
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4626663.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Kurt_Hummel/David_Karofsky
  Character:
      Kurt_Hummel, David_Karofsky, Carole_Hudson-Hummel, Finn_Hudson, Burt
      Hummel, David_Karofsky's_Mother, Original_Female_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, otp:_The_Fancy_and_The_Fury, Hand
      Jobs, Frottage, Unresolved_Sexual_Tension, Angst, Fluff, Self-Esteem
      Issues, Anxiety
  Series:
      Part 2 of Baby_Steps
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-22 Completed: 2015-08-23 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 18704
****** Freeze Dried Romance ******
by LeaLPotter
Summary
     He would have expected Kurt to fill the silence, just like he seems
     to fill every single empty hole in Dave's life lately – and yeah,
     that's either incredibly corny or incredibly gross.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Look The Other Way *****
Dave doesn't know the first thing about Kurt.
Really, he doesn't have a fucking clue.
Yeah, sure, he knows just how to stretch his arm over Kurt's shoulders when
they're having a movie marathon (old musicals when it's Kurt's turn, Kevin
Bacon when it's Dave's – hey, turns out Dave's gay after all, he's allowed to
have all the celebrity crushes he fucking well pleases). He knows to rub his
knuckles up and down Kurt's arm when his boyfriend – yes, Kurt Fucking Hummel
is his boyfriend now, how about that – snuggles tighter into his side.
He has got it covered when it comes to kissing down Kurt's neck, slow enough
that he starts giving this staccato breathing, shuddering and arching into the
slightest touch.
He knows how to have Kurt squirming under him, and about those ninja tricks
Kurt uses to be touching every inch of Dave's body while still looking entirely
harmless and innocent. He knows all about the resolute set of Kurt's jaw when
he grits his teeth impatiently and forces Dave on his back on the bed, knees in
a vice on each side of Dave's waist, his mouth opening over Dave's own, hot and
eager.
They have been torturously close on a number of occasions, but they've gotten
better. Lately, Dave doesn't even need to pull back anymore; Kurt will kiss his
shoulder softly and wriggle out of the bed, rambling on about musicals and
plans and something called a Pippa.
And it's not like he's some fucking creep, of course, he can get off just fine
on his own and Kurt has been more than helpful when it comes to provide him
with jerking off material, but.
But fuck him; fuck him if he knows what goes through Fancy's mind most times.
He wants to get this right so badly it wakes him up at night, sweating like a
goddamn pig in a poker. And it shouldn't be like this, right? It should be so
easy, and confortable, and fucking terrific, it shouldn't feel like sawdust in
his stomach, like he's Blonde Chick 3# on any B-movie, walking up to the front
door knowing, just being so fucking certain that there's something out there,
and opening the goddamn door anyway, because, hey, Dave and the Blonde Chick 3#
are stupid like that.
He wants this so badly he's not even sure he ought to have it anymore. So maybe
he should end this while he's ahead, while he still remembers how it is to not
have Kurt, while he isn't taking it for granted yet. The thought that he ever
will is laughable, but that's actually for the best; it will be easier to let
go of something he knows he doesn't deserve than of something he feels is his.
The glitch in that plan is that he likesKurt.
Likes him so fucking much, like he never thought he would, because –
Come on, it's Fancy. Won't throw a ball because he might break a nail, will
freak out if it's windy enough to mess up his hair, will bitch and bitch and
fucking bitch if the new guy at the 'Stix brings him a regular refill instead
of diet – that's Fancy for you.
But it's also Kurt. Can kick a football to the goddamn sky if warmed up right,
will let Dave run his fingers through his hair all he wants just because Dave
mentioned once how much he liked it, will leave a 20% tip to the older waitress
even though she keeps mixing up their orders. That is Kurt for Dave.
Dave hadn't known, no one had fucking told him, when he was lusting after Kurt
and it was killing him, when he was utterly terrified of Kurt, when he was
tripping himself head over heels in love with Kurt, no one told him that he
would ever actually likehim.
Because, you know, just because you love someone it doesn't mean you have to
like them all that much, okay? It's not in the fucking prerequisites, that's
what.
And, fine, it's not all about the cool quirks of Kurt's personality, either.
That would be rational, at least. And it isn't even that his dick likes Kurt,
his dick always liked Kurt well enough, but it's not just that, if it were just
his dick, Dave would fucking deal.
The problem, the fucking ginormous problem is that his arms like Kurt, the
shape of him against Dave's chest; his hands like the trace of Kurt's bones and
tendons; his fingers like Kurt's hair and Kurt's lips. Dave is pretty sure his
fucking fingernails kind of fancy Kurt, too.
His mouth likes every part of Kurt's fucking gorgeous body that it has managed
to kiss so far, and his eyes like Kurt so fucking much it's as if they itch and
burn in their sockets to see, to see Kurt all the time.
Dave wishes he could leave it at that; Kurt's a pretty hot dude, and Dave has
been getting down and dirty with this gay thing on a daily basis, so what's the
big deal if his body feels like it's getting cold turkey when it goes by one
day without him touching Kurt? Shit happens, and all.
Then Kurt will arch his sneaky ninja eyebrows at some stupid thing Finn says,
or he'll smile proudly at Carole's choice of outfit, or shake his head and
steal his dad's plate whenever Burt gets overly generous with his servings – or
he'll simply glance at Dave and honest-to-fucking-God light up and Dave's
officially done for, he just throws in the goddamn towel and gives the fuck up.
So it's no wonder he's so fucking in like with Kurt, as if being in love with
him wasn't enough, as if wanting him every single hour of the fucking day
wasn't enough, he has to likethe guy.
This is what Dave's frazzled mind runs through while he just stands there,
staring horrified at the splotch of ketchup on Kurt's white pants.
Granted, the pants are not on Kurt, thank all of his lucky stars; they're just
on his bed, along with a few other things Kurt had been in the middle of
hanging when Dave arrived.
But they're still white.
And Kurt's.
And probably cost more than Dave's entire wardrobe.
Fuck.
He grabs the pants; water, he thinks frantically, soak them, because he's a
teenage boy with a really hot cocktease of a boyfriend and he knows in the most
uncomfortable way that you should never let stains dry.
The pants are dripping now, and he's managed to get even more water on his own
clothes than on them. He dries himself off to the best of his ability, takes
the pants and the towel and shoves it all into his gym bag – thanking all the
saints and their mothers for having wanted to go work out a bit before coming
to Kurt's –, hoping against hope that Kurt won't notice it missing among the
mountain of clothes he's got. Then he most likely suffers three near-death
experiences while running down the stairs.
He peeks into the kitchen. Burt, Carole and Finn are sitting around the table,
munching away on Kurt's cake between 'ohs' and 'ahs', and Kurt's leaning
against the counter, wiping off a glass bowl and smiling ever so slightly, one
sleeve of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, a rebel strand of hair over his
forehead. He looks like something out of a fucking dream, and Dave wants him,
wants him all the fucking time, rolling around in his bed, barely coming up for
air before sucking Kurt's tongue into his mouth again.
He notices the tray on the counter, looking ready to take upstairs: a glass of
Coke – there's a red can in the trash and fuck, it's regular, because Kurt
knows he can't drink it any other way, but no one else drinks it like that
here, so Kurt must have bought it for Dave, for God's sake – and a piece of
cake with his name written on it, no, literally written on it because it's Kurt
and he does shit like writing Davewith chocolate syrup on the best piece of
seriously mouthwatering cake Dave has ever fucking seen.
He clears his throat, "I have to go," and feels like an asshole.
Four pairs of eyes zero in on him and he gulps, clutching the bag behind him
tighter. Then Kurt lifts his eyebrows and tosses the rag aside.
"You're going? Why?" His hand wavers over the tray, uncertainly.
Dave shuffles his feet and bites the inside of his cheek. He has to think of
something credible, has to think of – Jesus, Kurt's eyebrows are cleared for
take off – something that won't piss him off too much.
"My… mom called. She needs… she wants… stuff."
Kurt blinks at him.
"Stuff?"
"I –"
"Well, if you have to go, you have to go," and of course Burt would say that.
Dave knows he still has got to prove himself, but every fucking time he goes to
Kurt's he remembers Burt muttering uncomfortably loud about Blaine being such a
nice kid when Kurt told him they were dating. It's only been a week since Burt
and Carole know about the whole 'them' package and Dave's already feeling
wistful about all the sneaking around he and Kurt had to do before The Great
Reveal.
"Honey," Carole reasons, shooting Burt a look that makes him throw his hands up
in surrender.
Carole makes awesome snickerdoodles. He remembers that from afternoons with the
guys at Finn's before they both grew up into assholish jerks.
"Are you sure, Dave?" She looks warily at Finn, who has got one piece of half-
devoured cake on each hand. "I can't guarantee there will be any more left."
Kurt purses his lips.
"The Apocalypse isn't nigh, Finn, god." He looks back at Dave questioningly.
"I – I gotta go, I really – I'm sorry."
"Dude, we're not gonna hold you hostage." Finn grins, easy and friendly, and
when the fuck did that happen. "But you're totally missing out."
Dave risks a glance at Kurt and feels the urge to pull down that sleeve and
comb back his hair, back him into the counter with his whole body, and Finn
couldn't be any more right if he tried.
Kurt rolls his eyes at him, at Finn, at Burt, at the kitchen and the whole
world for being so astoundingly inferior.
"Go on, then. Go do whatever mysterious 'stuff' you need to do for your mom who
is calling you for 'stuff' right in the middle of her, and I quote, 'seventh
circle of Hell ain't got nothing on it, sweetie' shift."
Dave winces and looks down. This is going just swell.
"I'll call you, okay?"
Kurt sighs and nods.
"Fine. I'd wrap this up, but it's really creamy and it would be entirely ruined
when you got home," he says, glancing at the cake. Dave can tell he's mad
probably thinks it serves him right that Finn will get to eat the Daveslice,
but God, he can't, what if the pants are ruined forever because he waited, what
if anyone notices his wet clothes, what if Kurt finally sees him for the loser
he is and –
"I'll walk you out."
Dave catches a muffled 'I think he knows where the door is by now, son'
followed shortly by 'Leave them alone, honey. Have more cake' as Kurt is
closing the kitchen door behind them. The walk to Dave's truck is silent and
awkward in every way, mostly because Dave keeps trying to use his gym bag to
cover the wet spots in his clothes while not drawing too much attention to the
bag at the same time, and keeping the most distance he's kept from Kurt since
way before got together. He would have expected Kurt to fill the silence, just
like he seems to fill every single empty hole in Dave's life lately – and yeah,
that's either incredibly corny or incredibly gross.
Except, as he has been noticing for some time now, not really that gross,
Dave coughs and swallows before his mind sidetracks him to pleasanter if even
more embarrassing routes.
"Dave."
He almost falls into Kurt when the other boy comes to an abrupt stop in front
of him.
"Yeah?" He is holding the bag defensively now, hoping against hope that Kurt
doesn't dump him solely on the basis of his obvious mental disorder.
"Is everything – I mean, is – are we –"
Dave freezes. If the next words coming out of Kurt's mouth are 'We need to
talk' he'll –
He has no fucking idea what he'll do with himself.
"Forget it." Kurt gives him a half-smile and waves at the pick-up. "Well,
aren't you getting in?"
Dave nods and starts leaning in to kiss him goodbye, but the bag is still kind
of in the way, and he would drop it in a second, but then Kurt would see his
shirt and his jeans, and there would be questions, and Dave still has no
fucking clue how one goes about cleaning ketchup off white fabric. Kurt's mouth
is soft and open and waiting – he would do anything, sell his house, his
parents and his sisters, for fuck's sake, just to kiss him now, his boyfriend,
his, Dave's, but he can't. He can't because he's so fucking stupid, and he
can't deal with questions and explanations and Kurt breaking it off because
Dave can't fucking eat like a semi-civilized human being.
Kurt looks up, all sweet and confused, and steps in, one grounding hand coming
up to rest on his arm.
"So. I'll call you," Dave hurries out and bolts.
He shoots one last look at the rearview mirror after backing into the street.
Kurt is hugging himself and is face is all pinched and strange, and Dave wants
to drive himself into a wall but he just keeps going. 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He gets home jittery and out of breath, and is quick to lock himself in his
room and open the bag, ignoring the quickening drum in his veins. The spot
looks huge, bigger than he remembers. There's no one home and he's clueless; he
knows basic laundry rules like not mixing white and colors, and cold wash, and
'I swear to God, David, if you don't start checking your pockets before
throwing every thing that you don't feel like folding into the washer, I'll get
a druggie's urine sample, have it tested, then send the results to your
football coach under your name', so he's not entirely hopeless. But this isn't
one more pair of his Target jeans; these are Kurt'sclothes. He does the only
smart thing he can possibly think of and calls his sister. 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
"Em's phone. Who this be?"
"Fu-uck."
"Davey? Is that you? Is that really you?"
"Just get my sister, Olivia."
"But we haven't talked in eons."
"Yeah, I might have had something to do with that. My sister, come on."
"Well, she can't right now, you know, a girl's gotta pee when a girl's gotta
pee. Let's chat."
"Let's not. Just tell Em I called, I –"
"Dave?"
"Thank fucking God. Em."
"Sorry."
"Can't you change roommates? Pick someone, I don't know, sane."
"It's not that simple."
"Right. Whatever. Still say you've got no taste."
"Well, thank you, Day-Day! Same compliment to your boy –"
"Olivia, enough. Sorry, Dave."
"You fucking told her?"
"Actually, Alex conference-called and told us."
"Swell."
"Really, who is she going to tell?"
"Don't like her knowing stuff about me."
"She's not that –"
"Save it, fuck, I don't have the time."
"Did something happen? I just spoke with Paul this morning, he didn't – are mom
and Alex –"
"It's nothing to do with them, calm your shit. I need a favor."
"You have such a way of asking for them."
"C'mon, Em. I'm fucked."
"Out with it."
"It's just – I've got these pants, and they're white, and there was ketchup,
and now they're getting dry again and I –"
"You own white pants?"
"They're not mine, they're Kurt's, and that's the problem, 'cause he –"
"Kurt? Isn't that – David, what are you doing with your boyfriend's pants?"
"What? And shut the harpie up, will you?"
"I really think his pants should stay onhim for now. How long have you been –"
"Go get it, D-man!"
"Just kill me now."
"Olivia, really. I think he's hyperventilating."
"I'm not!"
"You sound like it."
"They're his goddamn pants, and they're goddamn white, and nice, and fucking
expensive, and mom says you shouldn't use bleach on nice stuff, and they
weren't on him, he made me a burger and they were on the bed –"
"What were they doing on the bed instead of on him?"
"Fuck, Em, you know what, just forget it –"
"Googling it didn't occur to you?"
"I… no."
"A doomed generation. Well, while you were ranting away, Olivia did a search
for you."
"…"
"There's a ton of easy-fixes, but considering that the pants are: one, not
yours; two, your boyfriend's; three, apparently expensive enough that you'd
think of calling me after not deigning to tell me that you have a boyfriend in
the first place – I would recommend you try a professional."
"What –"
"The laundry around the corner of that bakery with the sanitation laws
infringing cream-puffs. They're rather efficient and fast with small services.
If you need money you can go to my room and –"
"I have money."
"Blast, there goes the interest."
"Thanks, Em. And, y'know, thank Olivia for doing the search and all."
"She says you're welcome. And –"
"What?"
"That you should work out your sexual frustration with your boyfriend instead
of venting it on innocent cloth."
"Bye."
***** Wait Until It's Over *****
It could have definitely turned out worse. The pair looks as good as new, and
it hasn’t cost a tenth the money he would have given to fix them. Dave catches
himself petting the smooth fabric and scowls; he folds them carefully and goes
to call his boyfriend.
He goes by Kurt’s two days later, when only Carole is home. When the three of
them cross paths on the stairs, she smiles fondly and gives them a playful
reminder of “Door” – which they choose to interpret as leaning it almost shut.
Dave is aware that he needs to make up for the last day; he hasn’t stopped
thinking of ways to actively give back, so he’s quick in putting those thoughts
to good use by pulling Kurt down on top of him on the bed.
He is getting good at this rolling around without falling off business, even if
it’s really fucking hard to concentrate when Kurt’s tongue is stroking wetly
alongside his, and Kurt’s hands are running feverishly up and down his chest,
making him squirm and change their positions whenever those ninja-fingers
linger too long over his stomach and sides. Kissing Kurt is nothing short of
glorious, but he needs a clear head or else he’ll be sure to ruin it
spectacularly. It comes close on a number of occasions, as when he moves to
press Kurt to the bed and the smaller boy lets out a sort of trapped noise that
heads straight for his cock and makes him almost give in and hump Kurt like a
fucking rabid dog, desperate for some sort of release.
He keeps in mind the three-dates rule at all times; he just isn’t sure what
consists in a real date for Kurt. They have gone out a total of four times now,
and the first one didfeel like a date, if only because Dave had wanted it to be
one so badly, planning it to the last detail. Then, in a strike of some delayed
karma, the French movie marathon had been pulled off thanks to a termite
infestation in the theater, and they had ended up going to the old ice cream
place on the other side of town. Kurt had smiled shyly when Dave insisted to
pay for it; he had climbed all over him and kissed him senseless after finding
out the healthy movie-snacks Dave had hid in the back seat. The sky was cloudy
that night – karma, you see, has the worst fucking timing of all bitches in
history –, so all those hours Dave had spent looking up constellations and
memorizing star-charts had gone to hell, but the blanket was still warm and
soft when Kurt spread it by the swings in the park; they had just lain there
for a while, kisses drunk with the excitement of being in plain view of whoever
decided to take a late night stroll.
That had been a date, and Dave didn’t think it had sucked that much on Kurt’s
end, French movies and stargazing aside. But the other times had been just
them, out in places where they thought they could get away with being together
by using Santana as an obscure, whip-holding figure looming in the background.
And yes, Dave had known they would be good together but he hadn’t known how
good, this good, this unbelievably get-on-your-knees-and-beg-for-more kind of
good.
Considering how much he has to lose, it’s no real wonder that every time they
are alone together – and he has Kurt arching up into him and breathing his
name, his hands restless to explore every inch of Dave’s body he can reach –
Dave eventually has to take a deep breath, center himself and get it though his
goddamned thick head that this isn’t about the finishing line, but about the
race, and that there’s actually no race and he can very well take care of his
own business himself, and that if he fucks this up with Kurt his brain can come
up with awesome and terrifying ways to torture him with memories for all
eternity. And then he pulls back.
Kurt will give him a look that plainly says “What a strange and unusual
creature you are”, but always goes with it easily enough. He will get up
gracefully and offer to go fetch them refreshments, and Dave will refuse,
because even worse than being too close to Kurt is being away from him.
This time, however, he is a man with a mission. As soon as he hears Kurt
padding softly down the stairs, he unzips his bag and pulls out the pants,
smoothing them out anxiously. He opens the closet door, wincing at the muffled
creak of wood, and blinks twice, taking in the obscene amount of clothing his
boyfriend owns. Every piece probably has it’s own zip code, for fuck’s sake.
They look color-coded, which is a win, but are probably also brand-coordinated,
which fuck. He can hear Kurt moving around in the kitchen; he hastily grabs an
empty hanger, hangs the pants, squeezes them amidst similar light-colored pairs
and shuts the door. He can feel a bead of sweat sliding down his forehead onto
his nose as he sits back on the bed, knees trembling.
Then he hears something crumple beneath him with a sound that has to qualify as
sickening. He holds his breath for as long as he can and then gets up slowly,
actually praying under his breath.
There it is. Dave isn’t even sure what the fuck it was supposed to be before he
dropped his fat ass on it, but it’s stripped? Kind of like a horse and, okay,
it’s a zebra, a zebra pin, a zebra head pin with the clasp dangling from the
side as he picks it up gingerly.
He feels nauseous; he wonders if he’s about to pass out. Then there are Kurt’s
steps on the stairs and he shoves the broken pin deep in his pocket, his mind
already running through his options.
“Dave?”
Kurt is staring at him strangely from the doorway, holding a tray with drinks,
homemade cupcakes and a blue plastic bowl overflowing with chips and that’s
just too much for Dave. He hisses a half-assed apology, grabs his bag and
breezes past Kurt who is apparently struck dumb and doesn’t stop him.
 
===============================================================================
 
Safe again behind his locked door, Dave settles the pin on his desk and drops
into his chair, exhausted.
He isn’t what you’d call handy with this sort of thing. He downright sucks at
it, really: while every other kid in his class was upgrading from macaroni
frames to paper bouquets, or some other shitty bamboozling craft-project like
that, he got stuck washing paintbrushes and banging erasers. He isn’t about to
attempt any rescue mission on something that looks like it could detach
altogether and crumble to dust if he dared touch it again.
After glaring at the thing for a solid half hour – he normally enjoys whatever
Kurt wears, especially now that he’s allowed to check him out and will
sometimes get a kiss for his leering, but honestly, what –, he finally gives up
and goes out to knock on his sister’s door.
She takes one look at it and nods, then whips out their chores chart and
instructs him to check the ones he’ll be doing in her stead. He grumbles but
checks a generous number, hoping it will encourage swiftness and perfection
under pressure. She shoots him a disdainful look and smirks, ushering him out
of the room straightaway.
 
===============================================================================
 
“Salt, Dave.”
“Yeah? What’s the magic word?”
“Whipped.”
“You little –“
“Alexis? What’s going on?”
“Dave was just passing me the salt.”
“David?”
“Salt. Fine. There.”
“Good boy.”
“Just kill me now.”
 
===============================================================================
 

“Thanks. Looks good.”
“It looks perfect. He won’t notice a thing,” says Alexis flatly, waving him
away from behind her book.
“Look, Alex –“ He pauses, unsure.
She looks up, setting the book aside.
“If – Look, if you need any help, you know, homework and stuff, or just
anything –“
Alexis bites her lip thoughtfully.
“What about…”
“Yeah?”
“Boy troubles?”
Dave grimaces and holds up his hands defensively.
“No. Just no. Hell to the no way.”
“But Da-ave –“
She giggles when he mimics a shot to the head.
“Ask Em or something.”
“Right.”
Dave sighs and shakes his head.
“Sorry, sprog. Gotta deal with that yourself.” He smirks. “I did, and it turned
out alright, didn’t it?”
She shoots him a half-incredulous, half-horrified look.
“I mean now. It’s great. Now.”
“Not for long if you just keep breaking his stuff.” She waves a finger at him;
the way her mouth his set reminds him of their mother. “Be careful. I like
Kurt.”
“Yeah?”
“I like what he does to you.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs and turns to her book again. The conversation is clearly over, but
he can’t resist messing with her a little more.
“Hey!” she squeaks, feeling his arms closing around her in a bear hug. “What is
with you lately, God.”
They haven’t hugged since before he started middle school and she was a
precocious toddler following him around the house. He can’t remember the last
time he spoke to her without one of them telling the other to shut their big
fat mouth and yes, she’s his little sister and a gigantic pain in everywhere,
but she’s also his little sister.
He kisses the top of her head and lets go, smiling as she huffs and mutters
about mental cases and white jackets.
“Hey, Alex,” he says from the doorway.
“What.”
“I’d pick you.”
“What?”
“You know. You used to ask Em and me that, if we could pick someone else
instead of you, or no kid sister at all, whom would we choose. And I always
said –“
“That you’d be an only child,” she completes, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah. But that would suck. And I’d totally pick you.”
“Dave.”
He nods seriously.
“Please tell me you can control your innate lameness around Kurt. I dolike
him."
***** See That I Am Needing *****
Dave is a lot smoother this time. He brings red and yellow roses for Kurt,
kisses him boldly by the front door and takes his hand as they almost run up
the stairs. Kurt is eyeing him warily the whole time, but his eyes brighten
when Dave pushes him against the closed door for a deeper kiss, hands framing
Kurt's face possessively.
It's Dave who remembers to salvage the flowers, placing them delicately on the
white vanity; Kurt is still holding himself against the wood, one hand grasping
the doorknob, his cheeks tinged pink, his chest going up and down in uneven
breaths. Dave smiles at him knowingly and presses their bodies together again,
one of his hands resting heavy on the small of Kurt's back. He opens Kurt's
mouth with his tongue, sucking the breath out of him; he lets his hand slide
down to knead his ass in rhythm with Kurt's fists clenching and unclenching on
the fabric over his shoulders. He feels his lower body heat up noticeably when
Kurt's hips start stroking his own in subtle, incomplete circles.
Dave pulls back even as Kurt leans forward to follow his mouth; he gives him a
tight grin and points at his laptop case.
"I come bearing moving pictures?" he says tentatively, still not letting go of
his boyfriend.
The strange, pinched expression that he has been seeing on Kurt's face more and
more often is there again. Kurt sighs and nods, nudging him away.
"I'll go make popcorn. Sweet or salty? Wait, I'll make both. And I've got
regular Coke for you, if you want. And I think there's still some of Carole's
raspberry cheesecake left. I'll go check."
Dave laughs in pure amazement, throwing his arm around Kurt's shoulders and
pulling him closer to kiss his neck.
And his earlobe.
And his jawline.
And then they're at it again, Dave sucking and nibbling on Kurt's delicious
neck, Kurt tugging at his shirt, and his hair, and everywhere he can reach,
bucking his hips into Dave hard enough to cause some damage. Dave growls a
little and hooks his hands on Kurt's hipbones, holding him still against the
door. Kurt gasps and seizes the opportunity to pull Dave's face nearer to his,
positively attacking his mouth with soft bites and a sharp tongue. Dave is
getting lost all over again; Kurt has always had this effect on him, this
leave-no-button-unpushed thing he does. It's worse and every kind of amazing
now, though.
"Hey, we should, we should –"
"Shut up, Dave, please, just shut up."
He does and puts his mouth to better use. One of Kurt's knees has nudged its
way between his legs and his bare foot is rubbing up and down Dave's calf in
slow, languid circles. Dave holds himself against him, presses his thumb softly
into the hinge of his jaw, feeling their mouths move together. He's hard enough
to pound nails by now, but can't bring himself to care if Kurt feels it.
Then Kurt's hips twist and snap and, at precisely the same moment that he feels
Kurt's own hardness pressing up eagerly into him, he also feels the sharp
outline of the pin clasp in his pocket. He almost bangs his head on Kurt's
shoulder in frustration because he can't let it go, he can't ignore it, and
Kurt is moving frantically under him, letting Dave touch him and touching back
with double the intent, but the fucking pin. And Kurt hasn't brought up the
pants yet, but what if he does, and the fucking pin, and what is Kurt even
doing with him, really, when he could get so much better.
It's easier than it should have been to pull away now that his brain has gone
down that particular route. Kurt's eyes are wide and round with confusion, his
lips still parted and shining wet.
Dave is such a fuck-up.
But Kurt just shakes his head and fixes his hair and clothes before flashing
Dave a weak grin and heading downstairs to conjure up their movie-marathon
food-storm.
Dave sits down carefully on the desk chair; it looks sprightly and elegant, two
things Dave obviously isn't. He fishes the pin out of his pocket; it's a
survivor and he grins proudly at it before smacking his own forehead, really
fucking annoyed at his lack of brain cells. He shoves the zebra to the back of
Kurt's third desk drawer with a relieved sigh.
Whenever they can get away with it, they watch movies in Kurt's bed, curled up
against the headboard, Dave's laptop perched on their intertwined legs. He
feels lighter as he moves to set it up; any day now he'll man up and talk to
Kurt about moving things forward a little between them. He wouldn't even think
of opening his mouth if the odds weren't more in favor of Kurt saying yes than
'not ever, Neanderthal,ew'.
They've both been holding back; Kurt did have Bland for a while, but Dave
believes him when he says that they never moved past kissing. Dave had Santana,
in a way, and one or two other hook-ups at Z's parties, but he's betting he
hasn't outdone Kurt by a lot. The fear of this being no more than a summer
fling for Kurt creeps up from time to time; but worse than that, so much worse,
is the fear that Kurt hasn't completely forgiven him yet. Sometimes, it feels
to Dave like he has; sometimes Kurt's eyes will soften when he's looking at
Dave, and his kisses are hungry and elated whenever Dave lets it slip that he
loves him. But then stuff like Kurt's pants and the zebra pin happen, and he
can't help but wonder what Kurt really saw in him, what is possibly keeping him
with Dave, and he wavers.
Now, as he leans against the headboard of Kurt's bed, a good movie selection
under his fingertips and one of Kurt's soft scarves wrapped around his hand, he
feels lucky. Confident, the world at his feet. He smiles at Kurt's whole room;
the smile grows wider and goofier when he notices a small frame on Kurt's
beside table: it's their picture, one of the thousands of pictures Carole
insists on taking of them whenever she finds them curled into each other on the
couch. He can feel himself growing bubbly, warm coils of happiness turning and
weaving beneath his ribcage. He grins down at the red scarf, bringing it up to
his nose discreetly; Kurt smells better than any other guy, any other girl,
even, and it's like his clothes are saturated with it. Dave thinks he can feel
it on his own clothes sometimes, can smell Kurt on his own skin – just the
thought of it is intoxicating enough to make him come twice as hard just before
going to sleep.
The scarf smells just like a concentrate of Kurt and he toys with the idea of
asking him to take it home; then he remembers Alexis's warning about lameness
and thinks better of it. He folds the scarf neatly and reaches out to place it
on Kurt's bedside table before stopping dead.
No. No, fuck no, no, no,  no.
There's a hole, there's a huge motherfucking hole in it, and there's red thread
all over the table and on his lap.
When Dave was young, his mother always kept a sharp eye for loose threads on
his clothes, because every time he got nervous or overly distracted he would
start picking at them until there was more hole and thread than actual fabric.
And now –
Well, fuck.
He could cry. No, he could actually cry now, from frustration and self-hatred
and God knows what else. Whenever he pushed Kurt against one more locker,
threatened him time after time, he used to think it could never get worse than
that, the feeling of sinking deeper and deeper into a bizarre dark pit of his
own making. But God, he has so much to lose now; he had nothing then, nothing
but Kurt's hatred burning at him and his own growing self-disgust. Now he has
everything he could ever ask for: his family's acceptance, his own acceptance
and Kurt. And if he keeps fucking up, the first two won't count for shit when
he loses the third. His parents don't even know they're dating; Kurt and him
had agreed to give them more time to adjust and to regain a sense of normalcy.
For all the ridicule of it, he desperately wants to bring Kurt home as his
boyfriend now, but he can't, he can't because he keeps doing shit like this,
and he hadn't even noticed, had been so careful to check the bed and watch the
lamps and now –
Dave sucks in a calming breath. Then another, as it refuses to do any kind of
calming. Then he picks up the scarf and wraps it firmly around his waist,
pulling at his polo shirt to cover it without looking too conspicuous. He
glances wistfully at his laptop; he had been looking forward to finally getting
all the way through Wild Things, now that he didn't have to feel guilty over
not being particularly enthused by the gratuitous lesbian fan service. He had
even conceded on Singing In The Rain just for the sake of Kurt's running
commentary on the epic, star-crossed love of Don and Cosmo, helped along by
their mutual beard, Debbie Reynolds.
He makes sure not to leave any incriminating proof behind and walks down the
stairs with his shoulders hunched, constantly picking at the folds in his
shirt.
When he reaches the kitchen, Kurt is in the process of setting a plate with
large, mouth-watering slices of cheesecake. He feels as if his throat is tying
itself into hard knots; lo and behold, people, the worst and the best
boyfriend ever.
"Hey."
Kurt turns to him with a bright smile that falls as soon as he notices the
laptop case in Dave's hand. He sets his jaw and glances away, putting the plate
back in the fridge without a word.
"My dad –"
"Just go, Dave."
"No, he called, he needs me to go pick up Alex, he –"
Dave's mouth runs dry when Kurt takes his phone out of his pocket.
"You must have dropped it when we…" Kurt shakes his head, his lip curling
slightly. "I found it at the bottom of the stairs. Here."
Dave takes it in silence, knowing that this is a million times worse than all
his mishaps combined.
"Kurt –"
"You had better have some sort of explanation when you call me tomorrow, David.
And I hope it's a good one."
"Kurt –"
Kurt looks at him sadly and a lot less defiantly than Dave wishes he did.
"If you don't want to be here, then –"
"Fuck, Kurt, you've got no idea, don't do this –"
"Then call me tomorrow and explain, please." Kurt sighs tiredly. "But now you
should go. It's what you want, isn't it?"
Dave knows the signs by now. The way Kurt is holding himself proudly, his back
tense and unbending, his shoulders squared for a fight. Knows this is a
challenge, that the right answer would be 'No fucking way', and the right move
would be pulling Kurt close and kissing all those nagging insecurities away.
But there's a fucking scarf wrapped around his waist, a scarf with a fucking
huge hole in it, Kurt's scarf. So he gives the wrong answer by shutting up and
nodding, and makes the wrong move by going out the door and driving away,
avoiding all mirrors like the irresponsible coward he is.
That night he makes half the right move and calls Kurt without waiting for the
next day.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
"I thought I told you not to call me until tomorrow."
"Why'd you pick up then?"
"…"
"I'm sorry I lied, Kurt."
"Why did you?"
"Because I had to come home right away, and I didn't want to tell you why, and
I panicked. Because I'm a dick. I'm sorry."
"Why couldn't you tell me you had to go home? It's not like I force you to come
to my house or – God, do I?"
"What am I, three? You really think I'd go there if I didn't want to?"
"I…"
"Baby."
"I think you think that's your get-out-of-jail free card for everything but it
isn't, David, it really isn't."
"C'mon, baby."
"Stop smirking."
"'M not smirking."
"I can hear it."
"I'm smiling."
"Oh. Why?"
"Can't tell you."
"Another mystery? Oh my."
"Don't want you to think I'm lame."
"I think you're lame all the time, so…"
"… really?"
"What?"
"You really think I'm lame?"
"… no, not really. If I were in a better mood I would say you are pretty
amazing."
"Really."
"If I were in a better mood. Which I'm not."
"Because I'm an asshole."
"Because you lied to me. And I'd like to understand why you would feel the need
to do that, but you won't let me."
"I love you, Kurt."
"…"
"See, lame."
"That – that get-out-of-jail free card is a little more efficient than the
other one."
"I love you, baby?"
"Not quite right. Unless you sing it…"
"Bite me."
"We'll see."
"Oh?"
"What are you wearing?"
"W-what?"
"I see. You should be drunk for this."
"…"
"Dave…"
"… yeah?"
"Ungh. Nothing."
"We should sleep."
"… yes, I guess we should. Goodnight, David."
"Night, Kurt. We're – We're okay, right?"
"We're fine. Sleep."
"'Kay, baby."
"Sweet-talker."
"Uh-huh."
"Bye, Dave."
"…"
"And you fall asleep first. Typical."
"…"
"I think I just might be in love with you too, Dave."
"…"
"And I think you can take out the 'might'."
"…"
"And the 'think'."
"…"
"Of course that will just leave you with a poorly constructed sentence. Oh,
well."
"..."
"..."
***** Begging For So Much More *****
"It can't be fixed, Dave, I'm sorry."
"Can't you just – I don't know, sew it shut?"
His mother frowns and looks up despairingly.
"This isn't one of your old gym socks, David. I can mend the hole, but I can't
make it magically disappear like you want me to."
"Fuck."
"David."
"Sorry, mom."
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He calls Emily again later that night; he can tell she is holding back laughter
throughout the entire phone call, but she agrees to help, so he lets it go.
They soon figure out that the only solution is to buy a new one – which means
that it will have to be Olivia helping him. She demands a picture of the scarf
and, within two hours, he gets a copy of an online receipt in his inbox.
Dave stares at it for a few minutes, disbelievingly. It's fabric. With frayed
ends, or whatever, it doesn't even look like it's finished yet, what is this
madness. He sucks it up and calls Olivia to let her know he's got it and that
yes, he'll pay her back as soon as he can, and no, he won't "owe her one"
because he'll be paying back every cent with interest on top, just so that
she'll get off his case.
He gets it in the mail two days later. It's an exact copy; it doesn't smell of
Kurt, though, like the ruined one he's been keeping under his pillow, but he
thinks it'll do. It will have to, God; he can't handle this kind of stress
anymore.
Kurt has been sounding distant over the phone and Dave would be freaking out if
he couldn't tell right away that it's on purpose. Kurt isn't turning into an
ice queen because he's distracted by something orsomeone else, he's doing it
because he's entirely too focused on Dave, and yeah, maybe it's dysfunctional
but it still warms him up a inside. Now, standing outside Kurt's front door
with a brand-new, crazy-expensive red scarf in his backpack, and wearing the
red shirt Kurt likes best – he's feeling really good about this. Third time's
the charm and all.
Finn answers the door, chewing his way around a grilled cheese, and it makes
Dave a little hungry but he shoves it down; Kurt probably has some sort of
monumental feast already spread out in the kitchen, for all Dave always claims
not having a appetite. Finn nods, gulping down and grinning broadly, then moves
back to let Dave in.
"Dude, you better have been starving yourself for the last two weeks."
Dave's brow furrows but then he feels the pure deliciousness drifting from
behind the half closed kitchen door; Finn makes an 'I know, right?' face and
brushes bread crumbs off his t-shirt.
"He's been holed up in there since after breakfast. I had to beg for him to let
me in to make a sandwich." He shakes his head meaningfully at Dave. "Kurt can
be kind of really freaking scary with a wooden spoon."
Dave chuckles uneasily, wondering where the hell Comradely Finn came from, and
not for the first time. Looks like they're best buds now, what do you know.
"Guess I'll take my chances."
"Your funeral, man. But, hey, if you get out alive, bring me something. I don't
even care what, the smell's been driving me crazy." Finn nods again and claps
his arm; Dave stares at him bemusedly as the half-giant makes his way to the
living room.
Shaking his head, he pushes the door open; the scents hit him like a warm,
three-course home cooked meal; his mouth fills with water. Every surface is
covered with either baking sheets or muffin pans; in the oven he can see three
large pizzas uneven enough to look homemade, and Kurt has a glass bowl in his
arms and is mixing up a storm. Dave's mouth drops open; the whole kitchen looks
like something out of a high-end cooking show and Kurt – Kurt looks fucking
delicious, with a snug, full-body apron over a sinfully tight-fitting combo of
t-shirt and jeans, bare arms covered in flour and cinnamon, and a smudge of
white frosting on his chin that Dave would kill to be licking off.
"Why, hello, David."
He realizes he's staring and clears his throat.
"Got a new job?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Supplying a few thousand bakeries around the country, I see." Dave grins and
takes a bite off a nearby strawberry muffin. "If you've got a good quality-
price rate going on, you'll be retiring by graduation, 'cause these?" He waves
the muffin in his hand, already eyeing the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies
flirting with him from the far end of the table. "These could rule the world,
I'm telling you that."
Kurt is biting his lip to keep from smiling, but Dave can see right through him
and winks, setting the muffin down on the counter. Kurt finally relents and
crosses the kitchen in a flash, fisting his hands in Dave's collar and pulling
him down for a chocolate and cinnamon kiss.
They break away completely after a good five minutes, their lips swollen-red
and bruised.
"Better?" Dave whispers, drawing Kurt into his arms and burying his face on the
pale curve of his neck.
"So much," Kurt sighs, fingers playing with the short hair at the nape of his
boyfriend's neck. "I like you. You should come around more often. Don't be a
stranger."
Dave chuckles and kisses his collarbone softly, breathing in the already
familiar Kurt-scent – which reminds him immediately of the contents of his
backpack. He reluctantly lets go; Kurt sighs and makes a show of brushing their
clothes, lifting up a white cloud.
"Sorry," he mutters, running his hands in circles over Dave's chest, long after
there's no trace of flour to be found.
Dave wets his lips, his skin growing impossibly hot under Kurt's restless
fingers.
"So, what's all this?" he asks, going for a distraction.
"Just something to keep me busy," answers Kurt dismissively, his eyes and palms
still overly intent on Dave's chest.
"I can see that."
"Dave?"
"Yeah, baby?"
Kurt blushes and leans closer, cornering Dave against the edge of the counter.
One of his hands sneaks boldly into Dave's back pocket; the other is hooked
around his neck, pulling his head down until he can feel Kurt's warm breath on
the sensitive skin bellow his ear. He shivers, trapped and never wanting to be
anywhere else in the whole fucking world.
"Dave."
"Y-yeah?"
"Let's go to my room."
Dave thinks of the scarf in his bag, the pin in the third drawer, the pants
hanging in Kurt's closet; he swallows.
"What about Finn?"
"Fuck Finn."
"Thanks a lot, little bro."
They pull away faster than battery polar opposites; Dave's elbow knocks against
one of the sheets overflowing with cooling cookies and sends them flying to the
ground, tender crumbs scattering all over the floor.
"Fuck!"
"Finn!"
Finn stares at them for a while, his eyebrows knitted together; then he shrugs,
snags a handful of banana and chocolate chip muffins and flees the kitchen.
"Fuck. Fuck, Kurt, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to – shit, look, just hand me a
broom or something, I'll –"
Kurt holds up one hand and he shuts up immediately, unsure. The other boy is
holding his own chest and taking quick shallow breaths.
"Kurt?"
"That jerk. That ninja-footed jerk. He does this on purpose, you know? All the
time. Jumps at me from nowhere. I'm the last person to come to for heart-attack
jokes, but I swear he's worse on my artery walls than trans fats."
He shakes himself and glances at the floor, surprised.
"What – oh. Well, that we'll teach me to multitask. There are only so many
cookie batches you can have laying around before tragedy strikes."
Dave winces.
"I'm sorry. Just tell me where all the cleaning stuff is and I'll fix this. I
didn't mean to –"
"Well, of course you didn't, David." Kurt smiles, threading carefully through
the light brown smithereens. "I don't think it's likely that you'd come all the
way here just to wreak havoc in my kitchen. Which, by the way, was entirely
Finn's fault."
"But you made them, and they looked really fucking good, and now I –"
Kurt comes to a halt in front of him and straightens the collar of his shirt,
one eyebrow going up.
"They're just cookies. Hardly penitence worthy."
"But –"
"You know what?" Kurt leans closer, fingertips skimming the underside of Dave's
jaw. "You should go up to my room and wait there for me. Could you do that,
Dave? For me?" He bites his lip coyly, fingering one of the buttons.
Red scarf, zebra pin, white pants, Dave repeats to himself like a calming
mantra.
"What about –"
Kurt catches the finger Dave had been pointing at the mess and takes the chance
to intertwine their hands.
"Leave it to me. Maybe I'll get my valet to do it."
"Your valet?"
Kurt smirks, nudging him gently until he's out of the kitchen.
"Have you met Finn?"
Dave chuckles faintly and nods, relenting.
"Good boy," Kurt practically purrs. Shit. "I'll be quick. Don't start without
me," he calls over his shoulder, making Dave almost skip a step, because
really?
Really.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
"Finn."
"Kurt?"
"'Bro'?"
"Hum, no?"
"Never."
"Gotcha."
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He's becoming a pro at this, Dave decides as he folds the scarf carefully and
places it behind the neat pile of books on Kurt's desk. He looks at the bed
longingly but takes the safe course and plops down on the thick rug, leaning
his back against the comforter.
He thinks of what will happen when Kurt comes up, and can't help the full-
bodied shiver of excitement; there's no mistaking Kurt's tone and body language
even if Dave wanted to – which he really doesn't. He locks away that nagging
voice at the back of his head hissing about timing and forgiveness, about
school lockers and preppy uniforms.
True to his word, Kurt is lightning-fast entering the room and closing the door
behind him; he kneels in front of Dave and climbs into his lap, straddling his
hips; then he cups Dave's face and kisses him, hard and wild. They move
together silently, twisting and bending around each other to find a comfortable
position. "Why aren't you on the bed?" Kurt gasps out; Dave shrugs with no real
idea of what the question was and pulls Kurt as close as humanly possible, one
hand on the back of his neck, the other heavy and possessive on his boyfriend's
perfect ass.
They manage to push themselves up onto the mattress without breaking a
particularly bruising kiss; Kurt shoves him back playfully and wedges one thigh
between his legs – then he slides down until their bodies are flush together
and Dave thinks, oh fuck, and does Kurt honestly expect him to last enough to
make this into a decent memory?
Kurt apparently has as much grasp of control as Dave does, which means zero,
which means that when Burt yanks the door wide open he probably wishes he
hadn't. Dave wishes he had a brain, because when Kurt jumps up babbling
nonsensical protests, he still has half a mind to grab him and pull him back on
top of him to resume their enthusiastic simulation of animalistic rutting.
Carole and Finn manage to calm both Hummels down eventually, even though Kurt
keeps letting out vague snide remarks about privacy, and one strangely specific
about how some people can suck face with their opinionated girlfriends all they
want in plain view of the whole family, but he can't even kiss his boyfriend
goodbye without his dad clearing his throat obnoxiously and making veiled
threats about ammunition. Burt snaps back with a comment about inappropriate
behavior that even Dave can see he regrets the minute it leaves his mouth; Kurt
sneers and starts ranting about fake-pregnancy scares, and double standards and
heteronormative close-mindedness, which makes Burt sputter indignantly and
start raising his voice – until finally Carole whistles loud and shocking
enough to render them both mute. Dave almost breaks down laughing, suddenly
reminded of how Finn's birthday parties always had the lowest rate in furniture
damage; then Finn himself elbows him and he sobers up immediately.
Carole makes them all sit down around the table; Dave is begging with
everything he has to be excused, but despite his resolute 'bitchy-mode on'
face, Kurt's shoulders are shaking. He sits down beside his boyfriend and bumps
their knees together; Kurt lets out a small sigh and his shoulders still.
"We should lay out some ground-rules," Carole suggests; Dave thinks she's
taking Burt's hand under the table. Kurt is looking at his father a little
anxiously now, taking in his reddened face and the fast rise and fall of his
chest – "I'm sorry, dad," he says, biting his lip.
Burt nods and blurts out that he might maybe, maybe be a little at fault here,
too. Kurt sits up straighter in his chair but holds his tongue; Dave bumps
their knees together again and leaves them that way.
Half an hour later, Kurt has gained door privileges and Finn has been asked to
moderate his displays of affection, both public and private, least Carole
forces him to take regular Family Planning meetings. Burt gives a half-hearted
try at restricting Kurt and Dave's newly gained privacy, but Carole's
"Teenagers always find a way, honey, and teenage boys on top of that…" makes
him drop it with a grumbled "Thirtieth birthday, that's all I asked" – which
Dave absolutely doesn't get, but it makes Kurt break down laughing and suddenly
the mood is notably lighter.
Carole invites him to dinner and the sudden pressure of Kurt's fingers around
his wrist makes him say yes, of course, he'll just call his mom.
The conversation is strained at first as they all make themselves enjoy Kurt's
pizzas – which isn't a hardship in itself, even through the forced polite
chatting. Then Finn turns to Kurt mid-bite and blurts out "Dude, you should
have seen your face" and as fucking inappropriate as it is, it turns out to be
exactly what they need. Kurt and Finn launch into an epic bickering-battle
concerning each other's misdoings with Burt and Carole backing up their
arguments with more accurate facts and Dave discreetly egging both of them on –
and it's working great until they eventually catch on and Finn starts telling
the tale of Dave's brief stint in the glee club, putting emphasis on his song
choice for practicing, the absolute bastard, all the while their parents look
on in amusement and Kurt is practically bursting with delighted smugness.
They kiss each other goodbye outside; for all the warm acceptance that they've
been getting, they both still rank a semi-private swift make-out session high
above a demure public peck.
When Dave gets home he's feeling lighter than he's felt in days, somehow; Kurt
is seemingly oblivious to random articles popping in and out of his own room
and much more interested in rubbing himself all over Dave. A state of things
that Dave feels in no need to correct.
However, two days later, all hell breaks loose.
***** Gone And Missed It *****
Finn is at Rachel’s. Come over?
The pleasant haze from his dinner at Kurt’s house had vanished with the
following morning, leaving nothing behind but a vague yet ever-present sense of
dread. He blames the scarf. It has stopped smelling like Kurt, and it’s now
just a bitter reminder of why he can’t have nice things.
It’s turning into a knee-jerk reaction: at the thought of Kurt’s house his
palms get hot and sticky, his armpits prickle and he starts getting twitchy all
over. Dave feels heavy and awkward; his hands look bigger and clumsier already.
He shoves them in his pockets with a snarl. He thinks of the ruined cookies all
over Kurt’s kitchen floor, of dark red stains, and loose thread and dangling
pins; he’s a menace, for fuck’s sake.
The door is unlocked. That’s when his knee-jerk reaction becomes an all-
encompassing body shudder. Either Kurt’s house has been broken in – he
instantly regrets wishing for it – or this is Fancy setting up the scene where
Dave will eventually get his marching orders. He considers turning back and
texting Kurt that he’s sick, missing a vital limb, volunteering in Siberia.
Kurt can’t break up with him if Dave isn’t there, can he? And he’ll turn off
his phone, bury his router and hole up in his room – if Kurt has no means of
reaching Dave, he can’t dump him.
Right?
Or Kurt can just consider himself single and move on by humping his way through
every slightly bi-curious douche he meets. And as much as Bland rubs Dave
absolutely wrong, he must at least know how to move around Kurt’s room without
wreaking havoc in his path – and fanfuckingtastic, now he’s thinking of Bland
in Kurt’s room. It’s not like they ever even slept together, though – except it
is, even if Bland had drunk himself under the table, and Kurt always laughs and
says he slept so far to the edge of the bed, courtesy of his intimate-contact
issues, that he fell down twice, but still. Dave punches his thigh, craving the
distraction, and pushes the door open.
“Second to the last cupboard as you enter the dining room, if you’re here for
the silverware. But if you’re Dave, then please come on up.”
Kurt’s voice drifts from upstairs, ringing clear and dry, and yes, it’s a
scene; Dave is about to be let down grand style. He bites his tongue and
reminds himself not to bargain or worse, beg – unless there’s even the
slightest chance that Fancy might be swayed, in which case grovel away.
Just outside Kurt’s room, he paints a pretty picture of going in to find Kurt
lounging on the loveseat; he will get up with a smile, lock his arms around
Dave’s neck, breathe “Hello” onto Dave’s lips just seconds before kissing him.
Then he will draw back, his eyes warm and intimate like an invitation, and
he’ll pull him further into the room, where they’ll fall into bed. Or on the
loveseat, the desk chair, even the floor would be fine, Dave just wants to rush
to the part where he’ll get to touch again, and touch even more, where Kurt
will want Dave to put his hands all over him. Dave will get to make Kurt fall
apart completely, sighing and moaning and writhing under him, and then –
He wants to see. Wants to know he can give Kurt this, if nothing else. He’s
getting good at this physical stuff – Kurt seems to think so anyway – and if
it’s all he’s ever going to be good at when it comes to Kurt, then he needs to
turn into a fucking expert.
He pushes the door open and his heart starts beating faster and faster with the
certainty that this is a scene, the grand climax in the final act. The room is
absurdly neat, even for Kurt; all the surfaces are barren and immaculate; the
plush rug is gone and so are the pillows that should be over Kurt’s bed – oh,
and there’s a fucking enormous black swivel chair planted right in the middle
of the room, its large back turned to Dave. As soon as he shuts the door behind
him, fully aware that that will just confirm his lodging at Twilight Zone, the
chair begins to turn.
He feels like smacking himself repeatedly; he should have just stayed in his
cozy little closet, should have never apologized to Kurt, should have never
fucking called him after Prom, because what. Seriously, who does this?
“Why hello, David Karofsky.”
He gawks at his boyfriend, feeling lost and in way too deep for his own good.
Kurt is sitting with his white-clad legs crossed, wearing that goddamned Likes
Boys t-shirt, and Dave almost believes it’s all for his sake before noticing
the red scarf wrapped around his neck in a convoluted noose, pinned into place
by what looks like a miniature zebra head. Kurt is petting a teddy bear lying
face down on his lap while holding a cookie in his other hand, and Dave just
wants to die.
“The hell.”
“I’ve always wanted to do this. Haven’t you always wanted to do this? I have,”
says Kurt gleefully, kicking the chair to make it spin around once more.
“Where did you get that?”
“It’s from the auto shop. My dad almost never uses it, even though it’s
orthopedic. Do you want to give it a spin?” Kurt asks teasingly, taking a
delicate bite out of his cookie.
“Jesus, Kurt.”
“Do you like this pair, David?” He runs a hand down his thigh, slowly. “They’re
my absolute favorite. I even have a special niche in my closet for them.”
Dave nods, defeated. He’d rather Kurt just got to the point where he dumps him
so he can go home and break shit.
“What about this?” Kurt taps the top of the zebra head with his index finger.
“I found it in a dusty little vintage shop in Westerville – it’s so unique,
don’t you think? I do enjoy accessorizing.”
Dave half shrugs, feeling distantly thankful to his sister; the pin seems
secure enough.
“And this.” Kurt unclasps the pin and unwraps the scarf, laying it neatly over
his lap. “Well, this I have no idea.”
“Isn’t it the same brand?” Dave forces himself to ask, wondering if Olivia
possibly got it wrong on purpose to get a little even with him. He can’t even
manage anger at her, now.
“Oh, yes. Same collection, exactly the right color. It’s a perfect match.” Kurt
gives him a sly smile. “But I’m what you could call quirky, as I’m sure you’ve
already noticed. I have this habit of sewing a tiny, very simple fleur-de-lis
on the underside of my scarves. Personalizing is the key, Dave. Besides,” he
wraps one end of the scarf around his finger, pouting, “our school is an
infested pit, filled to the brim with cold-hearted bandits, and my scarves are
expensive.”
Dave stares at him, baffled to his very core. He had always known he was in way
over his head when he and Kurt finally got together, but he really had no
fucking clue back then.
However, Kurt is still taking.
“Do you want a cookie, David? These are simply delicious, if I say so myself.”
Kurt slides off the chair, leaving the teddy, the scarf and the pin behind, and
saunters over to his boyfriend. Dave has never seen anyone saunter before, but
it’s definitely effective.
Kurt hooks one finger on Dave’s belt hoops and drags him forward until their
chests are flush against each other.
“Do you, David?”
“Kurt, stop.”
The singer actually looks puzzled.
“Stop what?”
“This… whatever fucked-up game you’re playing here, okay? I get it; I’m a
screw-up, dumb enough to think for one second that I could get this by you
without you ever noticing. You’ve made your goddamn point.”
Kurt shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“No, I don’t think you’ve got my point at all, David. It’s a shame, since mine
is a very simple, very straightforward point, but you’ll get there eventually.”
He drags one hand up Dave’s chest, letting his idle fingers catch on the
buttons of his boyfriend’s shirt. “See, you haven’t even complimented my choice
of t-shirt, even though you keep asking me to wear it.”
Dave’s knees are starting to give under him; he feels exhausted, and slow, and
so fucking stupid because he’s not sure what Kurt’s driving at anymore.
“It looks good.”
“Just that?” Kurt glances up coyly from below his eyelashes. “I’m sure you can
do better, David.”
“It –“ Dave shakes his head, grasps Kurt’s arms and pushes him away slightly to
study his face. “What are you doing, Kurt?”
The temptress façade crumbles and Kurt scowls, jerking free from his grip.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he hisses, crossing his arms over his
chest.
“Fucking with my mind like you always do, that’s what it looks like,” and Dave
never meant to be angry at Kurt; he has been plenty angry at himself, at Finn
for making it look so easy to forget the past, at Blaine for always being there
in the background, for being all that Dave isn’t, even at his own family for
being so fucking supportive when he deserves none of it, and then at himself a
little more – but not at Kurt, not really. But now he can’t believe Kurt would
go to all this effort just to make him feel shittier – his skin feels scratchy
and stifling all of a sudden, and he just wants to shout and rave, and break
the goddamn chair into pieces and cry alone in his bed, because he’s managing
to do away with the single best thing that ever happened to him.
“Really? Really, David? You – you absolute bonehead, you –“
“Thanks, you’re a real charmer. I’ll just go, yeah?” He scowls at the scarf.
“I’ll send you the receipt and you can ask for a refund, or something. Be
seeing you.”
“Oh no, you don’t, Karofsky. Don’t you think for a moment that you’ll get off
as easy as that.” Kurt sidesteps him swiftly and plasters himself to the door.
“We’re talking, and we’re doing it now, Hamhock.”
Dave has known from a young age exactly what ‘seeing red’ means. It means you
should push everyone out of the fucking way before you do something you’ll
regret; it means busting your ass on the hockey rink, and later on the football
field; it means running and running and running until it clears up enough for
you to find the way back home. But when Kurt Fucking Hummel is right in his
face, cheeks flushed with anger and eyes shining impossibly bright, it means
Dave’s brain shutting down completely and him making the worst decisions of all
his life.
However, his self-control must be getting a lot better lately, or maybe he
really is that slow, because it’s Kurt who surges up and kisses him hard enough
to make their teeth clash.
It’s then and right there. The red haze clears up so suddenly that Dave gets
emotional whiplash, but he couldn’t give a fucking flying fuck in space because
KurtFucking Hummel is kissing him, desperate and bruising, and Dave knows this,
he might be a dumb fuck at everything else to do with Kurt but not at this. So
when Kurt pulls away, eyes already screaming an apology, Dave just snorts and
cups his face with every bit of urgency that Kurt has passed on to him – and
just like that they’re kissing again, with considerably less anger but with
just as much passion as they put into everything.
He stumbles back, dragging Kurt with him; the edge of the chair hits the back
of his knees and Dave’s brain reminds him of the brilliant thing that is
kissing while sitting down – and that’s really good timing, because after that
Kurt’s silky tongue strokes the roof of his mouth and everything else short-
circuits and dies. His knees give out; it’s nothing short of a miracle how he
manages to find himself on the chair with Kurt awkwardly draped over him; he
feels it slip under them and scoots back, pulling Kurt up by the back of his
thighs until his boyfriend is securely locked around him.
Now that he can turn his full focus back to Kurt’s delicious mouth, he also
gets a sudden understanding of why this particular pair is Kurt’s favorite: it
fits him like a goddamned latex glove and Dave’s restless hands can feel
everything. Thank God he’s sitting down.
“First fight, uh?” he manages when Kurt releases his mouth in favor of his
neck.
“Yes,” Kurt says matter-of-factly; Dave would be offended if his boyfriend’s
body wasn’t practically seizing in his arms. “And this is called making up.”
“I like it.”
“Mm-hmm.” Kurt draws back slightly. Dave stares, utterly charmed by the
darkness in his eyes, the damp flush of his skin, the swollen, well-used lips.
“We should finish making up on the bed.”
“Your dad?”
“Won’t be home till five hours from now.” Kurt swallows, still panting. “And I
can promise you I don’t intend to last that long.”
“Y-your – your –“
“Carole’s taken up volunteering afternoons at the kindergarten. She’s amazing
with little children. Can we please chat a little more?”
“Are you – Kurt, are you sure?”
Kurt throws his head back dramatically, jostling the chair and making Dave
stifle a whimper as their bodies press closer at every right spot.
“I make food for you. I let you eat in my room. God, David, what else does a
boy have to do? The get-your-man-through-his-stomach thing isn’t working, and
neither is plain old seduction. It would be better if you just gave me a
script.”
It feels like a train-wreck to Dave, the way his mind tries to make sense of
the last week.
“That’s what all the food was about? The baking craze, the popcorn, the cake,
the regular Coke? The – the giant burger with all the ketchup, too?” Kurt nods
impatiently. Dave frowns.  “Wait. What seduction?”
He’s not ready for it, and neither is the chair; for all that it’s incredibly
comfy and definitely orthopedic, it still rocks dangerously when Kurt jumps
down gracelessly and with no warning whatsoever. He steadies it while Kurt gets
busy on the ground, picking up the Dave-busting props and setting them
methodically on the empty desk.. Dave is fully expecting his boyfriend to get
back on, well, on him, so that they can resume either their talk or their
previous actions, the latter preferably. Kurt, however, seems to be finding his
desk lamp truly riveting.
“Kurt? Baby?”
Silence. Dave sighs.
“What did I do now?”
Kurt turns to him quickly and spreads his arms; his eyes are reddened and too
bright.
“You didn’t do anything, David. It’s nothing to do with you. Seems like the
problem is all mine.” Kurt sniffles wetly, hugging himself, and Dave is by his
side with no idea of how he got there so fast. “Nothing new, r-right?” he
hiccups into Dave’s shirt.
Dave still doesn’t get what is happening, what hasbeen happening, what parts he
has been missing while shortening his life-span by stressing himself to an
early grave, but a sort of instinct kicks in and he hugs Kurt tighter, knowing
that there’s something bigger than ketchup and cookie crumbles going on in
here.
“Kurt, come on, you’ve gotta talk to me, okay? I know I can be really fucking
dense sometimes, so you just have to come out and say it.” Dave still has no
idea if he’s doing it right, if he’s helping in any way, but it feels righter
to be holding Kurt now than to be pulling away. “C’mon, baby, please.”
Kurt gives a little sob at that.
“I just – I never do this right, do I? I thought I could, with you, because you
–
it’s so easy with you, and I actually want to, with you, but – I keep making a
fool of myself, and one of these days you’ll just get sick of this whole mess
and leave, and I –“ Kurt’s voice gives out and he buries his face in Dave’s
chest, which is probably for the better; Dave needs time to ground himself and
decode the half-sobbed rambling – and also to assure himself that no, that
didn’t just come out of his own mouth.
He runs his hands in deep circles over Kurt’s back, kisses his hair, his
forehead, bends his neck to press his lips to the tip of his ear; this would
probably be easier if they were sitting down again, but he doesn’t feel like
jostling Kurt. To stand here with him feels… sweet, in the purest sense of the
word. The house is so very quiet; he can hear his boyfriend’s muffled breathing
slowing down.
“I love you, Kurt.”
It’s not the first time he says it, not by a long shot, but he still feels
anxious and weirdly peaceful at the same time whenever he does. Kurt’s
breathing halts for a second and his arms tighten around Dave’s waist.
“Remember that, okay? ‘Cause with you letting out stuff like you’re afraid I
might leave you? I worry you’ve forgotten it.” Kurt makes a noise of protest.
“Yeah, yeah, but those were your words, not mine. So you are gonna calm down
and tell me what’s wrong,.”
“Stop treating me like I’ve regressed to infancy, will you?” retorts Kurt,
pulling away.
His eyes are even redder now, puffy and worn, but his voice is strong. Dave
rests one hand on the side of his neck and leans down to kiss him softly; Kurt
yields into it, his mouth opening readily under Dave’s lips. He tastes like
promises to Dave – of what he is not sure just yet.
***** Don't Want You To Ignore Me *****
"Dave,” whispers Kurt, his breath sweet and tempting on Dave’s lips.
Dave shakes himself and grabs Kurt’s hand, leading him to the bed. They sit
side by side, Kurt looking down intently at their joined hands.
“Tell me?” Dave asks quietly.
Kurt takes a deep breath and looks up, eyes lost in the white ceiling.
“I suck at this,” he says finally, still avoiding Dave’s eyes. “When it came
down to genetic assignment, I ended up with plenty of first-rate genes, don’t
get me wrong. But I think I might have gotten a defective one somewhere in
there.”
Dave struggles to hold back a smile.
“Which one?”
“The – the s-sexy one.”
“Nah. Uh-huh. Try again.”
“David, I’m serious about this,” and as much as it pains him somewhere deep and
raw, Dave knows he is.
“Just because you’re serious doesn’t mean you can’t be wrong out of your face,
too.”
“You don’t –“
“Get it? That’s right, I don’t. ‘Cause, y’know, I’m stupidly fucking crazy
about you, so you can guess how that’s hard for me to believe.”
Kurt’s eyes are back to his face now, hard and suspicious.
“You’ve been avoiding spending time with me like I’m patient zero for the
bubonic plague. And every time I try to – you know, you–“
“Every time you try to what?”
Kurt huffs and rolls his eyes.
“To seduce you!” He scoffs when Dave starts. “And you – I’ve been painfully
obvious and you still don’t… ugh! And then I caught on about this,” he waves at
his pants and at the sole contents of the desk, “and I thought that was it, it
wasn’t just me being utterly incompetent, but it was also–“ Kurt pauses, brows
knitting together. “Actually, I have no idea where you were going with this,
and why exactly you’ve been taking away my things. I was hoping you’d clarify
that point for me.”
Dave gulps audibly, his palms growing sweaty.
“I – I –“
“Coherency, David.”
“Yeah, like you’re one to talk,” Dave retorts. “I’ve been taking them away to –
to fix them.”
“Fix them?”
Dave spreads his hands miserably.
“I messed these up,” he replies, stroking down Kurt’s thigh with two fingers,
too wrapped up in his own confession to catch Kurt’s sharp intake of breath at
the contact. “With ketchup. So I sent them away for cleaning. But when I
finally put them back, I managed to break your pin.” He takes away his hand,
sighing. “Alexis fixed that for me. And then the scarf – I wasn’t even
thinking, Kurt, I didn’t even notice I was doing it, but then there was this
fucking huge hole, and my mom couldn’t fix it, so Em helped me buy a new one,
and I know I should have told you, but Christ, who does shit like this, I just
kept messing up and I thought you – that you’d –“
“What, that I’d break up with you?” suggests Kurt, laughing. His amusement is
cut short when Dave shrugs morosely. “Dave?”
“One after the other. Whenever I thought I’d done right, it happened again. And
then your cookies, you saw that one. And I thought I was coming here to be sent
on my way, and you had all this stuff on, and a cookie, so –“
“I was curious. And hungry,” says Kurt incredulously. “And we still had some
left, and I thought chocolate would be better than garlic, or onions, and –“
“Better for what?”
“Seduction,” Kurt mumbles. “I wanted – I was trying to –“
“Why?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
Dave nodded, his brow furrowing in deep-set lines.
“We agreed that after our first three dates we would –“ Kurt blushed, matched
closely by Dave.
“Actually, that was your rule.”
“Well, fine, yes, but you always seemed so controlled – except not in the way
Bla–“ Kurt pauses, but Dave nods tightly, urging him to continue. “Not like
Blaine always was. You looked like you were trying so hard, and I wasn’t sure
if it was the rule or really you needing to take it slow, so I started cooling
things off too, distracting us. But lately you seemed like you were just shy of
asking for permission and I wanted you to – I didn’t want to hold back anymore,
I don’t think I ever really did, not even that first night.”
Dave takes it in, slow and precisely, putting every piece together with care.
Then he starts laughing.
“Dave?”
And he can’t really stop, because they’re idiots,the both of them, and this is
probably one of those lessons that are going to take a lot of trial and error
to absorb.
“If you’re just gonna sit there and laugh at me, then –“
He surges forward and presses a heavy, needy kiss to Kurt’s lips, partly to
shut him up and partly because, well. He can.
“So you’ve been going to all this trouble to steal my virtue, uh?” he says,
grinning as he nuzzles Kurt’s neck.
“If you’re calling it that, then no, absolutely not.” Kurt is still a little
pissed at him, so Dave grasps his hands between his own, looking serious.
“I’m sorry I looked like I was blowing you off, baby. Believe me, that’s
something I can’t even imagine myself doing when I’m six feet under. I bet you
could just waltz into my memorial service and I’d stand up – in every possible
way, if you get what I mean –,” and Kurt slaps his arm, but he’s grinning like
a loon, so Dave counts a win, “and I’d follow you any-fucking-where.”
“Really, now.”
“Really. It’s like this: I’m still getting used to just you, okay? I’m still
kind of struggling with not being inappropriate whenever you’re close, so
seduction? Flies way over my head; you can ask me for a napkin and half my
brain will be positive you just suggested we do it on your dining room table.”
Dave smirks crudely when Kurt snorts, his cheeks glowing with a fixed light
pink. “And that you’re actually trying to – to seduce me, I don’t – I don’t
even know what to say. As if it would actually take some kind of effort,
Jesus.”
“Well, you’ve been particularly difficult lately.” Kurt shuffles closer,
leaning his head on Dave’s shoulder. “And all of that – ditto, for me.”
“Huh?”
“I’m still getting used to you, too.”
Dave scoffs.
“Please. Little league wanna play with the pros?”
“I get hard every time you’re close enough for me to smell your soap, or
whatever it is you use on your skin than makes my whole brain focus on getting
you in my bed.” It’s Kurt’s turn to smirk as Dave looks flustered. “Comfort
matters, Dave. We can’t just ‘do it’ anywhere like animals. And don’t even
think of throwing me one more sports analogy, because I will put a sock in your
mouth.”
Dave is still staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Kurt clears his
throat.
“So. About the clothes. I do want you to send me the receipt for that scarf so
I can pay you back –“
“No fucking way, Fancy, don’t even go there.”
“But –“
“No way.”
“Well, let me get half, then.”
“No.”
“Dave, I can’t remember the original tag price, considering I got it for half
during after-Christmas sales–, “ he pauses for effect, perversely enjoying the
expression on Dave’s face, “ –but I do know it was enough to hurt any
teenager’s wallet.”
“Iruined it.”
“Accidents happen, Dave. And I have plenty more clothes.”
“Still.”
“And while we’re on that, did you honestly believe I would break up with you
over clothes?”
“I know how much you care about shit like that.”
Kurt lifts one eyebrow.
“About shit like clothes?”
“I didn’t mean it like –“
“No, I think you’ve hit the nail exactly right. I know I can get a little…
intense about fashion and neatness.” His eyebrow goes up at Dave’s poorly
disguised sniggering. “But, and you listen to me now very carefully David
Karofsky, do you honestly believe there’s any piece of clothing in that
wardrobe that I rank over you?”
“You’ve got some pretty expensive sh– stuff in there,” says Dave cautiously.
“David.”
“And that one time you had to clean up after Finn and he got cheese dust all
over your fourth favorite pair, or something, and –“
“Third, and I can’t believe you remember that. Dave–“
“And he told me you held a grudge for forever until you got to show Berry all
his baby pictures from some Winter Wonderland play where he went as Rudolph and
chucked off his pants during the second act.” Dave takes a pause to breathe and
narrows his eyes at Kurt. “Which, damn, Fancy, evil-mastermind much?”
Kurt giggles, stroking Dave’s neck lovingly.
“You know me.”
“But it’s not like you could do the same to me. I mean, you could ask my mom,
and I’m sure she’d turn it into her own personal mission on earth to make the
whole thing pretty damn mortifying, but –“
“Dave!”
“But it’s all really boring stuff, so –“
“I don’t want your baby pictures,” Kurt manages, laughing.
Dave mock-frowns.
“Hey, I look adorable in those.”
“I’m sure you do,” says Kurt, tilting his head to kiss his boyfriend’s
shoulder. “But I have no need to get back at you. I wouldn’t have been singing
your praises right that moment if you’d told me, but I know my way around
stains.”
“Yeah, but what about the pin?”
“I have extremely dexterous hands. Very skilled.” Kurt smiles at him
suggestively, and Dave is amazed at how he managed to miss it before. “I could
show you, if you’d like.”
Dave chokes on air, it seems like, and that is it. He’s had enough; Kurt’s been
doing this on purpose and he’s been too much of a dunce to actually do
something about it, but not anymore. He recovers his cool quickly enough to
grab and pull at Kurt until his incredibly accommodating boyfriend is
straddling his thighs on the bed.
“And the scarf?” he whispers half-heartedly, mouth brushing Kurt’s earlobe.
“I have tons of scarves,” whispers Kurt back, rubbing Dave’s shoulders with
thinly veiled interest.
“Yeah, I don’t know, you’re being awfully cavalier about all this.”
“Well, there’s also that part where I have this thing for you that is rather
blinding, so it might be that, too.” Kurt gets holds of one of Dave’s hands and
starts stroking the crook between forefinger and thumb with his fingertip.
There’s something in his eyes, and something in his voice, and somethingin all
of him that makes Dave’s breath catch; he isn’t sure what it is yet, but is
really fucking thrilled to see it there all the same.
He nudges at Kurt’s face with his nose until they’re facing each other – and
then, instead of going for his boyfriend’s mouth, which had been the goddamn
plan all along, he goes and opens his big stupid mouth.
“Kurt, before we… I just need to know, okay? Did you – I mean, am I –“
“Mm-hmm?”
“Do you forgive me?” he hurries out, unable to meet Kurt’s eyes.
“What, about the clothes? Dave, there’s no–“
“No. Well, that too, but that isn’t – I’m talking about everything.” Dave sighs
when Kurt keeps looking at him in confusion. “All the fucking locker shoving,
and slushying your friends, and the t-threats, and the – the kiss.”
Everything goes very still, as if he has stopped time with some awesome, just
now unveiled superpower. He drops his eyes to his lap, focusing on how Kurt
still hasn’t let go of his hand.
“Oh, David,” Kurt says quietly. He sounds amused. “I can’t believe I’m saying
this, but think we should cut back on our kissing time and put in sometalking
time. We need it badly.”
“What?”
“No, it’s my fault, really. I’m so used to you getting me when it comes to
everything else, that I forget how you get completely lost in translation when
it comes to how I feel about you.” His grip on Dave’s hand strengthens. “Dave,
I – there really is nothing to forgive.”
“Shit, how can you say that, Kurt, come on –“
“There’s nothing to forgive because I’ve forgiven you a long time ago. Before I
even knew I had, to be honest.” He smiles fondly. “Do you think I would have
asked you to be my boyfriend if I still held that kind of thing over you?”
Dave scrunches up his nose, reigning in the urge to run up and down Kurt’s
street singing at the top of his lungs. “Hum, technically…”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t ask me to be your boyfriend, Fancy. You implied I already was and
then backtracked like the goddamned legions of hell were hot on your heels when
I tried to make sure.”
Kurt scowls, turning his head haughtily, and Dave simply has to lean forward
and kiss him, firm and sure, lingering for what feels like days and centuries,
and yet too few seconds.
“Hmmm, David,” sighs Kurt, when they break apart. His grip is strong on Dave’s
upper arms, and his eyes are determined. “You should tell me now if you’re not
ready, or if you want to wait a little more, because this push-me-pull-me
routine is driving me crazy, quite frankly.”
Dave’s lips curl into a playful smirk.
“Oh, really?”
“Really. And if you need more time it’s fine, of course it’s fine, but you need
to tell me so that I can start investing some time on relaxing meditation
techniques.”
“Jeez, Fancy, that’s a whole lot of pressure to put on a guy.”
Kurt deflates a little and looks down.
“Stop that. This is all just – very new to me. I’m walking blind here, Dave, I
have no idea what to do with all these –“ Kurt waves vaguely. “These feelings.”
Dave can’t help but ask.
“New? What about Bland?”
Kurt glares at him coolly.
“Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
“Got me there.” Dave winks. “So. How do you wanna do this?”
“My boyfriend, the romantic.” Kurt looks around them, thoughtfully. “Well, we
already had that one time on the phone.”
“That’s different.”
“I know. I though maybe we could–“
Dave shoots him an incredulous look.
“You want to do this over the phone?”
Kurt lets out a startled laugh, and shakes his head.
“No, of course not, David. Actually, I was thinking we could just pick up where
we left the other day, before my dad cockblocked our homerun.”
Dave was just about to comment on how unfair it was that Kurt was allowed
sports analogies, and then he was just about to snigger at that particular
analogy coming from Kurt’s mouth, but then that same mouth was trapping his in
a deadly lock, and those deceptively delicate hands were pushing him down on
his back, and his brain was screeching at him to fucking get with the fucking
program already, you inconsiderate jerk.
Kurt is suddenly on top of him, body sliding up and down deliberately, flush to
Dave’s from top to bottom; he wriggles his way between Dave’s legs and the top
buttons of their pants clash with a sharp metallic sound. Dave wonders for a
moment if they wouldn’t be better doing this undressed. His cock seems to be on
board as far as Kurt is concerned, but it hardly seems like his boyfriend would
agree to getting buck-naked while letting Dave keep his own clothes.
The other boy leans onto his elbows and drops his head to lick the hollow of
Dave’s neck, making Dave arch in a painful angle, desperate for more of
something he can’t even name.
Kurt glances down, pupils so wide he looks like something out of fucking
Supernatural.
“This... this is big.” He bites his lip and grinds down harder, eyes narrowing
with pleasure when Dave shivers. “Feelsbig.”
“Thanks,” grunts Dave, because he’s a smart-ass. He’s expecting an eye-roll or
a kick to his calf, but what he gets is Kurt’s tongue stroking wetly over his
bottom lip and Kurt’s playful ‘Uh-huh’ of agreement. “Doesn’t feel – shit, do
that again – so shabby on your side.”
Kurt locks his thighs around Dave’s right leg, rolling his hips and trailing
one hand up Dave’s side.
“I was having a moment of self-realization, thank you for participating, David.
But while we’re at it, do me a favor.” He purrs the next part into Dave’s ear.
“Get on top."
***** Too Long Trying To Resist It *****
He doesn’t wait for the repeat. Soon they’re rolling over and he has just
accidentally elbowed Kurt’s ribcage, and Kurt’s lethal weapon of a hipbone is
jabbing into his stomach, so it’s sort of awkward, and difficult, and fucking
wonderful. He bites down harder than he was planning to on the curve of Kurt’s
shoulder, making his boyfriend seize up into him, gasping – yeah, he’s
definitely filling that one in for later –, which causes Dave to lose his
balance and end up with half his body off the bed, feet planted firmly on the
wooden floor to keep from falling off entirely. And even then it’s the most fun
Dave’s let himself have in years, with Kurt giggling and slapping his chest
only to pull him on top of him again. They kiss like they’re running out of
oxygen and like they’ve got already too much of it pumping through their veins;
they roll over again because Kurt is a control-freak with way too many issues,
but they never break apart. Then Dave gets enough of Kurt’s teasing licks and
all over the place wriggling and just grips his ass with one hand and the back
of his head with the other, turning them over for good while holding him firmly
in place. Kurt moans low and pleased into the kiss, spreading himself out under
Dave’s heavier bulk.
“Fuck, it does look good on you,” is the first thing to come out of Dave’s
mouth when he can find it in him to leave the wet-hot stroking of Kurt’s
talented tongue. He supports himself on one elbow to palm his way down Kurt’s
chest.
“Your obsession with this t-shirt is oddly flattering,” breathes Kurt harshly,
giving a small sob when Dave’s fingers catch on his nipple.
His boyfriend looks down in wonder and lets his hand trail up again over the
hardened nub. Kurt keens high in his throat, blushing a deep red when Dave’s
eyes catch his.
“What?” he snaps.
“N-nothing,” chokes out Dave, tracing firmer and tighter circles around the
spot that has got him enthralled.
“God, Dave, touch me, just –“ Kurt throws his head back, baring the elegant
line of his neck to Dave’s hungry eyes.
He gives in to the half-moaned request and catches Kurt’s nipple through his
shirt with his thumb and forefinger, pinching roughly in rhythm with his
shallow thrusts between Kurt’s thighs. His boyfriend’s head lolls on the
comforter, the much darker blue-gray of his eyes gleaming from under drooping
eyelids.
Dave understands suddenly how close Kurt is, how he really wasn’t yanking
Dave’s chain about how attracted he is to him – and it feels even warmer
inside, like there’s nothing Dave ever wants to be but himself, Dave Karofsky,
Kurt Hummel’s fucking lucky bastard of a boyfriend. And he really wants this to
last a little longer – he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to hold it as soon as
he watches Kurt come, feels Kurt falling apart because of him.
“Hey, Fancy?”
Kurt shakes his head limply, his pliant body undulating on the bed, and he
whimpers as if grieving for the loss of Dave’s hands on him.
“Remember that– that time you wanted me to take you out for breakfast crazy
early and we ended up napping in my car after?”
“You napped.” One of Kurt’s eyes opens slowly. “I did my Cosmo quizzes.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dave crows internally when both Kurt’s eyes flash open and he
stills, regarding him like a fascinating oddity. “I’ve been thinking. Was that
–“
Kurt surges up and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, grinning.
“I see what you did there, Karofsky. Fine. Good things come to boys who wait,
right?” He chuckles and presses a chaste kiss to Dave’s chin. “Go on then,
distract me,” he says airily, letting one of his hands sneak down to palm the
front of Dave’s thankfully baggy jeans.
Fuck him, Dave should have seen that one coming.
“Was that... nngh, Jesus, Kurt... was that a date?”
“Looked like it from my end.” Kurt twists, trying to get comfortable in the
process of blowing away all the neurons Dave might still have left. “Hmm, hold
up – is this... good?”
“Know what, just never stop, like ever, god fucking damnit, you're way too hot
for your own good.”
“So sweet.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah." Dave sucks a brief red mark on the dip of Kurt's collarbone,
breathing heavily through his nose. "Was it?"
Just when Kurt is opening his mouth to answer, Dave grabs that ninja-hand and
pushes it against Kurt’s crotch; he covers it with his own hand and watches
fascinatedly as Kurt rubs himself through those pants. His boyfriend falls back
down onto the bed with a drawn-out groan.
“Was it, baby?”
"W-what was?"
"C'mon, stay with me man.”
Dave’s smirk is short-lived; Kurt’s other hand comes into play from nowhere and
manages to wriggle its way between the top of Dave’s jeans and the waistband of
his boxers.
"Your bedroom talk is appallingly lacking, just so you know.” Kurt can’t look
smug, not with his own hand still rubbing firmly over his cock, egged on by
Dave’s, but then neither can his boyfriend. “And of course it was.”
"Huh" Dave takes definite action, letting go of Kurt’s wrist reluctantly and
hooking his hands under Kurt's knees in order to bend and spread his legs
further, swallowing his boyfriend’s breathless gasp with an urgent kiss.
"Didn't feel like a date."
Trapped as it is between their bodies, Kurt’s exploring hand loses its
wriggling area – something for which Dave is oddly relieved and incredibly
regretful at the same time.
"We went out. Together. To enjoy ourselves at an appointed time. Together."
If he tilts his hips to the left a little he can just make out the really
fucking hot and flatteringly hard shape of Kurt’s dick, shit, shit, shit –it’s
like he’s never wanted anything more than to feel it heavy and thick and so
impossibly real in his hand.
God, could he get any gayer?
"Sure, but we were just... hanging out."
"And?"
Dave chuckles, catching Kurt’s tasty looking earlobe between his teeth and
grinding down in slower, steadier circles.
"Aaand I like hanging out with you."
"Exactly, David.” Kurt huffs impatiently, wrenching his hand free from where it
was getting squashed between their rocking bodies. “Now shut up, you can't talk
and kiss."
"Bossy.” Dave obeys, for a few minutes, easily getting lost in Kurt’s taste.
“But we were just, you know.”
“For the love of all that glitters, why are you so intent on this?” snaps Kurt,
frustrated.
“Just keeping count I guess.”
Dave kind of has to keep count of something by now, because he can see Kurt’s
nipples, pebbled and darkened as if begging for a touch; he could just bend his
head and suck one into his mouth, only he can’t focus long enough to take off
Kurt’s shirt and this is one thing he never wants to see ruined.
“Don't you like our dates?”
“'Course I do.”
Dave has to bite back laughter at the deeply annoyed look on Kurt’s face.
There’s a hot knot of pressure growing at the base of his stomach, pulsing in
time with the slow roll of his hips between Kurt’s bent legs; he focuses on
Kurt’s voice instead of on how he bucks up wantonly every time Dave presses
down.
“So...?”
“Didn't feel like one.”
“Is this your way of telling me to stop? Now?” Kurt stares at him in amazement.
“Ambiguity is not appreciated in these matters. We can extend the three dates
rule if you're that uncomfortable.”
If there’s one thing Dave is not even close to being right now is
uncomfortable, not with Kurt’s cock hard and wanting just a couple of layers
beneath him. Horny as a fucking orgy in hell and desperate for just any kind of
distraction yes, but definitely not uncomfortable. “What, no!”
“Then?”
“I just thought... you know, dating, would be a lot harder, that's all.”
This kind of dating, however, is possibly the easiest thing he’s ever done.
Kurt seems to agree as he tangles his fingers in Dave’s hair.
“It’s not quantum physics.” Kurt sneers, pulling a little at the shorter hairs
at the back of Dave’s head. “Though you’d probably like that.”
“Hey, don’t hate on the closeted nerd.”
“Freak. You're supposed to like them, Dave.” Kurt wrinkles his nose. “Our
amazing dates, I mean.”
“Even if it just feels like hanging out? With a dude I like to kiss a lot?”
And fuck the understatement. Dave is smirking, fully expecting Kurt to bitch
out, but Kurt just giggles, wrapping his long legs around his waist, ankles
crossing over Dave's ass. He digs his heels in, forcing them even closer – Dave
can feel the bruises forming and he can’t wait to take a good victorious look
at them in the morning.
“That sounds like a pretty good definition, actually.” Kurt grabs hold of
Dave’s chin and looks him squarely in the eye. “Is that enough chit-chat for
you?”
Dave gulps, considering; on one hand there’s still so much he wants to do to
Kurt, with Kurt, on Kurt – he lets the ‘in’ part drift away slightly, but never
too far out of reach–, and he also wants to keep doing this forever; on the
other, definitely more influential hand, he’s pretty sure his cock will
conspire with Kurt to detach itself so they can run away together to party at
Disneyworld jail, or something.
“Yeah. Yeah, come here,” he mumbles, his mouth already dragging hotly over
Kurt’s, and pushes himself up slightly to allow Kurt’s hand into his jeans. The
heels of Kurt’s feet press hard into his ass again; he can feel Kurt’s thigh
muscles twitching around his waist, so he strokes him soothingly from hip to
knee, kneading away some of that tension with trembling fingers. Then Kurt’s
fingers managed to splay right over his attention-begging cock, and he thanks
God for having put on boxers in the morning. With the way the heat of Kurt’s
palm is burning him right through the thin fabric, he’d be a quick goner
without them.
“Jesus Christ, Kurt…”
Kurt nods, all focus and alertness, his own pleasure seemingly forgotten; he
drags his fingers over the unfamiliar length, uncertain and eager at the same
time. His eyes are huge and bright in his flushed face, and he licks his lips
every time Dave whimpers.
“Not gonna – can’t last much longer, fuck, fuck, fuck, keep doing that, please
–“
“Not stopping, David. You can – it’s okay, I want you to, want to feel you.
God, you’re so hot…”
Dave hopes some part of his brain his taking notes so he can go over Kurt’s
words later; right now, Kurt’s fingers have settled for a shallow rhythm that
has him panting and dizzy with lust. He forces his eyes open: Kurt’s used and
abused pink mouth is open in a small, loose ‘o’ and his skin is damp and red
just like in Dave’s filthiest dreams; his long fingers are carefully steady on
Dave’s cock, rubbing and kneading Dave into the climax.
He gladly complies, muffling Kurt’s name on the strong shoulder under his head
and rolling onto his side when his arms give out.
“Dave. Oh my god, Dave.”
Kurt doesn’t sound afraid, or hurt, or angry, so Dave lets himself rock the
after-shocks of the record-breaking orgasm he has just pulled himself through.
He distantly feels Kurt’s lips brushing his temple, Kurt’s fingers combing back
the sweat-matted hair on his forehead; he hears a soft whisper and tries to
turn his head to ask Kurt what he said, but his entire body has become a mass
of really comfy jelly.
Kurt’s bed is awesome, he decides. Kurt’s bed with Kurt hot as a furnace and
snuggled up tight against his side is even more awesome, even though his boxers
are a cooling wet mess and there’s something at the back of his mind screeching
for attention. He feels his breath even out; sleeping sounds even more awesome
than awesome Kurt’s awesome bed, and all three combined? Dave’s in heaven, in
fucking gayheaven, so suck on it, haters.
“My, my, if only there was a way to keep you in this frame of mind at all
times…”
He snorts softly, nuzzling Kurt’s face just because it’s right there, smooth
and warm; he can feel Kurt’s smile on his cheek – he could just die here and be
happy and awesome forever and –
The screeching something raises its pitch; Dave becomes very aware of Kurt
grinding against his leg. He has obviously been going for discreet, and if Dave
didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to, he would have smacked himself
hard enough to bruise.
Way to show love and devotion, asshole. Not to mention, I don’t know, fucking
gratitude?
“Shit, baby, I’m sorry.” He winces when Kurt gives him a trembling smile. “It’s
alright, got you now.”
He pushes Kurt flat on his back and covers him with his own body carefully,
remembering how much Kurt seemed to enjoy it. His boyfriend sobs brokenly when
he reaches down to cup him through the painful looking stretch of his pants.
“Sshh, I know, I’m a selfish jerk. Didn’t mean to leave you all hot and
bothered.” Dave grins. “Just a litlle bit, ‘cause you look really fucking
gorgeous like this.”
Kurt’s eyes roll back when Dave’s whole hand covers him, eager fingers finally
learning his shape. It’s a good time as any to start freaking out, what with
another guy’s dick in his hand – but no, not really, not yet, how the fuck does
Kurt even get out of these pants, Christ –, only he doesn’t even allow himself
to think like that, not when Kurt has just made him come hard enough to see
whole galaxies. His boyfriend lets out a strangled whimper that sounds
suspiciously like Dave’s name, and just like that his cock is twitching and
filling again; he winces at how sensitive it still feels, but, by the look of
it, he and Kurt are going galaxy surfing together any moment now.
“Fuck. You’re gonna be the death of me, Fancy, y’know that? I’m serious here,
people have died from stuff like this.”
Kurt pants into his ear, apparently too far gone for coherency. Dave doesn’t
really mind, he’s got enough in his hands to entertain himself with. He pulls
urgently at Kurt’s zipper but it gets stuck in the middle and won’t budge; he
usually loves all of Kurt’s sinfully tight pants, but not now when he’s
desperate to get closer to the hardness pushing eagerly into his hand, to
wrench more of those sweet sounds from Kurt’s lips.
“Baby, could you – you gotta push up a little –“
“No, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m fine, just –“ Kurt arches his back, rubbing
himself against Dave’s thigh frantically. “They’re too tight, you’d have to
take them off, and I can’t, can’t wait, oh god, Dave, mmngh –“
“Christ,” Dave gasps, mind reeling at the sight. There’s Kurt Hummel, proper,
prim, prissy Kurt Fucking Hummel writhing and begging under him – luckily the
stickiness in his boxers is keeping him grounded, or else he’d be back to less
than three weeks ago, walking around half-dazed with night after night of
impossible dreams.
“David…”
One of Kurt’s hands has a fistful of Dave’s shirt in a white-knuckled grip; the
other grabs hold of his belt buckle and tugs and pulls until he’s wrenching it
open, then almost rips Dave’s jeans off his rush. Dave shakes and groans when
he feels Kurt’s hand back where it should never have left, rougher and more
confident now that they’re both tumbling their way over the edge.
It’s awkward and silly, rutting against each other still fully dressed, Kurt’s
zipper half-opened and almost bursting, Dave’s jeans sliding over his hips as
Kurt jerks him off through his damp boxers – but Dave has never cared less
about awkward and silly, because he finally got half his hand down Kurt’s pants
and is happily making up for lost time. He palms Kurt’s hard length with a hand
surer than he feels, and Kurt keens loudly into his neck, his lips hot and damp
where they are fused to Dave’s skin.
“Kurt, baby, I’m not – not gonna last –“
“Do it, do it, please, waited so long – with me, Dave, please, Dave –“ he begs,
and Dave wants to slap himself awake. This is Fancy, Kurt Fucking Hummel, Kurt
Not-My-Type Hummel, and he’s begging for Dave to make him come, make him come
with Dave, and boy, does it taste sweet.
Then Kurt’s eyes blink open and Dave is right back where he really started,
expecting Kurt to blow his apology to pieces and getting teary-eyed acceptance
instead. Kurt lifts his head and his lips are right there, parting for a kiss,
and Dave sees a beautiful boy grinding his way through ‘Push It’, can only see
the fucking huge shoulder pads and the Cheerios uniform, and that shirt and the
sideways look he gave Dave just before turning himself into a waking wet dream.
Kurt whispers “David” and it’s like Dave keeps falling for him over and over
again, like he really has no idea wherehe started, and why and how, but it
doesn’t fucking matter, Kurt, Kurt, Kurt is all that matters, all he can see
even when his eyes drop closed and he buries all the words he wants to say in
Kurt’s mouth and feels him pulsing under his fingers. Dave follows right after,
mumbling a warning for Kurt to keep an eye out for spiral galaxies because
they’re really fucking pretty.
He collapses onto his boyfriend’s spent body, fully expecting something to
happen now. A mood shift: Kurt paying him a sly compliment and nudging him away
so he can go clean himself up; maybe his own stomach to growl and remind him of
his skipped lunch.
But his stomach doesn’t feel the need to manifest itself, so maybe people can
run on orgasms. He shifts, trying to gauge if he’s putting to much pressure on
Kurt’s slender frame but there’s a hand splayed on his shoulder blade that
tightens and curves into a claw, holding him in place.
He lifts his head sluggishly and feels his heart jump and drop at the same
time. Kurt’s eyes are very bright and very damp; his mouth is soft and open,
vulnerable. There’s a soft flush to his cheeks and every muscle in his face
seems relaxed, somehow, slack and sated – and then the true significance of
what they’ve been doing catches up to Dave and he shakes a bit in Kurt’s hold
before slumping back down, trusting his boyfriend to just shove him off if the
weight threatens to smoother him.
Later, Dave won’t be able to tell how long they stayed like that. He won’t
remember Kurt falling asleep in the middle of telling him that this is very
uncomfortable, and that they really need to get up and get cleaned up and –
because Dave fell asleep himself just before that.
What Dave knows he will remember forever is waking up half on his side, his arm
painfully bent under his body, his leg still between Kurt’s own, and what is
even more surreal than anything so far – Kurt’s face mashed against his
shoulder, one pale arm wrapped securely around Dave’s waist.
He likes this, he decides. Loves this, something worth giving his all,
something worth keeping, something worth having his stomach in knots for fear
of losing it – something worth fighting hand and claw for the chance of just
one more day.
Then he shifts and it feels like he’s had super glue poured right into his
boxers; he can just picture Kurt’s epic bitch-out when he comes to with half
the same problem and has to smile and wonder at his sanity because he can’t
fucking wait.
 
===============================================================================
 
“Mom. Me and Kurt, I mean, Kurt’s my- we’re-“
“Yes?”
“We’re together.”
“Uh-uh.”
“As in together-together.”
“Yes, honey.”
“As in dating. Each other.”
“And?”
“As in he’s my boyfriend?”
“Is that it?”
“Is that it? Jesus, I just told you we –“
”Well, I’m sorry, but with that face I thought you were about to tell me you
two were eloping. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you do have
that essay due on Friday.”
“Mom.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie, I know it’s hard to understand that the world doesn’t
always revolve around us, but you two are kind of old news.”
“… dad?”
“What? Oh, yes, son. I like Kurt. You should bring him around more often.”
“But – you know he’s my – me and him, we –“
“Sure, sure, but he has to sleep in Emily’s old room. You’re still very young.”
“What –“
“David, your father had a very long day. Let him watch people tripping and
falling on their faces on wedding cakes in peace."

“But –“

“I was only zapping, Lizzie. I thought it was something else.”

“Of course you did, honey. Now give me that, Master Chef is starting. And stop
making that face, David, a mother’s love can only stretch so far."
End Notes
     Title from Train's "Drops of Jupiter". Chapter titles from Muse's
     "Muscle Museum".
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
