"Like a Black Swallowtail Butterfly" Chapter 1/6, part b
Title: "Like a Black Swallowtail Butterfly," Chapter 1/6
Author: heygirlie
Pairing(s): this chapter, Kurt/Dave
Rating: R
Word Count: this chapter, 16,370
Warnings: this chapter, profanity, derogatory slurs, major character death, acts of bullying, dub-con
Spoilers: Up to season 2.
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the glee_angst_meme. Dave makes a wish to do-over his kiss with Kurt, and it bizarrely comes true. Everything is awesome this time around. Really. It's all good.
Prologue / Ch. 1a / Ch. 1b
~*~
Carole changes shifts.
Now she has the 7 AM to 3 PM shift, so while Finn struggles to get up early for school each morning, his mom is home in time to greet him every day and make dinner.
It turns out Dave is really bad at phone sex and he's too afraid to go parking because anyone could see. He doesn't have a camera on his laptop for Skyping, and Kurt shuts down both sexting and cybersex based on his opinion of Dave's spelling abilities alone. He develops a severe, irrational hatred of the nursing profession.
"Can't we just - nngh - go to your place?"
Dave has to detach his mouth from Kurt's left nipple to answer. "No, my mom is usually home after school." And he doubts his own room would be acceptable for Kurt, not without an all-weekend sanitizing effort of vacuuming and Febreeze. He goes back to making Kurt writhe under his lips. Sucking and licking on a guy's tits - somehow it seemed even more gay than touching another guy's cock, but Dave loves it anyway.
If anyone asked, and this would be in yet another world where Gay is Okay, Dave would say that he liked to get his dick sucked and pound some sweet ass like a boss, please and thank you bitches. But to his own surprise, nothing was hotter than getting Kurt off. He likes counting the ways Kurt reacts to his hands, or his tongue, and the way his voice goes all over the musical scale. Sometimes Dave can make him go high-pitched like a cartoon, and rarely, a low bass like he's secretly Optimus Prime or something. He likes listening to the random, filthy swear words that come out of Kurt's prim and proper mouth, and watching as a thin sheen of sweat appears on his skin. And because of that pale skin, what Dave likes most is waiting for the deep, telltale flush that starts just below Kurt's navel before blooming over his chest and face, right before he comes. It's accompanied by a ridiculously cute and scrunched up o-face, and Dave will never ever tell Kurt he thinks that.
It's almost as satisfying as getting off himself, which works out well since lately they only have enough time for one of them a day. Today, obviously, was Kurt's turn, and Dave works a hand inside his briefs to finish him off. Lunch is a little less than an hour, so with a ten minute drive to and from school that leaves about twenty minutes to get sexed.
Dave usually scarfs down a sandwich and a granola bar with some Gatorade during one of his afternoon classes to get him through the day. He learned that the hard way, after his first day of missing lunch and sexercising off calories almost made him pass out during football practice.
"Mr. Karofsky, are you eating in my class?"
"Uh..." he trails off, burning under the stares of every single person in his calculus class when they turn to look at him. "Yeah? It's a PBJ, what's the big deal? Hey!" he shouts in protest, as Mrs. Abbott seizes the sandwich right out of his hands and throws it in the trash.
"This isn't kindergarten, have some self-control," she admonishes. Dave hears people whisper and joke as she goes on about her lesson. Fuck. He doesn't look at them. But he can feel his stomach rasp in hunger, growling out loud too, and that doesn't help.
A buzz from his phone lets him know he's got a text. It's from Kurt:
busy 2morrow cant do lunch
"Fuck," breathes Dave, and the guy next to him gives him a weird look. "What are you looking at!"
"No talking, Mr. Karofsky!"
When the bell rings Dave shoves everything into his backpack and barrels out of the class. He wants to punch something, and eat something, and get some goddamn relief. Some froshie gets in his way, a skinny dude with scraggly facial hair and acne.
"Move it, loser," he says, and shoves him aside. Dave gets two steps ahead when he hears, "Screw you!"
He's back in the kid's face instantly, anger overriding his normal aversion to being that close to greasy zitopia. "What did you say to me?"
The boy's eyes go wide. "You heard me?" Dave's not sure if that means he thought he was being quiet, or if he was trying to act brave and failing. He doesn't care.
Dave grabs his arm and drags him to the nearest bathroom, texting Azimio to meet him there ASAP with some super glue.
The other guy keeps trying to run past Dave, around him somehow to the exit, and Dave slaps him back one-handed each time. It's almost like that mindless game where you keep throwing a ball against the wall and catching it. It's amusing, but Dave's not here for that.
"Let me go, you asshole!" he shouts.
"Shut up," says Dave, and shoves him back again. dude come on, he texts Azimio.
The boy takes off his backpack and starts swinging it at Dave. He looks ridiculous, and Dave can obviously take him, but knows how heavy his own textbooks are. Never underestimate your opponent; two against one was always better.
He suddenly remembers, oh yeah, he kind of cut Az off weeks ago. Shit.
Dave almost forgets to block a swing at that epiphany. He tries to think of something in the melee - he could probably make do with a classic swirlee on his own.
Alone, and it was his own fault.
"Well, what have we got here? Looks like some freak thinks he can take a swing at my boy and leave unpunished."
Dave turns to Azimio with a wide smile. It was good to have someone who had your back. "This guy tried to brush against me instead of getting out of the way. I think someone needs to learn to keep their hands to themselves."
"I think I like the way you think," says Azimio, and he hands over the little tube of crazy glue. Dave grabs the boy's right wrist and forces his fingers open, while Azimio knocks his bookbag away and holds him to the wall. "You're gonna swear an oath to us, acne-stash," says Dave, and he pours a good amount of the glue into the guy's hand. "Now grab your balls and repeat after me."
He tries to move, but Azimio slams him back into the wall. Reluctantly, his puts his palm to the front of his cargo pants. Azimio forcefully prods him on the back of his hand. "Hold tight, this is serious," he adds over the boy's groan. Dave comes up with some crap about the kid being a nobody who needed to respect the authority at McKinley, and makes him say it back. He lets go of him and nods at Azimio to do the same.
They both crack up when he can't move his hand away from his crotch. It looks like he's trying to impersonate Michael Jackson every time he tries to yank his hand free.
"Man," sighs Azimio, "It's good to have you back."
Dave shrugs with a grin. They walk shoulder to shoulder down the hall, like nothing has changed.
"It's bad enough that you went to drop me like Pluto, but to go all BFFs with Hummel? That's cold."
Dave stops, and possibly his heart does too. "You know I've been spending time with Kurt?"
Azimio gives him a look which Dave interprets as, "Duh, you stupid white guy."
Dave scrambles for an excuse. "Well, it's just, I've been trying to make up for my shit, you know?"
"I got you bro, really. It's karma and everything, you're just like Earl. You don't want to get run over by no car or anything."
"... Yeah?"
"Just don't ignore you best bud anymore, okay? If I may quote the queen, R-E-S-P-E-C-T," says Azimio. Dave agrees, and they seal the deal with a fist bump. He almost relaxes, until, "It was like when one of your friends gets a girlfriend and the rest of the world stops existing, I swear."
"Dude, no way, I'm not a fag for Hummel!" Oh god, except that he totally was. Did that come out too high pitched? Too fast? But Azimio just laughs him off and he's in the clear.
Life goes on, a little more balanced than before. He gets twenty minutes of Kurt's hands and lips on him every other day, and spends time with his football friends again after school for Call of Duty. He reacquaints himself with the two-handed slushie attack, along with Azimio and others, making sure the geeks of school know their place.
And on one cold December day, it was time to remind the losers of Glee, since they thought they could parade around the school like a bunch of Christmas elves. If you were gonna dress up like an idiot and visit a bunch of classes, you should offer candy canes, not songs.
Dave and bunch of other football players march toward their current targets: the Cheerio rejects. Quinn Fabray may have regained the uniform, but everyone knew post-baby she'd never be on top again. And Mercedes Jones, who for some reason decided being popular and a top athlete just wasn't for her, and quit.
"Sup, ladies?" Strando greets them. "We heard you wanted to get a little holiday cheer."
Mercedes eyes the cups of cherry-red and apple-green slushies nervously, while Quinn looked defiant. "Somehow, I don't think Sam would appreciate his teammates giving his girlfriend a slushie facial."
"We'd be happy to give you the other kind, Quickie Fabray!" The guys howl with laughter and slap some high fives over wide receiver Craig Stevenson's burn, then rear back their plastic cups. Mercedes holds two folders over her hair, and Quinn puts her history book in front of her face.
"Excuse me," a voice interrupts, "Some people actually want to walk through the hall instead of stopping right in the middle and making a veritable traffic jam."
Kurt Hummel squeezes by the group, a stony expression on his face. Dave flexes his grip around the slushie, which suddenly feels too cold for his hand.
"Kurt," says Mercedes, and she sounds sad.
"Mercedes," he acknowledges, and moves to keep going.
"Wait!"
"I have nothing to say to you," he bites out.
"Don't shut us out like this," Mercedes pleads.
"Finn says you never speak to him, and you live with him," Quinn states softly.
"Well if you're so concerned why don't you start a prayer circle, I'm sure Jesus would love to know of one more atheist fag who deserves to burn in hell," Kurt hisses. "Don't forget to bring the iced tea and snickerdoodles so you can gossip afterwards about who else doesn't get to join heaven."
"Hey," yells one of the guys, "We're about to slushie you, don't ignore us!"
"Oh," says Kurt, "Is that for me too?" He reaches over to take the cup from Dave's slack grip, and takes a drink. He licks his lips, the cherry-red dye from his tongue tinting his mouth rouge. Then he puts it back in Dave's hand. "Thanks," says Kurt, looking right into Dave's eyes before stomping off.
Dave bites the inside of his mouth, trying to will away his growing erection. He doesn't know how Kurt survives without loose pants.
The slushie-ing commences as usual, and some of the guys throw their empty cups on the ground as they leave the drenched girls. "We should have gotten Hummel, too," says Strando, and Dave almost trips over his own feet.
"Dude, no, he's not in Glee club anymore," Dave tries. "Plus you were all over my ass like two seconds ago for just that!"
"It's been forever since his dad died, he can't use that excuse forever. He's still a flaming homo." Someone suggests another group-slushie, this one with all the colors of the rainbow. That reminds someone of a rainbow shooter, which makes them think about shots on fire, and a serious conversation takes place about whether or not they could get away with a flaming rainbow attack. The more Dave tries to feebly protest, the more they brush him off.
"Az, help me out man," he asks.
But his friend just snorts. "Naw, I gotta admit, I'm little pissed at the guy myself. He got you to ignore me for weeks, what's up with that?"
"Yeah Karofsky," sneers Strando, "What's the little fairy-boy got on you?"
"Nothing," says Dave, and his head feels light. "He's just - helping me out with some homework, that's all."
"Oh, like a 'helping hand,' right?" Strando makes a gesture like he's jerking-off, and Dave shoves him into the lockers, hard. "What the fuck, man!"
"I'm not some homo, take it back!"
They almost start fighting right there before their teammates pull them away from each other. "You're really strung up on Hummel," says Craig. "It's kind of gay, man."
"Fuck you," Dave snarls. "Do whatever the fuck you like, I'm done." The bell's about to ring anyway, so he splits.
He's rescued, sort of, in history class by a video about the Vikings. The real ones, so no funny hats or anything. The lights are off and half the class is asleep.
Dave breathes.
They're starting to catch on, and he doesn't know what to do. How does he throw them off, how? He could ask out Santana, be Best Beards Forever a few months early. She's not dating Sam yet. But she'd know right away that he and Kurt were hooking up. Or almost hooking up, since they haven't had actual sex yet, and she'd mock them for that too.
Which reminds him; he quietly gets out his cell, covering the light of the screen with a fort of textbooks, binders, and a pencil bag.
watch out, he texts Kurt. strandos gunnin 4 u. There's really not much else he can do to protect him, but it gnaws at Dave all the same.
He doesn't get a reply, not even later that evening. He hopes it reaches Kurt.
Dave gets his answer the next morning during weights. A lot of people's phones light up and ring, and the whispers start flying. Next to him, Azimio whistles lowly.
"What's going on?" he asks.
"Your boy on the side is crazy," Az replies. Dave's mind shorts out and he drops his six-pound dumbbells. They just barely miss his feet. His boy on the side? Crazy? Neither of those things are good.
"Look," says Azimio, "I agree with you, I don't think we need to mess with Hummel that much anymore. He's too tall to throw in the dumpsters anymore, and whatever he said to Madame Bertrand in French the other day, like actually in the language of French, was so bad she almost fainted. It was hilarious." Azimio pronounces it 'high-larious.' "If he didn't still dress like a cross between a circus freak and a street hooker I'd say he was almost cool. But he's not."
Az sighs. "But I don't wanna mess with no crazy that tries to stab you. Tell him I'm off-limits, you feel me? As your friend, please."
It was the mind-blowing rumor that spread through McKinley like an STD, that Kurt had stabbed Strando. Stabbed him, which Dave could not believe at all. Kurt wasn't violent. Stubborn and defiant if you pushed him, maybe, but that's all. Dave was the meat-headed jock; it was more likely that he'd shank somebody than Kurt. The weapon of choice started out as a sharpened nail file, then changed to a pair of sewing shears. Strando was fine, he was in the hospital, he was dying - the stupid rumor followed Dave throughout the day.
Second to last period Dave is hit up with a text that says, headin home early. u comin? ;)
He asks for a bathroom pass from his teacher, and wanders over to Kurt's locker, where the boy in question is listlessly filling up his bookbag.
"What happened?" says Dave.
"I got suspended," Kurt answers, like it was no big deal. Which it isn't, and that happens to be something Dave knows personally.
"Did you really stab Strando?" Kurt meets his eyes slowly. "Oh my god, is he dead?"
"Of course he's not dead you idiot, he's barely even hurt!" Kurt slams his locker and starts walking. "He made some commentary he shouldn't have, and I jabbed him in the hand with a pen. Then he started shrieking, and there was ink everywhere, and mass stupidity set in. A bunch of Cheerios were cooing over him before I even left the room. I saw him sneaking a feel at one of their breasts with his good hand."
"Don't they have to call your d - Hudson's mom?"
"Yeah, they told me to wait, but, well. It's not like they were really paying attention."
Kurt strolls down the hall, and then makes a sudden left turn. Into a storage closet.
"You get lost or something?" Dave jokes. Because it's a closet. His laughter is cut off when Kurt grabs him by the lapels and pulls him in, quickly shutting the door behind them.
Kurt is on him right away, kissing and biting at his neck and mouth, and tracing his hands over the warm span of Dave's back. Dave wraps his arms around Kurt on instinct, pulling him close. He'll never get tired of this; the feel of him, the way he smells, the way he fits against Dave.
There's a noise in the background, distracting him from Kurt's mouth. It needs to stop, and then it does, but then there's a different sound -
"That's the bell," says Dave, panicking. There are dozens out people outside going to their next class.
"So what," says Kurt, who kisses him again.
It's difficult to break away from the kiss, and Dave absurdly thinks of their mouths as magnets. "The door's not locked, anyone could walk in!"
"You're so beige."
"What?" And Kurt is what, turquoise?
"As in vanilla? Not even remotely kinky."
"I am too!" Dave goes to move Kurt's hands off him, but he's trying to be gentle while Kurt is not.
Kurt yanks Dave's head down and whispers into his ear. "You know what Strando said to me?" he says. His breath is sultry, like a hot breeze over a lake. "He said I should be a 'team player.' That I ought to pass myself over to him, because he would give it to me way better than a marshmallow push like you."
Dave's vision whites out. Strando knew. And he was dead, nobody hit on his - his Kurt. Jesus, he couldn't even think. Somebody laughed loudly, right outside the door, not five feet away.
"I'm pretty sure he was just kidding and trying to mess with me, but he wouldn't take no for an answer, thus the ninja pen skills." Kurt flicks his tongue against the lobe of Dave's ear, and the only thing keeping him standing by this point is that he can't remember if he q-tip cleaned his ears that morning. The fear doesn't do anything to diminish his lust, instead combining into a high-octane mix of adrenaline.
"But you don't want anyone else, right?" Dave asks, and he has no idea where that came from.
Kurt looks at him with exasperation, and what Dave hopes is a little fondness. "No," he says.
There's a bang against the door, and Dave jumps. "Shit, we have to leave, Kurt." They couldn't take off together, and Dave starts thinking that since Kurt was suspended anyway he could stay until everyone was gone. Meanwhile Dave should slip out now, while he still could. Anytime now.
"I don't feel like going anywhere," Kurt says, and kisses the breath away from Dave's argument.
"Mmph, Kurt - wait - we can't get caught -" Dave groans as Kurt palms him through his jeans, and drops his forehead to rest against where Kurt's neck meets his shoulder.
"You're free to leave at anytime," Kurt says flatly, unruffled while Dave pants into his skin. And that was the problem, right there. Dave wasn't free - when could he ever pull away from Kurt, even when the risks were obvious? It's like nothing has changed since the locker room and his moaning is seriously deafening, they've got to be able to hear him outside. They'll be exposed any second now.
"Kurt - please -" and Dave honestly can't tell if he's asking for Kurt to stop or to keep going.
He hears the familiar voice a split second before Kurt steps away from him, and by the time Puck yanks open the door Dave's no longer sharing personal space with Kurt, the fists in his letterman pockets pulling down the jacket to cover his hard-on.
"What are you guys doing in here?" Puck looks back and forth between the two of them.
"Karofsky wanted to see my stabbing pen," says Kurt, and Dave almost chokes. "What are you doing here?"
"Showing my man Artie the best places around school to sneak a little tonsil hockey with his lady." Sure enough, Dave can see part of a wheelchair and one arm waving.
Kurt huffs, unamused, and excuses himself. Dave finds himself standing with Puck and Artie.
"I'm really worried about him," Puck says. "I mean, he's kind of badass now, which I totally respect, but he's gonna end up in juvie just like me if he keeps it up, which would totally suck."
Dave side-eyes Puck.
"They ripped out my nipple ring," he admits, obviously depressed at the memory, and actually brings up a hand to massage his manboob. Dave doesn't want to think about Kurt locked up with any actual juvenile delinquents.
"Look, I understand you and Kurt's friendship better than anyone else," Puck continues, and Dave seriously doubts that. "Just look at me and Artie! I used to throw his wheelchair off the roof and call him 'soldier' when he had to crawl with his arms to the nearest class. Now we're bros, and I got his back. You gotta do the same for Kurt. He only talks to you anymore. Well, and Artie."
"If by 'talk' you mean the only one he hasn't de-friended on Facebook, sure," says Artie.
"Why?" asks Dave, and Artie looks as surprised as he feels for asking at all.
Artie shrugs, but his eyes betray a grim understanding. "I don't know. I guess I just... know how it feels to want to be left alone, when you know it's not going to get better."
They leave Dave in the hallway, and when the second warning bell rings and he feels nothing, he skips the rest of the day.
~*~
It happens late on a Tuesday, right around the time afternoon turns into evening.
Dave is bored. It's a few days before Christmas, and while he's generally satiated after getting caught up on all the sleep he missed over the school semester and stuffing himself with home-baked holiday cookies, he's still bored. He already knows what he's getting and he's stuck with his older video games until then.
He hasn't looked at his phone in over a day because all of Kurt texts are nothing but scathing insults of the holiday chores Finn and his mom are making him do to keep busy. Dave half-thinks he's going to ending up volunteering to cook Christmas dinner for them so he can poison the roast.
After some Halo with Azimio and a few of the guys from the team, he helps his mom make a sweet potato casserole, with orange juice and pecans. Dave leaves out the mini marshmallows for once. They watch some old black-and-white movie on the small TV in the kitchen as it cooks, and he burns his tongue a little when he attempts to eat a gooey piece right after it comes out of the oven. Dave ends up drinking half a carton of eggnog to both cool down his mouth and wash the starchy desert down.
When he flips his phone to finally check in, he has to take a moment to process the incredibly blunt message: wanna prove ur kinky? pick me ^ @ 545 w condoms n lube. dont b l8.
Dave picks up on kinky and condoms before the entirety of the text becomes clear. He checks the time - 5:19.
"Shit!" He shoves his feet into his sneakers unlaced and thunders down the stairs. Then he runs back up again, shedding clothes as he goes so he can take a three-minute shower.
His mom reminds him to be home by 9 PM, which he probably will be, maybe, and Dave just makes it out of the garage without hitting the mailbox.
At the grocery parking lot he speeds into a handicapped spot and makes a mental promise to be nicer to Artie Abrams when he gets the chance.
Since having to shop from the condom/lubrication/pregnancy-test section of the store implies getting laid within the near future, Dave can't exactly call it hell. He settles on purgatory. How can there possibly be so many options? What if Kurt is one of those people allergic to latex or something? Should he save money and get the self-lubricated condoms, or is that going to end up the same way as when he told Kurt he used a 2-in-1 shampoo plus conditioner? How the hell does he know what size to get? Sure, you could buy the XXL in the store, but what happened when the time came and it was like putting a plastic bag on a roll of lifesavers? And why does all the lube say things like "vaginal moisturizer!"
Dave goes for the classic Trojans, size large, and some of the KY warming stuff.
At the self-checkout he briefly wonders if he should bring anything else. Dave vetoes flowers, stuffed animals, chocolate, and candles, all by the too-girly default, and also wine coolers by age default. None of their hook-ups classified as 'dates' including this one, but if this really was the day he was going to cash in his V-card, it just felt like he should do something special. Besides showering in places he hasn't touched in probably his entire life.
He pulls out his wallet and his debit card isn't there. Of course not, he left it on his desk after buying a Chinese gun staff online, shit! What time was it? 5:41, shit.
Dave puts a hand to his forehead. He had a credit card for emergencies, which this definitely counted as. But how would it show up on the bill? Would it just say the name of the store or would it somehow let his parents know what he bought? Dave can't take the chance, and he finds enough cash to cover just one thing.
He is not going to risk getting caught shoplifting sex supplies.
All too aware of the time, he reasons you can use lube without condoms, but not the other way around. So, choice made, Dave stuffs the bills in the machine as fast as he can manage. As soon as the automated voice says "Thank you," he pockets the KY bottle and runs out without collecting his change or receipt.
Kurt is waiting on the curb when Dave arrives at 5:49. "You're late," he says as he clicks in his seatbelt.
"Sorry, your highness," Dave replies, then winces. He remembers the Prom crowning, even if Kurt doesn't. Finn is openly watching them from a window, so Dave drives off. "Anyway, where to?"
"I'll tell you when to turn if you really need help."
"Can I turn on the radio?"
"When do I ever let you play the radio while driving, Karofsky."
"Just the one station that plays nothing but Christmas songs this time of year!"
"Ugh, no." Kurt stretches in his seat, and puts his gloved hands up against the heat vent. "So, remember when you and your cretin pals nailed a bunch of lawn furniture to the roof of my house?"
"What? No."
"You waited until there was nobody home for the weekend so no one would hear the noise; it's kind of a massive prank to forget."
"I know what you're talking about, I just wasn't there." Dave remembers it very well, because he was also gone that weekend with his family for some stupid camping trip. He had so badly wanted to be included with the popular jocks; he'd actually been bummed that he missed out on it. "What is this, Prank Remembrance Day? You wanna talk about the time I hit you with a slushie laced with pepper spray? How about the time Azimio and I forced you into the chemistry lab's emergency shower and turned it on?"
However funny it was seemed back then, it makes Dave's stomach roll to think about it now. He used to push Kurt around because, well, for a lot of reasons he still doesn't know. Except the one, the one reason he's figured out pretty well - that back then there was only one way to touch Kurt and not catch flak for it. Dave doesn't think he could go back to that, it would be like the needle of an old turntable causing damage on a record backspin.
"Forget it then. Turn right here."
Dave sulks. This was not the sexy kind of verbal sparring that counted as foreplay. Maybe Kurt was having second thoughts, which was unfair. "I haven't done any of that in months, Kurt, and I'm not gonna start up again. Plus, I'm the one that's been trying to stop everyone else from bullying you again, which makes me look super gay but I still do it!"
Kurt just stares out the window. At any moment he'll speak up and Dave will have to take him back home.
"I'm sorry," Dave says quietly. "Are you mad at me?"
Kurt reacts to that, turning his head to face him. He seems kind of puzzled. "No, I'm not mad. Turn left at the next light."
He leads Dave to a house with a "For Sale" sign on the lawn. It's dark enough that Dave doesn't worry about people seeing him, and Kurt tells him to wait by the front door while he goes around to the back. In the cold dimness Dave wonders what they're doing.
When Kurt lets him in, he asks just that. The answer is, "We're here to get naked and get off, didn't you read my text?"
Dave gapes at him. "You wanna do it in a stranger's house?" How did he even get inside? Probably picked a backdoor lock or stole a key, Dave reasons. He follows Kurt further indoors. There isn't a lot of furniture, and what's left is covered in dust sheets. There are faint outlines on the wall from where paintings have been taken down. After turning the heat up on a dial in the main hallway, Kurt slips off his coat and wool scarf, dropping them on a couch. He sits down to untie his boots.
"What if the owners come back? I don't want my life to turn into a gay Ke$ha video, we'll probably be arrested!"
"You know, you couldn't say something like that about the Mama Monster. A gay Lady Gaga video? That's got to be some kind of oxymoron, or a pop culture double negative." Kurt finally works off one of his boots. "Nobody's coming back. The house is in foreclosure, didn't you notice the sign?"
Dave takes off his own coat and shoes, and since Kurt is still working at his right boot he decides to explore. The house is so strangely empty - there are no towels or toilet paper in the hall bathroom, nothing in the fridge except a box of baking soda. The draped furniture is bare of any objects, and there are no lamps, only the wall switches for light. The basement has some leather couches and freaky looking lamps, and a single floor-length mirror. Dave wrinkles his nose; he's probably stumbled on what used to be the mod BDSM room for the people that lived there before. He leaves before Kurt can corner him down there.
The upstairs is more of the same, although there are a lot of cardboard boxes and he sees one labeled 'Baby Pictures.' Oh gross, that means some parents had a BDSM basement. Not thinking about that. There's one locked room that Dave knows to leave the fuck alone because of every horror movie ever made. It's in the master bedroom that he surprisingly hits the jackpot. While covered with a dust cloth like everything else, there is what looks like a very comfortable king sized bed inside.
He hears Kurt come up behind him. "What are you doing?"
Dave grins at him. A large bed, in an empty house, with a few hours to waste? "This isn't such a bad idea after all. Doing it in the parent's bed is definitely kinky. I'm game."
He tilts Kurt's head back to kiss him, although Kurt barely responds. "What's wrong?"
Kurt blinks at him. "Nothing. Just glad you're finally getting with the picture." And then he's back to being the Kurt Dave knows, pushy and hansy and the hottest thing ever.
Getting to the bed is more of a road trip than a direct crossing; each time they manage to take off another piece of clothing they have to stop and enjoy the newly exposed stretch of skin before moving again. It's not that they haven't seen pretty much everything by now, because they have, just not all at once. Well, almost everything.
Dave stops when he's left butt-naked from the waist down with his t-shirt still on. Kurt rolls his eyes, eternally composed and bitchy even while nude. "Seriously?" He shoves Dave onto the bed, and the taller boy lands with an 'oof!' flat on his back. "Elle, Allure, and Marie Claire all agree that lying on your back makes your stomach flatter." Dave wonders who the hell those girls are; he doesn't think they're in Glee club.
And suddenly he doesn't have any room for embarrassment, because to get his shirt off Kurt climbs on top of him, straddling him at the hips. There is so much more bare skin to see and feel. His cock brushes against Dave's, and his thighs are hot, solid weights on both sides that anchor him. Dave brings his hands to Kurt's waist because he kind of wants to keep him there forever. Kurt bends down to kiss him, and when he straightens back up he pulls a little at Dave's bottom lip with his teeth. Dave's neck aches at a sharp angle trying to follow Kurt's mouth.
"Where's the stuff?" Kurt breathes.
"What stuff?"
Kurt, who had started moving his hips and pressing down more, stops. "Karofsky."
"Oh. Oh! Uh."
"Did you forget them?"
"No!" Dave pushes himself up on his elbows. "No, I went to the store, I just - I didn't have enough money, so I only got lube."
Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose and curses. Dave is very careful not to say anything more so he doesn't get kicked out of bed. Literally. Kurt would totally kick him, and he's got pretty big feet. As he should, now that Dave knows exactly how un-petite his dick is.
"Okay," says Kurt. "We can still do this."
"We can?" It isn't until Dave says it that he realizes he's kind of relieved, and it must show on his face with the way Kurt is looking at him. It's more than just performance anxiety. Once you go all the way, nothing else is supposed to be as good ever again, and Dave... really likes all the ways he and Kurt have only mostly hooked up. He wanted to do more. Jeez, they've still never even blown each other.
"Or not," Kurt amends dryly. "Fine, where's the lube? I suppose we can try some kind of intercrural sex." He gets off Dave to fetch the KY, and in the sudden chill without Kurt's body heat Dave wonders what the hell inter-what-all is, because with all the porn he watches? He should know everything about sex.
The lube feels more tingly than warm, and smells a little like cinnamon, which Dave thinks makes it kind of seasonal. Kurt has them both on their knees, facing each other while kneeling in all the pulled back sheets, and the way Dave only just understands it they're doing the gay version of titty-fucking, but with inner thighs and ass-cracks instead of boobs.
Except, and Dave only thinks this in the back of his mind, that's he's overdoing it with the crude descriptions. If he were really honest with himself, if he could be honest with himself, he'd think of being with Kurt in nicer terms, because that's what it was like. It was like that in addition to being hot and pornographic in the best way, instead of being one or the other.
Like the way Kurt keeps his arms around Dave's neck to hold on to him, but arches back for a better drag against Dave's stomach. Or the way Dave pushes in and out of the slicked up space between Kurt's thighs, but keeps his hands on Kurt's waist like the most courteous dance partner. Dave grunts in time with his hips, getting faster, and Kurt's commentary starts degenerating into nonverbal, guttural sighs. His fingers are wet with KY on the back of Dave's neck, and when Dave finally comes, all he smells is Kurt and sex and cinnamon.
He manages to keep kneeling long enough for Kurt to rub off against him, and then slips out of Kurt's embrace to collapse backwards in a comfortable, cushioned heap. Dave throws an arm over his eyes, blocking out the light. He'd rather feel than see the afterimage of that orgasm. Best Christmas present ever, and Dave chuckles at a bizarre idea he has of Santa confusing naughty with nice this year. He even feels like cuddling, 'tis the season and all that. Although the endorphin rush starts to taper off as Dave becomes more aware of the cooling, sticky mess Kurt left on his stomach, and he fumbles around to gather some of the dust cloth and wipe himself down.
It occurs to him that Kurt must have it even worse, all over the back of his thighs and stuff. "Hey," he asks, "Do you have any of those wet wipe things?" Kurt shakes his head 'no,' his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and Dave tries to gather a different, clean section of the dust sheet for him. He sits up, not even caring about his stomach, and holds out the puff of cloth while waiting for Kurt to say something amusing but cutting. Like a reference to an Emperor with no clothes or something.
When Kurt doesn't take it Dave looks at him, and he's it turns out he's not shaking his head but turning it in short, sharp jerks, like he's searching all over the room. He seems kind of panicked, actually. "Kurt?" Did he think the room was bugged or something? Dave stretches out and brushes him on the arm.
Kurt bursts into tears.
Dave lurches back so hard he falls off the bed with a thud that shakes the room. He gets a rug-burn on his naked ass and his palms for his trouble, although it barely registers. Kurt is full-on bawling. His eyes are already red and he keeps wiping away fat tears, but some manage to run over his hands and down his forearms. He sounds like he's dying.
Dave puts his hands over his ears, trying to block out the noise. It's not like he - he didn't - he wouldn't - he absolutely did not hear Kurt say "stop" or "no." It wasn't like that. Why the fuck was he crying? "Why are you crying?"
Kurt doesn't even seem to hear him. Dave wants to reach out and touch him, in a comforting and totally non-sexy way, but he also think that might be a really bad idea. And not just because it sounds like Kurt has gotten to the snotty part of crying too hard, but there is something really, really wrong about this, and Dave doesn't want to think about it. Just a few seconds ago everything was great, why can't it go back to that?
He tries, "What's wrong?" but that just makes Kurt sob even more intensely. Dave suddenly feels very heavy, not like he's fat but like the gravity in his room got stronger. It's a lot like the way he felt when he thought Kurt would blurt out the truth the first time around. He hates feeling helpless. Dave just wants Kurt to stop, but telling him to shut up would be too cruel, even for him. He doesn't know what to do. "What do you want?"
Kurt hiccups, and when he speaks each word costs him a gasp of breath. "My - dad," he sobs.
Dave feels the burn of his eggnog as it comes back up, and he only just makes it to a trashcan by a dresser to spit it back out. He forcibly thumps into the dresser in his rush to bend over the waste bin, knocking a worn baseball cap onto the floor. It's not even a full vomit heave, just a few gulps of liquid, but it corrodes his throat and the sickly sweet custard smell assaults his nostrils just like the sound of Kurt Hummel in his ears.
He's so stupid, he's so stupid. Kurt didn't like him, life was not awesome. And it was all his own fault, again. Who would start fooling around with the same guy that bullied him after the death of their only remaining parent? Not someone who was dealing with grief well, obviously. A smart person, a normal person would have called a therapist or a hotline, but what does Dave do? Indulge in own horniness and never question anything. So fucking stupid. He probably made things even worse and Kurt would have to go to some kind of juvenile psych ward, for being damaged. Dave might have to go to some juvenile detention place, for being a monstrous enabler or whatever. What if everyone found out? What if he never saw Kurt again?
Kurt is still crying, or trying to. Dave thinks he might be getting too exhausted to physically keep going, but he's still making those horrible sounds, sometimes intercutting with meek wails of "Dad - dad," like he's calling for him.
Dave spits into the small trash, getting as much of the taste out as he can. He'll never be able to enjoy eggnog again. "I'm sorry," he says, and he knows Kurt can't hear him. "I'm so sorry."
Those same words, again, because it's his fault, again. There's no way to make this right, he can't bring back Kurt's dad or undo what he did.
- except! -
If he weren't already crouching Dave would have fallen to the floor. He's had so many shocks today, and he feels physically weak. But then he gets to his feet, grabbing his clothes and redressing, slowly at first and then faster and faster. As comprehension dawns, so does his strength. And hope. "I can fix this," he says, because chanting it out loud makes it sound real.
"Kurt," he says, and stops. What should he do? He can't leave him here, crying and naked. But it's not like Dave can drive him home. Finn's place isn't home to Kurt. And he can't take him to his own house. Plus there's still the problem of Kurt possibly freaking out all over again if Dave tries to touch him.
Dave draws the bedspread up over Kurt. He doesn't want to startle the smaller boy by being too close or almost touching him, so instead of pulling the sheet snug over Kurt's shoulders and chest he sort of drops it over Kurt's trembling frame. It slips from the top of his head, but with enough work Dave manages to loosely shroud him in cotton.
"Just - stay here for now. I'll be right back," he promises, only partially lying.
Dave drags himself away from Kurt, and focuses on marching out. He doesn't catch Kurt blinking, his blurry eyes trailing the only movement in the room and almost focusing on Dave just as he makes his exit.
In the car Dave gets lost right away, and he shouts nothing but "Fuck!" for half an hour among the backroads of Lima until he finds a road he's familiar with. He drives long enough to recognize where his is and makes his way home.
"Hi sweetie, you're just in time for dinner," his mom greets him.
"Not now," he bites out, not caring that he's being rude. He hikes it to his room, shutting and locking his door behind him. Dave is out of breath, and even he knows it's not because the stairs winded him.
His hands shake a little as he opens the first drawer in his desk, and pulls out the stone case from where he shoved it weeks ago when it re-appeared. It looks the same, old but not cracked or chipped in any way, a long grey sheath for weird wish granting magic sticks. But what if it didn't work this time? No, he can't think that. It has to work.
"Bring back Mr. Hummel," he commands, and nothing happens. "I wish Mr. Hummel were still alive, just as he was and not like a zombie or anything," he tries. "Please," he adds, and feels ridiculous. Was this how he did it that first time? No, he remembers it opened first. Maybe it has to be open to work.
Dave pulls at the top with the cording and actually gasps. It's like a solid stone carving. He twists until his fingertips are raw and almost rips off a fingernail. "No!"
"David?" His mother knocks at his door. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm busy!" he shouts, and through his mom's scolding he keeps trying to open the thing. "Please, please open," he begs. "Damn it, why did I have to wish to re-do that kiss!" Sure it was life altering, but at least it was private. Kurt came back eventually, offering friendship if not hand-jobs. "I should have wished to re-do something else, anything else, like Santana and her fucking Bully Whips program before it got us royally prank crowned, just anything as long as Kurt's dad is okay."
The stone case pops opens, fast like a gun firing, and Dave drops it in shock. Mrs. Karofsky is pounding on the door. He hears the familiar crack and absurdly remembers Kurt's face, how equally beautiful he was wearing expressions of either dominance or desolation as the room warps -
~*~
This fanfic is also archived at Ao3.
Author: heygirlie
Pairing(s): this chapter, Kurt/Dave
Rating: R
Word Count: this chapter, 16,370
Warnings: this chapter, profanity, derogatory slurs, major character death, acts of bullying, dub-con
Spoilers: Up to season 2.
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the glee_angst_meme. Dave makes a wish to do-over his kiss with Kurt, and it bizarrely comes true. Everything is awesome this time around. Really. It's all good.
Prologue / Ch. 1a / Ch. 1b
~*~
Carole changes shifts.
Now she has the 7 AM to 3 PM shift, so while Finn struggles to get up early for school each morning, his mom is home in time to greet him every day and make dinner.
It turns out Dave is really bad at phone sex and he's too afraid to go parking because anyone could see. He doesn't have a camera on his laptop for Skyping, and Kurt shuts down both sexting and cybersex based on his opinion of Dave's spelling abilities alone. He develops a severe, irrational hatred of the nursing profession.
"Can't we just - nngh - go to your place?"
Dave has to detach his mouth from Kurt's left nipple to answer. "No, my mom is usually home after school." And he doubts his own room would be acceptable for Kurt, not without an all-weekend sanitizing effort of vacuuming and Febreeze. He goes back to making Kurt writhe under his lips. Sucking and licking on a guy's tits - somehow it seemed even more gay than touching another guy's cock, but Dave loves it anyway.
If anyone asked, and this would be in yet another world where Gay is Okay, Dave would say that he liked to get his dick sucked and pound some sweet ass like a boss, please and thank you bitches. But to his own surprise, nothing was hotter than getting Kurt off. He likes counting the ways Kurt reacts to his hands, or his tongue, and the way his voice goes all over the musical scale. Sometimes Dave can make him go high-pitched like a cartoon, and rarely, a low bass like he's secretly Optimus Prime or something. He likes listening to the random, filthy swear words that come out of Kurt's prim and proper mouth, and watching as a thin sheen of sweat appears on his skin. And because of that pale skin, what Dave likes most is waiting for the deep, telltale flush that starts just below Kurt's navel before blooming over his chest and face, right before he comes. It's accompanied by a ridiculously cute and scrunched up o-face, and Dave will never ever tell Kurt he thinks that.
It's almost as satisfying as getting off himself, which works out well since lately they only have enough time for one of them a day. Today, obviously, was Kurt's turn, and Dave works a hand inside his briefs to finish him off. Lunch is a little less than an hour, so with a ten minute drive to and from school that leaves about twenty minutes to get sexed.
Dave usually scarfs down a sandwich and a granola bar with some Gatorade during one of his afternoon classes to get him through the day. He learned that the hard way, after his first day of missing lunch and sexercising off calories almost made him pass out during football practice.
"Mr. Karofsky, are you eating in my class?"
"Uh..." he trails off, burning under the stares of every single person in his calculus class when they turn to look at him. "Yeah? It's a PBJ, what's the big deal? Hey!" he shouts in protest, as Mrs. Abbott seizes the sandwich right out of his hands and throws it in the trash.
"This isn't kindergarten, have some self-control," she admonishes. Dave hears people whisper and joke as she goes on about her lesson. Fuck. He doesn't look at them. But he can feel his stomach rasp in hunger, growling out loud too, and that doesn't help.
A buzz from his phone lets him know he's got a text. It's from Kurt:
busy 2morrow cant do lunch
"Fuck," breathes Dave, and the guy next to him gives him a weird look. "What are you looking at!"
"No talking, Mr. Karofsky!"
When the bell rings Dave shoves everything into his backpack and barrels out of the class. He wants to punch something, and eat something, and get some goddamn relief. Some froshie gets in his way, a skinny dude with scraggly facial hair and acne.
"Move it, loser," he says, and shoves him aside. Dave gets two steps ahead when he hears, "Screw you!"
He's back in the kid's face instantly, anger overriding his normal aversion to being that close to greasy zitopia. "What did you say to me?"
The boy's eyes go wide. "You heard me?" Dave's not sure if that means he thought he was being quiet, or if he was trying to act brave and failing. He doesn't care.
Dave grabs his arm and drags him to the nearest bathroom, texting Azimio to meet him there ASAP with some super glue.
The other guy keeps trying to run past Dave, around him somehow to the exit, and Dave slaps him back one-handed each time. It's almost like that mindless game where you keep throwing a ball against the wall and catching it. It's amusing, but Dave's not here for that.
"Let me go, you asshole!" he shouts.
"Shut up," says Dave, and shoves him back again. dude come on, he texts Azimio.
The boy takes off his backpack and starts swinging it at Dave. He looks ridiculous, and Dave can obviously take him, but knows how heavy his own textbooks are. Never underestimate your opponent; two against one was always better.
He suddenly remembers, oh yeah, he kind of cut Az off weeks ago. Shit.
Dave almost forgets to block a swing at that epiphany. He tries to think of something in the melee - he could probably make do with a classic swirlee on his own.
Alone, and it was his own fault.
"Well, what have we got here? Looks like some freak thinks he can take a swing at my boy and leave unpunished."
Dave turns to Azimio with a wide smile. It was good to have someone who had your back. "This guy tried to brush against me instead of getting out of the way. I think someone needs to learn to keep their hands to themselves."
"I think I like the way you think," says Azimio, and he hands over the little tube of crazy glue. Dave grabs the boy's right wrist and forces his fingers open, while Azimio knocks his bookbag away and holds him to the wall. "You're gonna swear an oath to us, acne-stash," says Dave, and he pours a good amount of the glue into the guy's hand. "Now grab your balls and repeat after me."
He tries to move, but Azimio slams him back into the wall. Reluctantly, his puts his palm to the front of his cargo pants. Azimio forcefully prods him on the back of his hand. "Hold tight, this is serious," he adds over the boy's groan. Dave comes up with some crap about the kid being a nobody who needed to respect the authority at McKinley, and makes him say it back. He lets go of him and nods at Azimio to do the same.
They both crack up when he can't move his hand away from his crotch. It looks like he's trying to impersonate Michael Jackson every time he tries to yank his hand free.
"Man," sighs Azimio, "It's good to have you back."
Dave shrugs with a grin. They walk shoulder to shoulder down the hall, like nothing has changed.
"It's bad enough that you went to drop me like Pluto, but to go all BFFs with Hummel? That's cold."
Dave stops, and possibly his heart does too. "You know I've been spending time with Kurt?"
Azimio gives him a look which Dave interprets as, "Duh, you stupid white guy."
Dave scrambles for an excuse. "Well, it's just, I've been trying to make up for my shit, you know?"
"I got you bro, really. It's karma and everything, you're just like Earl. You don't want to get run over by no car or anything."
"... Yeah?"
"Just don't ignore you best bud anymore, okay? If I may quote the queen, R-E-S-P-E-C-T," says Azimio. Dave agrees, and they seal the deal with a fist bump. He almost relaxes, until, "It was like when one of your friends gets a girlfriend and the rest of the world stops existing, I swear."
"Dude, no way, I'm not a fag for Hummel!" Oh god, except that he totally was. Did that come out too high pitched? Too fast? But Azimio just laughs him off and he's in the clear.
Life goes on, a little more balanced than before. He gets twenty minutes of Kurt's hands and lips on him every other day, and spends time with his football friends again after school for Call of Duty. He reacquaints himself with the two-handed slushie attack, along with Azimio and others, making sure the geeks of school know their place.
And on one cold December day, it was time to remind the losers of Glee, since they thought they could parade around the school like a bunch of Christmas elves. If you were gonna dress up like an idiot and visit a bunch of classes, you should offer candy canes, not songs.
Dave and bunch of other football players march toward their current targets: the Cheerio rejects. Quinn Fabray may have regained the uniform, but everyone knew post-baby she'd never be on top again. And Mercedes Jones, who for some reason decided being popular and a top athlete just wasn't for her, and quit.
"Sup, ladies?" Strando greets them. "We heard you wanted to get a little holiday cheer."
Mercedes eyes the cups of cherry-red and apple-green slushies nervously, while Quinn looked defiant. "Somehow, I don't think Sam would appreciate his teammates giving his girlfriend a slushie facial."
"We'd be happy to give you the other kind, Quickie Fabray!" The guys howl with laughter and slap some high fives over wide receiver Craig Stevenson's burn, then rear back their plastic cups. Mercedes holds two folders over her hair, and Quinn puts her history book in front of her face.
"Excuse me," a voice interrupts, "Some people actually want to walk through the hall instead of stopping right in the middle and making a veritable traffic jam."
Kurt Hummel squeezes by the group, a stony expression on his face. Dave flexes his grip around the slushie, which suddenly feels too cold for his hand.
"Kurt," says Mercedes, and she sounds sad.
"Mercedes," he acknowledges, and moves to keep going.
"Wait!"
"I have nothing to say to you," he bites out.
"Don't shut us out like this," Mercedes pleads.
"Finn says you never speak to him, and you live with him," Quinn states softly.
"Well if you're so concerned why don't you start a prayer circle, I'm sure Jesus would love to know of one more atheist fag who deserves to burn in hell," Kurt hisses. "Don't forget to bring the iced tea and snickerdoodles so you can gossip afterwards about who else doesn't get to join heaven."
"Hey," yells one of the guys, "We're about to slushie you, don't ignore us!"
"Oh," says Kurt, "Is that for me too?" He reaches over to take the cup from Dave's slack grip, and takes a drink. He licks his lips, the cherry-red dye from his tongue tinting his mouth rouge. Then he puts it back in Dave's hand. "Thanks," says Kurt, looking right into Dave's eyes before stomping off.
Dave bites the inside of his mouth, trying to will away his growing erection. He doesn't know how Kurt survives without loose pants.
The slushie-ing commences as usual, and some of the guys throw their empty cups on the ground as they leave the drenched girls. "We should have gotten Hummel, too," says Strando, and Dave almost trips over his own feet.
"Dude, no, he's not in Glee club anymore," Dave tries. "Plus you were all over my ass like two seconds ago for just that!"
"It's been forever since his dad died, he can't use that excuse forever. He's still a flaming homo." Someone suggests another group-slushie, this one with all the colors of the rainbow. That reminds someone of a rainbow shooter, which makes them think about shots on fire, and a serious conversation takes place about whether or not they could get away with a flaming rainbow attack. The more Dave tries to feebly protest, the more they brush him off.
"Az, help me out man," he asks.
But his friend just snorts. "Naw, I gotta admit, I'm little pissed at the guy myself. He got you to ignore me for weeks, what's up with that?"
"Yeah Karofsky," sneers Strando, "What's the little fairy-boy got on you?"
"Nothing," says Dave, and his head feels light. "He's just - helping me out with some homework, that's all."
"Oh, like a 'helping hand,' right?" Strando makes a gesture like he's jerking-off, and Dave shoves him into the lockers, hard. "What the fuck, man!"
"I'm not some homo, take it back!"
They almost start fighting right there before their teammates pull them away from each other. "You're really strung up on Hummel," says Craig. "It's kind of gay, man."
"Fuck you," Dave snarls. "Do whatever the fuck you like, I'm done." The bell's about to ring anyway, so he splits.
He's rescued, sort of, in history class by a video about the Vikings. The real ones, so no funny hats or anything. The lights are off and half the class is asleep.
Dave breathes.
They're starting to catch on, and he doesn't know what to do. How does he throw them off, how? He could ask out Santana, be Best Beards Forever a few months early. She's not dating Sam yet. But she'd know right away that he and Kurt were hooking up. Or almost hooking up, since they haven't had actual sex yet, and she'd mock them for that too.
Which reminds him; he quietly gets out his cell, covering the light of the screen with a fort of textbooks, binders, and a pencil bag.
watch out, he texts Kurt. strandos gunnin 4 u. There's really not much else he can do to protect him, but it gnaws at Dave all the same.
He doesn't get a reply, not even later that evening. He hopes it reaches Kurt.
Dave gets his answer the next morning during weights. A lot of people's phones light up and ring, and the whispers start flying. Next to him, Azimio whistles lowly.
"What's going on?" he asks.
"Your boy on the side is crazy," Az replies. Dave's mind shorts out and he drops his six-pound dumbbells. They just barely miss his feet. His boy on the side? Crazy? Neither of those things are good.
"Look," says Azimio, "I agree with you, I don't think we need to mess with Hummel that much anymore. He's too tall to throw in the dumpsters anymore, and whatever he said to Madame Bertrand in French the other day, like actually in the language of French, was so bad she almost fainted. It was hilarious." Azimio pronounces it 'high-larious.' "If he didn't still dress like a cross between a circus freak and a street hooker I'd say he was almost cool. But he's not."
Az sighs. "But I don't wanna mess with no crazy that tries to stab you. Tell him I'm off-limits, you feel me? As your friend, please."
It was the mind-blowing rumor that spread through McKinley like an STD, that Kurt had stabbed Strando. Stabbed him, which Dave could not believe at all. Kurt wasn't violent. Stubborn and defiant if you pushed him, maybe, but that's all. Dave was the meat-headed jock; it was more likely that he'd shank somebody than Kurt. The weapon of choice started out as a sharpened nail file, then changed to a pair of sewing shears. Strando was fine, he was in the hospital, he was dying - the stupid rumor followed Dave throughout the day.
Second to last period Dave is hit up with a text that says, headin home early. u comin? ;)
He asks for a bathroom pass from his teacher, and wanders over to Kurt's locker, where the boy in question is listlessly filling up his bookbag.
"What happened?" says Dave.
"I got suspended," Kurt answers, like it was no big deal. Which it isn't, and that happens to be something Dave knows personally.
"Did you really stab Strando?" Kurt meets his eyes slowly. "Oh my god, is he dead?"
"Of course he's not dead you idiot, he's barely even hurt!" Kurt slams his locker and starts walking. "He made some commentary he shouldn't have, and I jabbed him in the hand with a pen. Then he started shrieking, and there was ink everywhere, and mass stupidity set in. A bunch of Cheerios were cooing over him before I even left the room. I saw him sneaking a feel at one of their breasts with his good hand."
"Don't they have to call your d - Hudson's mom?"
"Yeah, they told me to wait, but, well. It's not like they were really paying attention."
Kurt strolls down the hall, and then makes a sudden left turn. Into a storage closet.
"You get lost or something?" Dave jokes. Because it's a closet. His laughter is cut off when Kurt grabs him by the lapels and pulls him in, quickly shutting the door behind them.
Kurt is on him right away, kissing and biting at his neck and mouth, and tracing his hands over the warm span of Dave's back. Dave wraps his arms around Kurt on instinct, pulling him close. He'll never get tired of this; the feel of him, the way he smells, the way he fits against Dave.
There's a noise in the background, distracting him from Kurt's mouth. It needs to stop, and then it does, but then there's a different sound -
"That's the bell," says Dave, panicking. There are dozens out people outside going to their next class.
"So what," says Kurt, who kisses him again.
It's difficult to break away from the kiss, and Dave absurdly thinks of their mouths as magnets. "The door's not locked, anyone could walk in!"
"You're so beige."
"What?" And Kurt is what, turquoise?
"As in vanilla? Not even remotely kinky."
"I am too!" Dave goes to move Kurt's hands off him, but he's trying to be gentle while Kurt is not.
Kurt yanks Dave's head down and whispers into his ear. "You know what Strando said to me?" he says. His breath is sultry, like a hot breeze over a lake. "He said I should be a 'team player.' That I ought to pass myself over to him, because he would give it to me way better than a marshmallow push like you."
Dave's vision whites out. Strando knew. And he was dead, nobody hit on his - his Kurt. Jesus, he couldn't even think. Somebody laughed loudly, right outside the door, not five feet away.
"I'm pretty sure he was just kidding and trying to mess with me, but he wouldn't take no for an answer, thus the ninja pen skills." Kurt flicks his tongue against the lobe of Dave's ear, and the only thing keeping him standing by this point is that he can't remember if he q-tip cleaned his ears that morning. The fear doesn't do anything to diminish his lust, instead combining into a high-octane mix of adrenaline.
"But you don't want anyone else, right?" Dave asks, and he has no idea where that came from.
Kurt looks at him with exasperation, and what Dave hopes is a little fondness. "No," he says.
There's a bang against the door, and Dave jumps. "Shit, we have to leave, Kurt." They couldn't take off together, and Dave starts thinking that since Kurt was suspended anyway he could stay until everyone was gone. Meanwhile Dave should slip out now, while he still could. Anytime now.
"I don't feel like going anywhere," Kurt says, and kisses the breath away from Dave's argument.
"Mmph, Kurt - wait - we can't get caught -" Dave groans as Kurt palms him through his jeans, and drops his forehead to rest against where Kurt's neck meets his shoulder.
"You're free to leave at anytime," Kurt says flatly, unruffled while Dave pants into his skin. And that was the problem, right there. Dave wasn't free - when could he ever pull away from Kurt, even when the risks were obvious? It's like nothing has changed since the locker room and his moaning is seriously deafening, they've got to be able to hear him outside. They'll be exposed any second now.
"Kurt - please -" and Dave honestly can't tell if he's asking for Kurt to stop or to keep going.
He hears the familiar voice a split second before Kurt steps away from him, and by the time Puck yanks open the door Dave's no longer sharing personal space with Kurt, the fists in his letterman pockets pulling down the jacket to cover his hard-on.
"What are you guys doing in here?" Puck looks back and forth between the two of them.
"Karofsky wanted to see my stabbing pen," says Kurt, and Dave almost chokes. "What are you doing here?"
"Showing my man Artie the best places around school to sneak a little tonsil hockey with his lady." Sure enough, Dave can see part of a wheelchair and one arm waving.
Kurt huffs, unamused, and excuses himself. Dave finds himself standing with Puck and Artie.
"I'm really worried about him," Puck says. "I mean, he's kind of badass now, which I totally respect, but he's gonna end up in juvie just like me if he keeps it up, which would totally suck."
Dave side-eyes Puck.
"They ripped out my nipple ring," he admits, obviously depressed at the memory, and actually brings up a hand to massage his manboob. Dave doesn't want to think about Kurt locked up with any actual juvenile delinquents.
"Look, I understand you and Kurt's friendship better than anyone else," Puck continues, and Dave seriously doubts that. "Just look at me and Artie! I used to throw his wheelchair off the roof and call him 'soldier' when he had to crawl with his arms to the nearest class. Now we're bros, and I got his back. You gotta do the same for Kurt. He only talks to you anymore. Well, and Artie."
"If by 'talk' you mean the only one he hasn't de-friended on Facebook, sure," says Artie.
"Why?" asks Dave, and Artie looks as surprised as he feels for asking at all.
Artie shrugs, but his eyes betray a grim understanding. "I don't know. I guess I just... know how it feels to want to be left alone, when you know it's not going to get better."
They leave Dave in the hallway, and when the second warning bell rings and he feels nothing, he skips the rest of the day.
~*~
It happens late on a Tuesday, right around the time afternoon turns into evening.
Dave is bored. It's a few days before Christmas, and while he's generally satiated after getting caught up on all the sleep he missed over the school semester and stuffing himself with home-baked holiday cookies, he's still bored. He already knows what he's getting and he's stuck with his older video games until then.
He hasn't looked at his phone in over a day because all of Kurt texts are nothing but scathing insults of the holiday chores Finn and his mom are making him do to keep busy. Dave half-thinks he's going to ending up volunteering to cook Christmas dinner for them so he can poison the roast.
After some Halo with Azimio and a few of the guys from the team, he helps his mom make a sweet potato casserole, with orange juice and pecans. Dave leaves out the mini marshmallows for once. They watch some old black-and-white movie on the small TV in the kitchen as it cooks, and he burns his tongue a little when he attempts to eat a gooey piece right after it comes out of the oven. Dave ends up drinking half a carton of eggnog to both cool down his mouth and wash the starchy desert down.
When he flips his phone to finally check in, he has to take a moment to process the incredibly blunt message: wanna prove ur kinky? pick me ^ @ 545 w condoms n lube. dont b l8.
Dave picks up on kinky and condoms before the entirety of the text becomes clear. He checks the time - 5:19.
"Shit!" He shoves his feet into his sneakers unlaced and thunders down the stairs. Then he runs back up again, shedding clothes as he goes so he can take a three-minute shower.
His mom reminds him to be home by 9 PM, which he probably will be, maybe, and Dave just makes it out of the garage without hitting the mailbox.
At the grocery parking lot he speeds into a handicapped spot and makes a mental promise to be nicer to Artie Abrams when he gets the chance.
Since having to shop from the condom/lubrication/pregnancy-test section of the store implies getting laid within the near future, Dave can't exactly call it hell. He settles on purgatory. How can there possibly be so many options? What if Kurt is one of those people allergic to latex or something? Should he save money and get the self-lubricated condoms, or is that going to end up the same way as when he told Kurt he used a 2-in-1 shampoo plus conditioner? How the hell does he know what size to get? Sure, you could buy the XXL in the store, but what happened when the time came and it was like putting a plastic bag on a roll of lifesavers? And why does all the lube say things like "vaginal moisturizer!"
Dave goes for the classic Trojans, size large, and some of the KY warming stuff.
At the self-checkout he briefly wonders if he should bring anything else. Dave vetoes flowers, stuffed animals, chocolate, and candles, all by the too-girly default, and also wine coolers by age default. None of their hook-ups classified as 'dates' including this one, but if this really was the day he was going to cash in his V-card, it just felt like he should do something special. Besides showering in places he hasn't touched in probably his entire life.
He pulls out his wallet and his debit card isn't there. Of course not, he left it on his desk after buying a Chinese gun staff online, shit! What time was it? 5:41, shit.
Dave puts a hand to his forehead. He had a credit card for emergencies, which this definitely counted as. But how would it show up on the bill? Would it just say the name of the store or would it somehow let his parents know what he bought? Dave can't take the chance, and he finds enough cash to cover just one thing.
He is not going to risk getting caught shoplifting sex supplies.
All too aware of the time, he reasons you can use lube without condoms, but not the other way around. So, choice made, Dave stuffs the bills in the machine as fast as he can manage. As soon as the automated voice says "Thank you," he pockets the KY bottle and runs out without collecting his change or receipt.
Kurt is waiting on the curb when Dave arrives at 5:49. "You're late," he says as he clicks in his seatbelt.
"Sorry, your highness," Dave replies, then winces. He remembers the Prom crowning, even if Kurt doesn't. Finn is openly watching them from a window, so Dave drives off. "Anyway, where to?"
"I'll tell you when to turn if you really need help."
"Can I turn on the radio?"
"When do I ever let you play the radio while driving, Karofsky."
"Just the one station that plays nothing but Christmas songs this time of year!"
"Ugh, no." Kurt stretches in his seat, and puts his gloved hands up against the heat vent. "So, remember when you and your cretin pals nailed a bunch of lawn furniture to the roof of my house?"
"What? No."
"You waited until there was nobody home for the weekend so no one would hear the noise; it's kind of a massive prank to forget."
"I know what you're talking about, I just wasn't there." Dave remembers it very well, because he was also gone that weekend with his family for some stupid camping trip. He had so badly wanted to be included with the popular jocks; he'd actually been bummed that he missed out on it. "What is this, Prank Remembrance Day? You wanna talk about the time I hit you with a slushie laced with pepper spray? How about the time Azimio and I forced you into the chemistry lab's emergency shower and turned it on?"
However funny it was seemed back then, it makes Dave's stomach roll to think about it now. He used to push Kurt around because, well, for a lot of reasons he still doesn't know. Except the one, the one reason he's figured out pretty well - that back then there was only one way to touch Kurt and not catch flak for it. Dave doesn't think he could go back to that, it would be like the needle of an old turntable causing damage on a record backspin.
"Forget it then. Turn right here."
Dave sulks. This was not the sexy kind of verbal sparring that counted as foreplay. Maybe Kurt was having second thoughts, which was unfair. "I haven't done any of that in months, Kurt, and I'm not gonna start up again. Plus, I'm the one that's been trying to stop everyone else from bullying you again, which makes me look super gay but I still do it!"
Kurt just stares out the window. At any moment he'll speak up and Dave will have to take him back home.
"I'm sorry," Dave says quietly. "Are you mad at me?"
Kurt reacts to that, turning his head to face him. He seems kind of puzzled. "No, I'm not mad. Turn left at the next light."
He leads Dave to a house with a "For Sale" sign on the lawn. It's dark enough that Dave doesn't worry about people seeing him, and Kurt tells him to wait by the front door while he goes around to the back. In the cold dimness Dave wonders what they're doing.
When Kurt lets him in, he asks just that. The answer is, "We're here to get naked and get off, didn't you read my text?"
Dave gapes at him. "You wanna do it in a stranger's house?" How did he even get inside? Probably picked a backdoor lock or stole a key, Dave reasons. He follows Kurt further indoors. There isn't a lot of furniture, and what's left is covered in dust sheets. There are faint outlines on the wall from where paintings have been taken down. After turning the heat up on a dial in the main hallway, Kurt slips off his coat and wool scarf, dropping them on a couch. He sits down to untie his boots.
"What if the owners come back? I don't want my life to turn into a gay Ke$ha video, we'll probably be arrested!"
"You know, you couldn't say something like that about the Mama Monster. A gay Lady Gaga video? That's got to be some kind of oxymoron, or a pop culture double negative." Kurt finally works off one of his boots. "Nobody's coming back. The house is in foreclosure, didn't you notice the sign?"
Dave takes off his own coat and shoes, and since Kurt is still working at his right boot he decides to explore. The house is so strangely empty - there are no towels or toilet paper in the hall bathroom, nothing in the fridge except a box of baking soda. The draped furniture is bare of any objects, and there are no lamps, only the wall switches for light. The basement has some leather couches and freaky looking lamps, and a single floor-length mirror. Dave wrinkles his nose; he's probably stumbled on what used to be the mod BDSM room for the people that lived there before. He leaves before Kurt can corner him down there.
The upstairs is more of the same, although there are a lot of cardboard boxes and he sees one labeled 'Baby Pictures.' Oh gross, that means some parents had a BDSM basement. Not thinking about that. There's one locked room that Dave knows to leave the fuck alone because of every horror movie ever made. It's in the master bedroom that he surprisingly hits the jackpot. While covered with a dust cloth like everything else, there is what looks like a very comfortable king sized bed inside.
He hears Kurt come up behind him. "What are you doing?"
Dave grins at him. A large bed, in an empty house, with a few hours to waste? "This isn't such a bad idea after all. Doing it in the parent's bed is definitely kinky. I'm game."
He tilts Kurt's head back to kiss him, although Kurt barely responds. "What's wrong?"
Kurt blinks at him. "Nothing. Just glad you're finally getting with the picture." And then he's back to being the Kurt Dave knows, pushy and hansy and the hottest thing ever.
Getting to the bed is more of a road trip than a direct crossing; each time they manage to take off another piece of clothing they have to stop and enjoy the newly exposed stretch of skin before moving again. It's not that they haven't seen pretty much everything by now, because they have, just not all at once. Well, almost everything.
Dave stops when he's left butt-naked from the waist down with his t-shirt still on. Kurt rolls his eyes, eternally composed and bitchy even while nude. "Seriously?" He shoves Dave onto the bed, and the taller boy lands with an 'oof!' flat on his back. "Elle, Allure, and Marie Claire all agree that lying on your back makes your stomach flatter." Dave wonders who the hell those girls are; he doesn't think they're in Glee club.
And suddenly he doesn't have any room for embarrassment, because to get his shirt off Kurt climbs on top of him, straddling him at the hips. There is so much more bare skin to see and feel. His cock brushes against Dave's, and his thighs are hot, solid weights on both sides that anchor him. Dave brings his hands to Kurt's waist because he kind of wants to keep him there forever. Kurt bends down to kiss him, and when he straightens back up he pulls a little at Dave's bottom lip with his teeth. Dave's neck aches at a sharp angle trying to follow Kurt's mouth.
"Where's the stuff?" Kurt breathes.
"What stuff?"
Kurt, who had started moving his hips and pressing down more, stops. "Karofsky."
"Oh. Oh! Uh."
"Did you forget them?"
"No!" Dave pushes himself up on his elbows. "No, I went to the store, I just - I didn't have enough money, so I only got lube."
Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose and curses. Dave is very careful not to say anything more so he doesn't get kicked out of bed. Literally. Kurt would totally kick him, and he's got pretty big feet. As he should, now that Dave knows exactly how un-petite his dick is.
"Okay," says Kurt. "We can still do this."
"We can?" It isn't until Dave says it that he realizes he's kind of relieved, and it must show on his face with the way Kurt is looking at him. It's more than just performance anxiety. Once you go all the way, nothing else is supposed to be as good ever again, and Dave... really likes all the ways he and Kurt have only mostly hooked up. He wanted to do more. Jeez, they've still never even blown each other.
"Or not," Kurt amends dryly. "Fine, where's the lube? I suppose we can try some kind of intercrural sex." He gets off Dave to fetch the KY, and in the sudden chill without Kurt's body heat Dave wonders what the hell inter-what-all is, because with all the porn he watches? He should know everything about sex.
The lube feels more tingly than warm, and smells a little like cinnamon, which Dave thinks makes it kind of seasonal. Kurt has them both on their knees, facing each other while kneeling in all the pulled back sheets, and the way Dave only just understands it they're doing the gay version of titty-fucking, but with inner thighs and ass-cracks instead of boobs.
Except, and Dave only thinks this in the back of his mind, that's he's overdoing it with the crude descriptions. If he were really honest with himself, if he could be honest with himself, he'd think of being with Kurt in nicer terms, because that's what it was like. It was like that in addition to being hot and pornographic in the best way, instead of being one or the other.
Like the way Kurt keeps his arms around Dave's neck to hold on to him, but arches back for a better drag against Dave's stomach. Or the way Dave pushes in and out of the slicked up space between Kurt's thighs, but keeps his hands on Kurt's waist like the most courteous dance partner. Dave grunts in time with his hips, getting faster, and Kurt's commentary starts degenerating into nonverbal, guttural sighs. His fingers are wet with KY on the back of Dave's neck, and when Dave finally comes, all he smells is Kurt and sex and cinnamon.
He manages to keep kneeling long enough for Kurt to rub off against him, and then slips out of Kurt's embrace to collapse backwards in a comfortable, cushioned heap. Dave throws an arm over his eyes, blocking out the light. He'd rather feel than see the afterimage of that orgasm. Best Christmas present ever, and Dave chuckles at a bizarre idea he has of Santa confusing naughty with nice this year. He even feels like cuddling, 'tis the season and all that. Although the endorphin rush starts to taper off as Dave becomes more aware of the cooling, sticky mess Kurt left on his stomach, and he fumbles around to gather some of the dust cloth and wipe himself down.
It occurs to him that Kurt must have it even worse, all over the back of his thighs and stuff. "Hey," he asks, "Do you have any of those wet wipe things?" Kurt shakes his head 'no,' his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and Dave tries to gather a different, clean section of the dust sheet for him. He sits up, not even caring about his stomach, and holds out the puff of cloth while waiting for Kurt to say something amusing but cutting. Like a reference to an Emperor with no clothes or something.
When Kurt doesn't take it Dave looks at him, and he's it turns out he's not shaking his head but turning it in short, sharp jerks, like he's searching all over the room. He seems kind of panicked, actually. "Kurt?" Did he think the room was bugged or something? Dave stretches out and brushes him on the arm.
Kurt bursts into tears.
Dave lurches back so hard he falls off the bed with a thud that shakes the room. He gets a rug-burn on his naked ass and his palms for his trouble, although it barely registers. Kurt is full-on bawling. His eyes are already red and he keeps wiping away fat tears, but some manage to run over his hands and down his forearms. He sounds like he's dying.
Dave puts his hands over his ears, trying to block out the noise. It's not like he - he didn't - he wouldn't - he absolutely did not hear Kurt say "stop" or "no." It wasn't like that. Why the fuck was he crying? "Why are you crying?"
Kurt doesn't even seem to hear him. Dave wants to reach out and touch him, in a comforting and totally non-sexy way, but he also think that might be a really bad idea. And not just because it sounds like Kurt has gotten to the snotty part of crying too hard, but there is something really, really wrong about this, and Dave doesn't want to think about it. Just a few seconds ago everything was great, why can't it go back to that?
He tries, "What's wrong?" but that just makes Kurt sob even more intensely. Dave suddenly feels very heavy, not like he's fat but like the gravity in his room got stronger. It's a lot like the way he felt when he thought Kurt would blurt out the truth the first time around. He hates feeling helpless. Dave just wants Kurt to stop, but telling him to shut up would be too cruel, even for him. He doesn't know what to do. "What do you want?"
Kurt hiccups, and when he speaks each word costs him a gasp of breath. "My - dad," he sobs.
Dave feels the burn of his eggnog as it comes back up, and he only just makes it to a trashcan by a dresser to spit it back out. He forcibly thumps into the dresser in his rush to bend over the waste bin, knocking a worn baseball cap onto the floor. It's not even a full vomit heave, just a few gulps of liquid, but it corrodes his throat and the sickly sweet custard smell assaults his nostrils just like the sound of Kurt Hummel in his ears.
He's so stupid, he's so stupid. Kurt didn't like him, life was not awesome. And it was all his own fault, again. Who would start fooling around with the same guy that bullied him after the death of their only remaining parent? Not someone who was dealing with grief well, obviously. A smart person, a normal person would have called a therapist or a hotline, but what does Dave do? Indulge in own horniness and never question anything. So fucking stupid. He probably made things even worse and Kurt would have to go to some kind of juvenile psych ward, for being damaged. Dave might have to go to some juvenile detention place, for being a monstrous enabler or whatever. What if everyone found out? What if he never saw Kurt again?
Kurt is still crying, or trying to. Dave thinks he might be getting too exhausted to physically keep going, but he's still making those horrible sounds, sometimes intercutting with meek wails of "Dad - dad," like he's calling for him.
Dave spits into the small trash, getting as much of the taste out as he can. He'll never be able to enjoy eggnog again. "I'm sorry," he says, and he knows Kurt can't hear him. "I'm so sorry."
Those same words, again, because it's his fault, again. There's no way to make this right, he can't bring back Kurt's dad or undo what he did.
- except! -
If he weren't already crouching Dave would have fallen to the floor. He's had so many shocks today, and he feels physically weak. But then he gets to his feet, grabbing his clothes and redressing, slowly at first and then faster and faster. As comprehension dawns, so does his strength. And hope. "I can fix this," he says, because chanting it out loud makes it sound real.
"Kurt," he says, and stops. What should he do? He can't leave him here, crying and naked. But it's not like Dave can drive him home. Finn's place isn't home to Kurt. And he can't take him to his own house. Plus there's still the problem of Kurt possibly freaking out all over again if Dave tries to touch him.
Dave draws the bedspread up over Kurt. He doesn't want to startle the smaller boy by being too close or almost touching him, so instead of pulling the sheet snug over Kurt's shoulders and chest he sort of drops it over Kurt's trembling frame. It slips from the top of his head, but with enough work Dave manages to loosely shroud him in cotton.
"Just - stay here for now. I'll be right back," he promises, only partially lying.
Dave drags himself away from Kurt, and focuses on marching out. He doesn't catch Kurt blinking, his blurry eyes trailing the only movement in the room and almost focusing on Dave just as he makes his exit.
In the car Dave gets lost right away, and he shouts nothing but "Fuck!" for half an hour among the backroads of Lima until he finds a road he's familiar with. He drives long enough to recognize where his is and makes his way home.
"Hi sweetie, you're just in time for dinner," his mom greets him.
"Not now," he bites out, not caring that he's being rude. He hikes it to his room, shutting and locking his door behind him. Dave is out of breath, and even he knows it's not because the stairs winded him.
His hands shake a little as he opens the first drawer in his desk, and pulls out the stone case from where he shoved it weeks ago when it re-appeared. It looks the same, old but not cracked or chipped in any way, a long grey sheath for weird wish granting magic sticks. But what if it didn't work this time? No, he can't think that. It has to work.
"Bring back Mr. Hummel," he commands, and nothing happens. "I wish Mr. Hummel were still alive, just as he was and not like a zombie or anything," he tries. "Please," he adds, and feels ridiculous. Was this how he did it that first time? No, he remembers it opened first. Maybe it has to be open to work.
Dave pulls at the top with the cording and actually gasps. It's like a solid stone carving. He twists until his fingertips are raw and almost rips off a fingernail. "No!"
"David?" His mother knocks at his door. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm busy!" he shouts, and through his mom's scolding he keeps trying to open the thing. "Please, please open," he begs. "Damn it, why did I have to wish to re-do that kiss!" Sure it was life altering, but at least it was private. Kurt came back eventually, offering friendship if not hand-jobs. "I should have wished to re-do something else, anything else, like Santana and her fucking Bully Whips program before it got us royally prank crowned, just anything as long as Kurt's dad is okay."
The stone case pops opens, fast like a gun firing, and Dave drops it in shock. Mrs. Karofsky is pounding on the door. He hears the familiar crack and absurdly remembers Kurt's face, how equally beautiful he was wearing expressions of either dominance or desolation as the room warps -
~*~
This fanfic is also archived at Ao3.