Fic: Acts Like Summer, Walks Like Rain (Part 7.2/?)
Title: Acts Like Summer, Walks Like Rain (Part 7.1/?)
Author:
lealpotter
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kurtofsky
Summary: In which Kurt is not crying and David is bewildered.
Author's Notes: Argh. Okay, that's it for non-dialog exclusive chapters for a looong time. I mean, I started writing this fic to relax and get inspired for "Who Said Anything About Falling In Love" and now that one is practically abandoned, and this one is getting a little to epic for my taste. Anyway.
I have half a dozen different convos prepared for next chapter: Kurt/Rachel, Kurt/Blaine, Dave/Santana (and that made me wish I could write Brittany but I just don't dare) and Kurt/Dave, obviously. Feeling all warm and cozy inside with the reviews this is getting (which are in every way AWESOME), I'm giving you guys the right to choose the convos you want: just Kurtofsky, cause you're sick of everyone else, Kurtofsky+Kurt/Rachel, or Kurtofsky+Dave/Santana, etc, or Kurtofsky+all if you're clinically insane.
Like me. God, obviously, like I need anything else on my plate.
PS: Sorry for all the weird formatting, and linking errors and such, but my relationship with LJ is very much a case of fervently one-sided passion. As in, I would marry it in a heartbeat but it just keeps me in the doghouse.
Previous chapters:
Chapter 1 - He's Such a Teaser, He's Such A Star
Chapter 2 - I Do Love, He Does Heartbreak
Chapter 3 - I'll Show You The Time Of Your Life
Chapter 4 - Give Me A Reason Or Give Me A Chance
Chapter 5 - Am I Alone In Your Heart
Chapter 6 - Give Me An Evening, Or Give Me A Night
Chapter 6.1 - I Skip A Heartbeat
Chapter 7.1 - Doing All I Can Do
"Kurt."
"Kurt?"
The crumbling of Kurt's entire world?
It's as simple as that.
Because it sure feels like it, with Dave's worried eyes on him, one of his hands still brushing Kurt's waist, that slight tilt at the end of Kurt's name that sounds like uncertainty and insecurity, and hope and blind trust, all at the same time.
Blaine, of all people in Lima, of all people in the world, it had to be Blaine walking into their theatre, it couldn't have been Santana, or Azimio, or the hockey team, or Barbra Streisand.
Kurt Hummel prepares, but his lists and his charts did not prepare him for Dave tonight, and they certainly did not prepare him for this sort of third degree encounter. He doesn't know what to do with his body, where to put his hands, how to work his voice, where to avert his eyes, he doesn't know what he should do or what he is supposed to be doing right now, and he thought he had this under control, he thought he had time, that he would come around to telling Dave, and he would come around to smooth things over with Blaine, and, oh god, will the ground just swallow him up now, please?
It fails to do so. And Blaine just looks at him blankly, composure turned human, and Dave just looks at him. Kurt opens his mouth, but he still has no idea of what he should be saying, so he closes it again. It takes David clearing his throat and stepping away from him - there's a patch of skin on his waist that is the exact shape of Dave's hand - for Kurt to ground himself and force some sort of sound out of his mouth.
He only hopes it's coherent.
"Blaine. Blaine, what - how - what?"
No, then.
Blaine stares at him, tilting his head in that infuriatingly cute way he has of doing it, as if Kurt is some mildly interesting specimen.
"I called your house. Your father told me you had gone to the movies with Mercedes." Blaine shot an appraising look at Dave. "I'm starting to think he was mistaken."
Kurt gulps, pressing his nails hard into the tender skin of his palm. Dave moves one more step away from him, but Kurt can't summon the courage to even look up at him.
"How did you know - I mean, there are more theatres in Lima -"
"You always liked this one better, remember? The first time we went out. Properly, that is," Blaine adds with a private little nod.
Kurt blushes, nodding quickly. He manages one sideways glance at Dave, but the jock won't meet his yes. He is staring fixedly at Blaine, his face focused on something that Kurt cannot make out.
"He wasn't doing anything wrong," he says suddenly, jolting Kurt.
Blaine turns his head to him, his eyebrows shooting up.
"Dude, we're just friends. We weren't doing anything, okay?"
Kurt had thought this was bad. Awkward to the extreme.
He had been wrong.
"Friends?"
"Yeah, friends. So you just -"
"Friends," repeats Blaine calmly.
"Yeah, that's what I said, but -"
"You and Kurt. Friends."
"Look, do you have some kind of hearing problem?" David steps forward, his face a scrunched up mix of bewilderment and severe irritation.
"And why exactly would it be my business whatever you and Kurt are to each other?"
"Fuck, are you that slow? I know you're - together, okay, I'm not trying anything here, we're just -"
"Me and Kurt are together?" Blaine furrows his brow contemplatively and Kurt hates him, right there and then, hates him like he never thought he could hate anyone, like he never thought he could hate Blaine.
Smooth, composed, gentlemanly, perfect Blaine.
Who is about to rip Kurt's little happiness spot with a few choice words.
"I see. Oh. It's like that guy who goes to a woman in a bar. He drops that line he's been waiting to say all evening, but she takes one look at him, and says, what does she say, oh, I know, 'I'm sorry. I have a boyfriend.'"
Kurt feels it inside.
He shouldn't, he barely knows David after all, half a dozen phone conversations do not a close acquaintance make - but he feels it deep and raw and hurtful, and he hasn't even looked at Dave yet.
"Blaine - "
"Isn't it, Kurt? There's no better way to dispose of an unwanted suitor, is there? So clean and neat."
The theatre is emptying in slow but steady gushes of people. It's darker outside, and Kurt wonders if he could pull that disappearing act Dave was talking about and just be gone. Anywhere he looks he sees Blaine's dreadfully blank eyes and he sees Dave's own, and there is a storm blasting in his face that Kurt definitely did not prepare for.
And Blaine just keeps talking.
"See, David, Kurt and I broke up almost two weeks ago. So, unless he's managed to get together with someone else in so short a time, he's very much single. Totally available."
Dave looks ready to punch his face in. In all honesty, Kurt can't blame him. If he believed in violence, he would be tempted to do the exact same thing. Then Blaine gives Dave one of those smiles of him, the condescending-pitying-I-know-so-much-better-than-you kind of smirk-smile, and Kurt finds himself starting to believe.
But Dave backs off, and turns away from them, walking so fast he is almost running towards the exit. Kurt blinks, startled, hisses a "Don't you go anywhere" at Blaine, and runs out into the parking lot, the two seconds it takes him to react already enough for him to lose sight of Dave.
He thankfully spots him by his pick-up and almost jumps in front of him. Spreading his arms in front of the door is probably one dramatic touch too many, but the situation demands it and, well, drama tends to calm Kurt down.
Dave shakes his head furiously and tries to walk around him, to no avail. He growls, and if the situation wasn't so fucked up already, Kurt's knees would be giving out. They buckle a little under him, nonetheless.
"Fuck off, Hummel."
"N-no."
Dave scowls at him and grabs for the door again, but Kurt swats his hand away. He can see the tremendous effort Dave is making to not just push him away, not to touch Kurt when he's like this, and it makes his heart clench. It probably shouldn't; David is not doing anything particularly heroic, after all.
However, Kurt knows that, were the roles reversed, he would have already done whatever he could to shove Dave out of the way.
"Get the fuck outta my face!"
Kurt looks up defiantly and shakes his head slowly, his heart drumming heavily in his ribcage, but it isn't fear, or else, it isn't the fear he used to associate with Karofsky. This is a whole new kind of panic, because he knows Dave will cut off his own hand before he lays one finger on Kurt, and that, right there, is what scares him. That he knows this. That Kurt would rather have Dave punching him than leaving now, as if things weren't already confusing enough.
"Kurt."
It's half hissed, half growled, but it's something.
"David, please."
"Don't push me, Hummel!"
Kurt falters at that, and his lips quirk up, because it's so ridiculous, and messed up, and crazy insane right now, but he has found himself repeating those same words over and over again these last two weeks, replaying that same scene in his head with a thousand different outcomes, and it's almost like they're reenacting one of his top ten fantasies right here in this filthy, overcrowded parking lot.
Dave's frown deepens and he slams one hand on the truck's door, just beside Kurt's head. Kurt's eyes widen and he flattens his body against the side of the car. He doesn't know if it's this wild belief that Dave would never hurt him, or if he has a secret masochist streak, but he can't help being a little turned on. He licks his lips and lifts his chin high, staring fixedly into Dave's eyes.
It's a challenge and he is just dying to know if Dave will rise up to it.
"Shit. Shitshitshitshit, fuck!"
He doesn't.
Kurt breathes out slowly and shakes himself, quirking one eyebrow at Dave who is pacing furiously between a dirty Volvo and a rundown Mercedes. He looks like a trapped bear in more or less fashionable clothing, and Kurt finds himself smiling fondly.
David stops by the Volvo, his head hanging down and sighs, long and raspy, kicking the pavement. He turns around and narrows his eyes at Kurt, who must be completely out of survival instincts, because his smile insists on growing, and it's probably pissing Dave off immensely, but he can't help himself.
"One of these days, Fancy, you're gonna get the trouble you keep asking for," murmurs Dave bemusedly, as he comes to stand three steps away from Kurt.
Kurt huffs and dusts his shirt off primly. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.
"Can we be civilized now?"
Dave rolls his eyes and scoffs, which Kurt takes for an affirmative.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I honestly meant to."
"Right. Sure. Whatever."
"Da-vid-"
Dave runs a hand through his hair and sighs again, looking down.
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it does. It very obviously does."
"Look, it's none of my business -"
"Oh my god, Dave, stop! Can we please - can we just stop? It is your business, not least because you're my friend and friends share things like that." Kurt bites his lip, playing with his sleeve. "So stop. I should have told you, I don't know - I don't know why I didn't."
"Your ex seems to have a pretty good theory all worked out."
Kurt scowls at that and jerks Dave's chin up with two fingers.
"Blaine was wrong." Dave is still avoiding his eyes. "He was. I haven't even talked to him since we broke up, and I was barely talking to him before as it was. He knows nothing."
David finally looks up and Kurt almost wishes he hadn't, because for the third time in one evening he feels the metaphorical rug slip from under his feet, because Dave's eyes are just the right shade of brown under the crude light of the streetlamp, because he is. Never. Fucking. Prepared.
"Why didn't you?" Dave asks softly.
"W-what?" Kurt is still a little lost.
"Tell me." Dave wets his lips. "Why didn't you?"
Kurt feels his whole face fall.
He is just.
So sad.
And sorry, and regretful, and miserable, and self-hating, and so, so, so sad. Because he never meant to hurt Dave like this, because maybe he hasn't completely forgiven him yet but he is far, so far from wishing him any evil.
"I don't - I didn't think - I didn't want to -"
Dave just looks at him.
"God, David, I don't know. It seemed -" he cuts himself off, but Dave keeps looking at him, and he has to go on, " - easier, I guess, because -"
"You thought I would - if I knew you -"
"No! I mean, no, it wasn't you, it was for me, and then I thought if I just said it like that it would sound - I don't know, and then when -" Kurt cuts himself off for real then. He is blushing terribly and his hands are shaking and he almost brought up The Incident, and they need that now as much as they need man-eating mermaids. He looks away, blinking like mad because he can just feel frustration tears trying to peek from under his eyelids, and wouldn't that be fabulous.
Dave snorts.
"Dave?"
He snorts again, louder, and then he's chuckling, and then he's laughing for real at the look on Kurt's face.
"Well, at least someone is amused."
"Jesus, Fancy, don't look at me like that, oh God -"
"Would you mind letting me in on the joke? I believe that's the polite thing to do at the moment."
Dave guffaws and coughs and Kurt restrains himself from patting him on the back, because if someone deserves to die choked on his own tongue right now it is David Karofsky.
"Shit. Okay, look, I just - Did you think I - fuck, I can't even -"
Kurt's eyes narrow and he starts tapping the tip of his leather shoe against the pavement.
"Okay, okay, fine, you're pissed." David takes in a large gulp of air and looks at Kurt with crinkling eyes, the corners of his mouth trembling. "You thought I'd think you were coming on to me if you'd told me you were single?"
Kurt scoffs, blushing even harder if possible, a dozen of venomous jabs just on the tip of his tongue. But Dave looks… god, he looks freaking charming like this, alright, with mischievous eyes and a grin dancing all over his face, and Kurt can't. Maybe this is what Finn feels when the redhead at the gas station smiles and winks at him while short-changing them, and Kurt really thought this kind of stupidity was a straight guy privilege, but apparently it isn't. And he has been awed and amazed before, because Blaine is very attractive, but it was never quite like this, not this babbling oafishness he feels creeping in.
With Blaine he had wanted to be dazzled, to be swept off his feet, and it had worked fine. But with David he needs to stay grounded, and he knows it, but it's like he can't help himself, really.
"Kurt?"
Kurt rolls his eyes, tapping his arm with his fingernails.
"Oh, shut up. Even you have to admit it would have been awkward."
"I don't see why." Dave looks up, shoving his hands in his pockets with feigned nonchalance. "Thought I covered awkward ages ago."
"You - forget it." He fingers one strand of hair absently. "Dave I have to… I have to go talk to Blaine."
He can see it immediately, how Dave tenses up and guards himself, his face shutting off, his eyes unbearably distant. He nods briskly in Kurt's general direction and gestures towards his truck.
"Sure. You two probably - I'll, hum, I'll just -" He gestures again needlessly.
"Don't just. Please," whispers Kurt.
He finds it interesting how Dave's forehead wrinkles in confusion.
"What?"
"Don't go. It'll only take a few minutes and then we can - not eat, I can't believe how stuffed I still am over those popcorn," Kurt's eyes widen as he hurries to correct himself, "but you can, of course, we could just grab something and, I don't know, hum, walk somewhere?" he finishes lamely.
Dave is looking at him like that again. One can, apparently, be too expressive; there are so many conflicting emotions criss-crossing Dave's face that Kurt cannot for his life tell if he is confused, interested, or just incredibly ticked off.
"Okay." It's almost a challenge.
Kurt chokes a bit.
"Okay?"
"Okay."
A sudden draft makes Kurt shiver and hug himself tighter into his jacket. Dave seems unfazed, making Kurt wonder - not for the first time in the evening - if he could simply step forward and fold himself into the taller boy. He stores the thought for later.
"So… you wait for me here, right?" he wants to make sure.
Dave shrugs his shoulders once.
"David."
"Yeah."
Kurt sighs, knowing that is the best he can hope for at the moment.
As he walks away from the parking lot, he turns back once; Dave is leaning against the side of his truck, his head is tilted back, and he's looking at the stars.
Blaine is sitting at the least dirty table of the cinema bar, a coffee cup in front of him. His coat is casually unbuttoned, his legs are crossed elegantly, and maybe it's the lighting, but to Kurt he looks like something out of a movie scene.
Kurt almost turns back.
But Blaine is his friend, or at least he hopes so. He wants to salvage this even if he was the one to mess it up in the first place, by getting himself infatuated and not following through with it.
"May I?" he asks, because he really doesn't know.
Blaine looks up and nods, his easy smile nowhere to be found. Kurt sits down and fumbles with the two large buttons in his own coat, then with the collar of his shirt, and he is almost going for his hair when Blaine grabs his hand, laying it gently on the table. Kurt settles down, secretly relieved that Blaine withdraws his own hand so discreetly.
They sit in silence for a while, Kurt hating himself a little as he starts to worry that this might take longer than he initially thought, and that he might not get to Dave in time, and that he will go home angry at Kurt, and resentful, and, right, it isn't Dave he should be worrying about now, it's Blaine, with his blank face and shrouded eyes and missing smile.
Kurt exhales, gathering his nerves.
"Oh, Blaine, I'm - I'm so sorry," he says quietly, and it's like he can't stop apologizing tonight, isn't it?
Blaine sighs softly and smiles. It fails to reach his eyes.
"You should have told me." He shakes his head. "I wish you'd have told me. Would have saved me a guilt-trip."
Kurt arches his eyebrows questioningly. Blaine's cheeks turn pink and he clears his throat.
"I might have been… seeing someone."
He's blushing fully now, and won't meet Kurt's eyes, which are now wide with shock.
"You - you - someone who?"
Blaine his nibbling on his bottom lip worriedly, and if this situation wasn't surreal enough, Kurt would be astonished at how discomposed he really looks.
"You don't know him. He works at the JCPenney. The one at the mall."
Kurt lets out a high-pitched giggle, and his hand automatically flies to his mouth, smothering his hilarity.
"Oh god, Blaine, you never get to call me a fashion-whore ever again. You - you retail slut!"
Blaine frowns at him, flicking the lid of his coffee at Kurt's hair, who manages to avoid it between snickers.
"Like you can talk. You and your jock obsession," he says snappily.
Kurt sobers immediately.
"About that -"
"Forget it. I should have known." Blaine narrows his eyes, smirking revengefully at Kurt's red cheeks. "Remember when you told me about his apology? I could almost see the little hearts in your eyes."
"Haha. Aren't you cute?" snaps Kurt, drumming his fingers on the table. "And delusional."
Blaine holds up his hands in mock-surrender.
"Alright, so maybe not then, but you kept finding ways of sneaking him into the conversation ever since then."
"That means nothing! I talk about a lot of things, like -"
"Kurt, it's fine. Really," says Blaine soothingly, knowing a Kurt-rant when he sees one. "I'm not mad."
"Like you would have any ground for being mad at me," grumbles Kurt. "Retail-slut," he adds, a mock-stern expression firmly in place.
Blaine rolls his eyes but smiles, for real now, and Kurt can feel that last piece of sickly guilt slip away. He actually feels lighter.
"So, this thing with Karofsky -"
"There is no thing with Dave, thank you very much."
Blaine smile widens and Kurt bites back a curse.
"Oh-oh. Dave, is it?"
"It's still his name, isn't it?" Kurt retorts half-heartedly.
"Of course it is."
"Oh, shut up."
Blaine snickers and takes a sip of his coffee. Kurt looks him over: he's relaxed, open - as open as Blaine can ever stand to be around anyone - and, Kurt notices, he is relieved. He starts feeling a little put out that Blaine isn't jealous at all of Dave, but shakes off the feeling with a disapproving shake of head.
"So, why did you decide to seek me out all of a sudden? We've barely seen each other this summer."
Blaine turns serious again.
"I wanted to - I wasn't joking about the guilt-trip, Kurt. I felt really uncomfortable with this."
"Why? I mean, we are broken up," says Kurt, furrowing his brow.
"Well, I didn't know what 'taking a break' meant to you exactly. I was almost sure everything was finished between us, but I didn't know, you know?"
Kurt nods slowly. He had had the same nagging doubt, but had been entirely too preoccupied with Dave to actually do something about it.
"I knew we needed closure, I needed closure, and I -" Blaine cuts himself off, smiling sadly at Kurt. "I wasn't sure if we were still… friends."
Kurt feels his eyes prickling but bites into his lip firmly. There is no way he is crying tonight.
"Oh Blaine. Of course we are."
"Oh, good," says Blaine with a relieved laugh.
Kurt looks at him wonderingly. He is feeling the need for real advice, advice he is still scared of asking Finn for, least he freaks him out. But he is also still too embarrassed to talk to Rachel about it, and still hesitant to go to Mercedes.
"Blaine, there's something I - I realize this is our official break-up talk, but I need -"
Blaine's eyebrows shoot up when Kurt falls silent.
"Kurt, you know you can tell me anything."
Kurt smiles gratefully and nods.
"It's just - me and Dave, we've been talking a lot lately -"
"Obviously."
"Really, Blaine? Really?"
"Sorry, reflexive sarcasm. Go on."
"Right. We've been talking on the phone almost every day and I - there might have been, hypothetically of course, there might have been one or two conversations that were more -" Kurt licks his lips, horrendously embarrassed " - heated, for lack of a better -"
"Kurt Hummel, you filthy whore!"
Kurt blinks at the interruption and scowls at the delighted expression on Blaine's face.
"Classy."
"Oh no. You have been having piping hot phone-sex. With Karofsky. That blows class right out of the water, Kurt, this is - this is a revelation!"
Kurt splutters and chokes slightly as Blaine keeps smiling beatifically at him.
"So, is he any good?"
Pretense finally drops. Kurt bangs his head on the table with a pained groan, and kicks feebly at Blaine's leg, who just chuckles and pats the back of his head.
"I'm guessing very good, then."
Kurt groans again and Blaine's eyes widen comically.
"Oh. Oh. Well, all that glitters, and rough diamonds, and so on, I guess."
He smiles fondly at the top of Kurt's head and takes a large gulp of his now cooling coffee.
"Now, Kurt, there's nothing to be ashamed of. It's a very natural, very beautiful thing."
He stifles a laugh at Kurt's attempt at growling. Then, something appears to cross his mind and he frowns.
"Wait, you were having phone-sex with him, when he thought we were still together, and he never called you on it? He was just gonna go along with it tonight?"
Kurt lifts his head finally, his face etched into a half-scowl.
"First, it isn't were having, it's had, as in once. And - he doesn't know about it."
Blaine shoots him an incredulous look.
"Kurt, I'm ready to believe that boy rocked your socks off easily enough, but if you say he did it in his sleep I'm totally calling your bluff."
"He was drunk. I - I didn't tell him about it." Kurt's fingers intertwine in a nervous gesture.
"Oh."
"Blaine -"
"No, I'm not here to - judge you, Kurt, I'm sure you had your reasons."
Kurt's head falls back, his neck bending in a painful curve, and he closes his eyes firmly shut.
"Oh god, I'm a terrible person. I'm just - immoral, Finn is right, I practically molested him."
"What? Kurt, no. You're - you're a teenager, you're allowed mistakes! God, next to me getting my crush fired, that's nothing, that's -"
"It's not nothing! His judgment was impaired - he was tripping and vomiting all over the place, for god's sake!" Kurt throws his hands up in despair.
"Huh, vomiting? Well, I guess there's no arguing with kink -" Blaine stops short when Kurt snarls at him. "Now, look here. I'm no stranger to really bad hangovers and awful drunken decisions, but the thing about memory loss? It's a bit of a myth."
"What."
"I mean, if you're drunk enough to not remember anything in the morning, you're too drunk to work out articulate sentences, much less seduce someone into having fulfilling phone-sex."
"What?"
"In fact, not like I ever checked, but I don't think you could, hum, rise to the occasion under those particular conditions."
"What!"
"I'm assuming he did rise to it, then."
"Oh god."
Blaine leans forward, worried. Kurt's eyes are darting everywhere and he looks a shade too pale to be healthy.
"Kurt, are you -"
"I'm f-fine," says Kurt shakily. "Oh god, Blaine, I can't - What if he remembers, no, he can't, he would have - oh my holy Gaga, what am I gonna do?"
"Talking to him comes to mind."
"I can't!"
"Why, Kurt? I mean, first you forget to tell him you're single, which, well, I still don't get."
Kurt makes a pitiful sound.
"I was… afraid."
Blaine nods, urging him to continue.
"That he - that if I said it just like that - that he would think I -" Kurt hides his mortified face in his hands. "That I was comingontohim," he finishes in a rushed whisper.
Putting it out there, his embarrassment feels a lot more ridiculous than it used to. He still refuses to look at Blaine, who makes this mm-hmm noise that never really means anything.
"And that would be… bad, I imagine. But why?"
Kurt's head shoots up.
"What?"
"I mean, you obviously like him."
Blaine offers him a comforting smile but Kurt just stares.
"I… I…"
"Is this too soon? Or just denial?" asks Blaine, quirking his eyebrow,
Kurt closes his gaping mouth and shakes his head miserably. He obviously should have just stayed in bed this morning. Blaine takes his hand, forcing a muffled surprised sound from Kurt, but Blaine's face is full of understanding and empathy and yes, Kurt remembers, this is where he fell. It doesn't do a lot for him now, but he can see it clearly and it makes him wish Blaine all the happiness in the universe.
"There's nothing wrong with liking someone, Kurt. Granted, it's Karofsky," he says with just a hint of disbelief, "but you're smart. I trust your judgment on this, and he seemed a lot… tamer," he finishes hiding a smile.
Kurt blinks twice, his eyes pleading with Blaine to continue.
"I think you should trust your instincts on this, I really do. And tell him, or don't tell him, but if he remembers, Kurt, he must be a little hurt with you by now."
He squeezes Kurt's hand when his eyes shine suspiciously.
"But it's your call, Kurt, and no one can make it for you."
He nods wisely at that to which Kurt shoots him an annoyed eye roll, but smiles in spite of himself. Blaine gets up first and tugs Kurt up with him. When they're face to face he grabs the taller boy's shoulders, scowling slightly when Kurt smirks at the height difference.
"Well, there always has to be someone to reach for the higher shelves," he says pragmatically. Then his eyes turn serious. "You said once that… that you'd never say goodbye to me, Kurt."
Kurt just knows he won't make it through this evening, but he soldiers on valiantly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the tears at bay.
"And I won't. Ever, Blaine, god, I don't know what I would have done without you by now."
Blaine smiles and squeezes his shoulders lightly.
"You'd manage, somehow. Kurt, I - I know we're broken up and all, but… friends can love each other as well, can't they?" he asks quietly.
And he's lost. His eyes water and spill all of a sudden, and he throws his arms around Blaine, pulling him into a tight hug.
"Of course they can, Blaine, obviously they can."
"Good." Blaine hugs him back and steps away, his eyes shining a little. "Well, this has been wonderful, but don't you have somewhere else to be? A wounded bear to tend to?"
Kurt's eyes widen and he wipes at his cheeks hastily, his mind free-falling into panic. Blaine chuckles and combs Kurt's disarrayed hair back with his fingers.
"There, you're as cute as ever." He looks down appraisingly. "Nice jacket. Marc Jacobs?"
Kurt nods smugly.
"Lose it."
"What?"
"Trust me. It's fabulous, you look fabulous, but take it off," Blaine urges, proceeding to do just so when Kurt fails to move fast enough. He folds the jacket over his own arm, smiling at the inscription.
"So you." He looks back at Kurt, who is fiddling with his shirt collar. "That no so much, but whoa."
Kurt pouts childishly, furiously tugging at the almost skin-tight fabric.
"Rachel did it."
The Warbler curls his lips appreciatively and hands him the jacket.
"Well, modesty aside, she has very good taste." He ignores Kurt scoffing and clucks his tongue at the top buttons of the shirt. "Now, this won't do… there!" he declares triumphantly, pulling the collar open with three buttons undone.
"But - that's slutty!" cries Kurt, his mouth gaping open.
"Says who?"
"Rachel!"
"Rachel hasn't been having phone-sex, I'm sorry, somewhat heated conversations with Karofsky, has she?"
Kurt frowns and huffs, crossing his arms.
"She had better not."
"You need slutty in your life, Kurt, believe me." Blaine flashes him a conciliatory smile and steps back, admiring his work. "And damn it looks good on you. Dalton uniforms never did you any justice, definitely."
Kurt blushes, waving him off, making Blaine chuckle.
"And learn to take a compliment." He looks at his clock. "I gotta get home. And you -"
"I know," Kurt says softly, hiding a sniffle. "Blaine?"
"Mm-hmm?"
"If you weren't jealous, or even mad at me, why were you so… mean to Dave back there?"
Blaine's eyebrows knit together pensively.
"I… don't know. I guess it's mandatory, isn't it? Almost an after break up ritual. Besides -" he adds, and Kurt just knows he's going to feel like slapping him. " - I couldn't let him get away that easy, could I? Had to make sure he was making progresses."
Kurt's eyebrows shoot up to his airline and he pursues his lips but lets it go. He basically dumped Blaine after all - the JCPenney boytoy so did not factor in - so he can dispense a little mercy.
"And he really seems to be moving forward. So unafraid of going out with you on date night of all nights… I'm starting to think you've got a little wizard's blood in you, Kurt."
Kurt looks taken aback for a while but shrugs it off, offering Blaine a flippant smile.
"He can always say Santana made him, I guess. Summer school Bullywhips complimentary action." He frowns a little. "We didn't really talk about it. Better to be whipped as long as it's pussy-whipped, right?"
Blaine chuckles darkly, nodding. He glances at his watch again, secretly amused.
"Kurt?"
"Yes?"
"You do know we've been talking for a little over half an hour here, don't you? Shouldn't you -"
Kurt is already out the door.
"Goodbye, then!" Blaine calls after him, shaking his head. And good luck.
"Hi."
He watches as Dave's shoulders tense, relax, then tense up again even harder - he's wound up so tight that Finn could probably use him for drum practice. He still doesn't turn to face Kurt.
"Talk went well?" Kurt picks out after a while, soft and low and barely even there.
"Superb. Couldn't have gone better," he says with a smile, trying to imprint it in his tone and pass it on to Dave.
It doesn't work. If anything, Dave just clams up entirely, the frown lines on his forehead deep enough to worry Kurt they might freeze that way.
"Huh. Good for you." David rakes one hand through his hair, and Kurt's eyes get a little lost on the spot where Dave's upper arm meets his forearm. "Do you - Kurt, I - fuck it, do you want me to go?"
"Where?" The spot looks delicious, and kissable, and lickable, and Kurt wants to do all sorts of dirty things to it.
Dave snorts feebly.
"Home, I guess. Maybe a ditch."
A ditch? Why are they talking about ditches - well, David is talking, Kurt is admiring a fine work of natural art, thank you very much - when they could be…
He shakes his head in disbelief. There should be shots for these kinds of tangents.
"What? Dave, what in the good name of Hermès Brikin bags are you talking about?"
"Of what bags?"
"Birkin bags."
"The shit you know, huh?"
"Not shit. Or, at least, extremely expensive shit." Kurt sighs. "You need to be educated. Pronto."
His eyebrows go up when a shudder runs through Dave's whole body. The jock has gone a little pink in the face, and Kurt decides it's not that bad a color on him.
"Are you cold?"
"N-no. 'M fine." David finally looks at him, and Kurt is eternally grateful to Rachel and Blaine for never giving up on the obviously hopeless case he is when it comes to dressing to attract, because ohmygod there's no mistaking that look, the double, third-take David graces him with, the way his mouth gapes open just a tiny bit, and Kurt is feeling sexier than he ever thought he could, and it's all Dave, it's always Dave, growling in Kurt's ear about how fucking hot Kurt really is, eyeing him like is the last piece of triple chocolate fudge cake on the dessert table.
He shivers. His mouth falls open slightly, his hips arch forward half an inch, his eyelids flutter almost involuntarily and, please oh please, he's practically begging to be taken right here on the filthy pavement, and he doesn't even know for sure what he wants Dave to do with him, but he wants something, everything, anything.
Dave coughs suspiciously and looks away; the moment is gone. There's a good-for-nothing flicker of doubt in Kurt's mind spouting out things like, Dave has already seen him without his coat and he wasn't that impressed, Kurt has probably got grease from the table smeared all over his front, Blaine pulled a practical joke on him and taped a sticker to his head when Kurt was too preoccupied to notice.
Kurt might be that insecure, but he isn't blind. Dave was looking at him in the same way Finn looks at Kurt's special chocolate-hazelnut mousse recipe. Or, to forego Finn and food analogies entirely, he was looking at Kurt in the same way Kurt has been looking at David for the whole blasted evening.
It's as simple as that.
"So, you and Blaine."
Kurt is practically manhandled back to reality; it has nothing to do with the resentment in Dave's voice, but rather with Blaine.
"Blaine?"
Dave shrugs one shoulder morosely.
"'S his name, right?"
Kurt hums noncommitently and leans against the car as well, stretching his arms up behind his head. The moon is almost full, bright enough to look almost unreal, and directly above them. His head is overflowing with noise: Rachel, Mercedes, Finn and Blaine - it makes him wonder how he can possibly find space for Dave in there.
Only Dave isn't noise. If his friends are high, grating static, David is a low buzz, vibrating through his skull - and it's pleasant. Comforting, like the extra blanket his dad gets him at three in the morning on winter nights, or Carole's shy goodnight kiss when she thinks Kurt is already asleep, or even -
When he opens his mother's drawer just a sliver, panicked that the scent will fade away over the years, but it's still there. He feels almost blasphemous in a way, because this is Karofsky, and being shoved into lockers has nothing to do with the perfume in his mother's sweaters, but it is always, always Dave, and the warmth radiating from his body next to Kurt's and the gentle way he brushed Kurt's cheek before the kiss-that-wasn't has everything to do with that first intake of scented air.
Dave shifts a little. When Kurt looks at him he is looking back, and it makes him restless, itches under his skin how he can't tell what Dave wants exactly, what he needs, what he would be comfortable with Kurt doing.
The movie had been… interesting, because Kurt has been doing a lot of breathing, and there are things like positive thinking and self-actualization, and everything should always be taken in with a grain of salt, and you should step back to see the big picture, so yes, interesting. He can only hope the big picture is that good; the small one had him and Dave sitting in a practically empty movie theatre, pitch-dark during night scenes and with the AC turned up just enough that Kurt kept wanting to shuffle nearer to Dave for warmth; the small one had Dave turning to face him every two second during all of Depp's scenes with a big, stupidly adorable grin on his face as if to check whether Kurt was laughing as well and Kurt had always been too focused on keeping still and fucking breathing and not just jumping the guy right then and there.
The small picture had Kurt and Dave walking out in silence, until Dave had finally cracked and asked if the movie had sucked that bad for Kurt to look as if he had just buried his pet parakeet, which had Kurt choking on his own saliva, because the last time a bird had gone and died on him it had worked out splendidly - at the time, at least. Kurt had gotten a hold of himself and snapped back with a grumble about cannibalistic merpeople and Dave had laughed, openly and happily, and Kurt hadn't even minded that he remembered next to nothing off the entire movie.
The small picture was a mess. So Kurt could only hope.
For what, he wasn't sure. But he still hoped.
"You and Blaine," Dave repeats, dragging it out a bit.
There are three stars just to the left of David's head; Kurt wishes he knew enough of astronomy to name the constellation.
"Yes, me and Blaine. Me and you. And maybe later, me and Rachel," he deadpans, smirking to himself.
"… what."
"Sorry. Will and Grace marathon with Britt and Tina last night," he says, shrugging and bringing his arms down.
Dave just watches him as he steps away from the pick-up; his coat is once again draped over his shoulder, and there is a cockiness to his step that Kurt hopes David won't notice is faked. He looks back, lifting one eyebrow.
"Are you coming?"
Dave looks up once more, seemingly lost in thought, but nods, pushing himself off the car to follow Kurt.
"He just came here to make sure we were firmly broken up," he starts when they're already out of the parking lot, deciding it is about time to start shooting those elephants down.
"Hum."
"I assured him we were."
"Hum."
"He has got his eye on someone else, anyway."
"Hum."
"And that kinda made me snap, so I just fell down to my knees and begged him to take me back."
Dave shoots him a wide-eyed, panicked look, getting the full effect of Kurt Hummel's patented bitch face. He licks his lips, a smirk held back just in time.
"Yeah? Did it work?"
"Of course it did," Kurt huffs. "My powers of seduction are not to be doubted."
"Never," says Dave, holding up his hands in surrender. "You getting couples therapy?"
Kurt sighs resignedly.
"If we must. Sacrifices must be made in a relationship, David, sacrifices must be made."
"Sure." David offers him a crooked smile and Kurt chuckles, dropping the façade.
"Seriously, now. I know I should have told you, and this last hour was all kinds of awkward, but could we just… I don't know, develop some sort of laser-guided amnesia about this?"
"Fuck yeah."
Kurt grins widely at that and, shrugging of consequences for a moment, grabs David's arm, dragging the jock behind him. He turns right and Dave follows without a word, muscles tensing slightly under the pressure of Kurt's hand.
"Hey, Fancy?"
"Mm-hmm?"
"Not that I mind being mindlessly dragged around, but… where the hell are we going?"
Kurt taps his bottom lip with one finger, feeling unbearably giddy when Dave's eyes follow the movement hungrily.
"You'll see, David." He pauses, looking uncertain. "That is… if you're not too hungry?"
"'S alright. Not like I'm gonna keel over from one missed meal, right? Probably do me some good," he adds self-depreciatingly.
Kurt's eyebrows knit together in confusion, and he would ask what David is going on about, but he hasn't been this excited in a while. Blaine's easy blessing is such a tremendous weight of his back, as is Dave's willingness to just go along with whatever Kurt wants.
"I'll make it up to you, I promise. Modesty aside, I'm a pretty accomplished cook." Kurt misses Dave's stunned expression at the implication, and almost skips down the street in excitemnet. "We're here!"
David stares past Kurt.
"The park? That's what got your juices all flowing?"
Kurt slaps his arm lightly, too pleased with himself to use real bite.
"No juices, David. And the park is amazing. I used to love the swings, but no one would ever bring me here at night."
"Why the fuck would you wanna -"
The singer pouts, going over to the nearest swing and sitting down.
"All the kids were bigger than me and I could never get a turn."
David's smile is fond under the flickering streetlight.
"Aww. Poor itty bitty Fancy."
"Oh? I bet you were the king of the playground, then." Kurt drags his feet, pushing himself back.
"Fuck yeah I was!"
"Well, you must have been adorable. Boy Scout much?"
Dave grins, sliding one finger down the chain of Kurt's swing.
"Maybe I went rogue."
"... right. Oh, look, the sandbox. As fabulously grimy as I remember it," retorts Kurt, pointing with the tip of his shoe. Dave nods distractedly, looking around.
"Y'know, my dad used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid." He cocks his head to the side, turning to Kurt again."Hey, maybe we met."
"I got throw on my face a lot, so yes, probably," deadpans Kurt, making a face.
"Oh. Shit."
Kurt sighs, exasperated, and curls his hands around the chains, swinging his body back and forth.
"I'm kidding Dave. I managed to stir away from trouble just fine. I was a very resourceful toddler." He pauses, frowning at his feet, which keep dragging through the dirt. "But I never played in the sandbox, it always smelled like pee."
"Sorry about that."
"David!"
"What? When you gotta go, you gotta go, right?"
Kurt's eyes almost pop out of their sockets. He stops the swing with a screech.
"No! Oh my god, David!"
"I drank like a ton of apple juice that day!" Dave spreads out his hands, barely restraining a laughing fit. Kurt shakes his head in dismay, wrinkling his nose.
"Sweet Prada, I hope you got arrested for indecent exposure."
"Nah, but Jerry Cox's mom told me I was a naughty boy and that naughty boys go straight to hell with no dessert."
"... Please tell me you're joking."
"Nope." Dave pops the 'p' with a shit-eating grin, bumping his knee onto the side of Kurt's swing.
"Hmm. So that's where all those issues come from."
"Hey!"
"Early repressed trauma, or something like that."
Kurt looks up at him with narrowed eyes, the corners of his lips twitching. Dave stares him down with a deep frown and rattles the chain, making the smaller boy yelp and slap his hand. The jock shoots him a sideways look and a smug grin and looks up, eyes full of moonlight.
"Ha, I got Willy to pee on her bag."
"Do I even want to know who or what Willy was?"
"My dog, Fancy, get your mind out of the gutter."
Kurt sniggers in spite of himself, rubbing his feet casually against the side of Dave's leg. When Dave looks down surprised, he starts examining his fingernails attentively, innocence personified.
A stray sentence crosses his mind, making him drop his pretence.
"God, what is it with you and pee?"
"Marking the territory?"
"That one I never got."
"All the cool kids were doing it. But I did it first, 'course."
"Of course. You trend-setter, you." Kurt glances up at David wonderingly, then at the chains, tugging at them as if testing for strength. He hops of the swing and grabs them again. "I've got an idea. Help me up, will you?"
Dave's brow furrowed as Kurt grasps his shoulder for balance, putting one foot on top of the swing experimentally.
"Fancy, what -"
"Help me, come on!"
David mumbles under his breath about bossy little bitches but clutches the chains firmly, steadying the swing, tensing his shoulder to support Kurt's weight. The other boy is soon standing upright, if a little shaky, and grinning brilliantly at Dave, who can't help but smile back.
"I always wanted to do this."
"You never…?"
Kurt rolls his eyes, letting go of Dave's shoulder and grabbing for the chains just above where Dave's hands held them in place.
"My dad thought I might get hurt. I tended to get a little… over-excited at the park." Kurt's expression sobers immediately. "That was… we usually came here with my mom."
Dave searches his face worriedly and, almost grudgingly, lets his hands slide over Kurt's own, covering them. Kurt's breathing itches slightly, and he looks about to say something, but apparently thinks better, letting his head fall against the chain at his left.
David stares at where his hands are, disbelievingly. His thumbs sweep over the pale skin of Kurt's knuckles. In an almost curious gesture, the tips of his fingers go further up, caressing the inside of Kurt's wrist with so little pressure it is almost a ghost touch. Kurt sighs quietly, shivering.
Aside from them, the park is completely empty; the lateness of the hour makes it seem like they are the last two people awake in the world, maybe even the last two people alive. Once in a while a light breeze will creep up, rustling the leaves of the three sole surviving trees in the park. Kurt's world has rapidly narrowed to this, Dave's callused but oh so gentle fingers tracing the inside of his forearms. He feels tiny sparks going off under his skin at every sweep of those fingers, feels his heart rate picking up, still steady but faster and faster. The hairs on his arms are standing up on the wake of Dave's path up his body, his hands leaving a trail a few degrees hotter than the rest of Kurt's skin.
His lips part when Dave skips over his shoulders, pressing his thumbs softly and teasingly against Kurt's naked collarbone, before tracing his way down Kurt's sides. He exhales shallowly, spots of light dancing before his eyes when Dave presses his palms fully over his ribcage, down the slight curve of his waist, finally curling around Kurt's hips, thumbs rubbing against concave hip bones, his other fingers splayed over Kurt's lower back, teasing at the waistband of his pants.
A rebellious strand of hair flops onto his forehead, sticking to the thin sheet of sweat that has collected there. Kurt's whole body is trembling, his knees a hair's breadth from giving out completely. His hands are white fists around the chains; it seems like the only thing keeping him upright is the pressure of Dave's fingers around his hips, and isn't that where the trouble started in the first place? He is staring at the top of Dave's head, which is inches away from his chin; Dave's eyes are downcast, fixed on his own hands. Kurt can feel the inside of his pants heating up unbearably, and if he knew he could just step down without making a broken mess of his irresponsive joints he would. He has never wanted to be face to face with Dave this much; even though he is overwhelmed with fear that he might just be the Blaine to Dave's Kurt, he doesn't care. He needs, oh god, he needs to kiss Dave so badly, possibly more than kissing, but kissing is all his feverish brain can come up with at the moment. He won't pull away, will he, not now, not even David Karofsky is that much of a tease.
Then the pressure on his hips tightens and Dave looks up, and his eyes are burning, his whole expression is positively ravenous and Kurt can only remember to shoot his hands forward to grasp Dave's shoulders when his knees finally sign their letter of resignation. David catches him around the waist with a muffled curse, and for half of a glorious second Kurt is sure that this is it, Dave has nowhere to run now, he has to kiss Kurt, he simply fucking has to, what else can he possibly do?
David steps back as if burnt, looking everywhere but at Kurt - who, after stumbling ungracefully a few steps forward, has managed to remain more or less steady on his feet. He stares at Dave, completely lost, but the taller boy simply refuses to look back.
"Dave?" whispers Kurt shakily.
"We should - I should, huh, curfew's at eleven today, my mom wants me to go furniture-hunting for Alex's room tomorrow."
"W-what?" asks Kurt, his mind still in a haze.
Dave bites his lip and kneads the back of his neck. Kurt only then notices how red his face is.
"I - alright. Plenty of excitement for one night already, I guess."
Dave nods absently and starts walking away briskly. Kurt glances back at the park sadly - and not a little frustrated - and sighs, trailing after David.
"David?"
"Huh, hi, Kurt."
"Hum, hi. Didn't we just see each other half an hour ago?"
"Well, yeah, but you said to call."
"Tomorrow."
"No, you didn't say tomorrow."
"Yes, I did."
"You said 'call me'."
"I - oh, alright, have it your way."
"Hi, Kurt."
"What even - hi, David."
"So… everything okay?"
"Since we last saw each other? Oh, David, it has been so long, I barely know where to begin!"
"Okay, okay, fine. 'Night, then."
"Oh, stop it. Everything's fine. And you?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
"I guess."
"…"
"…"
"So…"
"Yeah?"
"Was there any real purpose to this call? Aside from you suddenly being so eager to obey my every command."
"Not - not really."
"Hmm. Just your good old money-thrown-away routine?"
"Fuck, Fancy, you can just hang up if you -"
"But this is being so entertaining!"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Oh, hold up."
"'Kay."
"…"
"You alright there, Fancy?"
"Yes, I was just - hold on - ah, finally."
"The fuck are you doing? Sounds like a goddamn windstorm over here."
"Oh, nothing. Just getting undressed."
"…"
"Hmm, I hope this doesn't wrinkle."
"…"
"Let me just - did you know that if you wash your pants with the zipper done, it's less likely to get stuck after?"
"…"
"I need to start investing in looser pants."
"K-Kurt -"
"It's hot tonight, isn't it?"
"I-I -"
"Honestly, I can't even think about pajamas right now."
"Fuck -"
"Oh, this feels nice."
"Christ, Fancy -"
"Why people insist on sleeping with anything on is completely beyond me."
"…"
"I just love silk sheets. Don't you Dave?"
"…"
"David?"
"…"
"Hmpf."
"…"
"Serves you right."
Author's Note 2.0: So hard to write Blaine like this after "The Purple Piano Project" but I did it. So, so proud of myself. And severely wanting to hit Dave with a hammer.
Chapter 8 - I'll Walk You Home Safe From The Dark
Author:
lealpotter
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kurtofsky
Summary: In which Kurt is not crying and David is bewildered.
Author's Notes: Argh. Okay, that's it for non-dialog exclusive chapters for a looong time. I mean, I started writing this fic to relax and get inspired for "Who Said Anything About Falling In Love" and now that one is practically abandoned, and this one is getting a little to epic for my taste. Anyway.
I have half a dozen different convos prepared for next chapter: Kurt/Rachel, Kurt/Blaine, Dave/Santana (and that made me wish I could write Brittany but I just don't dare) and Kurt/Dave, obviously. Feeling all warm and cozy inside with the reviews this is getting (which are in every way AWESOME), I'm giving you guys the right to choose the convos you want: just Kurtofsky, cause you're sick of everyone else, Kurtofsky+Kurt/Rachel, or Kurtofsky+Dave/Santana, etc, or Kurtofsky+all if you're clinically insane.
Like me. God, obviously, like I need anything else on my plate.
PS: Sorry for all the weird formatting, and linking errors and such, but my relationship with LJ is very much a case of fervently one-sided passion. As in, I would marry it in a heartbeat but it just keeps me in the doghouse.
Previous chapters:
Chapter 1 - He's Such a Teaser, He's Such A Star
Chapter 2 - I Do Love, He Does Heartbreak
Chapter 3 - I'll Show You The Time Of Your Life
Chapter 4 - Give Me A Reason Or Give Me A Chance
Chapter 5 - Am I Alone In Your Heart
Chapter 6 - Give Me An Evening, Or Give Me A Night
Chapter 6.1 - I Skip A Heartbeat
Chapter 7.1 - Doing All I Can Do
"Kurt."
"Kurt?"
The crumbling of Kurt's entire world?
It's as simple as that.
Because it sure feels like it, with Dave's worried eyes on him, one of his hands still brushing Kurt's waist, that slight tilt at the end of Kurt's name that sounds like uncertainty and insecurity, and hope and blind trust, all at the same time.
Blaine, of all people in Lima, of all people in the world, it had to be Blaine walking into their theatre, it couldn't have been Santana, or Azimio, or the hockey team, or Barbra Streisand.
Kurt Hummel prepares, but his lists and his charts did not prepare him for Dave tonight, and they certainly did not prepare him for this sort of third degree encounter. He doesn't know what to do with his body, where to put his hands, how to work his voice, where to avert his eyes, he doesn't know what he should do or what he is supposed to be doing right now, and he thought he had this under control, he thought he had time, that he would come around to telling Dave, and he would come around to smooth things over with Blaine, and, oh god, will the ground just swallow him up now, please?
It fails to do so. And Blaine just looks at him blankly, composure turned human, and Dave just looks at him. Kurt opens his mouth, but he still has no idea of what he should be saying, so he closes it again. It takes David clearing his throat and stepping away from him - there's a patch of skin on his waist that is the exact shape of Dave's hand - for Kurt to ground himself and force some sort of sound out of his mouth.
He only hopes it's coherent.
"Blaine. Blaine, what - how - what?"
No, then.
Blaine stares at him, tilting his head in that infuriatingly cute way he has of doing it, as if Kurt is some mildly interesting specimen.
"I called your house. Your father told me you had gone to the movies with Mercedes." Blaine shot an appraising look at Dave. "I'm starting to think he was mistaken."
Kurt gulps, pressing his nails hard into the tender skin of his palm. Dave moves one more step away from him, but Kurt can't summon the courage to even look up at him.
"How did you know - I mean, there are more theatres in Lima -"
"You always liked this one better, remember? The first time we went out. Properly, that is," Blaine adds with a private little nod.
Kurt blushes, nodding quickly. He manages one sideways glance at Dave, but the jock won't meet his yes. He is staring fixedly at Blaine, his face focused on something that Kurt cannot make out.
"He wasn't doing anything wrong," he says suddenly, jolting Kurt.
Blaine turns his head to him, his eyebrows shooting up.
"Dude, we're just friends. We weren't doing anything, okay?"
Kurt had thought this was bad. Awkward to the extreme.
He had been wrong.
"Friends?"
"Yeah, friends. So you just -"
"Friends," repeats Blaine calmly.
"Yeah, that's what I said, but -"
"You and Kurt. Friends."
"Look, do you have some kind of hearing problem?" David steps forward, his face a scrunched up mix of bewilderment and severe irritation.
"And why exactly would it be my business whatever you and Kurt are to each other?"
"Fuck, are you that slow? I know you're - together, okay, I'm not trying anything here, we're just -"
"Me and Kurt are together?" Blaine furrows his brow contemplatively and Kurt hates him, right there and then, hates him like he never thought he could hate anyone, like he never thought he could hate Blaine.
Smooth, composed, gentlemanly, perfect Blaine.
Who is about to rip Kurt's little happiness spot with a few choice words.
"I see. Oh. It's like that guy who goes to a woman in a bar. He drops that line he's been waiting to say all evening, but she takes one look at him, and says, what does she say, oh, I know, 'I'm sorry. I have a boyfriend.'"
Kurt feels it inside.
He shouldn't, he barely knows David after all, half a dozen phone conversations do not a close acquaintance make - but he feels it deep and raw and hurtful, and he hasn't even looked at Dave yet.
"Blaine - "
"Isn't it, Kurt? There's no better way to dispose of an unwanted suitor, is there? So clean and neat."
The theatre is emptying in slow but steady gushes of people. It's darker outside, and Kurt wonders if he could pull that disappearing act Dave was talking about and just be gone. Anywhere he looks he sees Blaine's dreadfully blank eyes and he sees Dave's own, and there is a storm blasting in his face that Kurt definitely did not prepare for.
And Blaine just keeps talking.
"See, David, Kurt and I broke up almost two weeks ago. So, unless he's managed to get together with someone else in so short a time, he's very much single. Totally available."
Dave looks ready to punch his face in. In all honesty, Kurt can't blame him. If he believed in violence, he would be tempted to do the exact same thing. Then Blaine gives Dave one of those smiles of him, the condescending-pitying-I-know-so-much-better-than-you kind of smirk-smile, and Kurt finds himself starting to believe.
But Dave backs off, and turns away from them, walking so fast he is almost running towards the exit. Kurt blinks, startled, hisses a "Don't you go anywhere" at Blaine, and runs out into the parking lot, the two seconds it takes him to react already enough for him to lose sight of Dave.
He thankfully spots him by his pick-up and almost jumps in front of him. Spreading his arms in front of the door is probably one dramatic touch too many, but the situation demands it and, well, drama tends to calm Kurt down.
Dave shakes his head furiously and tries to walk around him, to no avail. He growls, and if the situation wasn't so fucked up already, Kurt's knees would be giving out. They buckle a little under him, nonetheless.
"Fuck off, Hummel."
"N-no."
Dave scowls at him and grabs for the door again, but Kurt swats his hand away. He can see the tremendous effort Dave is making to not just push him away, not to touch Kurt when he's like this, and it makes his heart clench. It probably shouldn't; David is not doing anything particularly heroic, after all.
However, Kurt knows that, were the roles reversed, he would have already done whatever he could to shove Dave out of the way.
"Get the fuck outta my face!"
Kurt looks up defiantly and shakes his head slowly, his heart drumming heavily in his ribcage, but it isn't fear, or else, it isn't the fear he used to associate with Karofsky. This is a whole new kind of panic, because he knows Dave will cut off his own hand before he lays one finger on Kurt, and that, right there, is what scares him. That he knows this. That Kurt would rather have Dave punching him than leaving now, as if things weren't already confusing enough.
"Kurt."
It's half hissed, half growled, but it's something.
"David, please."
"Don't push me, Hummel!"
Kurt falters at that, and his lips quirk up, because it's so ridiculous, and messed up, and crazy insane right now, but he has found himself repeating those same words over and over again these last two weeks, replaying that same scene in his head with a thousand different outcomes, and it's almost like they're reenacting one of his top ten fantasies right here in this filthy, overcrowded parking lot.
Dave's frown deepens and he slams one hand on the truck's door, just beside Kurt's head. Kurt's eyes widen and he flattens his body against the side of the car. He doesn't know if it's this wild belief that Dave would never hurt him, or if he has a secret masochist streak, but he can't help being a little turned on. He licks his lips and lifts his chin high, staring fixedly into Dave's eyes.
It's a challenge and he is just dying to know if Dave will rise up to it.
"Shit. Shitshitshitshit, fuck!"
He doesn't.
Kurt breathes out slowly and shakes himself, quirking one eyebrow at Dave who is pacing furiously between a dirty Volvo and a rundown Mercedes. He looks like a trapped bear in more or less fashionable clothing, and Kurt finds himself smiling fondly.
David stops by the Volvo, his head hanging down and sighs, long and raspy, kicking the pavement. He turns around and narrows his eyes at Kurt, who must be completely out of survival instincts, because his smile insists on growing, and it's probably pissing Dave off immensely, but he can't help himself.
"One of these days, Fancy, you're gonna get the trouble you keep asking for," murmurs Dave bemusedly, as he comes to stand three steps away from Kurt.
Kurt huffs and dusts his shirt off primly. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.
"Can we be civilized now?"
Dave rolls his eyes and scoffs, which Kurt takes for an affirmative.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I honestly meant to."
"Right. Sure. Whatever."
"Da-vid-"
Dave runs a hand through his hair and sighs again, looking down.
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it does. It very obviously does."
"Look, it's none of my business -"
"Oh my god, Dave, stop! Can we please - can we just stop? It is your business, not least because you're my friend and friends share things like that." Kurt bites his lip, playing with his sleeve. "So stop. I should have told you, I don't know - I don't know why I didn't."
"Your ex seems to have a pretty good theory all worked out."
Kurt scowls at that and jerks Dave's chin up with two fingers.
"Blaine was wrong." Dave is still avoiding his eyes. "He was. I haven't even talked to him since we broke up, and I was barely talking to him before as it was. He knows nothing."
David finally looks up and Kurt almost wishes he hadn't, because for the third time in one evening he feels the metaphorical rug slip from under his feet, because Dave's eyes are just the right shade of brown under the crude light of the streetlamp, because he is. Never. Fucking. Prepared.
"Why didn't you?" Dave asks softly.
"W-what?" Kurt is still a little lost.
"Tell me." Dave wets his lips. "Why didn't you?"
Kurt feels his whole face fall.
He is just.
So sad.
And sorry, and regretful, and miserable, and self-hating, and so, so, so sad. Because he never meant to hurt Dave like this, because maybe he hasn't completely forgiven him yet but he is far, so far from wishing him any evil.
"I don't - I didn't think - I didn't want to -"
Dave just looks at him.
"God, David, I don't know. It seemed -" he cuts himself off, but Dave keeps looking at him, and he has to go on, " - easier, I guess, because -"
"You thought I would - if I knew you -"
"No! I mean, no, it wasn't you, it was for me, and then I thought if I just said it like that it would sound - I don't know, and then when -" Kurt cuts himself off for real then. He is blushing terribly and his hands are shaking and he almost brought up The Incident, and they need that now as much as they need man-eating mermaids. He looks away, blinking like mad because he can just feel frustration tears trying to peek from under his eyelids, and wouldn't that be fabulous.
Dave snorts.
"Dave?"
He snorts again, louder, and then he's chuckling, and then he's laughing for real at the look on Kurt's face.
"Well, at least someone is amused."
"Jesus, Fancy, don't look at me like that, oh God -"
"Would you mind letting me in on the joke? I believe that's the polite thing to do at the moment."
Dave guffaws and coughs and Kurt restrains himself from patting him on the back, because if someone deserves to die choked on his own tongue right now it is David Karofsky.
"Shit. Okay, look, I just - Did you think I - fuck, I can't even -"
Kurt's eyes narrow and he starts tapping the tip of his leather shoe against the pavement.
"Okay, okay, fine, you're pissed." David takes in a large gulp of air and looks at Kurt with crinkling eyes, the corners of his mouth trembling. "You thought I'd think you were coming on to me if you'd told me you were single?"
Kurt scoffs, blushing even harder if possible, a dozen of venomous jabs just on the tip of his tongue. But Dave looks… god, he looks freaking charming like this, alright, with mischievous eyes and a grin dancing all over his face, and Kurt can't. Maybe this is what Finn feels when the redhead at the gas station smiles and winks at him while short-changing them, and Kurt really thought this kind of stupidity was a straight guy privilege, but apparently it isn't. And he has been awed and amazed before, because Blaine is very attractive, but it was never quite like this, not this babbling oafishness he feels creeping in.
With Blaine he had wanted to be dazzled, to be swept off his feet, and it had worked fine. But with David he needs to stay grounded, and he knows it, but it's like he can't help himself, really.
"Kurt?"
Kurt rolls his eyes, tapping his arm with his fingernails.
"Oh, shut up. Even you have to admit it would have been awkward."
"I don't see why." Dave looks up, shoving his hands in his pockets with feigned nonchalance. "Thought I covered awkward ages ago."
"You - forget it." He fingers one strand of hair absently. "Dave I have to… I have to go talk to Blaine."
He can see it immediately, how Dave tenses up and guards himself, his face shutting off, his eyes unbearably distant. He nods briskly in Kurt's general direction and gestures towards his truck.
"Sure. You two probably - I'll, hum, I'll just -" He gestures again needlessly.
"Don't just. Please," whispers Kurt.
He finds it interesting how Dave's forehead wrinkles in confusion.
"What?"
"Don't go. It'll only take a few minutes and then we can - not eat, I can't believe how stuffed I still am over those popcorn," Kurt's eyes widen as he hurries to correct himself, "but you can, of course, we could just grab something and, I don't know, hum, walk somewhere?" he finishes lamely.
Dave is looking at him like that again. One can, apparently, be too expressive; there are so many conflicting emotions criss-crossing Dave's face that Kurt cannot for his life tell if he is confused, interested, or just incredibly ticked off.
"Okay." It's almost a challenge.
Kurt chokes a bit.
"Okay?"
"Okay."
A sudden draft makes Kurt shiver and hug himself tighter into his jacket. Dave seems unfazed, making Kurt wonder - not for the first time in the evening - if he could simply step forward and fold himself into the taller boy. He stores the thought for later.
"So… you wait for me here, right?" he wants to make sure.
Dave shrugs his shoulders once.
"David."
"Yeah."
Kurt sighs, knowing that is the best he can hope for at the moment.
As he walks away from the parking lot, he turns back once; Dave is leaning against the side of his truck, his head is tilted back, and he's looking at the stars.
Blaine is sitting at the least dirty table of the cinema bar, a coffee cup in front of him. His coat is casually unbuttoned, his legs are crossed elegantly, and maybe it's the lighting, but to Kurt he looks like something out of a movie scene.
Kurt almost turns back.
But Blaine is his friend, or at least he hopes so. He wants to salvage this even if he was the one to mess it up in the first place, by getting himself infatuated and not following through with it.
"May I?" he asks, because he really doesn't know.
Blaine looks up and nods, his easy smile nowhere to be found. Kurt sits down and fumbles with the two large buttons in his own coat, then with the collar of his shirt, and he is almost going for his hair when Blaine grabs his hand, laying it gently on the table. Kurt settles down, secretly relieved that Blaine withdraws his own hand so discreetly.
They sit in silence for a while, Kurt hating himself a little as he starts to worry that this might take longer than he initially thought, and that he might not get to Dave in time, and that he will go home angry at Kurt, and resentful, and, right, it isn't Dave he should be worrying about now, it's Blaine, with his blank face and shrouded eyes and missing smile.
Kurt exhales, gathering his nerves.
"Oh, Blaine, I'm - I'm so sorry," he says quietly, and it's like he can't stop apologizing tonight, isn't it?
Blaine sighs softly and smiles. It fails to reach his eyes.
"You should have told me." He shakes his head. "I wish you'd have told me. Would have saved me a guilt-trip."
Kurt arches his eyebrows questioningly. Blaine's cheeks turn pink and he clears his throat.
"I might have been… seeing someone."
He's blushing fully now, and won't meet Kurt's eyes, which are now wide with shock.
"You - you - someone who?"
Blaine his nibbling on his bottom lip worriedly, and if this situation wasn't surreal enough, Kurt would be astonished at how discomposed he really looks.
"You don't know him. He works at the JCPenney. The one at the mall."
Kurt lets out a high-pitched giggle, and his hand automatically flies to his mouth, smothering his hilarity.
"Oh god, Blaine, you never get to call me a fashion-whore ever again. You - you retail slut!"
Blaine frowns at him, flicking the lid of his coffee at Kurt's hair, who manages to avoid it between snickers.
"Like you can talk. You and your jock obsession," he says snappily.
Kurt sobers immediately.
"About that -"
"Forget it. I should have known." Blaine narrows his eyes, smirking revengefully at Kurt's red cheeks. "Remember when you told me about his apology? I could almost see the little hearts in your eyes."
"Haha. Aren't you cute?" snaps Kurt, drumming his fingers on the table. "And delusional."
Blaine holds up his hands in mock-surrender.
"Alright, so maybe not then, but you kept finding ways of sneaking him into the conversation ever since then."
"That means nothing! I talk about a lot of things, like -"
"Kurt, it's fine. Really," says Blaine soothingly, knowing a Kurt-rant when he sees one. "I'm not mad."
"Like you would have any ground for being mad at me," grumbles Kurt. "Retail-slut," he adds, a mock-stern expression firmly in place.
Blaine rolls his eyes but smiles, for real now, and Kurt can feel that last piece of sickly guilt slip away. He actually feels lighter.
"So, this thing with Karofsky -"
"There is no thing with Dave, thank you very much."
Blaine smile widens and Kurt bites back a curse.
"Oh-oh. Dave, is it?"
"It's still his name, isn't it?" Kurt retorts half-heartedly.
"Of course it is."
"Oh, shut up."
Blaine snickers and takes a sip of his coffee. Kurt looks him over: he's relaxed, open - as open as Blaine can ever stand to be around anyone - and, Kurt notices, he is relieved. He starts feeling a little put out that Blaine isn't jealous at all of Dave, but shakes off the feeling with a disapproving shake of head.
"So, why did you decide to seek me out all of a sudden? We've barely seen each other this summer."
Blaine turns serious again.
"I wanted to - I wasn't joking about the guilt-trip, Kurt. I felt really uncomfortable with this."
"Why? I mean, we are broken up," says Kurt, furrowing his brow.
"Well, I didn't know what 'taking a break' meant to you exactly. I was almost sure everything was finished between us, but I didn't know, you know?"
Kurt nods slowly. He had had the same nagging doubt, but had been entirely too preoccupied with Dave to actually do something about it.
"I knew we needed closure, I needed closure, and I -" Blaine cuts himself off, smiling sadly at Kurt. "I wasn't sure if we were still… friends."
Kurt feels his eyes prickling but bites into his lip firmly. There is no way he is crying tonight.
"Oh Blaine. Of course we are."
"Oh, good," says Blaine with a relieved laugh.
Kurt looks at him wonderingly. He is feeling the need for real advice, advice he is still scared of asking Finn for, least he freaks him out. But he is also still too embarrassed to talk to Rachel about it, and still hesitant to go to Mercedes.
"Blaine, there's something I - I realize this is our official break-up talk, but I need -"
Blaine's eyebrows shoot up when Kurt falls silent.
"Kurt, you know you can tell me anything."
Kurt smiles gratefully and nods.
"It's just - me and Dave, we've been talking a lot lately -"
"Obviously."
"Really, Blaine? Really?"
"Sorry, reflexive sarcasm. Go on."
"Right. We've been talking on the phone almost every day and I - there might have been, hypothetically of course, there might have been one or two conversations that were more -" Kurt licks his lips, horrendously embarrassed " - heated, for lack of a better -"
"Kurt Hummel, you filthy whore!"
Kurt blinks at the interruption and scowls at the delighted expression on Blaine's face.
"Classy."
"Oh no. You have been having piping hot phone-sex. With Karofsky. That blows class right out of the water, Kurt, this is - this is a revelation!"
Kurt splutters and chokes slightly as Blaine keeps smiling beatifically at him.
"So, is he any good?"
Pretense finally drops. Kurt bangs his head on the table with a pained groan, and kicks feebly at Blaine's leg, who just chuckles and pats the back of his head.
"I'm guessing very good, then."
Kurt groans again and Blaine's eyes widen comically.
"Oh. Oh. Well, all that glitters, and rough diamonds, and so on, I guess."
He smiles fondly at the top of Kurt's head and takes a large gulp of his now cooling coffee.
"Now, Kurt, there's nothing to be ashamed of. It's a very natural, very beautiful thing."
He stifles a laugh at Kurt's attempt at growling. Then, something appears to cross his mind and he frowns.
"Wait, you were having phone-sex with him, when he thought we were still together, and he never called you on it? He was just gonna go along with it tonight?"
Kurt lifts his head finally, his face etched into a half-scowl.
"First, it isn't were having, it's had, as in once. And - he doesn't know about it."
Blaine shoots him an incredulous look.
"Kurt, I'm ready to believe that boy rocked your socks off easily enough, but if you say he did it in his sleep I'm totally calling your bluff."
"He was drunk. I - I didn't tell him about it." Kurt's fingers intertwine in a nervous gesture.
"Oh."
"Blaine -"
"No, I'm not here to - judge you, Kurt, I'm sure you had your reasons."
Kurt's head falls back, his neck bending in a painful curve, and he closes his eyes firmly shut.
"Oh god, I'm a terrible person. I'm just - immoral, Finn is right, I practically molested him."
"What? Kurt, no. You're - you're a teenager, you're allowed mistakes! God, next to me getting my crush fired, that's nothing, that's -"
"It's not nothing! His judgment was impaired - he was tripping and vomiting all over the place, for god's sake!" Kurt throws his hands up in despair.
"Huh, vomiting? Well, I guess there's no arguing with kink -" Blaine stops short when Kurt snarls at him. "Now, look here. I'm no stranger to really bad hangovers and awful drunken decisions, but the thing about memory loss? It's a bit of a myth."
"What."
"I mean, if you're drunk enough to not remember anything in the morning, you're too drunk to work out articulate sentences, much less seduce someone into having fulfilling phone-sex."
"What?"
"In fact, not like I ever checked, but I don't think you could, hum, rise to the occasion under those particular conditions."
"What!"
"I'm assuming he did rise to it, then."
"Oh god."
Blaine leans forward, worried. Kurt's eyes are darting everywhere and he looks a shade too pale to be healthy.
"Kurt, are you -"
"I'm f-fine," says Kurt shakily. "Oh god, Blaine, I can't - What if he remembers, no, he can't, he would have - oh my holy Gaga, what am I gonna do?"
"Talking to him comes to mind."
"I can't!"
"Why, Kurt? I mean, first you forget to tell him you're single, which, well, I still don't get."
Kurt makes a pitiful sound.
"I was… afraid."
Blaine nods, urging him to continue.
"That he - that if I said it just like that - that he would think I -" Kurt hides his mortified face in his hands. "That I was comingontohim," he finishes in a rushed whisper.
Putting it out there, his embarrassment feels a lot more ridiculous than it used to. He still refuses to look at Blaine, who makes this mm-hmm noise that never really means anything.
"And that would be… bad, I imagine. But why?"
Kurt's head shoots up.
"What?"
"I mean, you obviously like him."
Blaine offers him a comforting smile but Kurt just stares.
"I… I…"
"Is this too soon? Or just denial?" asks Blaine, quirking his eyebrow,
Kurt closes his gaping mouth and shakes his head miserably. He obviously should have just stayed in bed this morning. Blaine takes his hand, forcing a muffled surprised sound from Kurt, but Blaine's face is full of understanding and empathy and yes, Kurt remembers, this is where he fell. It doesn't do a lot for him now, but he can see it clearly and it makes him wish Blaine all the happiness in the universe.
"There's nothing wrong with liking someone, Kurt. Granted, it's Karofsky," he says with just a hint of disbelief, "but you're smart. I trust your judgment on this, and he seemed a lot… tamer," he finishes hiding a smile.
Kurt blinks twice, his eyes pleading with Blaine to continue.
"I think you should trust your instincts on this, I really do. And tell him, or don't tell him, but if he remembers, Kurt, he must be a little hurt with you by now."
He squeezes Kurt's hand when his eyes shine suspiciously.
"But it's your call, Kurt, and no one can make it for you."
He nods wisely at that to which Kurt shoots him an annoyed eye roll, but smiles in spite of himself. Blaine gets up first and tugs Kurt up with him. When they're face to face he grabs the taller boy's shoulders, scowling slightly when Kurt smirks at the height difference.
"Well, there always has to be someone to reach for the higher shelves," he says pragmatically. Then his eyes turn serious. "You said once that… that you'd never say goodbye to me, Kurt."
Kurt just knows he won't make it through this evening, but he soldiers on valiantly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the tears at bay.
"And I won't. Ever, Blaine, god, I don't know what I would have done without you by now."
Blaine smiles and squeezes his shoulders lightly.
"You'd manage, somehow. Kurt, I - I know we're broken up and all, but… friends can love each other as well, can't they?" he asks quietly.
And he's lost. His eyes water and spill all of a sudden, and he throws his arms around Blaine, pulling him into a tight hug.
"Of course they can, Blaine, obviously they can."
"Good." Blaine hugs him back and steps away, his eyes shining a little. "Well, this has been wonderful, but don't you have somewhere else to be? A wounded bear to tend to?"
Kurt's eyes widen and he wipes at his cheeks hastily, his mind free-falling into panic. Blaine chuckles and combs Kurt's disarrayed hair back with his fingers.
"There, you're as cute as ever." He looks down appraisingly. "Nice jacket. Marc Jacobs?"
Kurt nods smugly.
"Lose it."
"What?"
"Trust me. It's fabulous, you look fabulous, but take it off," Blaine urges, proceeding to do just so when Kurt fails to move fast enough. He folds the jacket over his own arm, smiling at the inscription.
"So you." He looks back at Kurt, who is fiddling with his shirt collar. "That no so much, but whoa."
Kurt pouts childishly, furiously tugging at the almost skin-tight fabric.
"Rachel did it."
The Warbler curls his lips appreciatively and hands him the jacket.
"Well, modesty aside, she has very good taste." He ignores Kurt scoffing and clucks his tongue at the top buttons of the shirt. "Now, this won't do… there!" he declares triumphantly, pulling the collar open with three buttons undone.
"But - that's slutty!" cries Kurt, his mouth gaping open.
"Says who?"
"Rachel!"
"Rachel hasn't been having phone-sex, I'm sorry, somewhat heated conversations with Karofsky, has she?"
Kurt frowns and huffs, crossing his arms.
"She had better not."
"You need slutty in your life, Kurt, believe me." Blaine flashes him a conciliatory smile and steps back, admiring his work. "And damn it looks good on you. Dalton uniforms never did you any justice, definitely."
Kurt blushes, waving him off, making Blaine chuckle.
"And learn to take a compliment." He looks at his clock. "I gotta get home. And you -"
"I know," Kurt says softly, hiding a sniffle. "Blaine?"
"Mm-hmm?"
"If you weren't jealous, or even mad at me, why were you so… mean to Dave back there?"
Blaine's eyebrows knit together pensively.
"I… don't know. I guess it's mandatory, isn't it? Almost an after break up ritual. Besides -" he adds, and Kurt just knows he's going to feel like slapping him. " - I couldn't let him get away that easy, could I? Had to make sure he was making progresses."
Kurt's eyebrows shoot up to his airline and he pursues his lips but lets it go. He basically dumped Blaine after all - the JCPenney boytoy so did not factor in - so he can dispense a little mercy.
"And he really seems to be moving forward. So unafraid of going out with you on date night of all nights… I'm starting to think you've got a little wizard's blood in you, Kurt."
Kurt looks taken aback for a while but shrugs it off, offering Blaine a flippant smile.
"He can always say Santana made him, I guess. Summer school Bullywhips complimentary action." He frowns a little. "We didn't really talk about it. Better to be whipped as long as it's pussy-whipped, right?"
Blaine chuckles darkly, nodding. He glances at his watch again, secretly amused.
"Kurt?"
"Yes?"
"You do know we've been talking for a little over half an hour here, don't you? Shouldn't you -"
Kurt is already out the door.
"Goodbye, then!" Blaine calls after him, shaking his head. And good luck.
"Hi."
He watches as Dave's shoulders tense, relax, then tense up again even harder - he's wound up so tight that Finn could probably use him for drum practice. He still doesn't turn to face Kurt.
"Talk went well?" Kurt picks out after a while, soft and low and barely even there.
"Superb. Couldn't have gone better," he says with a smile, trying to imprint it in his tone and pass it on to Dave.
It doesn't work. If anything, Dave just clams up entirely, the frown lines on his forehead deep enough to worry Kurt they might freeze that way.
"Huh. Good for you." David rakes one hand through his hair, and Kurt's eyes get a little lost on the spot where Dave's upper arm meets his forearm. "Do you - Kurt, I - fuck it, do you want me to go?"
"Where?" The spot looks delicious, and kissable, and lickable, and Kurt wants to do all sorts of dirty things to it.
Dave snorts feebly.
"Home, I guess. Maybe a ditch."
A ditch? Why are they talking about ditches - well, David is talking, Kurt is admiring a fine work of natural art, thank you very much - when they could be…
He shakes his head in disbelief. There should be shots for these kinds of tangents.
"What? Dave, what in the good name of Hermès Brikin bags are you talking about?"
"Of what bags?"
"Birkin bags."
"The shit you know, huh?"
"Not shit. Or, at least, extremely expensive shit." Kurt sighs. "You need to be educated. Pronto."
His eyebrows go up when a shudder runs through Dave's whole body. The jock has gone a little pink in the face, and Kurt decides it's not that bad a color on him.
"Are you cold?"
"N-no. 'M fine." David finally looks at him, and Kurt is eternally grateful to Rachel and Blaine for never giving up on the obviously hopeless case he is when it comes to dressing to attract, because ohmygod there's no mistaking that look, the double, third-take David graces him with, the way his mouth gapes open just a tiny bit, and Kurt is feeling sexier than he ever thought he could, and it's all Dave, it's always Dave, growling in Kurt's ear about how fucking hot Kurt really is, eyeing him like is the last piece of triple chocolate fudge cake on the dessert table.
He shivers. His mouth falls open slightly, his hips arch forward half an inch, his eyelids flutter almost involuntarily and, please oh please, he's practically begging to be taken right here on the filthy pavement, and he doesn't even know for sure what he wants Dave to do with him, but he wants something, everything, anything.
Dave coughs suspiciously and looks away; the moment is gone. There's a good-for-nothing flicker of doubt in Kurt's mind spouting out things like, Dave has already seen him without his coat and he wasn't that impressed, Kurt has probably got grease from the table smeared all over his front, Blaine pulled a practical joke on him and taped a sticker to his head when Kurt was too preoccupied to notice.
Kurt might be that insecure, but he isn't blind. Dave was looking at him in the same way Finn looks at Kurt's special chocolate-hazelnut mousse recipe. Or, to forego Finn and food analogies entirely, he was looking at Kurt in the same way Kurt has been looking at David for the whole blasted evening.
It's as simple as that.
"So, you and Blaine."
Kurt is practically manhandled back to reality; it has nothing to do with the resentment in Dave's voice, but rather with Blaine.
"Blaine?"
Dave shrugs one shoulder morosely.
"'S his name, right?"
Kurt hums noncommitently and leans against the car as well, stretching his arms up behind his head. The moon is almost full, bright enough to look almost unreal, and directly above them. His head is overflowing with noise: Rachel, Mercedes, Finn and Blaine - it makes him wonder how he can possibly find space for Dave in there.
Only Dave isn't noise. If his friends are high, grating static, David is a low buzz, vibrating through his skull - and it's pleasant. Comforting, like the extra blanket his dad gets him at three in the morning on winter nights, or Carole's shy goodnight kiss when she thinks Kurt is already asleep, or even -
When he opens his mother's drawer just a sliver, panicked that the scent will fade away over the years, but it's still there. He feels almost blasphemous in a way, because this is Karofsky, and being shoved into lockers has nothing to do with the perfume in his mother's sweaters, but it is always, always Dave, and the warmth radiating from his body next to Kurt's and the gentle way he brushed Kurt's cheek before the kiss-that-wasn't has everything to do with that first intake of scented air.
Dave shifts a little. When Kurt looks at him he is looking back, and it makes him restless, itches under his skin how he can't tell what Dave wants exactly, what he needs, what he would be comfortable with Kurt doing.
The movie had been… interesting, because Kurt has been doing a lot of breathing, and there are things like positive thinking and self-actualization, and everything should always be taken in with a grain of salt, and you should step back to see the big picture, so yes, interesting. He can only hope the big picture is that good; the small one had him and Dave sitting in a practically empty movie theatre, pitch-dark during night scenes and with the AC turned up just enough that Kurt kept wanting to shuffle nearer to Dave for warmth; the small one had Dave turning to face him every two second during all of Depp's scenes with a big, stupidly adorable grin on his face as if to check whether Kurt was laughing as well and Kurt had always been too focused on keeping still and fucking breathing and not just jumping the guy right then and there.
The small picture had Kurt and Dave walking out in silence, until Dave had finally cracked and asked if the movie had sucked that bad for Kurt to look as if he had just buried his pet parakeet, which had Kurt choking on his own saliva, because the last time a bird had gone and died on him it had worked out splendidly - at the time, at least. Kurt had gotten a hold of himself and snapped back with a grumble about cannibalistic merpeople and Dave had laughed, openly and happily, and Kurt hadn't even minded that he remembered next to nothing off the entire movie.
The small picture was a mess. So Kurt could only hope.
For what, he wasn't sure. But he still hoped.
"You and Blaine," Dave repeats, dragging it out a bit.
There are three stars just to the left of David's head; Kurt wishes he knew enough of astronomy to name the constellation.
"Yes, me and Blaine. Me and you. And maybe later, me and Rachel," he deadpans, smirking to himself.
"… what."
"Sorry. Will and Grace marathon with Britt and Tina last night," he says, shrugging and bringing his arms down.
Dave just watches him as he steps away from the pick-up; his coat is once again draped over his shoulder, and there is a cockiness to his step that Kurt hopes David won't notice is faked. He looks back, lifting one eyebrow.
"Are you coming?"
Dave looks up once more, seemingly lost in thought, but nods, pushing himself off the car to follow Kurt.
"He just came here to make sure we were firmly broken up," he starts when they're already out of the parking lot, deciding it is about time to start shooting those elephants down.
"Hum."
"I assured him we were."
"Hum."
"He has got his eye on someone else, anyway."
"Hum."
"And that kinda made me snap, so I just fell down to my knees and begged him to take me back."
Dave shoots him a wide-eyed, panicked look, getting the full effect of Kurt Hummel's patented bitch face. He licks his lips, a smirk held back just in time.
"Yeah? Did it work?"
"Of course it did," Kurt huffs. "My powers of seduction are not to be doubted."
"Never," says Dave, holding up his hands in surrender. "You getting couples therapy?"
Kurt sighs resignedly.
"If we must. Sacrifices must be made in a relationship, David, sacrifices must be made."
"Sure." David offers him a crooked smile and Kurt chuckles, dropping the façade.
"Seriously, now. I know I should have told you, and this last hour was all kinds of awkward, but could we just… I don't know, develop some sort of laser-guided amnesia about this?"
"Fuck yeah."
Kurt grins widely at that and, shrugging of consequences for a moment, grabs David's arm, dragging the jock behind him. He turns right and Dave follows without a word, muscles tensing slightly under the pressure of Kurt's hand.
"Hey, Fancy?"
"Mm-hmm?"
"Not that I mind being mindlessly dragged around, but… where the hell are we going?"
Kurt taps his bottom lip with one finger, feeling unbearably giddy when Dave's eyes follow the movement hungrily.
"You'll see, David." He pauses, looking uncertain. "That is… if you're not too hungry?"
"'S alright. Not like I'm gonna keel over from one missed meal, right? Probably do me some good," he adds self-depreciatingly.
Kurt's eyebrows knit together in confusion, and he would ask what David is going on about, but he hasn't been this excited in a while. Blaine's easy blessing is such a tremendous weight of his back, as is Dave's willingness to just go along with whatever Kurt wants.
"I'll make it up to you, I promise. Modesty aside, I'm a pretty accomplished cook." Kurt misses Dave's stunned expression at the implication, and almost skips down the street in excitemnet. "We're here!"
David stares past Kurt.
"The park? That's what got your juices all flowing?"
Kurt slaps his arm lightly, too pleased with himself to use real bite.
"No juices, David. And the park is amazing. I used to love the swings, but no one would ever bring me here at night."
"Why the fuck would you wanna -"
The singer pouts, going over to the nearest swing and sitting down.
"All the kids were bigger than me and I could never get a turn."
David's smile is fond under the flickering streetlight.
"Aww. Poor itty bitty Fancy."
"Oh? I bet you were the king of the playground, then." Kurt drags his feet, pushing himself back.
"Fuck yeah I was!"
"Well, you must have been adorable. Boy Scout much?"
Dave grins, sliding one finger down the chain of Kurt's swing.
"Maybe I went rogue."
"... right. Oh, look, the sandbox. As fabulously grimy as I remember it," retorts Kurt, pointing with the tip of his shoe. Dave nods distractedly, looking around.
"Y'know, my dad used to bring me here all the time when I was a kid." He cocks his head to the side, turning to Kurt again."Hey, maybe we met."
"I got throw on my face a lot, so yes, probably," deadpans Kurt, making a face.
"Oh. Shit."
Kurt sighs, exasperated, and curls his hands around the chains, swinging his body back and forth.
"I'm kidding Dave. I managed to stir away from trouble just fine. I was a very resourceful toddler." He pauses, frowning at his feet, which keep dragging through the dirt. "But I never played in the sandbox, it always smelled like pee."
"Sorry about that."
"David!"
"What? When you gotta go, you gotta go, right?"
Kurt's eyes almost pop out of their sockets. He stops the swing with a screech.
"No! Oh my god, David!"
"I drank like a ton of apple juice that day!" Dave spreads out his hands, barely restraining a laughing fit. Kurt shakes his head in dismay, wrinkling his nose.
"Sweet Prada, I hope you got arrested for indecent exposure."
"Nah, but Jerry Cox's mom told me I was a naughty boy and that naughty boys go straight to hell with no dessert."
"... Please tell me you're joking."
"Nope." Dave pops the 'p' with a shit-eating grin, bumping his knee onto the side of Kurt's swing.
"Hmm. So that's where all those issues come from."
"Hey!"
"Early repressed trauma, or something like that."
Kurt looks up at him with narrowed eyes, the corners of his lips twitching. Dave stares him down with a deep frown and rattles the chain, making the smaller boy yelp and slap his hand. The jock shoots him a sideways look and a smug grin and looks up, eyes full of moonlight.
"Ha, I got Willy to pee on her bag."
"Do I even want to know who or what Willy was?"
"My dog, Fancy, get your mind out of the gutter."
Kurt sniggers in spite of himself, rubbing his feet casually against the side of Dave's leg. When Dave looks down surprised, he starts examining his fingernails attentively, innocence personified.
A stray sentence crosses his mind, making him drop his pretence.
"God, what is it with you and pee?"
"Marking the territory?"
"That one I never got."
"All the cool kids were doing it. But I did it first, 'course."
"Of course. You trend-setter, you." Kurt glances up at David wonderingly, then at the chains, tugging at them as if testing for strength. He hops of the swing and grabs them again. "I've got an idea. Help me up, will you?"
Dave's brow furrowed as Kurt grasps his shoulder for balance, putting one foot on top of the swing experimentally.
"Fancy, what -"
"Help me, come on!"
David mumbles under his breath about bossy little bitches but clutches the chains firmly, steadying the swing, tensing his shoulder to support Kurt's weight. The other boy is soon standing upright, if a little shaky, and grinning brilliantly at Dave, who can't help but smile back.
"I always wanted to do this."
"You never…?"
Kurt rolls his eyes, letting go of Dave's shoulder and grabbing for the chains just above where Dave's hands held them in place.
"My dad thought I might get hurt. I tended to get a little… over-excited at the park." Kurt's expression sobers immediately. "That was… we usually came here with my mom."
Dave searches his face worriedly and, almost grudgingly, lets his hands slide over Kurt's own, covering them. Kurt's breathing itches slightly, and he looks about to say something, but apparently thinks better, letting his head fall against the chain at his left.
David stares at where his hands are, disbelievingly. His thumbs sweep over the pale skin of Kurt's knuckles. In an almost curious gesture, the tips of his fingers go further up, caressing the inside of Kurt's wrist with so little pressure it is almost a ghost touch. Kurt sighs quietly, shivering.
Aside from them, the park is completely empty; the lateness of the hour makes it seem like they are the last two people awake in the world, maybe even the last two people alive. Once in a while a light breeze will creep up, rustling the leaves of the three sole surviving trees in the park. Kurt's world has rapidly narrowed to this, Dave's callused but oh so gentle fingers tracing the inside of his forearms. He feels tiny sparks going off under his skin at every sweep of those fingers, feels his heart rate picking up, still steady but faster and faster. The hairs on his arms are standing up on the wake of Dave's path up his body, his hands leaving a trail a few degrees hotter than the rest of Kurt's skin.
His lips part when Dave skips over his shoulders, pressing his thumbs softly and teasingly against Kurt's naked collarbone, before tracing his way down Kurt's sides. He exhales shallowly, spots of light dancing before his eyes when Dave presses his palms fully over his ribcage, down the slight curve of his waist, finally curling around Kurt's hips, thumbs rubbing against concave hip bones, his other fingers splayed over Kurt's lower back, teasing at the waistband of his pants.
A rebellious strand of hair flops onto his forehead, sticking to the thin sheet of sweat that has collected there. Kurt's whole body is trembling, his knees a hair's breadth from giving out completely. His hands are white fists around the chains; it seems like the only thing keeping him upright is the pressure of Dave's fingers around his hips, and isn't that where the trouble started in the first place? He is staring at the top of Dave's head, which is inches away from his chin; Dave's eyes are downcast, fixed on his own hands. Kurt can feel the inside of his pants heating up unbearably, and if he knew he could just step down without making a broken mess of his irresponsive joints he would. He has never wanted to be face to face with Dave this much; even though he is overwhelmed with fear that he might just be the Blaine to Dave's Kurt, he doesn't care. He needs, oh god, he needs to kiss Dave so badly, possibly more than kissing, but kissing is all his feverish brain can come up with at the moment. He won't pull away, will he, not now, not even David Karofsky is that much of a tease.
Then the pressure on his hips tightens and Dave looks up, and his eyes are burning, his whole expression is positively ravenous and Kurt can only remember to shoot his hands forward to grasp Dave's shoulders when his knees finally sign their letter of resignation. David catches him around the waist with a muffled curse, and for half of a glorious second Kurt is sure that this is it, Dave has nowhere to run now, he has to kiss Kurt, he simply fucking has to, what else can he possibly do?
David steps back as if burnt, looking everywhere but at Kurt - who, after stumbling ungracefully a few steps forward, has managed to remain more or less steady on his feet. He stares at Dave, completely lost, but the taller boy simply refuses to look back.
"Dave?" whispers Kurt shakily.
"We should - I should, huh, curfew's at eleven today, my mom wants me to go furniture-hunting for Alex's room tomorrow."
"W-what?" asks Kurt, his mind still in a haze.
Dave bites his lip and kneads the back of his neck. Kurt only then notices how red his face is.
"I - alright. Plenty of excitement for one night already, I guess."
Dave nods absently and starts walking away briskly. Kurt glances back at the park sadly - and not a little frustrated - and sighs, trailing after David.
"David?"
"Huh, hi, Kurt."
"Hum, hi. Didn't we just see each other half an hour ago?"
"Well, yeah, but you said to call."
"Tomorrow."
"No, you didn't say tomorrow."
"Yes, I did."
"You said 'call me'."
"I - oh, alright, have it your way."
"Hi, Kurt."
"What even - hi, David."
"So… everything okay?"
"Since we last saw each other? Oh, David, it has been so long, I barely know where to begin!"
"Okay, okay, fine. 'Night, then."
"Oh, stop it. Everything's fine. And you?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
"I guess."
"…"
"…"
"So…"
"Yeah?"
"Was there any real purpose to this call? Aside from you suddenly being so eager to obey my every command."
"Not - not really."
"Hmm. Just your good old money-thrown-away routine?"
"Fuck, Fancy, you can just hang up if you -"
"But this is being so entertaining!"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Oh, hold up."
"'Kay."
"…"
"You alright there, Fancy?"
"Yes, I was just - hold on - ah, finally."
"The fuck are you doing? Sounds like a goddamn windstorm over here."
"Oh, nothing. Just getting undressed."
"…"
"Hmm, I hope this doesn't wrinkle."
"…"
"Let me just - did you know that if you wash your pants with the zipper done, it's less likely to get stuck after?"
"…"
"I need to start investing in looser pants."
"K-Kurt -"
"It's hot tonight, isn't it?"
"I-I -"
"Honestly, I can't even think about pajamas right now."
"Fuck -"
"Oh, this feels nice."
"Christ, Fancy -"
"Why people insist on sleeping with anything on is completely beyond me."
"…"
"I just love silk sheets. Don't you Dave?"
"…"
"David?"
"…"
"Hmpf."
"…"
"Serves you right."
Author's Note 2.0: So hard to write Blaine like this after "The Purple Piano Project" but I did it. So, so proud of myself. And severely wanting to hit Dave with a hammer.
Chapter 8 - I'll Walk You Home Safe From The Dark