FIC: The Proposition: A (Slightly) Inappropriate Love Story (1/?)
TITLE: The Proposition: A (Slightly) Inappropriate Love Story
AUTHORS: Gleekilicious & Tessisamess
PAIRING: Kurtofsky
RATING: Will hit NC17
WORD COUNT: 2,392 // 2,392
SPOILERS: None; AU-fic
WARNINGS: Teacher/Student (no underage erotica)
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...
◄ 1 ►
Kurt slowly closed the door of his locker and bit back a sigh, shouldering his bag as he glanced down the hall towards the gym. It was the absolute last thing he wanted to do - aside from the obvious annoyance of being forced to run around and get all hot and sweaty - the changing rooms were... hell. Most certainly not the hot-pot of strapping guys in short towels, but a dank, smelly room where he was jeered at and treated like a sub-human freak of nature.
Not his favorite thing to feel. Not by a long shot. He checked his watch and bit the inside of his cheek. He’d left it late - as usual - and just as he was starting to walk down the corridor to the changing rooms, a group of guys in his class strode past him, one of them ramming their shoulder into his and sending him staggering to the side. Kurt hissed in surprise and the brief flare of pain, gritting his teeth as the leader of the pack turned and smirked.
“Oh, did that hurt, fairy? You coming to try and peek at us in the showers, homo?” Kurt didn’t even dignify them with an answer, turning on his heel and striding towards the coach’s office. He’d... say he’d twisted his ankle, and he couldn’t play, and could he please be excused? He limped the last few steps to the office and knocked on the door, hoping he was there and not already in the gym.
It wasn’t as if he was a coward, really. He’d had some amazing comebacks in his time, and had once managed to trip up some asshole intent on getting a little too handsy with his new jacket, but he could only take so much humiliation in one day and... the changing rooms were a special sort of hell, mixed with the natural awkwardness of being a teen and changing, but also the fact that he was a teen, and sometimes his hormones weren’t quite as keen on self-preservation as his brain. Mixed in with a healthy dash of social embarrassment, friendlessness and a good dose of verbal abuse, this was the one class he skipped with a vengeance. He was the only openly gay kid at McKinley, and despite his friends in glee club, it often got frustrating and lonely.
Dave had been about to walk out the door to start up his fourth period when Kurt knocked, opening the door halfway through it. He wasn't surprised to see him, in all honesty. Hummel showing up at his office was a frequent enough occurrence that half the time he found himself expecting it. The excuses were always the same. Well, not really, but they may as well have been for how transparent they always were.
Not that Dave ever said anything. It hadn't been that long since he was in high school himself; he remembered what it was like to be gay when no one else was --even if he hadn't been as out and proud as Hummel was. He was the youngest teacher at McKinley. It was his first year there after moving back to Lima, but his second year teaching. So, as it was, he took the poor guy's excuses as they came and let him get out of participating (without losing the grade, of course).
"What's up, Hummel?" Dave asked as he locked the door to his office; the "this time" that hadn't been said was clear in his tone, quietly amused. He nodded toward the gym as he pocketed his keys.
Kurt took a sharp step back as Coach Karofsky opened the door, smiling in a tight, pinched manner of someone trying to show how absolutely fine and unaffected by anything he was. Of course, if anything was said about it, Kurt would blame the pain in his ankle for the look of vague distress.
“I twisted my ankle earlier, when I was coming out of French and it’s really painful to put weight on,” he said, a little rushed though it was a practiced excuse. In all honesty, he had no idea why Coach Karofsky let him get away with his lies - which they obviously were. He assumed the man felt sorry for him, or simply deemed him as a ‘good karma’ case. A ‘let the gay kid out of the horror of sport, feel good about self’ sort of deal. “Can I please be excused from sport this afternoon...?”
The older man sighed as he headed for the gym, motioning for Kurt to follow. Sometimes he thought about putting his foot down; telling Hummel to man up and face the douchebags. But then he remember what would have happened back when he was in high school. When he was one of those douchebags. It didn't seem like the best advice after being reminded of things like that. "Yeah, yeah. You can help me pass out equipment, okay?"
Kurt breathed a sigh of relief as he was let off and nodded, crooking a small sigh and taking a few steps before pretending to limp, and then deciding the effort wasn’t really worth it. Coach Karofsky knew he was lying, and Kurt knew he knew. After so long there wasn’t really any need for the dramatics. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured, keeping up with the man and clutching his bag a little closer as they passed the changing rooms. He was pretty sure that the coach was aware of what went on in the changing rooms and knew that trying to intervene would just make it worse.
*
"Alright, ladies," Dave barked. "Line up." He watched as the awkward mess of uncoordinated teenagers stumbled into place. "Now, I know we've played dodgeball a ton of times before, but you guys? You suck at it. So I'm gonna teach you how to throw."
He leaned over and picked up one of the red rubber balls out of the cart, tossing it in the air lightly before catching it as it landed back in his upturned palm. Without warning or preamble he pulled his arm back and sent the ball rocketting across the gym to knock Lambert off of his feet. And, sure, maybe it was a little mean to get the kid back for calling Hummel a fairy, but it wasn't undeserved.
Kurt, who had regally retired to the bleachers, didn’t hide his snicker as Lambert swore under his breath and climbed back to his feet with a glower. In a weird way, Kurt knew he was incredibly lucky to have a coach on his side. It was rare, and in all honestly, Coach Karofsky looked like the sort of guy who’d be more than happy to throw him into the proverbial lion’s den to ‘toughen him up’ or ‘build character’ - or even in a worse case scenario, treat him the same as the assholes there.
But no. For some weird reason, even if Coach Karofsky didn’t understand, he at least sympathized enough to let Kurt off while keeping his grade up. Not many teachers would do that.
Lambert tossed the ball back and Dave bounced it idly in his palm as he pretended to look them all over equally, even if he knew exactly who was up next. "We are gonna keep playing this stupid game until each and every one of you little girls can throw at least half as decently as the one that just knocked Lambert down. 'Course, that shouldn't have knocked you down," he smirked. "A throw that soft wouldn't knock over my grandma." And, with just as little warning as the first time, down went the younger of the Strando brothers.
Again Kurt didn’t even try to hide his laughter, crossing his legs with a smug smirk. Revenge was sweet, the sound of Idiot hitting the ground along with the squeak of rubber was just... beautiful. Especially as the little - though still a good six foot - Strando clambered back to his feet with a grunt, rubbing the sore spot. Served him right, really, Kurt thought, his own fingers reaching up to touch the tender spot on his shoulder where he’d been checked earlier. He reached into his bag, drawing out a book and resting it elegantly in his lap - every bit the aloof and uninterested character he acted out so well.
By the time gym class ended every one of the boys -except for Kurt, of course- was sore and tired. Dodgeball always got brutal --especially since they all seemed to think taking nut shots was a riot. And, really, Dave was young enough that he still found it ridiculously funny, which always made it a challenge not to laugh.
"Better; okay, guys, hit the showers. Next class we're starting basketball, God help me."
'God help me' was right. This particular group of kids was so bad at things like team effort and, hell, basic coordination that basketball was sure to be a disaster.
Kurt snapped his book shut and stood, slipping it back into his bag. He’d barely read a page, taking an odd, sadistic enjoyment in watching his tormentors take balls to the balls and fall to the ground in writhing huddles of pain. It made a nice change, really. And he was pretty sure that Coach Karofsky had managed to orchestrate it so that the ‘worst offenders’ were fighting and hurting each other. He had felt, for a moment, like some sort of Roman noble, watching slaves fight each other to the death in an amphitheatre.
He waited until the gym was pretty much empty before going over to the man, gathering a stray ball on his way. Part of his ‘duties’ were to help clean up and tidy away after each lesson, something he was more than happy to do if it took so long all the other boys were long, long gone before he reappeared.
Dave was silent as they made quick work of gathering the dodgeballs and tossing them into the cart. The bell for first lunch rang, echoing loudly in the nearly empty gym.
Kurt shifted his bag higher up on his shoulder, shooting a short glance to Coach Karofsky and awkwardly clearing his throat. “Thanks for letting me sit out...” he said, softly.
He shrugged in reply, grabbing the edge of the bin so he could start rolling it back toward the equipment room. "It's fine. Stupid they're making you make up gym in your senior year anyway. I mean, aren't you in the dance club or something?"
“Glee club,” Kurt replied, following after a second with the box of jerseys used to differentiate between the teams. “It’s because I didn’t do it for like... the last three years or so, and Figgins finally realized.” He shrugged, acting as if he didn’t care as he put down the box in its proper place.
"Think you'll be up for the basketball section?" Dave asked, not holding out much hope. "I'll pretend not to notice if you trip people up." He figured he probably shouldn't make jokes like that, but it was out and he didn't really think Hummel would run off to tell on him. No one liked being a rat, especially if it was over something that didn't hurt them.
Kurt snorted dryly, raising an eyebrow at his coach. “Are you serious? No one will even think about trying to get the ball through the hoop; it’ll be far more entertaining to see how many times they can get me to face-plant the ground. I’ll be the only one being tripped up.” He knew how quickly they’d get bored with failing to score and how quickly basketball would turn into ‘trip up the fag and give him a swift kick before Coach Karofsky can stop us’ - and besides, there was still the problem of the changing rooms. “If you don’t mind sir, I’d rather sit out.”
Dave nodded as he locked up the equipment room. "Alright," he sighed. "Look, Hummel... you know I got no problem helping you out, and I'm not trying to force you into anything, but just so you know, if someone tells Figgins that I let you sit out I'm gonna have to start making you participate. Okay?"
Kurt caught his lower lip between his teeth, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his bag. If it came to that... well, it would be hell. Absolute hell. “Can’t you... send me out to do track if that happens? It’s not that I don’t like doing sport, it’s just... I don’t like doing it with them. And the changing rooms,” he added, softly. He kept in shape in his own time, went jogging and ate heathily, was slim and toned. The only problem - except for the fact the showers were disgusting and he liked to shower after working out - was the other kids.
"And what happens if some kids who aren't in my class go out to the field and you're out there alone?" Dave shook his head a little. "I know it doesn't seem like the better option, staying in my class, but it is."
Kurt bit his lip harder. He hadn’t thought of that... he shifted uncomfortably, dropping his gaze to his expensive shoes. “I just--... I just know that even if they don’t do anything serious when you’re around, it’s the changing room that’s the worst,” he said, knowing he sounded pathetic to even his own ears. Kurt sighed and steeled his face into something stronger, something less scared. “It’s fine. I mean, you’re already doing more than a normal teacher would. If Figgins finds out there’s nothing that can be done. I’ll just have to bear with it all for one more year.”
"You'll be okay, I promise." Dave wished he could do more; he really did. He'd tried talking Figgins into harsher punishment for bullying, but had gotten back a tired "boys will be boys" in return. "Look, it'll be fine. As it stands you're good just helping me out --so you can stop with the lame excuses. Now go to lunch."
Kurt nodded, shooting his coach one last, small smile as he headed towards the doors of the gym. “Thanks, sir. See you around.” After a cursory glance up and down the corridor, he left.
◄◄ ■ ►►
AUTHORS: Gleekilicious & Tessisamess
PAIRING: Kurtofsky
RATING: Will hit NC17
WORD COUNT: 2,392 // 2,392
SPOILERS: None; AU-fic
WARNINGS: Teacher/Student (no underage erotica)
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...
◄ 1 ►
Kurt slowly closed the door of his locker and bit back a sigh, shouldering his bag as he glanced down the hall towards the gym. It was the absolute last thing he wanted to do - aside from the obvious annoyance of being forced to run around and get all hot and sweaty - the changing rooms were... hell. Most certainly not the hot-pot of strapping guys in short towels, but a dank, smelly room where he was jeered at and treated like a sub-human freak of nature.
Not his favorite thing to feel. Not by a long shot. He checked his watch and bit the inside of his cheek. He’d left it late - as usual - and just as he was starting to walk down the corridor to the changing rooms, a group of guys in his class strode past him, one of them ramming their shoulder into his and sending him staggering to the side. Kurt hissed in surprise and the brief flare of pain, gritting his teeth as the leader of the pack turned and smirked.
“Oh, did that hurt, fairy? You coming to try and peek at us in the showers, homo?” Kurt didn’t even dignify them with an answer, turning on his heel and striding towards the coach’s office. He’d... say he’d twisted his ankle, and he couldn’t play, and could he please be excused? He limped the last few steps to the office and knocked on the door, hoping he was there and not already in the gym.
It wasn’t as if he was a coward, really. He’d had some amazing comebacks in his time, and had once managed to trip up some asshole intent on getting a little too handsy with his new jacket, but he could only take so much humiliation in one day and... the changing rooms were a special sort of hell, mixed with the natural awkwardness of being a teen and changing, but also the fact that he was a teen, and sometimes his hormones weren’t quite as keen on self-preservation as his brain. Mixed in with a healthy dash of social embarrassment, friendlessness and a good dose of verbal abuse, this was the one class he skipped with a vengeance. He was the only openly gay kid at McKinley, and despite his friends in glee club, it often got frustrating and lonely.
Dave had been about to walk out the door to start up his fourth period when Kurt knocked, opening the door halfway through it. He wasn't surprised to see him, in all honesty. Hummel showing up at his office was a frequent enough occurrence that half the time he found himself expecting it. The excuses were always the same. Well, not really, but they may as well have been for how transparent they always were.
Not that Dave ever said anything. It hadn't been that long since he was in high school himself; he remembered what it was like to be gay when no one else was --even if he hadn't been as out and proud as Hummel was. He was the youngest teacher at McKinley. It was his first year there after moving back to Lima, but his second year teaching. So, as it was, he took the poor guy's excuses as they came and let him get out of participating (without losing the grade, of course).
"What's up, Hummel?" Dave asked as he locked the door to his office; the "this time" that hadn't been said was clear in his tone, quietly amused. He nodded toward the gym as he pocketed his keys.
Kurt took a sharp step back as Coach Karofsky opened the door, smiling in a tight, pinched manner of someone trying to show how absolutely fine and unaffected by anything he was. Of course, if anything was said about it, Kurt would blame the pain in his ankle for the look of vague distress.
“I twisted my ankle earlier, when I was coming out of French and it’s really painful to put weight on,” he said, a little rushed though it was a practiced excuse. In all honesty, he had no idea why Coach Karofsky let him get away with his lies - which they obviously were. He assumed the man felt sorry for him, or simply deemed him as a ‘good karma’ case. A ‘let the gay kid out of the horror of sport, feel good about self’ sort of deal. “Can I please be excused from sport this afternoon...?”
The older man sighed as he headed for the gym, motioning for Kurt to follow. Sometimes he thought about putting his foot down; telling Hummel to man up and face the douchebags. But then he remember what would have happened back when he was in high school. When he was one of those douchebags. It didn't seem like the best advice after being reminded of things like that. "Yeah, yeah. You can help me pass out equipment, okay?"
Kurt breathed a sigh of relief as he was let off and nodded, crooking a small sigh and taking a few steps before pretending to limp, and then deciding the effort wasn’t really worth it. Coach Karofsky knew he was lying, and Kurt knew he knew. After so long there wasn’t really any need for the dramatics. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured, keeping up with the man and clutching his bag a little closer as they passed the changing rooms. He was pretty sure that the coach was aware of what went on in the changing rooms and knew that trying to intervene would just make it worse.
*
"Alright, ladies," Dave barked. "Line up." He watched as the awkward mess of uncoordinated teenagers stumbled into place. "Now, I know we've played dodgeball a ton of times before, but you guys? You suck at it. So I'm gonna teach you how to throw."
He leaned over and picked up one of the red rubber balls out of the cart, tossing it in the air lightly before catching it as it landed back in his upturned palm. Without warning or preamble he pulled his arm back and sent the ball rocketting across the gym to knock Lambert off of his feet. And, sure, maybe it was a little mean to get the kid back for calling Hummel a fairy, but it wasn't undeserved.
Kurt, who had regally retired to the bleachers, didn’t hide his snicker as Lambert swore under his breath and climbed back to his feet with a glower. In a weird way, Kurt knew he was incredibly lucky to have a coach on his side. It was rare, and in all honestly, Coach Karofsky looked like the sort of guy who’d be more than happy to throw him into the proverbial lion’s den to ‘toughen him up’ or ‘build character’ - or even in a worse case scenario, treat him the same as the assholes there.
But no. For some weird reason, even if Coach Karofsky didn’t understand, he at least sympathized enough to let Kurt off while keeping his grade up. Not many teachers would do that.
Lambert tossed the ball back and Dave bounced it idly in his palm as he pretended to look them all over equally, even if he knew exactly who was up next. "We are gonna keep playing this stupid game until each and every one of you little girls can throw at least half as decently as the one that just knocked Lambert down. 'Course, that shouldn't have knocked you down," he smirked. "A throw that soft wouldn't knock over my grandma." And, with just as little warning as the first time, down went the younger of the Strando brothers.
Again Kurt didn’t even try to hide his laughter, crossing his legs with a smug smirk. Revenge was sweet, the sound of Idiot hitting the ground along with the squeak of rubber was just... beautiful. Especially as the little - though still a good six foot - Strando clambered back to his feet with a grunt, rubbing the sore spot. Served him right, really, Kurt thought, his own fingers reaching up to touch the tender spot on his shoulder where he’d been checked earlier. He reached into his bag, drawing out a book and resting it elegantly in his lap - every bit the aloof and uninterested character he acted out so well.
By the time gym class ended every one of the boys -except for Kurt, of course- was sore and tired. Dodgeball always got brutal --especially since they all seemed to think taking nut shots was a riot. And, really, Dave was young enough that he still found it ridiculously funny, which always made it a challenge not to laugh.
"Better; okay, guys, hit the showers. Next class we're starting basketball, God help me."
'God help me' was right. This particular group of kids was so bad at things like team effort and, hell, basic coordination that basketball was sure to be a disaster.
Kurt snapped his book shut and stood, slipping it back into his bag. He’d barely read a page, taking an odd, sadistic enjoyment in watching his tormentors take balls to the balls and fall to the ground in writhing huddles of pain. It made a nice change, really. And he was pretty sure that Coach Karofsky had managed to orchestrate it so that the ‘worst offenders’ were fighting and hurting each other. He had felt, for a moment, like some sort of Roman noble, watching slaves fight each other to the death in an amphitheatre.
He waited until the gym was pretty much empty before going over to the man, gathering a stray ball on his way. Part of his ‘duties’ were to help clean up and tidy away after each lesson, something he was more than happy to do if it took so long all the other boys were long, long gone before he reappeared.
Dave was silent as they made quick work of gathering the dodgeballs and tossing them into the cart. The bell for first lunch rang, echoing loudly in the nearly empty gym.
Kurt shifted his bag higher up on his shoulder, shooting a short glance to Coach Karofsky and awkwardly clearing his throat. “Thanks for letting me sit out...” he said, softly.
He shrugged in reply, grabbing the edge of the bin so he could start rolling it back toward the equipment room. "It's fine. Stupid they're making you make up gym in your senior year anyway. I mean, aren't you in the dance club or something?"
“Glee club,” Kurt replied, following after a second with the box of jerseys used to differentiate between the teams. “It’s because I didn’t do it for like... the last three years or so, and Figgins finally realized.” He shrugged, acting as if he didn’t care as he put down the box in its proper place.
"Think you'll be up for the basketball section?" Dave asked, not holding out much hope. "I'll pretend not to notice if you trip people up." He figured he probably shouldn't make jokes like that, but it was out and he didn't really think Hummel would run off to tell on him. No one liked being a rat, especially if it was over something that didn't hurt them.
Kurt snorted dryly, raising an eyebrow at his coach. “Are you serious? No one will even think about trying to get the ball through the hoop; it’ll be far more entertaining to see how many times they can get me to face-plant the ground. I’ll be the only one being tripped up.” He knew how quickly they’d get bored with failing to score and how quickly basketball would turn into ‘trip up the fag and give him a swift kick before Coach Karofsky can stop us’ - and besides, there was still the problem of the changing rooms. “If you don’t mind sir, I’d rather sit out.”
Dave nodded as he locked up the equipment room. "Alright," he sighed. "Look, Hummel... you know I got no problem helping you out, and I'm not trying to force you into anything, but just so you know, if someone tells Figgins that I let you sit out I'm gonna have to start making you participate. Okay?"
Kurt caught his lower lip between his teeth, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his bag. If it came to that... well, it would be hell. Absolute hell. “Can’t you... send me out to do track if that happens? It’s not that I don’t like doing sport, it’s just... I don’t like doing it with them. And the changing rooms,” he added, softly. He kept in shape in his own time, went jogging and ate heathily, was slim and toned. The only problem - except for the fact the showers were disgusting and he liked to shower after working out - was the other kids.
"And what happens if some kids who aren't in my class go out to the field and you're out there alone?" Dave shook his head a little. "I know it doesn't seem like the better option, staying in my class, but it is."
Kurt bit his lip harder. He hadn’t thought of that... he shifted uncomfortably, dropping his gaze to his expensive shoes. “I just--... I just know that even if they don’t do anything serious when you’re around, it’s the changing room that’s the worst,” he said, knowing he sounded pathetic to even his own ears. Kurt sighed and steeled his face into something stronger, something less scared. “It’s fine. I mean, you’re already doing more than a normal teacher would. If Figgins finds out there’s nothing that can be done. I’ll just have to bear with it all for one more year.”
"You'll be okay, I promise." Dave wished he could do more; he really did. He'd tried talking Figgins into harsher punishment for bullying, but had gotten back a tired "boys will be boys" in return. "Look, it'll be fine. As it stands you're good just helping me out --so you can stop with the lame excuses. Now go to lunch."
Kurt nodded, shooting his coach one last, small smile as he headed towards the doors of the gym. “Thanks, sir. See you around.” After a cursory glance up and down the corridor, he left.
◄◄ ■ ►►