FIC: The Proposition: A (Slightly) Inappropriate Love Story (3/?)
TITLE: The Proposition: A (Slightly) Inappropriate Love Story
AUTHORS: Gleekilicious & Tessisamess
PAIRING: Kurtofsky
RATING: Will hit NC17
WORD COUNT: 2,586 // 7,894
SPOILERS: None; AU-fic
WARNINGS: Teacher/Student
SUMMARY: Kurt's pretty sure nothing sucks worse than being the only gay kid in the changing rooms. It's hell but he does a damn good job of skipping gym for three years before he's caught and forced back. Luckily, Coach Karofsky seems to be on his side, and when Kurt accidentally sees a lot more than he was supposed to, he starts to see his coach in a whole new light. After all, who better to lose your virginity to than a (slightly) older, experienced man with a thing for 'twinks'? There's only one problem: Coach Karofsky refuses to give in to the idea, namely because Kurt's not even legal. On the plus side, Kurt's birthday is only three months away...
chapter one
chapter two
◄ 3 ►
It was only the smart thing to do, really, to break down and get his own internet service. After all, it's what he should have done in the first place. Of course, Dave probably could have waited on that instead of calling on the drive home, but could you blame him? He knew all teachers made some pretty horrifically big mistakes in their first couple years teaching --but he was sure he sort of won the award for first place. Really, he just kinda hoped he hadn't scarred Kurt for life or something.
The next day was hell. He spent every class waiting for Figgins or the police (Or, hell, did the FBI handle pervs? Whatever.) to interrupt his class and drag him off. Not that Figgins could physically drag Dave anywhere, but the point remained. It wasn't that he didn't trust Kurt not to tell --it was just that he wouldn't blame the guy if he did.
But Kurt had most definitely not mentioned the scene to anyone, though he had most certainly rewatched it mentally again and again - though he didn’t seem to get bored of it at all. If anything, it just got more and more exciting each time. He managed to flit his way from class to class, barely noticing the slurs or the shoves, still too caught up in the--... now was not the time, he reminded himself in Math, crossing his legs.
Still, no matter how delightful a daydream the whole affair was, when he clutched his sports bag to him, facing the changing room doors, it was the last thing on his mind. A cold dread had started to seep into him, but he forced out a shaky breath, squared his shoulders, stuck out his chin and walked in.
By the time fourth period rolled around Dave had been stressing so much about being taken out by a SWAT team or something else just as unlikely that he'd forgotten about Figgins' demand that Kurt participate. He'd been anxiously waiting for the increasingly familiar knock on his office door, the transparent excuse and the inevitable give-in when he'd finally remembered.
Right.
Dave was probably the last thing on Kurt's mind. He shook it off and headed for the gym to wait for his class. He wouldn't be doing anyone any good -least of all Kurt- if he was too worried about crap that wasn't going to happen to keep an eye on his worst class.
Kurt kept his head up, striding quickly to a secluded-ish corner of the room and dumping his bag, keeping his eyes firmly on his hands as he tugged down the zipper and pulled out his perfectly laundered shorts and t-shirt. He could do this. It was fine. No one had said or done anything.
His fingers were trembling as he undid the buttons of his expensive sweater, folding it neatly and sliding it into his back before doing the same with his shirt, tugging on the regulation gym shirt in its place. He completely ignored the few whispers and jeers, going into the shower cubicles to change into his shorts. He was the first out, his bag tightly zipped up and with a small padlock on the zips --just in case anyone decided to do something terrible to his designer clothes.
Kurt stepped into the empty gym hall, looking every bit as uncomfortable as he felt.
Dave was in the middle of getting the basketball equipment out of the storage closet when he spotted Kurt. A wave of embarrassment washed over him and, really, he thought maybe that'd get a little better but he guessed it was too soon.
"Um, hey." He could only assume Kurt had gotten changed lightning fast since he was the first one out --and he didn't blame him, either. The whole thing with Figgins was fucking... well, it rubbed him the wrong way.
Kurt’s stance instantly relaxed - though his smile was awkward and his eyes were finding it hard to stay on his coach’s face. "Hi," he murmured, voice a little higher and breathier and-- yeah, it was hitting him hard that he’d spent all night jerking off to this guy. Kurt swallowed and shifted his weight, arms wrapped self-consciously around himself.
He didn’t really know what to say. ‘How was your night?’ ‘Did you get home okay?’ ‘Do you watch porn and masturbate in your office often?’ ‘What would you say if I told you it’s pretty much all I can think about?’ None of those seemed... sensible. Or plausible. Or anything more than fantasy conversations.
"Everything... go okay? In there, I mean." Dave gestured vaguely toward the locker room before pulling the cart full of basketballs the rest of the way out of the equipment room so he could close the door.
"What? Oh, yes. I mean, as ‘okay’ as it ever is," he snorted, waving a hand through the air. "A few insults, but at least no one started hitting me, right?" He meant it as a joke, but it came too close to the truth to be... well, funny.
Dave frowned slightly. "You'll tell me if anything happens, right? I mean--" he sighed, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. This was way harder than he'd expected. Which was stupid, really. He should've expected it to be weird. "I mean, y'know. You can still trust me." he muttered. It sounded ridiculous to him, but he meant it.
Kurt blinked; quickly trying to stifle a giggle - though it was something born of awkwardness rather than actual amusement. "Um, no, I-- I mean, it’s okay. It’s not like... like I don’t trust you, sir. Honestly. I do. Probably more than any other teacher. If... something happens in there, I’ll tell you."
Dave was never more relieved for a class to start. As the rest of the kids started trickling out from the locker room he straightened, assuming the role of "bigger than you, smarter than you, in charge of you --so do what I say, you little craps."
"Aright," he barked as the last of the boys in his class came in from changing. "We're gonna learn the rules of the game today, follow up with drills. If any of you start pulling shit on your classmates you're out. And by out I mean three day in-house suspension. Got it?"
There was a grumble of understanding from the children, a few of the braver ones shooting dirty looks to Kurt who was standing off to the side, arms crossed and lips a tight line. He hated this. He felt uncomfortable, wrong in his own skin and... and naked without his beautiful clothes. Like less of a person, almost. Certainly sub-human in these children’s eyes.
As class progressed it was clear that, while they were adhering to Dave's rules, there were always other ways to make a person feel like shit. It was like Kurt didn't even exist to them and even though they were just running drills today it was going to be a real problem once they started actually playing.
The only saving grace was that Kurt being in the class left them at an odd number, so he had no partner to ignore him as they practiced passing --after all, it was up to Dave to "partner" with the odd man out. As if things weren't awkward enough as it was.
Kurt didn’t say a thing about it. In all honesty, he preferred to be left alone in lieu of taunts and jibes --and besides, any ‘partner’ he got would just try to make the drills as tiring and futile as possible for him. It was a small grace he was with Coach Karofsky, because contrary to what the others might think, he was actually damn good at sports and a good sight fitter than most of them. He was passing the ball with ease and a healthy dose of distaste, crooking a wane smile at his teacher.
When Johnstone managed to very purposefully hit his partner in the face with his ball, Dave slammed his own ball down so hard that the loud smack against the hardwood floors stilled everyone in the gym. "Did I mention that the in-house suspension is with me?" He snapped, voice carrying loudly through the gym. "Get the fuck out of my class!"
"But I--"
"OUT."
…wow. Even Kurt had frozen guiltily, eyes wide as he stared at Dave; and then the hastily retreating boy. He exhaled slowly, slightly more reassured that no, he was not going to get a ball to the face. Not after that display. And... he was pretty sure Coach Karofsky wasn’t meant to swear at the kids. Kurt swallowed, still holding the basketball tightly in his hands.
Dave knew why the kids never listened to him. Sylvester had pointed it out on more than one occasion. He was just too close to their age to take seriously as an authority figure. He supposed it might have been a better idea to start his teaching career in a middle school, but the idea of possibly having to deal with telling kids why their bodies were changing was just... awkward.
He took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Strando, elbows out for passing. In is when you're shooting."
Strando nodded, looking down at the floor and not replying verbally, obviously avoiding getting shouted at too as he obediently stuck out his elbows. Kurt bit back a laugh, looking to Dave again and passing the ball. He couldn’t deny that he definitely felt safer now. It would be a foolish kid who tried to do something to him now, and besides, he was sure the second of satisfaction wouldn’t be worth the punishment in their minds.
"Thanks," he murmured softly.
Dave just shook his head as he caught the ball with one hand, then passed it back.
"Tomorrow we'll practice shooting," Dave mentioned to the class. Not that he expected any of them to actually make any baskets. The thought alone of the havoc that would probably reign supreme in the gym tomorrow made him unendingly thankful that the school board had put the kibosh on archery.
"Joy," Kurt muttered dryly, the reality that this really was something he had to do and keep on doing suddenly hitting him. But he said nothing more, his jaw tightening a little. One year. Just... one year. And Coach Karofsky was doing everything in his power to keep him safe...
Before long the lesson was over and Kurt was hanging back. This time he’d wait for them all to go before he went in and showered and changed --in peace and alone. He moved over to Dave, automatically helping him clear up.
*
"Mercedes. Do you remember that time we swore on Madonna that we could always talk about guys we had crushes on without being judged for it?" Kurt asked, the two of them tucked into a quiet corner of the cafeteria, Kurt swilling the remains of his salad in his plate.
A slow smile spread over Mercedes' lips. From the sound of it, this was going to be good. "Let me guess --that French exchange student? That boy is fine." Her eyes glazed over momentarily at the mental image of André. "So fine..."
Kurt was - for a second - distracted as he hummed in agreement before shaking his head. "No, it’s not André; though he most certainly is fine... no, it’s... promise not to-- to laugh or mock me?" Kurt asked, pouting a little for effect as he speared a stray tomato with his fork.
"As long as it's not one of the Strandos I think you're safe. I mean, how bad could it be?" Mercedes snorted. "Unless it's Figgins," she mused with a loud laugh.
"Ugh, Mercedes...! I am trying to eat," he grumbled, finally putting down the fork and crossing his arms. "...it’s Coach Karofsky," he murmured, voice low as he bit his lip.
"I guess I could see that," Mercedes shrugged. She rolled her eyes after a moment of quiet. "That's just like you, isn't it Kurt? Out of all the guys in this school, you pick one to get all sexed up for that you have no chance with." She shrugged, cracking open her energy drink.
"...excuse me?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning in, shooting her his best ‘you’re joking, right?’ look. "I couldn’t get him? Illicit teacher slash student relationship aside, what on earth makes you think I couldn’t get him? Please explain; because there is nothing more fabulous than Kurt Hummel. Present company aside."
"What? It's not like you're gonna try to get him, right? Besides, you know I didn't mean it that way. I mean, if he were in our grade? You guys'd probably be macking on each other in the locker rooms every day. If he was gay --which he probably isn't so why is this even an issue?"
"...what if I told you... in strictest confidence, of course, that Coach Karofsky is gay...?" Kurt murmured, smirking a little and raising an eyebrow, leaning in more to keep his voice low. Though the image of them making out in the lock-- that was for later.
Mercedes choked on her drink, the fizzing liquid shooting right up into her nose and making her cough. "Do I even wanna know how you know that?"
"No, and I’m not telling, but I promise it wasn’t" very "illegal. Okay? I just know he is, and he knows I am, and I’m pretty sure he’s single. As in available... as in, I do so have a chance. Isn’t it the classic fantasy to have an affair with a teacher slash student...?"
"Yeah, but that's what it is --a fantasy. I mean, whenever you see teachers getting arrested on the news it's not all sexy or romantic like it is in your head. It's just some sad old dude or lady who can't get it anywhere else." Mercedes frowned slightly. "Of course, he's not really that old. I mean, Santana found his senior yearbook in the library and it was '06 so I gu-- no. Kurt, no. This is a bad idea and you know it."
Kurt pouted, resting his chin in his hand. "But he’s not a sad old dude or lady. Mr. Rhyerson is a sad old dude who really should have been arrested a long time ago--"
"Ugh," Mercedes shuddered. "That man is sooo creepy."
"--and Coach Karofsky is... is young and hot and so my type; and I’d bet my Gucci loafers that I’m his too, so..." he trailed off, glaring at the vegetation in front of him. He knew he was just running on a fantasy, that there was no way they could really have some wild affair... but... it would be so amazing if they did. Better than anything else in his life. Almost.
"Okay, I admit he's fine," Mercedes agreed, "but if you're not careful you'll be making up that gym credit in summer school."
"Pff," Kurt snorted. "No way. He’s... actually really decent to me. He knows what it’s like to... to go through this. He tried to make Figgins let me sit out, after all." Kurt sighed softly, crooking a small, soft smile. "...wouldn’t it be nice, though...? An older, more experienced boyfriend... who was seriously hot, to boot?"
"Well, yeah. No denying that," Mercedes smirked. "Kurt, I can see your boner through the table," she joked, "knock it off."
◄◄ ■ ►►
AUTHORS: Gleekilicious & Tessisamess
PAIRING: Kurtofsky
RATING: Will hit NC17
WORD COUNT: 2,586 // 7,894
SPOILERS: None; AU-fic
WARNINGS: Teacher/Student
SUMMARY: Kurt's pretty sure nothing sucks worse than being the only gay kid in the changing rooms. It's hell but he does a damn good job of skipping gym for three years before he's caught and forced back. Luckily, Coach Karofsky seems to be on his side, and when Kurt accidentally sees a lot more than he was supposed to, he starts to see his coach in a whole new light. After all, who better to lose your virginity to than a (slightly) older, experienced man with a thing for 'twinks'? There's only one problem: Coach Karofsky refuses to give in to the idea, namely because Kurt's not even legal. On the plus side, Kurt's birthday is only three months away...
chapter one
chapter two
◄ 3 ►
It was only the smart thing to do, really, to break down and get his own internet service. After all, it's what he should have done in the first place. Of course, Dave probably could have waited on that instead of calling on the drive home, but could you blame him? He knew all teachers made some pretty horrifically big mistakes in their first couple years teaching --but he was sure he sort of won the award for first place. Really, he just kinda hoped he hadn't scarred Kurt for life or something.
The next day was hell. He spent every class waiting for Figgins or the police (Or, hell, did the FBI handle pervs? Whatever.) to interrupt his class and drag him off. Not that Figgins could physically drag Dave anywhere, but the point remained. It wasn't that he didn't trust Kurt not to tell --it was just that he wouldn't blame the guy if he did.
But Kurt had most definitely not mentioned the scene to anyone, though he had most certainly rewatched it mentally again and again - though he didn’t seem to get bored of it at all. If anything, it just got more and more exciting each time. He managed to flit his way from class to class, barely noticing the slurs or the shoves, still too caught up in the--... now was not the time, he reminded himself in Math, crossing his legs.
Still, no matter how delightful a daydream the whole affair was, when he clutched his sports bag to him, facing the changing room doors, it was the last thing on his mind. A cold dread had started to seep into him, but he forced out a shaky breath, squared his shoulders, stuck out his chin and walked in.
By the time fourth period rolled around Dave had been stressing so much about being taken out by a SWAT team or something else just as unlikely that he'd forgotten about Figgins' demand that Kurt participate. He'd been anxiously waiting for the increasingly familiar knock on his office door, the transparent excuse and the inevitable give-in when he'd finally remembered.
Right.
Dave was probably the last thing on Kurt's mind. He shook it off and headed for the gym to wait for his class. He wouldn't be doing anyone any good -least of all Kurt- if he was too worried about crap that wasn't going to happen to keep an eye on his worst class.
Kurt kept his head up, striding quickly to a secluded-ish corner of the room and dumping his bag, keeping his eyes firmly on his hands as he tugged down the zipper and pulled out his perfectly laundered shorts and t-shirt. He could do this. It was fine. No one had said or done anything.
His fingers were trembling as he undid the buttons of his expensive sweater, folding it neatly and sliding it into his back before doing the same with his shirt, tugging on the regulation gym shirt in its place. He completely ignored the few whispers and jeers, going into the shower cubicles to change into his shorts. He was the first out, his bag tightly zipped up and with a small padlock on the zips --just in case anyone decided to do something terrible to his designer clothes.
Kurt stepped into the empty gym hall, looking every bit as uncomfortable as he felt.
Dave was in the middle of getting the basketball equipment out of the storage closet when he spotted Kurt. A wave of embarrassment washed over him and, really, he thought maybe that'd get a little better but he guessed it was too soon.
"Um, hey." He could only assume Kurt had gotten changed lightning fast since he was the first one out --and he didn't blame him, either. The whole thing with Figgins was fucking... well, it rubbed him the wrong way.
Kurt’s stance instantly relaxed - though his smile was awkward and his eyes were finding it hard to stay on his coach’s face. "Hi," he murmured, voice a little higher and breathier and-- yeah, it was hitting him hard that he’d spent all night jerking off to this guy. Kurt swallowed and shifted his weight, arms wrapped self-consciously around himself.
He didn’t really know what to say. ‘How was your night?’ ‘Did you get home okay?’ ‘Do you watch porn and masturbate in your office often?’ ‘What would you say if I told you it’s pretty much all I can think about?’ None of those seemed... sensible. Or plausible. Or anything more than fantasy conversations.
"Everything... go okay? In there, I mean." Dave gestured vaguely toward the locker room before pulling the cart full of basketballs the rest of the way out of the equipment room so he could close the door.
"What? Oh, yes. I mean, as ‘okay’ as it ever is," he snorted, waving a hand through the air. "A few insults, but at least no one started hitting me, right?" He meant it as a joke, but it came too close to the truth to be... well, funny.
Dave frowned slightly. "You'll tell me if anything happens, right? I mean--" he sighed, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. This was way harder than he'd expected. Which was stupid, really. He should've expected it to be weird. "I mean, y'know. You can still trust me." he muttered. It sounded ridiculous to him, but he meant it.
Kurt blinked; quickly trying to stifle a giggle - though it was something born of awkwardness rather than actual amusement. "Um, no, I-- I mean, it’s okay. It’s not like... like I don’t trust you, sir. Honestly. I do. Probably more than any other teacher. If... something happens in there, I’ll tell you."
Dave was never more relieved for a class to start. As the rest of the kids started trickling out from the locker room he straightened, assuming the role of "bigger than you, smarter than you, in charge of you --so do what I say, you little craps."
"Aright," he barked as the last of the boys in his class came in from changing. "We're gonna learn the rules of the game today, follow up with drills. If any of you start pulling shit on your classmates you're out. And by out I mean three day in-house suspension. Got it?"
There was a grumble of understanding from the children, a few of the braver ones shooting dirty looks to Kurt who was standing off to the side, arms crossed and lips a tight line. He hated this. He felt uncomfortable, wrong in his own skin and... and naked without his beautiful clothes. Like less of a person, almost. Certainly sub-human in these children’s eyes.
As class progressed it was clear that, while they were adhering to Dave's rules, there were always other ways to make a person feel like shit. It was like Kurt didn't even exist to them and even though they were just running drills today it was going to be a real problem once they started actually playing.
The only saving grace was that Kurt being in the class left them at an odd number, so he had no partner to ignore him as they practiced passing --after all, it was up to Dave to "partner" with the odd man out. As if things weren't awkward enough as it was.
Kurt didn’t say a thing about it. In all honesty, he preferred to be left alone in lieu of taunts and jibes --and besides, any ‘partner’ he got would just try to make the drills as tiring and futile as possible for him. It was a small grace he was with Coach Karofsky, because contrary to what the others might think, he was actually damn good at sports and a good sight fitter than most of them. He was passing the ball with ease and a healthy dose of distaste, crooking a wane smile at his teacher.
When Johnstone managed to very purposefully hit his partner in the face with his ball, Dave slammed his own ball down so hard that the loud smack against the hardwood floors stilled everyone in the gym. "Did I mention that the in-house suspension is with me?" He snapped, voice carrying loudly through the gym. "Get the fuck out of my class!"
"But I--"
"OUT."
…wow. Even Kurt had frozen guiltily, eyes wide as he stared at Dave; and then the hastily retreating boy. He exhaled slowly, slightly more reassured that no, he was not going to get a ball to the face. Not after that display. And... he was pretty sure Coach Karofsky wasn’t meant to swear at the kids. Kurt swallowed, still holding the basketball tightly in his hands.
Dave knew why the kids never listened to him. Sylvester had pointed it out on more than one occasion. He was just too close to their age to take seriously as an authority figure. He supposed it might have been a better idea to start his teaching career in a middle school, but the idea of possibly having to deal with telling kids why their bodies were changing was just... awkward.
He took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Strando, elbows out for passing. In is when you're shooting."
Strando nodded, looking down at the floor and not replying verbally, obviously avoiding getting shouted at too as he obediently stuck out his elbows. Kurt bit back a laugh, looking to Dave again and passing the ball. He couldn’t deny that he definitely felt safer now. It would be a foolish kid who tried to do something to him now, and besides, he was sure the second of satisfaction wouldn’t be worth the punishment in their minds.
"Thanks," he murmured softly.
Dave just shook his head as he caught the ball with one hand, then passed it back.
"Tomorrow we'll practice shooting," Dave mentioned to the class. Not that he expected any of them to actually make any baskets. The thought alone of the havoc that would probably reign supreme in the gym tomorrow made him unendingly thankful that the school board had put the kibosh on archery.
"Joy," Kurt muttered dryly, the reality that this really was something he had to do and keep on doing suddenly hitting him. But he said nothing more, his jaw tightening a little. One year. Just... one year. And Coach Karofsky was doing everything in his power to keep him safe...
Before long the lesson was over and Kurt was hanging back. This time he’d wait for them all to go before he went in and showered and changed --in peace and alone. He moved over to Dave, automatically helping him clear up.
*
"Mercedes. Do you remember that time we swore on Madonna that we could always talk about guys we had crushes on without being judged for it?" Kurt asked, the two of them tucked into a quiet corner of the cafeteria, Kurt swilling the remains of his salad in his plate.
A slow smile spread over Mercedes' lips. From the sound of it, this was going to be good. "Let me guess --that French exchange student? That boy is fine." Her eyes glazed over momentarily at the mental image of André. "So fine..."
Kurt was - for a second - distracted as he hummed in agreement before shaking his head. "No, it’s not André; though he most certainly is fine... no, it’s... promise not to-- to laugh or mock me?" Kurt asked, pouting a little for effect as he speared a stray tomato with his fork.
"As long as it's not one of the Strandos I think you're safe. I mean, how bad could it be?" Mercedes snorted. "Unless it's Figgins," she mused with a loud laugh.
"Ugh, Mercedes...! I am trying to eat," he grumbled, finally putting down the fork and crossing his arms. "...it’s Coach Karofsky," he murmured, voice low as he bit his lip.
"I guess I could see that," Mercedes shrugged. She rolled her eyes after a moment of quiet. "That's just like you, isn't it Kurt? Out of all the guys in this school, you pick one to get all sexed up for that you have no chance with." She shrugged, cracking open her energy drink.
"...excuse me?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning in, shooting her his best ‘you’re joking, right?’ look. "I couldn’t get him? Illicit teacher slash student relationship aside, what on earth makes you think I couldn’t get him? Please explain; because there is nothing more fabulous than Kurt Hummel. Present company aside."
"What? It's not like you're gonna try to get him, right? Besides, you know I didn't mean it that way. I mean, if he were in our grade? You guys'd probably be macking on each other in the locker rooms every day. If he was gay --which he probably isn't so why is this even an issue?"
"...what if I told you... in strictest confidence, of course, that Coach Karofsky is gay...?" Kurt murmured, smirking a little and raising an eyebrow, leaning in more to keep his voice low. Though the image of them making out in the lock-- that was for later.
Mercedes choked on her drink, the fizzing liquid shooting right up into her nose and making her cough. "Do I even wanna know how you know that?"
"No, and I’m not telling, but I promise it wasn’t" very "illegal. Okay? I just know he is, and he knows I am, and I’m pretty sure he’s single. As in available... as in, I do so have a chance. Isn’t it the classic fantasy to have an affair with a teacher slash student...?"
"Yeah, but that's what it is --a fantasy. I mean, whenever you see teachers getting arrested on the news it's not all sexy or romantic like it is in your head. It's just some sad old dude or lady who can't get it anywhere else." Mercedes frowned slightly. "Of course, he's not really that old. I mean, Santana found his senior yearbook in the library and it was '06 so I gu-- no. Kurt, no. This is a bad idea and you know it."
Kurt pouted, resting his chin in his hand. "But he’s not a sad old dude or lady. Mr. Rhyerson is a sad old dude who really should have been arrested a long time ago--"
"Ugh," Mercedes shuddered. "That man is sooo creepy."
"--and Coach Karofsky is... is young and hot and so my type; and I’d bet my Gucci loafers that I’m his too, so..." he trailed off, glaring at the vegetation in front of him. He knew he was just running on a fantasy, that there was no way they could really have some wild affair... but... it would be so amazing if they did. Better than anything else in his life. Almost.
"Okay, I admit he's fine," Mercedes agreed, "but if you're not careful you'll be making up that gym credit in summer school."
"Pff," Kurt snorted. "No way. He’s... actually really decent to me. He knows what it’s like to... to go through this. He tried to make Figgins let me sit out, after all." Kurt sighed softly, crooking a small, soft smile. "...wouldn’t it be nice, though...? An older, more experienced boyfriend... who was seriously hot, to boot?"
"Well, yeah. No denying that," Mercedes smirked. "Kurt, I can see your boner through the table," she joked, "knock it off."
◄◄ ■ ►►