[FIC] Empires and Dreams
Title: Empires and Dreams
Fandom/Pairing: Glee, Kurt Hummel/Dave Karofsky
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Dammit.
Word Count: 565
A/N: I was originally writing this with Kurt/Sam in mind a few weeks ago. But I coudln't make it work and I didn't know why. Then that scene in 'Never Been Kissed' happened and I suddenly knew why I couldn't finish it. I had the wrong pairing. I hope they become endgame. My fangirl heart is aching for it.
Summary: In which a young man finds himself dreaming out loud, wishing for things that can never be, and hating himself for it.
Dave had this feeling. It wasn't anything really, he'd tell himself. It was just a feeling. A slow, steady ache deep in his gut. But this ache, it smoldered at night. It crackled and spit with his dreams. This damned ache, it flared into life when the morning sun filled his room. It spread and built and breathed into every part of him. When he walked through the school doors, it griped his insides like a vice. It would twist him up until he could hardly stand from the pressure.
The day would drag on and the ache would grow stronger. It would sear through his chest, demanding to be acknowledged. This ache, it would blister and blacken his insides with it’s ferocity, growing into something unbearable. Dave was sure everyone who looked closely enough could see just how deep the ache went. And he could not allow that. (Isn’t it funny, he thinks deep in the space that ache feels more like a caress than a burn, how what we can’t have is always what we want the most?)
So Dave, for all of his pain, held it deep inside himself. And when it finally grew to be more than he could bear, he found a way expel some of it out of his body with a brutal force he wouldn‘t (couldn't) think about for long. Every slam of gentle flesh against harsh metal felt like knifes ripping through his insides. The ache would turn into glass, tearing through all those delusions he had built around himself to shield against the harsh open space of day.
That's why the night had become his sanctuary. In the closed darkness of his room, Dave could dream. That burning, blistering, maddening ache seemed to only temper when he let his heart want what his mind denied.
Kurt, all burnt honey and forced composure, had no idea how desperately Dave dreamed of him.
While the ache settled to a quiet roar as the night twisted on, his mind raced with wants and wishes. His heart flipped with all the flowing poetry and calm cadence that Dave dreamed Kurt would love to hear, if only he could articulate it outside of the safe confines of his own mind. Because, if Dave would ever allow himself to do so, he likes to think Kurt would be the type of boy who sings his love to sleep at night (And if he is really feeling daring, Dave is also quite sure he would be the type of boy who would love that voice gently pulling him into his dreams each night.)
Dave built empires in his sleep. He built blood red sheets wrapped around limbs whiter than new snow. In his dreams, in the place between where Dave would rest his head and the darkness consumed him, Dave lived with that ache in a different form. That burning, blistering ache turned into nothing more than ashes left on snow. It would melt away all the charred remains the day left behind.
When morning finally seeped through the window and Dave slowly opened his eyes, he wished he had not. He felt the slither of a flame wrapping tightly around his insides and he wished with everything he had in him that those empires he built, that burnt honey and new snow, would take him back (and never let him go.)
Fandom/Pairing: Glee, Kurt Hummel/Dave Karofsky
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Dammit.
Word Count: 565
A/N: I was originally writing this with Kurt/Sam in mind a few weeks ago. But I coudln't make it work and I didn't know why. Then that scene in 'Never Been Kissed' happened and I suddenly knew why I couldn't finish it. I had the wrong pairing. I hope they become endgame. My fangirl heart is aching for it.
Summary: In which a young man finds himself dreaming out loud, wishing for things that can never be, and hating himself for it.
Dave had this feeling. It wasn't anything really, he'd tell himself. It was just a feeling. A slow, steady ache deep in his gut. But this ache, it smoldered at night. It crackled and spit with his dreams. This damned ache, it flared into life when the morning sun filled his room. It spread and built and breathed into every part of him. When he walked through the school doors, it griped his insides like a vice. It would twist him up until he could hardly stand from the pressure.
The day would drag on and the ache would grow stronger. It would sear through his chest, demanding to be acknowledged. This ache, it would blister and blacken his insides with it’s ferocity, growing into something unbearable. Dave was sure everyone who looked closely enough could see just how deep the ache went. And he could not allow that. (Isn’t it funny, he thinks deep in the space that ache feels more like a caress than a burn, how what we can’t have is always what we want the most?)
So Dave, for all of his pain, held it deep inside himself. And when it finally grew to be more than he could bear, he found a way expel some of it out of his body with a brutal force he wouldn‘t (couldn't) think about for long. Every slam of gentle flesh against harsh metal felt like knifes ripping through his insides. The ache would turn into glass, tearing through all those delusions he had built around himself to shield against the harsh open space of day.
That's why the night had become his sanctuary. In the closed darkness of his room, Dave could dream. That burning, blistering, maddening ache seemed to only temper when he let his heart want what his mind denied.
Kurt, all burnt honey and forced composure, had no idea how desperately Dave dreamed of him.
While the ache settled to a quiet roar as the night twisted on, his mind raced with wants and wishes. His heart flipped with all the flowing poetry and calm cadence that Dave dreamed Kurt would love to hear, if only he could articulate it outside of the safe confines of his own mind. Because, if Dave would ever allow himself to do so, he likes to think Kurt would be the type of boy who sings his love to sleep at night (And if he is really feeling daring, Dave is also quite sure he would be the type of boy who would love that voice gently pulling him into his dreams each night.)
Dave built empires in his sleep. He built blood red sheets wrapped around limbs whiter than new snow. In his dreams, in the place between where Dave would rest his head and the darkness consumed him, Dave lived with that ache in a different form. That burning, blistering ache turned into nothing more than ashes left on snow. It would melt away all the charred remains the day left behind.
When morning finally seeped through the window and Dave slowly opened his eyes, he wished he had not. He felt the slither of a flame wrapping tightly around his insides and he wished with everything he had in him that those empires he built, that burnt honey and new snow, would take him back (and never let him go.)