Weekend 3/4
Title: The Weekend 3/4
Genre: Futurefic
Pairing: Kurt/Karofsky, Kurt/Blaine, Karofsky/OMC (implied)
Author: chase65
Rating: Rish
Warnings: AU sort of, Futurefic, language, mild sex
Disclaimer:So not mine. I don't even know how this happened.
Summary:They're in Los Angeles. Kurt has an unexpected 'run in'.
A/N: I so wanted to get this whole fic done before the new season started, and then during the baseball hiatus and before Dave came back. Alas, that did not happen, but Thanksgiving break is the charm. I haven't seen and am unspoiled for any episodes after 'Pot o' Gold'. It's not really relevant to this part, but the fic was started before the clarification as to who was a soph, junior etc. Though I have covered myself with this as an AU.
First part here http://karofsky-hummel.livejournal.com/288001.html?thread=5746945#t5746945
Second part here http://karofsky-hummel.livejournal.com/416208.html#cutid1
Saturday
Kurt Hummel is his father's son. He has inherited his father's work ethic. It doesn't matter that their businesses are diametrically opposed. He knows that as a small business owner you have to keep a firm grasp on all aspects of your business. You do not show up two hours after the doors are supposed to open. Even if there is a trusted employee to unlock the doors on time. You do not take two days to finish preliminary remodel plans, especially when that delay means rescheduling the appointment with the contractor. An appointment that's been on his calendar for three months. It sets a bad precedent. A bad example. As Burt Hummel's son this kind of behavior is not even in his dna. Except.
Saturday morning finds him bright eyed, focused and properly moisturized. Kurt sets his mind on getting to the boutique before Marcus and finishing the sketches for the remodel by the end of the day, excelling at the things that made his father both happy and proud to co-sign his small business loan. His mind somersaults over the reason, he hasn't been his best self the last couple of days.
It jétés over the fact, that while two scrubbings with a vanilla mango bodywash got rid of the smell of another man on his skin and vigorous brushing and rinsing got rid of the taste on his tongue, nothing can really be done to unsee the way Karofsky looked at him. Nothing can be done to unknow Karofsky's gentleness or the depth of his desire.
With a smile of apology, he'd joined Marcus on the sale's floor. Not that Marcus was particularly upset with Kurt. He worked the floor of the boutique like it was his very own pickup spot. While never inappropriate with the customers or never more inappropriate than an individual customer would allow, the customers, gay, straight and everything in between all seemed to fall for him in some way. A feature in the LA Weekly People issue a few weeks prior, coupled with the beginnings of summer kept a steady stream of people coming through the boutique's doors.
Having spent most of Friday on the floor, Kurt was beyond exhausted when he'd closed up for the day. Before turning in for the night, he'd checked his phone. There were no messages from Blaine. And he hadn't found a minute in the day to call him.
Smoothing just a little more product through his hair, Kurt checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The scarf at his neck, a preview sample of the variations in lime he hopes to introduce in the fall. He's gathered his bag and keys when there is an insistent knock on his door. Kurt rolls his eyes. The UPS and Fedex guys are always so impatient. But his regular delivery guys look delectable in their shorts so Kurt always lets it go.
He doesn't bother to look through his peephole, bad habit because of the aforementioned UPS and Fedex men in short pants, so his brain stutters at reconciling what's actually on his doorstep. Blinking doesn't clear the image.
In the doorway, Karofsky smiles at him shyly. All Kurt can do is stare at the green stalks of birds of paradise in Karofsky's hand. Clutched in the hands of someone smaller, they would look utterly ridiculous. In Karofsky's hands they look only slightly ridiculous. Kurt tries again. He squeezes his eyes shut.
It doesn't help. Karofsky thrust his handful at Kurt.
"I got these for you."
On reflex, Kurt sticks his hand out to accept them. The received handful is unwieldy, thicker than the stems of flowers would be, slightly heavier than Kurt would have guessed. They haven't opened yet. As he bobbles the four stalks, trying to get a decent grip, Karofsky reaches out to steady his wrist. Though he hadn't left any marks on Kurt the day before, his fingers slot in exactly the same place. Like they belong there.
"I should put these in a vase. If I even have a vase this size."
It's not meant as an invitation, but when he turns away from the door, Karofsky steps in behind him. As the front door snicks closed, unexpected anticipation spikes in Kurt's stomach.
"These are quite...it's certainly not your typical bouquet is it? I mean birds of paradise. They're really -"
"They seemed different, but in a cool way, like you. The way you've always been." Karofsky says softly. So soft, a caress. Kurt falters. Karofsky breathes behind him. Not exactly on his heels, but close. Too close.
"I have a pasta canister that might be tall enough I think." Kurt tosses over his shoulder as he darts into the safety of the kitchen.
Blaine did most of the cooking when they lived together. Pasta dishes were his specialty. On Blaine's birthday three years ago, Kurt gave him a set of ocean blue ceramic canisters from Sur La Table. Rummaging through the cabinets, Kurt finds the tallest of the set. It's sturdy enough, just the right height to hold Karofsky's offering without tipping over.
As Kurt undoes the lid, it occurs to him that it is probably the first time he's opened the canister since Blaine moved out. Without a second thought, he dumps the stale contents into the garbage disposal. It takes just a moment for Kurt to run a little bit of water and 'arrange' the birds of paradise. Though not much can really be done in the way of arranging. They're nearly as awkward in the makeshift vase as they were in his hands.
He'll probably need to get a ribbon to tie around the bottoms to hold them together, but for now each one sort of leans against a different side of the canister. Kurt can't help but smile at the work in his hands. They do have a certain charm. It strikes him that he can work their color palette into the fall collection. The purples and orange of the blooms, when they bloom will make a nice contrast to the lime variations. And the pomegranate he's been considering adding.
He's stalling. Karofsky brought him 'flowers' and he's stalling. Karofsky is in his living room, doing gaga knows what. The reality of the presence forcing Kurt to do what he should not be doing. He thinks of the banded short sleeves of the white Gap T Karofsky's wearing. It accentuates his biceps, making Kurt flash on what it felt like to be surrounded by those arms and the passion of the body attached.
Tamping down his errant thoughts, Kurt steps into the dining area. Pushing aside the sketches strewn on the table, he sets the bird of paradise in the center of the table. He fusses with the placement, stalling just that bit more to avoid looking at the man in his living room.
"You're still with this guy?" Kurt can't identify the tone. Looking up, he finds Karofsky's gaze fixed on a framed picture of him and Blaine taken at the boutique opening.
"We lived together." Karofsky looks at Kurt with a bleakness that's more than Kurt can deal with at the moment.
"He has his own bungalow in Los Feliz." The truth, but a deliberate omission as well. A little of the bleakness leeches away, but doesn't fully dissipate. Unable to continue looking at Karofsky's eyes, of it's own volition, Kurt's gaze flicks to Karofsky's arms. Oh, skitters through Kurt's mind, I have a kink. His body sways slightly towards the other man.
"Kurt -." Desire.
Kurt's eyes snap up to meet the other man's. Everything Kurt scrubbed away the day before comes back with a vengeance. No. Not again, not now.
“I need to talk to a farmer about pomegranates.” Kurt grabs his keys, his satchel and sails to his front door. He's got to get Karofsky out of his apartment. It's become more than apparent that it's a bad idea for the two of them to be alone. It takes a couple seconds, Karofsky doesn't follow right on his heels. After a few seconds of Kurt jingling his keys from the doorway, Karofsky does put the picture down and follow Kurt out into the hallway. The immediate problem solved. At least two of his neighbors walk their dogs in the morning and it's a good chance one of them might pass by any second. It's safe. He won't touch Karofsky and Karfosky won't touch him. Not in public. Karofsky says nothing, just hovers as Kurt puts his keys back in his bag.
ʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚ
The weekly neighborhood farmer's market is only a couple of blocks away from his apartment. Kurt has been thinking of sourcing materials from local growers for use in his store displays. In recent weeks he's gotten a little fixated on using the red orange hue of pomegranates as the counterpoint to the greens. He may need to buy them by the crate fully to foster his vision.
He's not sure what he expected to happen, maybe for Karfosky to leave. That isn't what happens. Instead, when Kurt makes the left turn outside his complex's front door in the direction of the market, Karofsky makes the turn with him. Kurt hopes for the possibility that Karofsky has just parked his car on the same street, and that he still might leave, He remains no more than a foot behind, on the side of Kurt closest to the street. A memory pops into Kurt's head. His parents' after dinner walks, his father always taking the side closest to the street. The memory nearly makes Kurt stop in his tracks.
The market is standard issue Saturday crowded, families, hipsters, hipster families, average joes. Usually at least one person in the mish mash is wearing one of Kurt's scarves. Those sightings give him a warm glow. Today twenty people could walk by in one of them right now and it would barely register.
His unexpected morning visitor is still with him. Kurt walks as briskly as he can get away with without knocking anyone down. Not that it matters. Karofsky is more than able to match Kurt's stride. In spite of his bulk, he glides easily around the market goers. More agile than Kurt had ever given him credit for. Karofsky could probably overtake Kurt, but he doesn't seem to be interested in that.
The hope that the other man would peel off and perhaps go to a parked car on the street before they got to the market withers. When Kurt pauses at a booth that sells artisan breads so does Karofsky. Kurt isn't going to be able to shake him so there's no point at the moment expending any energy on it. He's neglected his professional responsibilities enough. He knows that he could simply ask Karofsky to go, but he won't. It would be bad form. He's already accepted the man's bird of paradise.
ʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚ
At the Sky Farms booth, he finds pomegranates that are just the right shade of reddish orange. Maybe Karofsky will get bored with the minutiae of Kurt's discussion with the grower of the logistics of the amount of pomegranates he guestimates he'll need and wander away. As Kurt and the grower talk rates, crates, seasons and delivery windows, Karofsky's hand slides down Kurt's arm, slips into his hand so that their fingers entwine. Kurt feels proud of the lack of falter in his voice as he negotiates a bulk discount. The deal sealed with a handshake, the grower moves away to help another customer.
“I need to pick up some trail mix,” Karofsky says matter of factly. He tugs just enough to indicate he wants Kurt to come with him, that he has no intention of letting go of Kurt's hand.
“Um, okay.” Which is the wrong response from a professionally responsible businessman. But that version of Kurt seems to have only put in an appearance long enough for to close a deal on fruit. The version that had sex with Karofsky can't help himself. Can't help the tingle and rush of heat that runs through him at the contact, at the hint of possession.
As the five pounds of trail mix gets scooped and measured, Karofsky smiles at Kurt like this is something they've done every Saturday for years. It's a smile that make's Kurt's stomach flip. Without thinking, he strokes his thumb along the side of Kafosky's hand in response.
ʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚ
At the coffee shop on the edge of the farmer's market, the server has barely placed Kurt's iced chocolatisimo and Karofsky's lemonade on the table before Kurt blurts, ”You have a boyfriend.” It startles him. What he should have said was “I " have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend and spontaneous sex, birds of paradise and handholding are not on the table. But it's too late to backtrack.
A series of emotions flick across Karofsky's face before it settles into a kind of blankness. His gaze drops to the cafe's wood grain table. Despite the fact that virtually all of the tables are occupied, the room a noisy din of people taking a break from walking the market, when Karofsky speaks, his voice is a soft intimate rumble for Kurt's ears alone. Kurt leans in just a little.
”When I first got here, I went to this bar on Santa Monica, found it online. I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted to get it over with you know. I just wanted, I needed...But when I got inside, it was overwhelming, loud. All those guys. I know guys can be...," he makes a squeezing gesture in the air, "but it's different being on the receiving end. A lot different from Lima. Kind of freaked me out."
Kurt nods his head quietly in recognition. He'd known things would be different in Los Angeles. Expected it. But when he and Blaine had gotten to town, the actual feel of being in the city was completely apart from anything he'd imagined. He encountered his own share of men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. It had been kind of a revelation. He could absolutely see how that would freak someone like Karofsky out.
”So I pretty much just sat at the bar for most of the night. Jamie came on shift about an hour after I got there. He...at first, I thought...," Karofsky looks at Kurt helplessly, before shifting his eyes back to the tabletop.
“He talked to me in between pouring for other people. I could barely talk to him, but I waited for him after last call. I don't think I could have walked away. We made it as far as my truck. ” Karofsky's cheeks flame red. “Then he took me home.”
Karofsky shrugs as if to indicate the rest is history. Kurt supposes it is. He's seen it in his store, at Karofsky's apartment. “I don't have a type. It's...Jamie is a great guy. He really, I don't know what would have happened to me without him. When I came out here, I thought...it's the opposite end of the country. I thought I could have a life out here. Figure some things out. Start fresh. Forget McKinley. You weren't supposed to be here.”
Kurt understands that completely. Karofsky isn't supposed to be here either. Or anywhere really other than Lima. Kurt had thought Karofsky was likely to live a closeted life in Lima, with sad furtive hook-ups and dying alone without anyone ever really knowing him. Instead, he's living openly with a guy who looks like Kurt and initiating public handholding. He's is in Kurt's life again making more indelible marks on his skin.
”Karofsky."
Karofsky looks right at him. Not at the people buying things at the booths outside the window, not at random customers at the counter. Not at the tabletop. At him.
"Can you...? It's David. Out here people call me David." He has a different life out here, like Kurt, with people who don't know anything about slushies, letter jacketed menace or prom kings. People who look at them sitting across the table and don't see anything amiss. Kurt wonders if any of the other customers can tell what they've done together, just how close they've been in the last couple of days. His cheeks heat with the flush of memory. Butterflies do a little dance in his stomach.
"David." That's as far as Kurt gets. It's not that he doesn't know what to say. It's that there might be too much. It's David who walked into his clothing store two days ago. It's David who made him come, who brought him day after “flowers” and has no qualms holding his hand in public. The butterflies flare into a heat much lower, as David's green eyes never leave his face.
”I don't have a type Kurt." Somehow it escaped Kurt's attention that the other man is trailing his index finger against the back of the hand Kurt's got wrapped around his drink. He would never have expected Karof - David to be this kind of aggressive. But he guesses that's the point. Jamie's done good work. David is the man to Karofsky's boy. There's very little defense against it.
"I know.”
Kurt's hand slides from around his drink away from the touch. "I need to make a call.." He's going to be late. Again.
”What's his name," is Marcus' greeting.
“I'm so sorry. I'll be there in about an hour.” Marcus laughs and hangs up on him.
They don't linger at the table. On the walk back to Kurt's apartment, instead of walking one behind the other they walk side by side. There's no talking, no hand holding this time. But David walks on the side closest to the street.
Just before they reach the entrance to Kurt's complex, David stops him with a light pull on his sleeve. There's no point in offering even token resistance. They're much beyond that now.
“Fancy.” The voice dropped down to a purr. A part of Kurt thinks he should maybe ask David not to call him that. But the tone that wraps around the word when David says it, it only makes Kurt want to say yes.
Perhaps Fancy is the kind of guy who would get David off in the apartment the other man shares with his boyfriend, that would kiss David in the middle of a Los Angeles sidewalk with abandon. Kurt splays his finger around David's bicep. Already there's a place on the other man's body he likes to hold. Kurt's fingers tighten under the band of David's t-shirt. Knuckles press gently against his cheek in response. And for all the strength in the large, firm hand against his back, the mouth that descends on Kurt's is a gentle, easy fit.
Kurt had taken to heart the sex talk his dad gave him when he was in high school. As a result, he'd never felt weird that Blaine was the only guy he'd been with. The teasing sometimes from Finn, and Marcus, especially about his lack of conquests rolls right off his back. He's done his share of flirting, but that's the line in the sand.
He doesn't know what this is with David exactly. He doesn't know what it means. They have a shared history that backdrops what's happening now. As he gives himself up to the passion of the kiss, to his own desire for the sensual slide of David's tongue against his own, he does know that it's not just about sex. When they both need to breathe, David rests his forehead against Kurt's.
“I guess you need to go to work.”
Kurt let's go of the pieces of t-shirt material clutched in his hand. “This really is no way to run a business. My dad would be appalled.” David laughs, deep and rich. Kurt likes it.
“It's really cool that you have your own business.”
David's lips brush across Kurt's temple as he drags his hand slowly away from the bare skin of Kurt's back. The words of praise make Kurt shiver. No, not just about sex at all. When David walks away from him, he walks backwards, grin plastered across his face, until Kurt can no longer see him. He can feel a ridiculously stupid grin spreading across his own face.
Kurt makes one more call before he heads for the boutique.
“Hi Blaine, it's me. Can you meet me tomorrow morning at Hop, around 10." He disconnects, then texts the message for good measure.
End Part 3
Genre: Futurefic
Pairing: Kurt/Karofsky, Kurt/Blaine, Karofsky/OMC (implied)
Author: chase65
Rating: Rish
Warnings: AU sort of, Futurefic, language, mild sex
Disclaimer:So not mine. I don't even know how this happened.
Summary:They're in Los Angeles. Kurt has an unexpected 'run in'.
A/N: I so wanted to get this whole fic done before the new season started, and then during the baseball hiatus and before Dave came back. Alas, that did not happen, but Thanksgiving break is the charm. I haven't seen and am unspoiled for any episodes after 'Pot o' Gold'. It's not really relevant to this part, but the fic was started before the clarification as to who was a soph, junior etc. Though I have covered myself with this as an AU.
First part here http://karofsky-hummel.livejournal.com/288001.html?thread=5746945#t5746945
Second part here http://karofsky-hummel.livejournal.com/416208.html#cutid1
Saturday
Kurt Hummel is his father's son. He has inherited his father's work ethic. It doesn't matter that their businesses are diametrically opposed. He knows that as a small business owner you have to keep a firm grasp on all aspects of your business. You do not show up two hours after the doors are supposed to open. Even if there is a trusted employee to unlock the doors on time. You do not take two days to finish preliminary remodel plans, especially when that delay means rescheduling the appointment with the contractor. An appointment that's been on his calendar for three months. It sets a bad precedent. A bad example. As Burt Hummel's son this kind of behavior is not even in his dna. Except.
Saturday morning finds him bright eyed, focused and properly moisturized. Kurt sets his mind on getting to the boutique before Marcus and finishing the sketches for the remodel by the end of the day, excelling at the things that made his father both happy and proud to co-sign his small business loan. His mind somersaults over the reason, he hasn't been his best self the last couple of days.
It jétés over the fact, that while two scrubbings with a vanilla mango bodywash got rid of the smell of another man on his skin and vigorous brushing and rinsing got rid of the taste on his tongue, nothing can really be done to unsee the way Karofsky looked at him. Nothing can be done to unknow Karofsky's gentleness or the depth of his desire.
With a smile of apology, he'd joined Marcus on the sale's floor. Not that Marcus was particularly upset with Kurt. He worked the floor of the boutique like it was his very own pickup spot. While never inappropriate with the customers or never more inappropriate than an individual customer would allow, the customers, gay, straight and everything in between all seemed to fall for him in some way. A feature in the LA Weekly People issue a few weeks prior, coupled with the beginnings of summer kept a steady stream of people coming through the boutique's doors.
Having spent most of Friday on the floor, Kurt was beyond exhausted when he'd closed up for the day. Before turning in for the night, he'd checked his phone. There were no messages from Blaine. And he hadn't found a minute in the day to call him.
Smoothing just a little more product through his hair, Kurt checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The scarf at his neck, a preview sample of the variations in lime he hopes to introduce in the fall. He's gathered his bag and keys when there is an insistent knock on his door. Kurt rolls his eyes. The UPS and Fedex guys are always so impatient. But his regular delivery guys look delectable in their shorts so Kurt always lets it go.
He doesn't bother to look through his peephole, bad habit because of the aforementioned UPS and Fedex men in short pants, so his brain stutters at reconciling what's actually on his doorstep. Blinking doesn't clear the image.
In the doorway, Karofsky smiles at him shyly. All Kurt can do is stare at the green stalks of birds of paradise in Karofsky's hand. Clutched in the hands of someone smaller, they would look utterly ridiculous. In Karofsky's hands they look only slightly ridiculous. Kurt tries again. He squeezes his eyes shut.
It doesn't help. Karofsky thrust his handful at Kurt.
"I got these for you."
On reflex, Kurt sticks his hand out to accept them. The received handful is unwieldy, thicker than the stems of flowers would be, slightly heavier than Kurt would have guessed. They haven't opened yet. As he bobbles the four stalks, trying to get a decent grip, Karofsky reaches out to steady his wrist. Though he hadn't left any marks on Kurt the day before, his fingers slot in exactly the same place. Like they belong there.
"I should put these in a vase. If I even have a vase this size."
It's not meant as an invitation, but when he turns away from the door, Karofsky steps in behind him. As the front door snicks closed, unexpected anticipation spikes in Kurt's stomach.
"These are quite...it's certainly not your typical bouquet is it? I mean birds of paradise. They're really -"
"They seemed different, but in a cool way, like you. The way you've always been." Karofsky says softly. So soft, a caress. Kurt falters. Karofsky breathes behind him. Not exactly on his heels, but close. Too close.
"I have a pasta canister that might be tall enough I think." Kurt tosses over his shoulder as he darts into the safety of the kitchen.
Blaine did most of the cooking when they lived together. Pasta dishes were his specialty. On Blaine's birthday three years ago, Kurt gave him a set of ocean blue ceramic canisters from Sur La Table. Rummaging through the cabinets, Kurt finds the tallest of the set. It's sturdy enough, just the right height to hold Karofsky's offering without tipping over.
As Kurt undoes the lid, it occurs to him that it is probably the first time he's opened the canister since Blaine moved out. Without a second thought, he dumps the stale contents into the garbage disposal. It takes just a moment for Kurt to run a little bit of water and 'arrange' the birds of paradise. Though not much can really be done in the way of arranging. They're nearly as awkward in the makeshift vase as they were in his hands.
He'll probably need to get a ribbon to tie around the bottoms to hold them together, but for now each one sort of leans against a different side of the canister. Kurt can't help but smile at the work in his hands. They do have a certain charm. It strikes him that he can work their color palette into the fall collection. The purples and orange of the blooms, when they bloom will make a nice contrast to the lime variations. And the pomegranate he's been considering adding.
He's stalling. Karofsky brought him 'flowers' and he's stalling. Karofsky is in his living room, doing gaga knows what. The reality of the presence forcing Kurt to do what he should not be doing. He thinks of the banded short sleeves of the white Gap T Karofsky's wearing. It accentuates his biceps, making Kurt flash on what it felt like to be surrounded by those arms and the passion of the body attached.
Tamping down his errant thoughts, Kurt steps into the dining area. Pushing aside the sketches strewn on the table, he sets the bird of paradise in the center of the table. He fusses with the placement, stalling just that bit more to avoid looking at the man in his living room.
"You're still with this guy?" Kurt can't identify the tone. Looking up, he finds Karofsky's gaze fixed on a framed picture of him and Blaine taken at the boutique opening.
"We lived together." Karofsky looks at Kurt with a bleakness that's more than Kurt can deal with at the moment.
"He has his own bungalow in Los Feliz." The truth, but a deliberate omission as well. A little of the bleakness leeches away, but doesn't fully dissipate. Unable to continue looking at Karofsky's eyes, of it's own volition, Kurt's gaze flicks to Karofsky's arms. Oh, skitters through Kurt's mind, I have a kink. His body sways slightly towards the other man.
"Kurt -." Desire.
Kurt's eyes snap up to meet the other man's. Everything Kurt scrubbed away the day before comes back with a vengeance. No. Not again, not now.
“I need to talk to a farmer about pomegranates.” Kurt grabs his keys, his satchel and sails to his front door. He's got to get Karofsky out of his apartment. It's become more than apparent that it's a bad idea for the two of them to be alone. It takes a couple seconds, Karofsky doesn't follow right on his heels. After a few seconds of Kurt jingling his keys from the doorway, Karofsky does put the picture down and follow Kurt out into the hallway. The immediate problem solved. At least two of his neighbors walk their dogs in the morning and it's a good chance one of them might pass by any second. It's safe. He won't touch Karofsky and Karfosky won't touch him. Not in public. Karofsky says nothing, just hovers as Kurt puts his keys back in his bag.
ʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚ
The weekly neighborhood farmer's market is only a couple of blocks away from his apartment. Kurt has been thinking of sourcing materials from local growers for use in his store displays. In recent weeks he's gotten a little fixated on using the red orange hue of pomegranates as the counterpoint to the greens. He may need to buy them by the crate fully to foster his vision.
He's not sure what he expected to happen, maybe for Karfosky to leave. That isn't what happens. Instead, when Kurt makes the left turn outside his complex's front door in the direction of the market, Karofsky makes the turn with him. Kurt hopes for the possibility that Karofsky has just parked his car on the same street, and that he still might leave, He remains no more than a foot behind, on the side of Kurt closest to the street. A memory pops into Kurt's head. His parents' after dinner walks, his father always taking the side closest to the street. The memory nearly makes Kurt stop in his tracks.
The market is standard issue Saturday crowded, families, hipsters, hipster families, average joes. Usually at least one person in the mish mash is wearing one of Kurt's scarves. Those sightings give him a warm glow. Today twenty people could walk by in one of them right now and it would barely register.
His unexpected morning visitor is still with him. Kurt walks as briskly as he can get away with without knocking anyone down. Not that it matters. Karofsky is more than able to match Kurt's stride. In spite of his bulk, he glides easily around the market goers. More agile than Kurt had ever given him credit for. Karofsky could probably overtake Kurt, but he doesn't seem to be interested in that.
The hope that the other man would peel off and perhaps go to a parked car on the street before they got to the market withers. When Kurt pauses at a booth that sells artisan breads so does Karofsky. Kurt isn't going to be able to shake him so there's no point at the moment expending any energy on it. He's neglected his professional responsibilities enough. He knows that he could simply ask Karofsky to go, but he won't. It would be bad form. He's already accepted the man's bird of paradise.
ʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚ
At the Sky Farms booth, he finds pomegranates that are just the right shade of reddish orange. Maybe Karofsky will get bored with the minutiae of Kurt's discussion with the grower of the logistics of the amount of pomegranates he guestimates he'll need and wander away. As Kurt and the grower talk rates, crates, seasons and delivery windows, Karofsky's hand slides down Kurt's arm, slips into his hand so that their fingers entwine. Kurt feels proud of the lack of falter in his voice as he negotiates a bulk discount. The deal sealed with a handshake, the grower moves away to help another customer.
“I need to pick up some trail mix,” Karofsky says matter of factly. He tugs just enough to indicate he wants Kurt to come with him, that he has no intention of letting go of Kurt's hand.
“Um, okay.” Which is the wrong response from a professionally responsible businessman. But that version of Kurt seems to have only put in an appearance long enough for to close a deal on fruit. The version that had sex with Karofsky can't help himself. Can't help the tingle and rush of heat that runs through him at the contact, at the hint of possession.
As the five pounds of trail mix gets scooped and measured, Karofsky smiles at Kurt like this is something they've done every Saturday for years. It's a smile that make's Kurt's stomach flip. Without thinking, he strokes his thumb along the side of Kafosky's hand in response.
ʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚʚ
At the coffee shop on the edge of the farmer's market, the server has barely placed Kurt's iced chocolatisimo and Karofsky's lemonade on the table before Kurt blurts, ”You have a boyfriend.” It startles him. What he should have said was “I " have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend and spontaneous sex, birds of paradise and handholding are not on the table. But it's too late to backtrack.
A series of emotions flick across Karofsky's face before it settles into a kind of blankness. His gaze drops to the cafe's wood grain table. Despite the fact that virtually all of the tables are occupied, the room a noisy din of people taking a break from walking the market, when Karofsky speaks, his voice is a soft intimate rumble for Kurt's ears alone. Kurt leans in just a little.
”When I first got here, I went to this bar on Santa Monica, found it online. I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted to get it over with you know. I just wanted, I needed...But when I got inside, it was overwhelming, loud. All those guys. I know guys can be...," he makes a squeezing gesture in the air, "but it's different being on the receiving end. A lot different from Lima. Kind of freaked me out."
Kurt nods his head quietly in recognition. He'd known things would be different in Los Angeles. Expected it. But when he and Blaine had gotten to town, the actual feel of being in the city was completely apart from anything he'd imagined. He encountered his own share of men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. It had been kind of a revelation. He could absolutely see how that would freak someone like Karofsky out.
”So I pretty much just sat at the bar for most of the night. Jamie came on shift about an hour after I got there. He...at first, I thought...," Karofsky looks at Kurt helplessly, before shifting his eyes back to the tabletop.
“He talked to me in between pouring for other people. I could barely talk to him, but I waited for him after last call. I don't think I could have walked away. We made it as far as my truck. ” Karofsky's cheeks flame red. “Then he took me home.”
Karofsky shrugs as if to indicate the rest is history. Kurt supposes it is. He's seen it in his store, at Karofsky's apartment. “I don't have a type. It's...Jamie is a great guy. He really, I don't know what would have happened to me without him. When I came out here, I thought...it's the opposite end of the country. I thought I could have a life out here. Figure some things out. Start fresh. Forget McKinley. You weren't supposed to be here.”
Kurt understands that completely. Karofsky isn't supposed to be here either. Or anywhere really other than Lima. Kurt had thought Karofsky was likely to live a closeted life in Lima, with sad furtive hook-ups and dying alone without anyone ever really knowing him. Instead, he's living openly with a guy who looks like Kurt and initiating public handholding. He's is in Kurt's life again making more indelible marks on his skin.
”Karofsky."
Karofsky looks right at him. Not at the people buying things at the booths outside the window, not at random customers at the counter. Not at the tabletop. At him.
"Can you...? It's David. Out here people call me David." He has a different life out here, like Kurt, with people who don't know anything about slushies, letter jacketed menace or prom kings. People who look at them sitting across the table and don't see anything amiss. Kurt wonders if any of the other customers can tell what they've done together, just how close they've been in the last couple of days. His cheeks heat with the flush of memory. Butterflies do a little dance in his stomach.
"David." That's as far as Kurt gets. It's not that he doesn't know what to say. It's that there might be too much. It's David who walked into his clothing store two days ago. It's David who made him come, who brought him day after “flowers” and has no qualms holding his hand in public. The butterflies flare into a heat much lower, as David's green eyes never leave his face.
”I don't have a type Kurt." Somehow it escaped Kurt's attention that the other man is trailing his index finger against the back of the hand Kurt's got wrapped around his drink. He would never have expected Karof - David to be this kind of aggressive. But he guesses that's the point. Jamie's done good work. David is the man to Karofsky's boy. There's very little defense against it.
"I know.”
Kurt's hand slides from around his drink away from the touch. "I need to make a call.." He's going to be late. Again.
”What's his name," is Marcus' greeting.
“I'm so sorry. I'll be there in about an hour.” Marcus laughs and hangs up on him.
They don't linger at the table. On the walk back to Kurt's apartment, instead of walking one behind the other they walk side by side. There's no talking, no hand holding this time. But David walks on the side closest to the street.
Just before they reach the entrance to Kurt's complex, David stops him with a light pull on his sleeve. There's no point in offering even token resistance. They're much beyond that now.
“Fancy.” The voice dropped down to a purr. A part of Kurt thinks he should maybe ask David not to call him that. But the tone that wraps around the word when David says it, it only makes Kurt want to say yes.
Perhaps Fancy is the kind of guy who would get David off in the apartment the other man shares with his boyfriend, that would kiss David in the middle of a Los Angeles sidewalk with abandon. Kurt splays his finger around David's bicep. Already there's a place on the other man's body he likes to hold. Kurt's fingers tighten under the band of David's t-shirt. Knuckles press gently against his cheek in response. And for all the strength in the large, firm hand against his back, the mouth that descends on Kurt's is a gentle, easy fit.
Kurt had taken to heart the sex talk his dad gave him when he was in high school. As a result, he'd never felt weird that Blaine was the only guy he'd been with. The teasing sometimes from Finn, and Marcus, especially about his lack of conquests rolls right off his back. He's done his share of flirting, but that's the line in the sand.
He doesn't know what this is with David exactly. He doesn't know what it means. They have a shared history that backdrops what's happening now. As he gives himself up to the passion of the kiss, to his own desire for the sensual slide of David's tongue against his own, he does know that it's not just about sex. When they both need to breathe, David rests his forehead against Kurt's.
“I guess you need to go to work.”
Kurt let's go of the pieces of t-shirt material clutched in his hand. “This really is no way to run a business. My dad would be appalled.” David laughs, deep and rich. Kurt likes it.
“It's really cool that you have your own business.”
David's lips brush across Kurt's temple as he drags his hand slowly away from the bare skin of Kurt's back. The words of praise make Kurt shiver. No, not just about sex at all. When David walks away from him, he walks backwards, grin plastered across his face, until Kurt can no longer see him. He can feel a ridiculously stupid grin spreading across his own face.
Kurt makes one more call before he heads for the boutique.
“Hi Blaine, it's me. Can you meet me tomorrow morning at Hop, around 10." He disconnects, then texts the message for good measure.
End Part 3