurt has ever seen. They are dancing barefoot in the wet sand, letting the waves chase them up the beach, and then rushing to follow them back. Kurt cringes when he notices how their hemlines are quickly soaking up the salt water, knowing the fabric will be ruined when it dries, though in the end that may be a blessing in disguise. But despite the flaw in their fashion choices (and yes, Kurt realizes that basically they have no say in that department), they look so blissfully happy, so free, charming Kurt with their infectious laughter.

"Rumspringa," Sebastian says, pressing Kurt's back against his chest as he folds Kurt in his arms.

"Gesundheit," Kurt quips back.

"No. They're here for rumspringa." Sebastian places a kiss lightly in Kurt's hair, and Kurt leans back to mold himself against Sebastian's body. "If they piss us off, we can ask them to go back over the fence, but they probably won't stay for long anyway."

"It's okay," Kurt says. "What's that?"

"What's what? A fence?"

"No." Kurt swings around and slaps Sebastian's arm, grinning when he hears Sebastian mutter a petulant, "Ow!"

"Rumspringa," Kurt repeats. "What is that?"

"It's some Amish coming-of-age thing," Sebastian explains. He tries to release Kurt to nurse his sore arm, but Kurt doesn't let him, gripping Sebastian's wrists tight and locking them back together around his waist. Kurt can feel Sebastian's chuckle resonate throughout his whole body. "These Amish kids get to leave their farms and experience life in the city. You know, see firsthand the dangers of our big, bad, corruptive lifestyles, and then go running back to plowing fields and building barns."

"How do you know all that?" Kurt asks, wondering if any Amish boys learned anything about 'corruptive lifestyles' from Sebastian while he was vacationing over the summer.

"Julian met a couple of them a while back. He told me that there're two things all the Amish kids do when they come to the coast."

"And that is?" Kurt feels like he's pulling teeth, getting the answers from Sebastian little by little.

"Well, the first is to see the ocean, obviously." Kurt can hear Sebastian's eyes rolling.

"And the second?"

"Parties…sex…drugs and alcohol."

Kurt nods.

"That's four things," he says, counting them out obnoxiously on his fingers so Sebastian can see.

"Yeah, but they all kind of go together." Sebastian nibbles at the shell of Kurt's ear, delighted when Kurt jumps a bit in his arms.

Kurt watches the girls as they wave again, this time in good-bye, and make their way to the fence that leads to the public side of the beach. Kurt doesn't care that these wide-eyed and innocent young girls will soon be on the prowl for drugs and sex. They're breaking loose, bucking tradition, freeing themselves from the bonds of an oppressive, religion-controlled society, and hopefully will find the courage to explore new fashion trends. Kurt feels an unexpected sense of camaraderie with them. Kurt watches them walk away, the final flutter of their ankle-length skirts whipping out behind them as they round the bend and disappear from view.

A comfortable silence stretches between them, and Kurt sinks into it, happy to know that they can still have these moments, still just be themselves, when they can talk and flirt and tease and sometimes just enjoy the silence.

But Kurt is also ready to start breaking loose himself.

"So, what do you want to do today?" Kurt asks, bouncing eagerly on the balls of his feet at the thought of getting his vacation started.

"Well, we need to pick up some food because I took a look around and all we seem to have that's edible is a half-eaten bag of oyster crackers and a can of spray cheese."

"Sounds lovely," Kurt scoffs playfully.

"Other than that, I was hoping you might let me play cruise director." Sebastian sways slowly to the rhythm of the waves, the crashing water more subdued as the tide makes its way out further and further from the shore. Kurt shuts his eyes and moves with him, following where Sebastian leads, even if it is in just a small arc in the sand. "There are a couple of things we absolutely cannot do until everyone else gets here, but if you don't mind humoring me, I had a sudden stroke of inspiration while you were out here playing in the sand…"

"Oh please tell me that's not code for 'you had an idea while you were masturbating'?" Kurt groans.

Sebastian laughs, his shoulders shaking, his entire body vibrating, and Kurt feels a swell of pride that he can bring that out in him.

"As sexy as that sounds…no." Sebastian spins Kurt back around and traps him in his embrace. "Just trust me. Okay?"

Sebastian's green eyes soften, his face almost pleading, asking Kurt without words to let him do this his way, to give him the chance to try and get it right.

Kurt makes a show of sighing dramatically, rolling his neck on his shoulders.

"Oh, alright," Kurt moans. "If it means that much to you…especially since we all know I have a thorough and extensive knowledge of all the happening things to do out here."

Though, to be completely honest, Kurt did have something in mind, and even with his face still mostly numb from the cold, he can feel his cheeks glowing redder than a stop light. Sebastian catches the blush, notices immediately when it spreads up Kurt's neck to the roots of his walnut-colored coif. He tilts his head inquisitively, hoping Kurt will elaborate, but Kurt's lips remain unwaveringly sealed.

Sebastian starts to walk backward, leading Kurt along on a trail back to the house.

"So, let's get ready and hit the road. We have about an hour's drive inland, and it might be a good idea to start before it gets too hot."

Kurt nods, intrigue cooling the flush on Kurt's cheeks as he tries to guess what Sebastian might have planned. They make their way back up the path in silence while Kurt's mind whirls with possibilities. Right before they reach the bedroom, Sebastian turns around and meets Kurt nose to nose.

"Oh, and Kurt…" Sebastian whispers, his voice almost a purr, "dress to get dirty."

Kurt wants to object to the idea of getting dirty, but the words turn to nonsense, lodging in his throat and stopping just south of his vocal chords at the subtle smolder in Sebastian's stare.

Suddenly, getting dirty didn't sound like such an undesirable thing.