Something new from me
Title: Muscle Boy
Author: setos_puppy
Pairings: Kurt/Dave preslash
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee nor do I make any profit from this work of fiction.
Summary: Dave runs into Kurt and finds his muscle mags
Warnings: Ignores everything after "Never Been Kissed".
Notes: Because emocezi encouraged me over Skype, this is for her. And for colferisourking. I'm posting this to make everyone smile in spite of the dark cloud over the Middle East and North Africa.
Dave Karofsky was not talking to Kurt.
He wasn’t even going near Kurt.
In fact, Kurt Hummel, for all intents and purposes, was non-existent to him.
Okay. That was a lie.
He had backed down on his shoulder-checking the fashionista into the lockers ever since the Locker Room Incident. Azimo had looked at him funny but Dave had made a bullshit, non-commital response before smacking the books out of a freshman’s hands and then stomped off to chemistry.
Stupid Hummel.
Stupid Hummel and his tight jeans and long sweaters.
Stupid Hummel and his stupid types.
Every straight guys nightmare that all us gays are secretly out to molest and convert you. Well guess what, hamhock? You're not my type.
Dave Karofsky was a stud and Kurt fucking Hummel was an idiot to not want to get up on him. He wasn’t fat. He was six foot two, and nearly two hundred odd pounds of solid muscle. He was compact. Solid. Built.
And not Kurt’s type.
No. From what Dave had gathered from his intel - read, watching Kurt closely - Kurt liked boys closer to his own type. Lithe and soft and twink-ish. Like the boy Kurt had brought to school with him. The prim one who looked like he belonged in a prep-school porno with the slicked back hair.
Clearly, Kurt didn’t like Jocks.
Hudson didn’t count. Everyone liked Hudson. Plants liked Hudson. For a thirty-second phase in ninth grade even Dave liked Hudson. Before he squashed the feeling down and remembered he hated the guy for making fun of him for hitting puberty early. Douche.
Dave was currently trying to pretend that The Locker Room Incident and then the follow up Staircase Incident had never happened. It was hard to forget, though, considering the way Kurt’s eyes would flash when he spotted him. The way there would be a momentary, reflexive spark of fear before it melted into pity and fear. A silent understanding between them. A secret that was theirs alone. Their cross to bare.
People were filtering out of the locker room after football practice and Dave was taking his sweet time. He didn’t like the locker room much anymore. He bade his friends a goodbye, rubbing at his dripping hair with a towel as he pulled things from his locker and set them on the bench. He changed into fresh clothes, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, before stuffing his uniform into the depths of his gym bag along with his pads, helmet and cleats. Lacing up his shoes, Dave pulled his gym bag over his shoulder and headed out from the locker room.
Rounding the corner down the hall from locker after grabbing homework, Dave ran smack into someone. Sending their things flying. Jesus Christ, he just wanted to get the day over with. Leave school and go home, watch some boarding school twink porn and try to masturbate while very pointedly not thinking about Kurt. At all. Ever.
“Sorry,” Dave grunted out, dropping his bag and coat and stooping down to gather up his things and separate it from whoever the fuck he collided with.
“Its fine.”
Dave paused, his fingers half curled over the edge of a binder and looked up. Kurt. Of course it had to be Kurt. The universe hadn’t laughed at him enough. Dave lowered his eyes and tugged on the red binder to add to his pile of things. If he moved quickly, maybe they could get out of there without incident.
“Conceptual Physics?” Kurt’s voice rang out as he pulled the textbook over, his own bag sliding off his shoulder to rest on the floor as he shifted in his crouch and looked up, eyebrows raised. “You take AP physics?”
“Yeah.” Dave shifted so he was resting on the ground, his legs aching from doing wind sprints as punishment for backtalk. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, just...” Kurt shrugged and handed the book over.
“You thought I was a brainless jock with a head full of rocks?”
“I...” Kurt lowered his eyes, worrying his lower lip in a way Dave found infuriatingly sexy. “Sorry.”
“Whatever, no big.” Dave crammed the books into his bag and stood. “What were you doing here so late, anyway?”
“Make up test. I had a flu during a history test, so Mrs. Gregson asked me to write it now.”
Dave nodded, shifting awkwardly on his feet. He wondered if he should offer a hand to Kurt, or something equally charming before he pushed the thought away when Kurt fluidly moved into a standing position. Kurt opened his mouth to say something before sighing in exasperation when some magazines fell from the messy bundle in his arms.
“I got it,” Dave offered, bending down to pick up the glossy paged paperbacks. He turned them over after snatching them up from the floor. One was a Trend not surprising. But the other two... Both were obviously porno magazines, which, okay weird enough that they were tossed in with his school work; but they weren’t just any kind of porno magazines. They were muscle porno.
Athletic. Jock-type muscle porno.
“Give me those!” Kurt snapped, snatching the magazines from Dave’s hand and nestling them inside of a binder.
Dave smirked a little, pulling on his letterman’s jacket “Why do you have those at school?”
“They were in my locker since last year. Ms. Rhodes gave them to me. I shoved them in there and forgot about them.”
Dave made a disbelieving noise and nodded his head. “Sure. Just like how jocks aren’t your type.”
Kurt pinked slightly and made a throaty noise, tightening his arms around the load of things in his arms. “Look, what I said --”
Dave waved a hand and adjusted the strap of his bag after pulling it over his shoulders. “Whatever. It happened, okay? Can we just move on?”
Kurt pressed his mouth in a thin line as he pulled up his bag and placed his books and things inside of it before shouldering it. “I guess.”
Dave nodded curtly and shoved his hands in the pockets of his letterman’s jacket as he skirted around Kurt, heading in the direction of the back parking lot. He turned in place, pausing a moment. “Hey,” he called out, his voice echoing in the empty halls. “You’re not my type either.” Smiling to himself at the way Kurt sputtered, Dave pushed his way out of the school and into the chilled air.
Oh yeah, he was a stud.
Author: setos_puppy
Pairings: Kurt/Dave preslash
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee nor do I make any profit from this work of fiction.
Summary: Dave runs into Kurt and finds his muscle mags
Warnings: Ignores everything after "Never Been Kissed".
Notes: Because emocezi encouraged me over Skype, this is for her. And for colferisourking. I'm posting this to make everyone smile in spite of the dark cloud over the Middle East and North Africa.
Dave Karofsky was not talking to Kurt.
He wasn’t even going near Kurt.
In fact, Kurt Hummel, for all intents and purposes, was non-existent to him.
Okay. That was a lie.
He had backed down on his shoulder-checking the fashionista into the lockers ever since the Locker Room Incident. Azimo had looked at him funny but Dave had made a bullshit, non-commital response before smacking the books out of a freshman’s hands and then stomped off to chemistry.
Stupid Hummel.
Stupid Hummel and his tight jeans and long sweaters.
Stupid Hummel and his stupid types.
Every straight guys nightmare that all us gays are secretly out to molest and convert you. Well guess what, hamhock? You're not my type.
Dave Karofsky was a stud and Kurt fucking Hummel was an idiot to not want to get up on him. He wasn’t fat. He was six foot two, and nearly two hundred odd pounds of solid muscle. He was compact. Solid. Built.
And not Kurt’s type.
No. From what Dave had gathered from his intel - read, watching Kurt closely - Kurt liked boys closer to his own type. Lithe and soft and twink-ish. Like the boy Kurt had brought to school with him. The prim one who looked like he belonged in a prep-school porno with the slicked back hair.
Clearly, Kurt didn’t like Jocks.
Hudson didn’t count. Everyone liked Hudson. Plants liked Hudson. For a thirty-second phase in ninth grade even Dave liked Hudson. Before he squashed the feeling down and remembered he hated the guy for making fun of him for hitting puberty early. Douche.
Dave was currently trying to pretend that The Locker Room Incident and then the follow up Staircase Incident had never happened. It was hard to forget, though, considering the way Kurt’s eyes would flash when he spotted him. The way there would be a momentary, reflexive spark of fear before it melted into pity and fear. A silent understanding between them. A secret that was theirs alone. Their cross to bare.
People were filtering out of the locker room after football practice and Dave was taking his sweet time. He didn’t like the locker room much anymore. He bade his friends a goodbye, rubbing at his dripping hair with a towel as he pulled things from his locker and set them on the bench. He changed into fresh clothes, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, before stuffing his uniform into the depths of his gym bag along with his pads, helmet and cleats. Lacing up his shoes, Dave pulled his gym bag over his shoulder and headed out from the locker room.
Rounding the corner down the hall from locker after grabbing homework, Dave ran smack into someone. Sending their things flying. Jesus Christ, he just wanted to get the day over with. Leave school and go home, watch some boarding school twink porn and try to masturbate while very pointedly not thinking about Kurt. At all. Ever.
“Sorry,” Dave grunted out, dropping his bag and coat and stooping down to gather up his things and separate it from whoever the fuck he collided with.
“Its fine.”
Dave paused, his fingers half curled over the edge of a binder and looked up. Kurt. Of course it had to be Kurt. The universe hadn’t laughed at him enough. Dave lowered his eyes and tugged on the red binder to add to his pile of things. If he moved quickly, maybe they could get out of there without incident.
“Conceptual Physics?” Kurt’s voice rang out as he pulled the textbook over, his own bag sliding off his shoulder to rest on the floor as he shifted in his crouch and looked up, eyebrows raised. “You take AP physics?”
“Yeah.” Dave shifted so he was resting on the ground, his legs aching from doing wind sprints as punishment for backtalk. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, just...” Kurt shrugged and handed the book over.
“You thought I was a brainless jock with a head full of rocks?”
“I...” Kurt lowered his eyes, worrying his lower lip in a way Dave found infuriatingly sexy. “Sorry.”
“Whatever, no big.” Dave crammed the books into his bag and stood. “What were you doing here so late, anyway?”
“Make up test. I had a flu during a history test, so Mrs. Gregson asked me to write it now.”
Dave nodded, shifting awkwardly on his feet. He wondered if he should offer a hand to Kurt, or something equally charming before he pushed the thought away when Kurt fluidly moved into a standing position. Kurt opened his mouth to say something before sighing in exasperation when some magazines fell from the messy bundle in his arms.
“I got it,” Dave offered, bending down to pick up the glossy paged paperbacks. He turned them over after snatching them up from the floor. One was a Trend not surprising. But the other two... Both were obviously porno magazines, which, okay weird enough that they were tossed in with his school work; but they weren’t just any kind of porno magazines. They were muscle porno.
Athletic. Jock-type muscle porno.
“Give me those!” Kurt snapped, snatching the magazines from Dave’s hand and nestling them inside of a binder.
Dave smirked a little, pulling on his letterman’s jacket “Why do you have those at school?”
“They were in my locker since last year. Ms. Rhodes gave them to me. I shoved them in there and forgot about them.”
Dave made a disbelieving noise and nodded his head. “Sure. Just like how jocks aren’t your type.”
Kurt pinked slightly and made a throaty noise, tightening his arms around the load of things in his arms. “Look, what I said --”
Dave waved a hand and adjusted the strap of his bag after pulling it over his shoulders. “Whatever. It happened, okay? Can we just move on?”
Kurt pressed his mouth in a thin line as he pulled up his bag and placed his books and things inside of it before shouldering it. “I guess.”
Dave nodded curtly and shoved his hands in the pockets of his letterman’s jacket as he skirted around Kurt, heading in the direction of the back parking lot. He turned in place, pausing a moment. “Hey,” he called out, his voice echoing in the empty halls. “You’re not my type either.” Smiling to himself at the way Kurt sputtered, Dave pushed his way out of the school and into the chilled air.
Oh yeah, he was a stud.