disclaimer: without prejudice. the names of all characters contained here-in are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. no infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.

author's notes: more fic based on a spuffina gifset for Seblaine week on Tumblr. applause and thank you's to my beta Inwenalas who's been an absolute gem for keeping up with my crazy writing streak :)

Date Me;;

"Two medium drips," Blaine says, sliding a money note over the counter.

He opens his mouth to add something, but Blaine beats him to it: "With a shot of Courvoisier for my Parisian-minded friend," he says, and winks at the barista; she blushes a deep red before retreating back behind the counter to prepare their coffees.

Sebastian thinks she would've already memorized their orders like she has their names if Blaine stuck to the same coffee order every time. But if you can believe Blaine, he likes to 'shake things up'. Speaking of shaking things up—"You picked Florence & The Machine over a Maroon 5 song today," Sebastian says, leaning in closer. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Make fun all you want." Blaine chuckles. "But I killed that song."

"True enough." He nods. "You got every girl from our dear sister school out of their seat, Killer."

Blaine looks up at him. "Too bad I'm not on their team." He smiles, and then that same ridiculous red blush spreads over Blaine's cheeks and he feels a smile pull at his lips beyond his control. He's fairly certain he's about to add something very clever and drenched in innuendo but behind them someone utters a line so cheesy (are you an astronaut? because your smile is out of this world) that he can't help but roll his eyes and sigh out loud— Blaine nudges him with his elbow, "Behave," his eyes spell out and Sebastian raises his hands in surrender.

Sebastian glances back over his shoulder, two fashion-conscious gays standing in line behind them. He recognizes one of them as one twelfth of the McKinley High Glee club and he knows he's seen the other one lurking about in Between The Sheets on more than one occasion.

"Can you believe those two?" Sebastian asks, walking over to the condiment bar with Blaine. He looks at them again and now the McKinley gay is straightening the other's collar and he just wants to cringe. Only there's a much bigger part of him that wants a thing like that himself, someone who looks out for him, feeds him cheesy lines he can roll his eyes at while really he loves it, kisses him in front of everyone without getting embarrassed or feeling bad. Yes, deep down Sebastian Smythe is like any other guy, looking for a connection. And regular sex.

Blaine frowns, not meeting his eyes while he lifts the lid of his cup of coffee and adds two bags of sugar. "Since when do you object to two guys openly flirting?" he asks, stirs his coffee with a stick, then puts it in his mouth and curls his tongue around it, licking off the foam down its length. It is entirely too distracting.

Sebastian clears his throat. "If two guys are that into each other they should just skip the pleasantries and admit it already," he says, and comes dangerously close to being outwitted should Blaine pick up on the implication.

Blaine looks up at him, clearly unimpressed. "Really?"

"It's an insult to the entire gay community to keep tiptoeing around it," he says as they settle down at their regular table. "If you like someone, just come out and say it."

"So you're saying that if Sebastian Smythe liked someone he'd just come out and say it," Blaine says, and intentionally doesn't make it a question. Instead there's that sassy little smile that makes him think Blaine's doubting every word out of his mouth. Okay, well, maybe it's time to show Blaine Anderson that Sebastian Smythe has some romantic bones in his body after all.

"If there was the strong possibility that those feelings would be reciprocated. Yes."

"Then why have you never asked me out?" Blaine throws back.

A beat follows.

Did he just—? His eyes narrow on Blaine's face, but it betrays nothing. There's just that idiotic little smile, triumphant almost, that he'd love to wipe right off Blaine's face, with his lips preferably, only he can't think of anything else to say but: "Excuse me?"

It's remarkable he manages to keep his face in line.

"We flirt all the time," Blaine says, as if he's already proven a point. What point? Was there a point to be made? Is Blaine saying they're like those two? No. He's nowhere near that cheesy—sure, they talk about that stuff easily, but it's never crossed the line of friends.

"It's kind of what we do," he says, and that's not exactly a secret. They've been flirting since day one, since he walked into the common room where the Warblers were practicing and requested an audition. It wasn't hard to notice how the other Warblers just sort of fanned out around Blaine and worshipped him as their lead soloist. Which was remarkable considering he was only a sophomore when he'd started. Sebastian was soon shown exactly why this worship was warranted. Blaine Anderson had more talent in his pinky toe than most Glee clubs mustered together, and with an ensemble like the Warblers behind him he was basically a rock star.

Yet despite his early rise to fame Blaine had somehow managed to hold onto this schoolboy innocence. It was difficult for Sebastian to learn that school bullies were at the core of that.

"And how do you know it's not just what they do?" Blaine asks.

Sebastian has lost track of the conversation. Is Blaine trying to prove or disprove they're like the happy flirty couple of gays that just exited the Lima Bean? He's never underestimated Blaine's flair for argumentation, he loved a good back and forth about the littlest things, like song or wardrobe choices, or his favorite sci-fi movie. And God knows why, but they'd even had a lively discussion about how Adam Levine was obviously hotter than Blake Shelton, more lean and compact in built, while Blake was a giant of a man. But he had the accent going for him. And he'd gone along because it was Blaine and the way he talked about anything was accompanied by flailing hands, that ridiculous smile (and crunchy nose whenever he did smile) and those bright eyes.

Come to think, he might have it worse than he thought. He'd joked and teased and flirted, and let Blaine do exactly the same to him.

Because, please, two should play that game.

Sebastian arches an eyebrow. "Blaine Anderson, are you saying you'd date me?"

Blaine smiles (the sassy one, damn him). "I'm saying that if you were to ask me out—" he starts, pausing for what is undoubtedly meant to be dramatic effect. The sad thing is that it sort of works. Blaine has been thinking about this and it's caught him completely out of left field. "—I wouldn't say no."

"This is brand new information." Sebastian grins. Only when he really thinks about it this isn't entirely unexpected—Blaine's always balanced this line between bashful and forward, shy and bold, fully capable of blushing at something he says but making the exact same innuendo the next day. And, well, he'd be lying if he said he didn't take advantage of that sometimes. He's never quite met someone who's as easy to talk to as Blaine.

"Really?" Blaine asks, both of them completely neglecting the coffee on the table. "We've been flirting for months," he says.

Yes. Yes, he knows that, but it's never been anything more than that. Every time he'd tried anything Blaine hadn't exactly shot him down, but he hadn't given him any signals that it was okay to keep going either. He'd danced with Blaine at Scandals, but every time he moved in tighter Blaine had just blushed and guided them back to the bar. They'd practiced duets alone together and Blaine got so caught up in performing that it was hard to ignore the tug in his chest, something he's sure Blaine felt as well, but they'd both chalked that up to some heat of the moment thing and never talked about it.

There was one time he could have had Blaine, after winning Sectionals and the Warblers had decided some underage drinking wasn't out of line. Blaine got drunk out of his mind, his inhibitions flew out the window and if he'd known that beforehand he never would have asked Blaine to dance—Blaine had grinded up to him in front of everyone and it got to the point where he had to ask Nick to take Blaine back to his room, because he was in no state to do it himself. He'd retreated to his own room and jumped into the shower, hoping feverishly his roommate (who wasn't a Warbler) wouldn't ask questions about all the noises coming from the bathroom at 3 in the morning.

He might've wanted Blaine, but not like that.

Blaine hadn't talked to him until noon the next day, when Sebastian cornered him in the hallway and bribed him with a bottle of aspirins. He'd apologized for being so forward five times (and would be awkward about if for another three days or so) and somewhere along the way Sebastian had decided that being friends with Blaine was a whole less worse than not having him in his life at all.

"We're not that different, you know," Blaine's voice shakes him back to reality.

"We're completely different," Sebastian responds on automatic, because this is what they do, and he's grown to love it. Besides, it's not like him to give up easy. Not that he means to argue a counterargument, he thinks it's the differences between them that attracted him to Blaine in the first place. After all, he's sure the word 'humble' appears nowhere in his vocabulary. "I'm gracefully tall," he says, and Blaine's shaking his head and smiling, and he realizes that yes, he does have it pretty bad. And he'd gone and left himself wide open. "You're freakishly short."

Blaine points at him, something Sebastian sincerely hopes he didn't get from his brother. "You'd bend down to kiss me."

"I'm sorry?" His eyebrows shoot up and he puts a hand to his chest. "You'd reach up to kiss me."

Blaine shrugs. Admitting defeat? Sebastian wonders. No, that was way too easy.

"I think I just proved my point," Blaine says, giddy schoolboy smile this time.

"Your point? How do you figure?"

"You're flirting," Blaine says.

"So are you."

Blaine nods. "Exactly."

"Damn." He chuckles. Blaine never actually wins a whole lot of these arguments (Blake Shelton's way hotter), but he'll give him this one. Maybe flirting isn't just what they do. Maybe he should take his own advice. "Alright," he says. "I'm not too proud to admit defeat. What do you say, Anderson?"

"Don't be coy, Smythe." Blaine struggles to keep a straight face. "Come out and say it."

Who's being coy? Sebastian catches himself thinking, because where did this Blaine Anderson come from and where did the real one go? Of course he knows what happened—his comfort around Blaine makes him unguarded and it's opened him up to something new, a friendship, where in any other case he would have kept pursuing until someone either gave in or gave up. It's not like that with Blaine. They have a connection.

Sebastian grins. No, he's not too proud to admit this either. "I like you, Blaine Anderson," he says. All pride aside, though, he can't change all his colors overnight. "Date me."

Blaine let out a loud HA! and laughs, and it's such a gratifying sound that he just allows it, rather than fake indignation.

"Bold move, Smythe."

"Life's too short for anything else." He shrugs. "So what do you say? Dinner and a movie?"

Blaine nods, still attempting to contain a smile. "Sounds like a date."

#

if you can, please let me know what you think!

additional author's notes: just for clarity's sake, Adam Levine is definitely hotter than Blake Shelton. ahum.