Chapter summary: Have you ever gone trick-or-treating hoping you'd get peanut butter cups, but you got NONE and just ended up with a ton of useless candy? Well, that's kind of how Dave's week goes. Also, Kurt and Blaine discover a shared erotic interest. ~8,950 words
Pairings in this section: Kurt/Blaine; one-sided Dave/Kurt; Dave/OCs; references to Dave/Sebastian; and then there's the bromantic pairings, but the list would get way too long
Rating: NC-17
Livejournal | Dreamwidth |
AO3 |
TumblrDave plans a four-pronged campaign to get over Kurt. The strategies are: watching online porn of hairy men fucking each other; masturbating a lot without thinking about Kurt or Kurt-and-Blaine; being more open to getting hit on by guys other than Sebastian at Scandals; and paying more attention to his everyday male surroundings.
The last strategy calls for a bit of elaboration, because it’s not like Dave doesn’t notice a hot guy when he sees one. He’s a horny teenage boy; of course he does. But whenever he’s in public or a place where it’s just not safe to feel things, he’s gotten pretty good at shutting off the sexual part of his brain if it starts to yammer too much.
It’s a skill that makes things like changing clothes in locker rooms full of sweaty, muscle-bound teenage boys a lot easier. But it also means that he’s probably missing out on a lot of beauty that he might be able to see if he weren’t so damn scared.
Dave officially launches the campaign the day after Kurt rescues his car (it just takes a quick Google search for “bear porn”), but it’s not until Monday that the fourth strategy kicks in. And, frankly, Dave’s kind of shocked to find out how many sexually attractive guys his age there are in Lima, and how many of them he likes to think about fucking.
It starts in the morning, when Dave stops with his dad at the drive-thru java place on the way to his dad’s work. Dave swears the dreadlocked barista winks at him when his dad is looking the other way - and even if he doesn’t, the guy is hot, with strikingly white teeth and broad hands that would look equally at home wrapped around a football or a cock.
And then there’s Ian, the guy who’s been sitting in front of Dave during physics since the teacher switched up their seating assignments last week. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’s captivating to look at, with a perfect, long neck and these fine blonde hairs at the nape that glow in the afternoon sunlight. His skin is flawless, unblemished except for two tiny freckles about a finger’s width apart above the collar of his shirt, and if Dave leans forward in his chair just right, he can catch an intoxicating whiff of Ian’s musk-and-eucalyptus body wash.
Dave spends most of class thinking about what it would feel like to put his lips on Ian’s two freckles and his hands all over his body, and what Ian would sound like on the verge of coming.
In German class, there’s Jürgen. Jürgen’s not his real name - it’s Greg, but Dave has a hard time remembering that because they’re only allowed to use their German names in the classroom. They get paired up for conversation practice and Jürgen keeps glancing down at Dave’s chest when they talk, and honestly, Dave can’t tell if Jürgen’s checking him out or just socially awkward, but he lets himself wonder what it might be like if it were the former. Dave doesn’t particularly like Jürgen - he’s a little too quiet and not very assertive and he doesn’t even make an effort to pronounce “sp” or “ch” correctly - but he has long eyelashes and a nice ass when he bends over, and he’s exactly Dave’s height, which would be convenient for some things. So when they’re done with their conversation practice and go back to their own desks to work on the first subjunctive verb tense, Dave decides to fantasize a little about Jürgen having a completely different personality and a gorgeous hard-on.
On the way home from school, Dave goes by the Circle K for chewing gum and a 32-ounce Mountain Dew. He stops here a lot, a quick in-and-out, barely looking up as he thrusts money at the cashier and dashes. But today as he’s filling his drink at the fountain, he notices one of the clerks hauling a huge bag of coffee beans over his shoulder and emptying it into the grinder. Dave’s seen this guy at school, but he’s never really let himself acknowledge the slim hips and strong arms and cinnamon skin that probably tastes fresher than water.
Dave doesn’t say hi, and he doesn’t stare, and he doesn’t linger around the fountain longer than he normally would.
But when he gets home, he goes up to his room and shuts the door and strips off his clothes. He closes his eyes when he lays back on the bed and lets himself picture all the different bodies he’s noticed today, imagines the different textures of hair in his fingers, the feel of teeth and tongue around his nipples, the velvet-rough glide of skin against skin. He thinks about Ian’s freckles, and Jürgen’s ass, and the barista’s hands, and the skin and arms of the Circle K clerk.
He imagines sucking their cocks, cut and uncut, the blessed weight on his tongue, the press against the roof of his mouth, the delicious thrust against his throat. He groans and he imagines hearing them groan and he groans again, wishing he could taste them - their skin and their salt and their exquisite bitterness.
He imagines pressing his tongue into their holes, setting their nerves on fire, undoing them slowly but surely. He presses a finger inside himself and pretends it's inside them, unlocking them, and then another finger, and they’re begging him and thanking him Oh god yes Dave fuck me, you’re so good Dave, fuck me, I need it, I need you.
So he does. He sinks inside them, feels them slowly stretch and take him, and they’re so slick and tight and good, and they wrap their thighs around his waist to pull him closer, bring him in deeper until he’s in as far as he can go. He can see them so clearly: their eyes and their smiles and the sweat on their brows. Ian’s pale skin is ruddy from exertion; and the barista winks and laughs for how good it feels; and the Circle K clerk closes his eyes and sighs with satisfaction; and Jürgen stares at Dave’s chest and works his teeth over his bottom lip until Dave says, Go ahead, you can lick it. I know you want to.
He fucks them slow and sweet at first, kisses them on the mouths and cheeks, brushes their hair away when it falls into their eyes. They let out little moans of pleasure, stroke their hands down his back, rock their hips forward to meet each of his patient thrusts.
And then, slowly but surely, the tempo starts to change. Their rocking becomes incrementally faster, their bodies more demanding, and oh yes Dave, like that Dave, fuck me like that and so he does, working in and out of them, faster and faster as they urge him on, begging for more, oh so good Dave yes you’re so good and god he’s so close, but he holds back, can’t let himself come just yet, not when they’re so hungry and they need him.
So he holds back and ignores his body and fucks and fucks, his hips thrusting out a euphoric beat as they ride him fast and needy, crying out his name over and over, oh yes god Dave yes yes I’m gonna come, you’re making me come, Dave, except -
It’s not them anymore.
It’s Kurt, his neck and face flushed, his eyes wide and tender. He grabs a clutch of Dave’s hair and kisses him hard, and his ass clenches so tight that Dave thinks he might die - but he doesn’t, because Kurt is whispering I’ve got you, David, into his ear.
And with that, they both start to come.
Dave lies in bed for a long time afterward, on a ledge between ecstasy and heartbreak, not sure which way he's going to tip until he finally falls.
* * *
Dave rings the doorbell just as Blaine has a revelation about last week’s geometry quiz. He bounces all the way to the front door, swinging it open with an excited, “Remember that thing we were talking about with the triangles and the circles and the ratios and stuff? I think I finally get it! It’s like -” And then he looks at Dave’s face, and he falls quiet.
It’s not that Dave looks particularly bad. He often has an air of sadness about him, but today it’s more. His shoulders are slumped, and he’s pale, and his frown is more frowny than usual. “Hey,” he says gruffly.
“Um, are you okay?” Blaine waves him in.
Dave shrugs as he steps inside. “Tired, I guess.”
“Flu’s going around.”
Dave shakes his head. “No, it’s not the flu. I got the shot.” He drops his backpack despondently to the floor. “Hard couple days, is all.”
Blaine closes the door. “What happened?”
“Nothing, really.” Dave shrugs again and starts slipping his coat off. Blaine helps him with it. Dave kind of looks like he could use all the help he can get.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Blaine asks as he hangs up Dave’s coat.
Dave shakes his head. “Not really.”
Sometimes, when Kurt gets like this, he just wants to be left alone for a while. It’s not something that Blaine understands, but it’s an idea he’s gotten used to. So he asks, “Do you want to be alone? I was looking forward to hanging out with you this afternoon, but if that’s what you need -”
Dave shakes his head again. “No. I definitely want to be here. I’ll just stew if I go home. Maybe - maybe if I just have some caffeine and you tell me about your day - I think that’ll help.” He sighs. “Sorry for being such a downer.”
“Oh, buddy,” Blaine says, using the endearment that Cooper used to save for Blaine’s worst days. He rubs Dave’s arm paternally. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. I just want to help if I can.”
Two Mountain Dews seem to help, as does Blaine telling Dave all about the synchronized swimming routine the glee club is practicing for Mr. Schuester’s proposal to Miss Pillsbury, and Dave is finally smiling the smallest bit.
“But I still don’t get how you guys are going to be able sing and swim at the same time,” Dave says, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Well, that’s the challenge, isn’t it?” Blaine claps his hands together happily. He loves the complexity of the whole thing. When he proposes to Kurt one day, he wants it to be even more elaborate. Like, maybe a flash mob with 4,000 people in Time Square.
Dave’s smile grows bigger. “You’re funny.”
Blaine considers. “As in ‘ha-ha’ funny, or funny-looking?”
“As in … cute.” Dave blushes pleasantly; it’s nice to see some of the color coming back to his face. “Not hitting-on-you cute. But, like, puppy-dog cute.”
“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment? I like puppy dogs.”
“It is.”
Settling down at the kitchen bar and starting on Blaine’s geometry seems to cheer Dave up a little further. Still, he’s not as energetic as he usually gets when he talks about foci and a2 and b2 and all that stuff. So Blaine pretends to understand it a little more than he actually does, in hopes that it will make Dave feel good.
It doesn’t work the way Blaine expects it to. “Okay, then,” Dave says with a smirk, pointing to an ellipse in Blaine’s textbook. “Since you got all that so easily, you should be able to show me where the foci are.”
Blaine stares at the ellipse for a moment, then starts scratching out figures in his notebook so it looks like he has some vague idea of what he’s supposed to be doing. He starts with a2 - b2 = c2, and he’s pretty sure it’s the right formula - only he has no idea what numbers to plug in.
He throws the pencil down in surrender, and Dave laughs.
“You’re laughing at my failure to do a math problem? What a tutor you are.”
“No,” Dave says. “I’m laughing because you were faking it. Why would you even do that?”
Blaine shrugs. “I don’t know. I just wanted to make your day easier.”
“Well, don’t. Or at least, not this way. One of the things I like about you is that I don’t have to pretend I’m somebody else with you. So maybe do the same for me?”
Blaine looks at Dave a moment, startled. “You like me?”
Dave laughs, flustered. “Well, not like that.”
“No, but as a friend. You like me as a friend?”
“Um, I’ve been coming to your house two times a week for the last couple months and hanging out with you at Scandals. I think if I didn’t like you I would, you know, stop.”
“Huh.”
“What do you mean, ‘huh’?”
“I don’t know. I guess maybe I thought that the only reason you hung out with me was because you don’t have a whole lot of gay teenagers to choose from. You know, like you keep making out with Sebastian because you think he’s the only guy who will -”
“Oh my god. Do not compare yourself to Sebastian. That’s just -” Dave shudders. “Gross. Also, I do not keep making out with him. I haven’t made out with him in, like, a month.”
Blaine raises his hands in surrender. “Okay. That’s not what he told me, but -”
“You asked him about that?”
“No! He called me the other day to talk about glee club stuff, you know, Warbler-to-Warbler, and it just … I don’t know. It came up somehow.”
Dave huffs. “Okay, well, first of all, the next time he accidentally-on-purpose tries to tell you anything about him and me, hang up on him. And second of all, why are you even taking his calls? You don’t like him, and Kurt sure doesn’t want you talking to him.”
“Kurt doesn’t want you making out with him, either, but you still do it.”
“It’s not any of Kurt’s business who I make out with.” The venom in Dave’s voice could kill a snake. Blaine hasn’t heard him that angry in almost a year - and maybe that should scare Blaine at least a little but, but it doesn’t. It just makes him incredibly sad.
“Um, are you mad at me?”
Dave shakes his head sullenly. “No,” he sighs, rubbing the heels of his hands against his forehead. “Or, well, yes.” He shakes his head. “But not really.” And finally, “Well, maybe a little. I’m just … I get lonely, okay? So I end up doing stupid things with Sebastian. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to talk about it with him like it’s this week’s episode of - I don’t know, some reality show that you and Kurt watch together.” He sinks his chin dejectedly against the palm of his hand.
“I’m sorry,” Blaine says. “You’re right. I should have told Sebastian to go stuff it.”
Dave smiles meekly. “That’s right. You knew how to stand up to me when I was being an asshole. You can stand up to him, too.”
Blaine smiles, because Dave’s smiling, and that’s all he really wants to see. “Okay. Let’s make a deal then. I stop taking Sebastian’s calls, and you stop making out with him.”
“How fair is that? You have, like, a hundred million people to talk to on the phone. I don’t exactly have a hundred million people to make out with.”
“Ha. I’ve seen plenty of guys checking you out at Scandals.”
“Really?” Dave blushes again. He really does look nice with a little color on his cheeks; Blaine should make him blush all the time at Scandals, and then even more guys will take notice.
Blaine nods. “Really.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Blaine shrugs. Sometimes he hasn’t said anything because the guy looks too old; and sometimes it’s because the guy gives off the wrong vibe, all entitled and predatory like Sebastian; and sometimes it’s because Blaine is having too much fun, and he doesn’t feel like losing his friend to the dance floor - which Blaine suddenly realizes is terribly selfish, and not the way a true bro should act. “I don’t know,” he says. “But I will from now on, okay? As long as it keeps you from messing around with Sebastian.”
“Okay,” Dave says. “As long as you stop talking to Sebastian.”
They shake on it.
Blaine gets up to grab Dave another Mountain Dew from the refrigerator. “I wish you didn’t feel lonely, though. I know it’s not the same as having someone to make out with, but as a friend? I want to be there when you need somebody to lean on.” As soon as he says it, the old Bill Withers tune starts running through his head. When Blaine first heard it at the age of seven, he immediately fell in love with it; it was the first time a grown-up song had described exactly the kind of friend he wanted to be. He winks. “Just call on me.”
“Like the song?”
Blaine smiles. “Like the song.”
Blaine tosses the soda can through the air and Dave catches it with impeccable form, setting it on the counter to let the carbonation settle. Dave gazes at it thoughtfully before speaking. “Okay. So - does this mean we’re friends?”
Blaine feels a warm buzz in his heart. “I’m pretty sure it does.”
Dave keeps staring at his soda can. “Because sometimes I feel like maybe you just have, like, temporary amnesia or something, and one day you’re going to wake up and remember that you used to hate me.”
Blaine walks around the counter to sit on the barstool next to Dave’s. “No. I remember everything. It’s just - even when I didn’t like you, even when I was angry at you, I didn’t hate you.” He remembers the first time he met Dave, and how upsetting it was - not so much from the way that Dave shoved him; even then Blaine felt physically safe, because he had learned how to throw punches since his last fight, and because Kurt was there and Dave seemed afraid of him in a way that he wasn’t of Blaine. No, the thing that really freaked Blaine out was that Dave was suffering so obviously, and Kurt was, too, and Blaine failed to do a damn thing about it.
“Why not?” says Dave. “I kind of hated you.”
It hurts to hear it, even though it was obvious from the beginning. So he asks a potentially dangerous question: “Why?”
Dave pops the can open; air hisses out angrily. “You were, like, so earnest. It just seemed too easy for you, to stand there and be like, ‘hey, I’m gay, let’s all be gay together,’ and I just - I couldn’t be. I didn’t know how. Like, for me to stand in front of a stranger and say that - it would be like committing harikari. And you just made it look so painless.”
“Oh, Dave.” Blaine reaches out to touch Dave’s shoulder, because he doesn’t know what else to do.
Dave looks up. “I just wanted things to be as easy for me as they were for you.”
Blaine wonders, in the moment, if he should tell Dave exactly how not easy coming out was for him. But he’s never even told Kurt all of it, so all he says is, “They’re not, you know. Easy for me.”
Dave nods. “I figured that out eventually.”
“Yeah? How?”
“Um, right about the time you shoved me back.”
“Huh.” Blaine scratches the back of his neck. “Because I was angry? I mean, is that how you knew?”
Dave shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I was angry because just breathing sometimes felt hard, so maybe - I guess I figured that might be why you were angry, too. Because things weren’t as easy as you made them look.” He takes a sip of his soda. “I guess anger was the only language I really understood.”
Blaine knows a lot more about that language than most people could guess. He’s wondered, sometimes, if a few things in his life had been different - a twist this way, a turn that way - if he might have ended up a lot like David Karofsky.
Blaine gets up off his chair. “Can I hug you, Dave?”
Dave shrugs. “Um, yes?”
It’s a little awkward at first - not easy the way it is when Blaine’s all bubbly from the energy at Scandals. But after a few breaths, they both relax into it, and Blaine starts to feel the soft glow of Dave’s warmth in his chest and bones. It’s like some long-neglected wound deep inside him is starting to heal.
* * *
Kurt is loose and happy from laughter and the sugar in his mocktails until Sebastian pulls up a chair at their table uninvited, winks cursorily at Dave, leans into Blaine’s ear, and says loud enough for everyone to hear, "Is it hot in here or is it just you?"
Blaine’s a little tipsy, but even so he has the wherewithal to look over at Kurt with a Help me Mr. Darcy look.
So Kurt does. He stands up, grabs Sebastian’s hand, and drags him to the dance floor. He has no plan. He just needs to create some distance between Sebastian and the two most gullible gay guys this side of the Ohio River.
He spins around. Sebastian's eyes are wide, the smirk on his face shifting into … a smile? "You're kind of hot when you're possessive, you know that, Princess?" He puts a hand on Kurt's hip and starts to dance. Kurt goes with it. It will give him time to think. Sebastian leans into Kurt's ear and stage-whispers, "I don't usually approve of your effete sense of style, but your ass actually looks pretty delectable in those pants."
Kurt cocks his head in disdain.
"You know what else would look good on you?” Sebastian adds. “Me."
Kurt runs on instinct refined through years of battle. "Mmmm," he hums, lifting his eyebrow alluringly (he feels a bit bad about using a look he's not sure existed before he knew Blaine) and lowering his voice. Sebastian presses in - much too close, really; Kurt thinks he feels the shadow of Sebastian's cock against his hip. Kurt raises his index finger and drags it down Sebastian's chest. "I can think of something that would look good on you, too," he says, turning his voice into dark chocolate and silk.
"What's that?" Sebastian says, that cocky, overconfident smile spreading over his face like sure poison.
"A pound of honey." Kurt rocks his hips and lets Sebastian drag his hands down over his ass, enjoys the horny gloating on Sebastian's face.
Kurt leans slowly in, unfolds his breath seductively against Sebastian's ear as Sebastian pushes up the hem of Kurt's sweater and starts to fondle the plaid kerchief in his back pocket. He whispers, slow and sultry like molasses, "And a colony of fire ants.”
If it were anyone else, Kurt would be ashamed at the thrill Sebastian's injured look sends through him. As it is, Kurt just turns and struts away, back to Blaine and Dave - who, good boys, have already removed Sebastian's fourth chair from their table - and pulls his chair closer to his sweetheart.
And then the battle-induced rush of adrenaline stops, and Kurt's skin suddenly goes cold. How the hell is he going to explain that?
"What exactly was that?" Blaine says. It's hard to tell if Blaine's more confused or - something else.
"I was just trying to get him away from you," Kurt says sheepishly, "and then I realized he thought I was hitting on him, so I just - went with it. Decided to puff him up a bit before bringing him down. You know, so the fall would be that much harder."
Dave snorts a little beer out his nose.
"I'm sorry," Kurt whispers into Blaine's scalp. Dave apparently takes the lowered tone as a signal for privacy and excuses himself for a round of pool. "That really wasn't appropriate. Not the way Mr. Darcy would have handled things. You must have thought - "
Blaine puts his open palm against Kurt's chest. "Actually, I thought it was hot."
"Seriously?"
Blaine nods slowly. "Um, yeah." Blaine's voice is low and rattled, sending a shiver down Kurt's spine and into his - yeah.
Kurt nestles his lips against Blaine's cheek. "How hot?"
Blaine turns into Kurt's ear, his breath warm as a moan. "Hot enough that I want you to take me home right now and fuck me three different ways."
So that's what Kurt does. They say goodbye to Dave (and Kurt feels kind of bad about that because it’s been a week since he’s spent time with Dave, but at the same time he's horny as hell and he can't have everything at once, now, can he?) and they drive to Blaine's blessedly empty house while Blaine talks excitedly about Kurt fucking Sebastian up against the wall until Sebastian doesn't want anybody else, about Kurt and Taylor Lautner and how Taylor Lautner would look so happy choking on Kurt's dick, about Kurt laying out Chris Coy - no, Braxton Miller - or maybe Zachary Quinto - or wait, how about all three? - and showing them the meaning of sex.
He keeps talking up the stairs and into the bedroom - Leonardo DiCaprio! Donald Glover! Jed Lowrie! Alex Rios! - and Kurt lays him on the bed and fucks his mouth and his thighs and his ass until they both collapse, gulping down air that’s heavy with the sweet scent of sweat and come, and they really should stop now, catch their breath and sleep, but then Blaine starts talking about Kurt riding Matt Cassel (Kurt's not even sure who that is, but he gathers he's a football player, broad-shouldered and muscular and sweaty) and it's dirty - it's so, so dirty - Kurt should be thinking about monogamy and sweet tender lovemaking but there's this surge pressing against him, and he can't hold it back.
The dam bursts open. Kurt is alive and wanted and deliciously dirty, and if he weren't so delirious at the discovery, he'd be a little sad that he's spent so much - too much - of his life trying to be pure and chaste and irreproachable, to hide his desire, to not offend other boys with the impertinence of his looks or his touch.
So Kurt pushes. He opens Blaine's mouth with his lips, draws his tongue along Blaine's palate in a way that makes Blaine shiver and grow hard. Kurt tips Blaine back against the pillows, hovers over Blaine on all fours. "I want you to tell me. More. About what you want."
He kisses Blaine hungrily, his hands wrapped in Blaine's hair, and Blaine moans and he's hard again, just the way Kurt wants him.
"Oh, fuck, Blaine. Show me what you want him to do to me. Show me what you want to see."
Blaine goes at Kurt's body like it's a once-in-a-lifetime chance. He flips Kurt onto his back, gazing at his nipples like they hold the secret of living, then sweeping his mouth everywhere - from chest to navel to the soft skin behind Kurt's knees. He licks Kurt's hole and his cock in quick pulses, in long, languid strokes, sucks on them and teases them with his fingers.
Kurt raises his thigh and Blaine rubs his cock against the back of it. "You feel so good, Kurt. Everything about you is so good. You could make the whole world come."
"Tell me," says Kurt.
"I want you to take him inside you and use him. Kurt, just to be used by you - anyone would be lucky. I'd watch and everything would feel so good and it wouldn't matter if I got to fuck you or be fucked by you or if I got to come. I just want to see you. Everything about you, Kurt, everything."
Kurt grabs Blaine's shoulders and pulls him down, lilting their lips and tongues together, canting his hips up so Blaine can slip his fingers inside, so Kurt can fuck them, make Blaine his. Hot, gorgeous, gentlemanly Blaine, who says such dirty things and makes them sound like sonnets, who takes Kurt’s lust and transforms it into something divine.
And then it's too much to keep kissing, Kurt needs something more, he needs to throw his head back and moan IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou over and over as Blaine sucks on his neck and teases another finger in and Kurt spreads himself impossibly wider and says, "Show me. Show me. Show me how you want me to fuck him."
Blaine hesitantly pulls his fingers out as he rolls onto his back. "Ride me," he whispers. "As slow or as fast as you want. Use me."
Kurt shuffles quickly for the condoms and lube and makes quick work of it before he is above Blaine, slowly lowering, pausing, lowering, pausing over Blaine's cock, incremental and prolonged pleasure.
"Oh, fuck, Blaine," Kurt says, and what he means is I love you.
Kurt can tell that Blaine is trying to hold back, to draw things out, to do everything and anything for him. But Kurt is already so close to the edge, Blaine's cock inside him as warm as a heartbeat, and he can't - he won't - stop himself from bucking and shuddering and chanting Blaine's name. His pale skin has turned pink all over, damp with the sweat of exhilaration, and then he is clenching, clenching so hard and demanding, "Come - come, Blaine," and that is the last straw.
They arch and still violently, all sound and air and sight dropping away, feeling nothing but the forcefulness of pouring themselves out to each other, the way their heads and hearts go weak with it.
Kurt curls around Blaine, avoiding the wet spot on his stomach. He breathes into Blaine's neck, rapid and deep, his chest heaving at first, then slowing to a gentle rise and ebb. "So much," Kurt mutters. "So much." He’s on the edge of sleep immediately. He’s wrung out, emptied of things he didn't even know were inside him. They should clean up. They really ought to clean up. But it's nicer just to lie there, weak and lightheaded.
Blaine turns to kiss Kurt's forehead, and Kurt stirs. "You make me so happy," Kurt mutters, though still not fully awake.
"I'm so glad," Blaine says. "I'm so glad."
* * *
At little after 5 a.m., Kurt wakes up with a start. Blaine has been watching him, blushing and chewing on his lip, going over the events of last night and wondering what he should say about them, how he should say it.
They obviously need to talk.
"Fuck!" Kurt says. "What's today?"
"Um, Saturday.
Kurt hops out of bed and scrambles for his clothes, which are - oops - wrinkled in a pile on the floor.
"Kurt, what's going on?"
"I wasn't -" Kurt starts putting on his shirt before he has his undershirt on. Blaine's never seen him in this much of a frenzy. "I wasn't supposed to fall asleep here last night. Carole's book group is coming over and I promised to make brunch."
Blaine chews his lip. "Okay, so … What, they're coming at 10?"
Kurt nods, peeling off his shirt to put his undershirt on. "10:30."
"So you have five hours. You can definitely make an impressive meal in under five hours, Kurt. I've seen you do it before."
Kurt drops onto the bed to pull his pants up. "But her book group includes campaign donors."
"Didn't your dad already win?"
"The campaign never ends."
Blaine throws back the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "I'll come over and help you."
"No," Kurt says abruptly. "I mean - I'm kind of freaking out, and you know how I treat my kitchen helpers when I'm freaking out."
"Um, yeah. You kind of turn into Gordon Ramsay."
Kurt ties his scarf on over his undershirt and leans over to kiss Blaine on the forehead. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I really am. I meant to tell you last night, but I got a little … distracted."
"Yeah, about that." Blaine scratches the back of his neck. "Maybe we should talk."
"Sure," Kurt says, but he's turning away toward the door, a whirlwind of Kurtness, his shirt wadded up in his hand. "We'll talk about it later."
Blaine watches the door swing shut in Kurt's wake. "That would be great."
*
They don't end up talking about it - not exactly. Blaine tries to bring it up a few times when they're not in the middle of making out, but Kurt always manages to change the subject to something else.
It comes up a lot when they're messing around, though. "Tell me," Kurt says, and Blaine does - not everything, but some of it - the actors and the sports stars and the singers he wants to see Kurt fuck, wants to see fall and worship at Kurt's feet.
They come hard and fast and again and again, and it feels so good, disappearing into Kurt like that, imagining all the things that Kurt could do.
It feels good, but -
They should probably talk.
And Blaine’s sure they will one day, when Kurt stops being so distracting and Blaine can figure out the words to explain it.
* * *
The next time Dave goes to Scandals, it’s on a Wednesday night without Kurt and Blaine. His campaign to get over Kurt hasn’t had the best results so far, but he’s going to keep trying. In 1942 when the Philippines fell into the hands of the Japanese, General MacArthur could have given up all hope for the Pacific front. But he persisted and overcame.
(It will take Dave a couple of days to realize that World War II is a terrible, terrible metaphor for this, and replace it with the comeback that the Detroit Lions made from a 24-point deficit in last October’s game against the Cowboys.)
So he goes and plays pool with the guys he used to play with all the time, back when he first started coming to Scandals. Some guys that Dave doesn't recognize are at the next table, and they all start talking.
And pretty soon Dave is no longer playing pool. He's standing in the corner next to this sweet, bashful member of the Bluffton University football team; and, yes, Bluffton is only Division III - but its running back has a Division I body.
They talk excitedly about the NFL playoffs for a while, and Dave is thinking he could definitely make out and maybe more with this charming Jerry Friesen. But after Dave finishes listing all the statistical support for why he thinks the Ravens could beat the Patriots in the AFC Championship game, and Jerry finishes enthusiastically agreeing, an awkward lull strikes the conversation.
Dave's mind wanders and he fingers the cell phone in his pocket, itching to text Blaine and ask what he and Kurt are up to.
The lull only lasts a minute. Dave reminds himself that he came here to get a life beyond Kurt, so he asks Jerry about his school and his life and Dave has never asked anyone so many questions before, or acted so interested in the answers, and it's sort of exhausting; but every time he's ready to give up he just thinks "What would Blaine do?" and it makes it easier to be the kind of guy that guys like to talk to.
It works, too. Because by the end of the night, he's holding hands with this Jerry guy, and it's warm and solid if maybe a little sweaty, but it feels … good. Not heart-pounding, or even heart-fluttering. But it feels good.
When it's time to go, Jerry walks Dave to his car and kisses him hesitantly on the cheek and Dave turns for more because he wants to see if he can forget, but Jerry ducks his head and says, "It's not that I wouldn't like to, but I'm … old-fashioned, and we haven't really been on a date yet. But I - Maybe we could see each other again? I like you."
So they agree to meet again on Saturday at Scandals to watch the playoffs and Dave wonders if that's a date and - huh. Dave is maybe going on a date, and he should feel nervous and giddy, the way he feels when Kurt taps him on the shoulder to get his attention, or bumps Dave under the table when he crosses his legs, or brushes his fingers as one of them passes a drink to the other. But all he feels is the heavy weight of exhaustion, a lot like what happens when he plays a football game right after recovering from the flu.
Dave stops at a gas station for another Mountain Dew just to make it the 15 minutes home without falling asleep.
*
Apparently, it is a date, because after they watch the game and the Ravens lose, and they watch the other game and the Giants win, Jerry asks Dave to dance. They don’t really touch each other as they dance - it’s not like dancing with Sebastian, which is probably good, because that’s kind of dirty and creepy anyway even when it feels awesome. It’s more like dancing with your friends at one of the popular girls’ bat mitzvahs - it’s fun, but you also feel kind of awkward and hope no one’s looking at you.
After they dance Jerry asks Dave out for a stroll around the bar. It's dark, and small flakes of snow have begun to sporadically fall from the sky, but none of them stick to the ground. Jerry takes Dave's hand and they talk. Jerry talks about growing up in a huge family where faith is a thing that brings people together - and also a horrible, oppressive thing that alienates him from himself; and Dave talks about how the things he used to want from God, he mostly gets from math and football now. (He doesn’t mention friendship; it seems too fragile and intimate to mention.)
"But math is so cold," Jerry says, and Dave's heart drops to his stomach.
When Jerry leans in for a kiss, Dave accepts it. But his heart stays put, heavy and leaden, and when Jerry walks Dave to his car, Dave doesn't invite him in.
*
"How do you do it?" Dave asks, looking up from his linear algebra homework at Blaine, who is conjugating French verbs as they sit together at the kitchen bar.
Blaine leans in and takes a look at the figures Dave has scratched in his notebook. "I have no idea," he says. "You're my math tutor, remember?"
Dave closes his notebook. "Sorry, not that. I've just been … brooding."
"About what?"
"I had …" The words stick to Dave's tongue. He takes a sip of Mountain Dew to loosen them. "I had a date."
Blaine's jaw drops, and then he's jumping off of his stool and tackling Dave with the enthusiasm of a border collie. "Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod," Blaine chants, squeezing all the air out of Dave's lungs. "I can't believe you didn't tell me! How could you not tell me? Make up for it by telling me everything. Now."
If Blaine had a tail, Dave swears it would be wagging.
"Um, I wasn't sure it was a date. I mean, I thought it was, but we just agreed to meet at Scandals, so I thought maybe he'd bring his friends or … I don't know. But I guess it was a date."
"Who!?" Blaine sits back on his stool, but he's still holding onto Dave with one hand, squeezing his arm.
"Um, you haven't met him. He goes to Bluffton. He's on the football team."
"That Mennonite school? They let gay people go there?"
"I don't know. I don't think he's out to many people."
"Does he wear suspenders and that funny black hat?"
Dave rolls his eyes. "You wear suspenders."
"No funny hats, though." Blaine winks. "Just ones that make me look debonair."
"They're not that kind of Mennonite. He explained it to me. I guess there's a lot of kinds and most of them don't actually wear those clothes. They're more like … um, Methodists or something. Except, you know, different."
"Okay. So is he cute?"
Dave blushes. "Yeah."
"And charming?"
Dave shrugs. "He's a gentleman."
Blaine bounces in his seat. "Do you like him?"
"We have a lot in common, but - It's kind of exhausting, getting to know somebody from scratch."
Blaine frowns. "It is?"
Dave nods. "Yeah. I just - How do you act so interested in people all the time?"
"Me, personally?"
"Yeah."
"Um, because they're interesting? I mean, some people are more interesting than others. Like you. You're super-interesting."
Dave snorts.
"No, really," Blaine protests. “I mean, you like football and math and Jane Austen -”
“Oh my god, you and Kurt are never going to forget that, are you?”
Blaine swivels side to side on his stool. “Nope. It’s awesome, and you’re awesome, and that’s why we like you.”
Dave rolls his eyes. "Okay, whatever."
Blaine puts a tentative hand on Dave's wrist. "Maybe you're just an introvert."
"Is that like a pervert? Because you might be right about that."
Blaine scoffs. "No. It's just someone who likes spending time alone, or with one or two people that they feel close to. You know, like Kurt."
"And what are you?"
"I guess I'm an extrovert. I like to get to know lots of people. It's fun. It makes me feel vibrant."
Dave drops his head against the counter. "And how am I supposed to find the love of my life if I don't think that meeting new people is fun?"
Blaine slips his hand down toward Dave's fingers and wraps them in his, the way Dave's dad did when Dave was little and they were about to cross the street together. "Be patient, I guess?" Blaine puts on a disarming smile. "I mean, you hated meeting me, and now I'm one of your favorite people in the whole world."
Dave laughs. "You're so vain."
Blaine bats his eyes. "It's true. You love me."
Dave shakes his head and gives Blaine's hand a final squeeze before letting go. "Yes, it is," he mumbles as he lifts his can of Mountain Dew to his lips, not sure if he wants Blaine to hear.
*
Jerry sends text messages to Dave throughout the week - nice, bland questions about how Dave is doing; comments on the upcoming Super Bowl; and finally, on Friday, a text asking if Dave wants to meet up at Scandals again this Saturday.
Dave doesn’t answer Jerry immediately. First, he texts Blaine: What are you doing this weekend?
Blaine's answer comes immediately. Hanging out with you at S? Unless you have a DATE.
Dave smiles. No date yet. See you tomorrow?
Yes!
Dave thumbs out a text for Jerry. Sorry, have plans to meet friends there. You can join us if you want? They don't bite.
Jerry answers even faster than Blaine. That would be nice. :)
It's only when Dave wakes up the next morning that he realizes that asking a guy to meet your friends could be construed the same way as asking a guy to meet your parents.
Shit.
*
It's awkward. Really. Fucking. Awkward.
Maybe not for Kurt and Blaine and Jerry; but for Dave, it's kind of a living hell. Jerry keeps grabbing Dave's hand under the table, and Blaine keeps giving the two of them doe-eyes and asking Jerry questions and listening to his answers like Jerry is the most fascinating person on the earth. "Wait, so Mennonites are pacifists, but you can play football. Could I keep boxing if I became a Mennonite?" Blaine asks.
Kurt stirs his Shirley Temple. "I think the more fundamental question is whether you could keep being gay if you became a Mennonite, Blaine."
Blaine smiles. “That’s my next question.”
So Blaine and Jerry talk up a storm, and if Blaine likes Jerry, there must be good, redeeming things about him. But Dave can't bring himself to care (though he tries listing some of Jerry's finer points to himself in his head: He's hot. He's polite. He likes football. He's interested in me. He has soft lips. His eyelashes are pretty. He's not like Sebastian. He's not Kurt.)
Kurt looks … bored. Maybe as bored as Dave is. The talk between Blaine and Jerry turns to football, and Kurt rolls his eyes and pulls out his notebook and starts sketching things in it, and Dave raises an eyebrow to silently beg, Show me what you've got there, but Kurt just smiles and shakes his head and keeps moving his pencil along the page, taking a break every now and then to twirl the pencil in his hand. Kurt’s fingers look so agile when he does that, and Dave wonders if Kurt is double-jointed; he almost asks him, but then Jerry squeezes Dave’s hand and Dave remembers he's supposed to be giving a fuck about what his - not boyfriend; suitor, maybe? - is saying.
The worst part of the evening is probably when Blaine gets distracted by Kurt sipping at his Shirley Temple and his eyes go all puppy-doggish and he totally stops talking to Jerry for like twenty whole seconds. Which, fine, that's normal Blaine behavior. The disaster comes when Jerry takes the opportunity to look at Dave the same way and trace his finger along the inside of Dave's wrist and - Shit. Shit shit shit.
Dave stands up so abruptly that he knocks his chair back to the floor. "I'm gonna get some more, um - what do people want to drink?" He looks down at the table and notices that no one's glass is more than half empty. "Or eat? I thought I'd get some pretzels. Or popcorn? Or maybe pizza? I could get pizza."
Jerry gives Dave a confused look - and maybe it's even hurt, but Dave doesn't know him well enough to be sure. Kurt just looks amused, and knowing, and maybe - yes, definitely - sympathetic. "I'm starving," Kurt says. "A slice of cheese would be good if they have it. Pepperoni if they don't."
Dave nods. "Okay. Will do."
He comes back with an entire pizza, which is kind of expensive at bar prices. But the more there is to eat, the less talking or kissing he has to do. He is going to chew very, very slowly.
At the end of the night, Jerry wants to walk Dave to his car. As they all leave the bar, Blaine hugs Jerry and goes on and on about how great he is and how they totally have to meet again, all the while giving Dave a secret thumbs-up behind Jerry's back. Kurt rolls his eyes and shakes his head, silently mouthing, "Oh my god, I am so sorry," at Dave.
"Blaine really likes you," Dave says as they watch him drive off with Kurt. The cold of the night crawls down Dave’s spine. He shivers.
Jerry shrugs. "But you don't."
Fuck. "No, you're great. We have a lot in common - I mean, football and stuff and …" He racks his brain. "Pool. That's how we met. We were both playing pool."
Jerry frowns. "I don't actually like to play pool, though. Or - maybe I do. I don't really know. That night I met you, it was the first time I played it."
Dave drags the toe of his sneaker along the ground. "Maybe it's like that. I just … I just met you. Maybe I just need to get to know you better. Before I know."
Jerry looks down at his feet. "Maybe." He looks like he might cry, if he were the sort of guy to let himself cry. Dave guesses that he isn't.
They're at the car. Dave should say something conciliatory, or they're going to stand there all night. "You're great," he says. What did Blaine tell him? Oh yeah, something about patience. "I just think … we could still hang out? Try to be friends first, and then … see?"
Jerry sighs. "But I already know."
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough." Jerry looks up at Dave with heart eyes, and Dave's stomach turns.
"Actually, you don't," Dave says.
"Yes. I do."
"No." Dave shakes his head vehemently. "You're all, like, church and peace and kindness and I … haven't been. Ask Kurt. He'll be able to tell you plenty of stories about that."
“You seem plenty nice to me,” Jerry says.
Dave tries to stifle the bile rising in his throat. “Is it nice to go around throwing people against lockers just because they look at you the wrong way? Or don’t look at you at all?”
Even in the dark of the night, Dave can see the pallor overtake Jerry's face. "You hurt people? On purpose?"
"It used to be kind of a hobby of mine."
"Oh." Jerry swallows. "Well."
They're silent for a moment, and it's cold, and Dave feels like his fingertips are going to fall off even though they're stuffed deep into the pockets of his parka, and he just wants out of there, wants to erase the whole evening and replace it with time alone with Kurt and Blaine. That would have been hard, too, but it would have been worth it, and it wouldn’t have made him feel sick to his stomach. "I guess I should go," Dave says.
"Sure," Jerry says, and he doesn't lean in to kiss Dave's cheek when Dave opens the car door. He just waves and turns and walks away.
* * *
Blaine is pensive when he steps into Kurt's room from the en suite bathroom, toweling off his hair.
"What's bothering you?" Kurt says.
"I was just thinking," Blaine says, rubbing the towel behind his ears. "I want Dave to fall in love."
Blaine hears a sigh and pulls the towel away from his head. He sees Kurt, then, sitting against the headboard, wrapped in the satin smoking jacket that he made, with an open magazine on his lap. The smoking jacket emulates the shape of Kurt's torso, skirting Kurt's thighs in a wicked, teasing hide-and-seek. Blaine feels himself growing hard in his pajama pants, and it takes a moment to realize that Kurt is talking, and that Blaine started the conversation, and that he should really, really listen.
"I take it this is about Jerry Friesen?"
Blaine nods his head. "Sort of."
Kurt frowns and flips a page. "There doesn't seem to be much chemistry there. At least, not from Dave's side."
"Yeah, I don't understand it. Jerry is good-looking, right?" Blaine hangs the towel on a hook next to the vanity.
Kurt nods.
Blaine crawls onto the bed. "I mean, even Dave said so. And he's nice, and plays football, and it's kind of interesting that he's a pacifist. And he looks at Dave like - It's so cute, the way he looks at Dave. It reminds me of the way I look at you."
"You don't know what you look like when you look at me."
Blaine ducks down and kisses Kurt, sweet and lingering. "I know the way I feel, though." He kisses Kurt again. "Actually, come to think of it, Jerry is pretty hot. Did you see his forearms?"
"Hmmm," Kurt says. "You want to watch me fuck him? That might make things awkward with Dave, even if Dave's not interested in him."
Blaine blushes. "Not Jerry."
Kurt cocks his head. "Who, then?"
"Mmmm." Blaine traces his finger along the blanket. There is someone he's thinking of, but can't bring himself to say. "You could just fuck me tonight."
Kurt rubs Blaine's shoulder. "So vanilla."
"I could try being dirty if you want." Blaine uses that word even though thinking about Kurt with other guys doesn’t actually feel dirty to him. It feels erotic, and charged and - well, going to church and doing yoga never felt very transcendent to Blaine, but something about this does. He doesn’t know a word that summarizes all these things, though, and even if he did, he’d probably be afraid to use it - so instead he opts for dirty, because it’s a word that Kurt used once to refer to what they’ve started to do, and even if it’s not the right one, at least they both have an idea of what it means.
"No. I like vanilla, too." Kurt smiles.
Blaine squints his eyes. "Yeah?"
So they start together, just the two of them. This can be transcendent, too.
*
Afterward, Kurt sighs and buries his face into Blaine's neck. Blaine loves this feeling of being so close, not sure whether the hair tickling his neck is his or Kurt's. It’s not until Kurt brushes a hand over his now-dry hair and says, "Mmm, it's so much better than shearling," that Blaine realizes he never put gel in his hair after his shower. He waits for panic to creep into his stomach, but it doesn't. He's with Kurt, and he's safe.
Blaine's last thought as he falls asleep is Dave should feel this safe, too.