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The Rainbow Network

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And it's such bullshit. Seriously. It's such bullshit, and it's not fair, and it's completely fucking pointless.

Dave slams the door to his bedroom, pushes his desk chair out so hard he scrapes the wooden floor. He jabs at the power button to wake his computer up, and slams himself down in the chair and glares at the screen as his usual Red Wings background comes into view.

Fucking bullshit.

"'It'll be good for you, David,'" he says to himself, and apparently in his head his fucking bullshit therapist sounds like Minnie Mouse or something. "'It'll be a learning experience. It will help you come to terms with this stupid fucking thing that you absolutely hate.'"

The actual steaming shit of a bull.

He glares at his browser, glowers at the crumpled pamphlet he's been fisting so hard. He resents the keyboard as he types in the URL, hates his browser as it acknowledges the instructions and takes him to the fucking website. He loathes the internet for not going through a sudden and complete blowout. He despises the power company for keeping the computer lit up, condemns to hell the hours he worked at fucking Safeway to pay for a computer of his own.

Every little thing about this stupid moment he hates. He hates Kurt Hummel for driving him into therapy, and his truck for literally driving him to therapy. Resents God for not listening to him. Or maybe not actually existing to hear him, he's not sure yet, but either way...fuck Him right in the holy fucking Ear.

...all these weeks of counseling, of learning how to deal with anger and stop from lashing out at others and blah blah hippy bullshit, and all that Dave Karofsky has really learned is that if he can think furious enough thoughts, he can get through his temper flare-ups without hitting anything. And considering that that is dead opposite of what his fucking know-it-all counselor suggests ("think good thoughts, David, and good deeds will follow"), he can't help but think that everything she's doing with him is a waste of time.

Including, especially, this website.

Christ, and the site is so fucking cheerful. Bright block letters, clip art of happy kids with their arms around each other, beaming their bliss at being included in a picture straight from Getty Fucking Images.

He clicks the link to Sign Up! and makes up an email address, gives his age, lies about his location, and tries to make his user name thisfuckingsucks before being informed by the prim little computer that his suggestion contains possibly offensive language. Wellexcusethehelloutofme is deemed too long. Finally he just mashes the keyboard, and the computer accepts asfjaertkjbzxvio as his brand new shiny user name.

Fucking male cow excrement, this whole thing.

He's taken to a blank page, and a little flashing message tells him that his peer counselor is being assigned, and to please wait.

Because the answer to his problems is obviously more god damned counseling.

He's tempted to turn on his iTunes, blast some of his devil's music so that his dad can hear nice and properly how much he hates everything in the world, but that's counterproductive. The happier his dad thinks he is, the better his life will be all around. Besides, the music just makes his dad call the priest, and if there's one thing that would sink this wasted day even further into the dirt, it would be that collar and disapproving stare showing up in his living room.

There's a flash on the screen, and Your Peer Counselor Has Entered the Room!, and Dave sometimes thinks that if the good people of the world really believe that ambushing people with exclamation points is the way to win hearts and minds, it's no wonder the world's going to hell.

He narrows his eyes at the screen, waiting.

BrianD: Hello! My name's Brian. Have you been to the Rainbow Network before?

Dave scowls. Brian, and an exclamation point, and the guy doesn't have the decency to be ashamed of the name of this stupid fucking site.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: No.

There. Take that, Bri.

There's a pause.

BrianD: That's okay! :-) I'll tell you a little bit about how this works, and then we can talk about why you're here!

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: whatever

Way too fast to have typed it all out, a paragraph of text appears. Generic fucking macro, and Dave hardly skims it. Blah blah peer support blah blah anonymous and confidential blah blah talk to someone who understands you.

As fucking if.

At least there aren't any exclamation points.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: If this is so private and confidential then how the hell will my therapist know I've been here?

BrianD: We assign you a case number to give your doctor. They can look up the time and duration of your talks on here, but nothing else. Promise.

'Promise.' Fucking queer.

Dave sits back and rubs his hands over his face, hating this whole thing so damned much he can't even express it. When he drops his hands Brian is already harping on him through anonymous chat.

BrianD: So tell me about you. What brings you here? Besides your therapist, obviously.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: This is a website for troubled gay teens, what the hell do you think?

BrianD: LOL. Look, it's not so bad. Really. Just think of this as a place where you can talk about the things you can't share with anyone who actually knows you. That's not such a bad thing.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: What's the point?

BrianD: It gets some things out of your system. I don't know, different people have different benefits. But...look, really, you should try it. Just say one thing that you can't tell anyone face to face.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Like what?

BrianD: Well...I don't know. I don't know you. I doubt, for instance, that your name is actually Asfjaertkjbzxvio.

Dave manages a faint smile at that.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Is your name really Brian?

BrianD: No, actually. Most of the counselors here were once clients, and we're given the same anonymity as anyone else. That's why they use this format, and why they ask your location to keep from assigning someone who might live nearby.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Guess I shouldn't have lied about where I live then.

BrianD: Hah. No, probably not, but you wouldn't be the first. Anyway, look, when I first came here I was looking for help myself. And the first time I talked to a counselor I told him some things I never told anyone, and I can tell you it feels way better than you think it will.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: What did you tell him?

BrianD: Should've known that was coming. I told him how much I absolutely hate being associated with girls just because I'm gay and, okay, maybe a little effeminate. I mean, all the little nicknames and comments, even my friends wanting to drag me out for shopping and makeovers and manicures. People thinking I want to wear dresses or lipstick.

BrianD: Seriously, I'm a gay male. I want less to do with vaginas than straight guys, so why are people always trying to associate me with them?

Dave laughs, then blinks at himself in surprise.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Yeah, I don't generally have that problem.

BrianD: Still feels good to say it, even now. I'm out where I live but I still haven't managed to say those words to the people who are actually the cause of it.

BrianD: So? Your turn. What problem do you generally have, if not that?

Dave frowns and thinks about it. This whole thing is still bullshit, he'll never change his mind about that, but it is kind of a tempting idea. Complete anonymity, venting about the things he can't tell anyone.

There's a hell of a lot that he could say, really. Even signing up to a site for troubled gay teens is telling people more than anyone but Kurt Hummel and Dave's counselor and dad and priest know. Oh, and Kurt's fucking Pollyanna ex-boyfriend, Blaine Bushbrows.

Oh, and Santana.

Jesus.

Of the few people who do know that first big secret, he can't talk to a single fucking one of them about it.

Not even Kurt, and that kind of fucking sucks. If there's one person who has kind of been like a friend to him lately, it's Kurt. But he's so obsessed with his own issues, and he can't get past Dave's closet door, and...

Forget it. Dave goes to PFLAG meetings and sits beside Kurt and plays the part of the pissy jock forced into this by his dad, and that's hell enough. He doesn't talk, and Kurt doesn't make him talk. Just looks at him with those big disappointed eyes at the end of every meeting.

Fuck Kurt and his ex-boyfriend, and their sparkles and their happy little rainbow. Fuck Santana, who can't stop blackmailing him over the one thing she does know. The counselor is a manipulative bitch being paid by his dad, and his dad and the priest are trying too hard to save him from hell to want to hear the details about the handbasket Dave's sitting in.

There's a lot he can say to this anonymous fucking peer counselor that he's never said before. Maybe it really would help.

BrianD: Am I pushing too soon? I could tell you more embarrassing things about my life if it helps, but we're not here to talk about me.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Okay...here's something I can't tell anybody.

He hesitates. He types, and it feels a little uncomfortable.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: I wish that what I actually WANTED mattered to a single fucking person in my life.

BrianD: ...that's a good one. What do you mean?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: I mean I don't want to be gay.

BrianD: Honestly? Not a lot of people do. It isn't exactly easy.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Yeah, but shouldn't that matter? My dad thinks I'm going to hell even though I told him that I would change myself in a heartbeat if I could. I've never had a boyfriend and I doubt I ever will. I never kissed a guy. Not for real, anyway, but that doesn't matter. There's this fucking gay demon in my head and so I'm going to hell unless he can fix me.

BrianD: That sounds pretty awful.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: You know, he's not the one that pisses me off the most. There's this guy at school who's gay and out and proud and all that shit, and he keeps fucking harping on me to be happy with who I am. He keeps throwing this gay pride thing in my face. He doesn't care that I fucking hate it, that it's not society or fear or what the hell ever, I just don't want this. Shouldn't it matter to somebody what I actually want?

And...shit. It does feel good, writing that out. Getting it out of his head and putting it out into the world instead, even if it's to some anonymous queer guy in California or wherever.

He takes a breath and keeps typing, though Brian hasn't responded yet.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Sometimes I think about those camps where they try to, like, un-gay all the kids. I wish that shit actually worked, because I would sign up in a heartbeat. I want a cute girlfriend and a wife someday, and kids I wouldn't beat with a fucking Bible, and grandkids who visit me in my fucking old-folks home and hate every minute of it. I want the life people are supposed to have, but this one thing fucks all of that up, and there's NOTHING I can do about it. It pisses me off so fucking bad sometimes.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: I got robbed. I can't watch TV without seeing some fucking credit card commercial about the perfect whitebread family, mom and dad and kids, and this assumption that that's America, and what we all aspire to, and what the lucky people get. Sitcoms and movies and Oreo commercials, they're all about the same things. That's what I want, it's what we're supposed to want, so why should I be happy that I've got this wire crossed in my brain that steals that whole future away from me?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Why are the only things people tell me either 'be proud!' or 'you're going to hell'? I don't want to be proud of this thing, and I don't want to go to hell for something I didn't choose, and why doesn't it matter what I WANT?

There's a long pause, which Dave first figures is Brian or whatever his real name is reading through that massive and pointless rant. But after a minute or two he starts feeling sheepish and reads over his words just in case he's being completely retarded.

But no. It's true, all of it. If it's not what this happy little peer counselor wants to read, fuck it. Nobody ever wants to hear Dave or his actual feelings, so this anonymous fucker is stuck with him.

BrianD: I'm going to say something here, and I don't want you to think I'm making light of anything you just said, okay?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Whatever.

BrianD: I want to be six feet tall.

BrianD: I'm serious. Everyone knows the hottest guys have some height on them, and I think if I was a little larger than the average girl I wouldn't have problems with people trying to put me in skirts. I really want to have a growth spurt and be able to see over people in the halls at school.

BrianD: But what I want to be, while it matters, can't change what I actually am. You know?

Dave rolls his eyes.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Yeah, I realize I can't change what I am. Trust me, I've tried a million different ways. But dude, what if people kept coming up to you with like short-people pride stickers, telling you that if you're not proud to be short then you're wrong, and repressed, and they pity you. Or your dad tells you that heaven is one of those fairground rides with the poster telling you you can't get in if you're not This Tall? Fine, you're not six foot, but just because you can't change it doesn't mean you have to be thrilled with it, right? Or that you should be condemned for it.

BrianD: I never thought of it that way. But since this is something you can't change, is it really all that bad for someone to suggest that maybe you could learn to accept it and be happy with yourself even with this one thing you don't like?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: I don't know. Maybe if it made any sense to me at all. Maybe if they gave me reasons – something more than 'this is what you are'.

BrianD: Reasons for what? To be happy about it?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Yeah. If my dad's going to weep for my soul and my priest is going to tell me that I can't sit beside any males in the services until I 'straighten myself out', and the guys at school would fucking tear me apart, and people everywhere are going to hate me, and I'm never going to get the life that the American Dream is supposedly built up around, then why the fuck should I ever be happy about it?

BrianD: You said that you've never had a boyfriend, right?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Nope, and I doubt I will.

BrianD: So you're going to accept the condemnation and the hatred and the self-loathing without accepting the one part of being gay that makes that other stuff worth it? It's no wonder you're angry.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: There's more to life than having a fucking boyfriend.

BrianD: True. There's more to life than being gay, though it may not feel that way to you right now. But we're talking about the gay part of your life right now, so.

Dave rolls his eyes and scowls at the screen.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: You're kind of a prick.

BrianD: I've been called worse. Why would you say that you won't ever have a boyfriend?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Because. I don't know.

BrianD: That's no answer, Asfjaertkjbzxvio.

He manages another smile and sighs.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Look, I know exactly two gay dudes right now. They used to be together, you know. They split up a couple months back, but whatever. They're the two guys I know. One of them is a douche, but the other one...we're friends, mostly. I mean, I can talk to him about stuff I don't talk to a lot of people about, even if I don't talk about a hell of a lot. And we get along, and he's...

BrianD: Oh, don't stop there.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: He's something. I mean, if I can't feel something for HIM than I can't figure any other guy is ever going to stand a chance with me. Maybe there's something wrong with me, I don't know. Maybe I'm not even queer, maybe I'm just...asexual.

BrianD: You said IF you can't feel something for this guy.

Dave hesitates at that, feels his face heating up despite himself.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Sometimes he just pisses me off, you know? But I don't know. Sometimes it's different.

BrianD: Uh huh...?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: What, you want me to talk about this now?

BrianD: We're on your time, Asfa...you know what? I'm gonna call you Jaer for short. :-)

Another roll of the eyes, but Dave grants the guy on the screen a smile he probably wouldn't have managed if the guy was actually in front of him.

BrianD: So, Jaer, we're on your time now, but my Spidey senses are tingling. I think you should talk about him a little.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: First, answer a question for me: do you know about the Spidey sense thing because of comic books, or a Tobey MacGuire movie?

BrianD: LOL. Don't tell me you think that most gay boys can't do something normal and adolescent like read comic books?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Maybe. So what? Answer the question.

BrianD: I just know a guy like you, so it's kind of funny. And fine, it was the movie. I never read the comics and you can just shut up.

Dave laughs and sits back, eying the screen almost warily when he realizes that this guy might be alright. For a peer counselor on a therapist-mandated website that he hates, anyway.

BrianD: Now, stop avoiding the subject. Sometimes this guy annoys you, and sometimes...

Dave cocks an eyebrow, but shrugs and leans forward to type. The guy wants details, he wants honesty?

Fucking fine.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Sometimes I think really really dirty thoughts about him, okay?

BrianD: ...I can't decide if I should ask for details or not.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Too late, you're getting them. You ever watch porn?

BrianD: Um. This isn't about me.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Which means yes. Well, you know when the one dude lays out and the other dude sticks his tongue up the guy's ass?

There's no answer.

Dave grins to himself, and maybe this guy's not so bad, but really. Don't ask people to share their secrets if you ain't ready to listen.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: So yeah, that. Sometimes I get so pissed at him I think I can't possibly be gay. And other times all I want is to see this guy sprawled out on my bed fisting my sheets, and me ready to go to town on his ass. And I can't deny...you know, that's really fucking GAY.

BrianD: It certainly sounds...seems that way. I guess.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Did I fluster you, dude?

BrianD: Were you trying to? Because I...well. I don't watch porn all that often. And I haven't had...um. Well.

BrianD: I guess the point is...for some reason that kind of sounds really hot.

Dave's eyebrows fly up, and he grins despite himself.

Well, well.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: I tell you what's so awesome about those scenes in particular. The guy on the bottom is always so fucking responsive. Like, you know how porn's so fake sometimes it's just retarded, but almost every time some guys starts getting tongued he chokes, and it always seems real. Like even if it's not a surprise, it's still so good he can't even believe it.

BrianD: i wouldnt know.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Fuck, man, it kills me thinking about this guy I know making those kinds of noises. Sometimes I can get off just imagining what he'd sound like, you know? But there's the other thing, the picturing it. Just picturing this guy laid out, just...the curve of his back, you know? How he'd arch and push his ass up higher trying to get closer, making those sounds...

Fuck. Okay, as a way to tease Mr. Peer Counselor this is kind of starting to backfire on Dave.

He's not talking this shit just to fuck with the guy. Well, he's typing it out to a total stranger to fuck with him, yeah, but that doesn't make it any less true. It's his favorite fantasy, his dirtiest secret. The first time he saw one of those rimming scenes online he couldn't get over how fucking gross the idea was. But it stuck with him – the sounds, the arching and fisting hands and the way it just looked like it was so fucking good. And the guy on top just went to fucking town, like that part was good too.

It stuck with him hard, especially after the first time his traitor brain put Kurt Hummel in the role of the guy on the bed. That high voice choking and groaning, and that slender little pale body curved and straining and pushing towards him. Dave's fingers digging into his ass, holding him apart, jabbing his tongue in.

And okay, shit. Dave can feel himself getting hard, and that's just embarrassing. But screw it, he's barely eighteen and why the hell shouldn't he get something out of this?

It's only when he realizes that Brian hasn't said anything that he starts to get genuinely embarrassed.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Did I go too far?

BrianD: Sorry, um. I don't think this is exactly what the service is here for, but...wow.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Wow?

BrianD: Um. That's really really hot.

Dave's eyebrows rise again, and he has to reach down and shift himself, though palming his own dick isn't exactly helping his problem.

BrianD: but I think I'd kind of like to be on the other side. Personally.

Shit. Bad enough that this happy little flamer boy kind of reminds him of Kurt, he's got to say something like that when Dave's already having issues?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: You got a boyfriend?

That sounded less creepy in his mind. But Brian doesn't seem to take it that way.

BrianD: No, not anymore. But there's someone I can think of who...wow, I'm going to get fired if I keep talking.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Aren't you guys all volunteers?

BrianD: I can still get fired. It just doesn't matter as much when you're a volunteer.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Then screw it, what were you saying?

BrianD: just that there's someone I know who could...you know. Play the other role in that kind of...

BrianD: ...oh crap.

Dave laughs and slips his hand down to his jeans and adjusts, groaning under his breath and leaving his hand where it is.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: you too, huh

BrianD: I can't even name all the ways this is inappropriate.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Why? We're strangers on the internet, this shit is practically mandatory.

BrianD: You sir are a troubled gay teen, and I am a peer counselor. Okay?

Dave grins and thinks he could maybe talk this into going somewhere if he really wanted to, but...hell. It is the internet, he could log into a million chat rooms and do this with someone, if that what he wanted.

It's not.

He gives his dick a little consolation pat – next time, buddy – and gives Brian a break.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Okay, okay. You asked, man.

BrianD: Asking you things is proving to be dangerous. But okay, now I know the sort of minefields I need to avoid here and we can move on.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Yeah, whatever.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Could I ask you something, though?

BrianD: Oh lord. I might regret this, but...yes.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Did you really get turned on by all that?

BrianD: Rainbow Network policy forces me to say no.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: I'm serious. I mean...like I said, I never had a boyfriend or kissed anyone, for real anyway. I never turned a guy on before, I don't even know I'd feel about it if I did.

BrianD: The guilt. Fine, yes. My jeans are still attempting to force a permanent imprint of my zipper onto my dick. Happy?

Dave grins and sits back, shifting awkwardly.

He did it. And yeah, okay, it wasn't really him, just his words on a screen. But somewhere in the world there's a guy nursing a hard-on just because of him. It's...okay, it's pretty hot, really. He could've maybe gotten a guy off. Not in person, but it's a start. It's not weird. It's not creepy, or bad, or wrong.

He doesn't want to be gay. He's never going to be happy with this, he's never going to stop wishing he had another option. But maybe it's something he can live with.

BrianD: Hey...

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: What?

BrianD: I think you should talk to this guy, this friend of yours.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Nah, I gave up that idea as soon as I first started thinking I might be into him.

BrianD: Why?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Because it's not gonna happen. Because if he was into me at all I'd know. The guy isn't exactly subtle.

BrianD: You'd be surprised.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Yeah, whatever.

BrianD: Look...there's someone in my life that I like. I mean, we're friends already but I've started thinking more and more that we could be something more. But I'm really scared to talk to him, so I'm sure he has no idea. And no one has ever accused me of being subtle.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: You're not him, though, dude. I'm not his type, okay? I can't even seem to make him like me, much less want me in any kind of way.

BrianD: You said you were friends?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: I don't know. I mean, he doesn't run from me and we say hey in the halls and talk to each other before we go to these meetings, and sometimes we study, since he's lousy at algebra and I'm killing Trig like a motherfucking boss.

BrianD: Hah, that sounds eerily familiar.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: But for all we hang out these days...he's never asked me a single question that wasn't about being gay. It's the only thing he wants to talk about. I think it's the only thing he sees in me. He's just like my fucking dad – ever since he found out I was gay, he doesn't see anything else. My dad doesn't ask me about school anymore, or football, or college. Just this. I've gone invisible, except the big flashing sign over my head that says QUEER. It really sucks, but...

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Anyway, this guy is the same way. How do you graph logarithmic equations, and when are you coming out of the closet. That's all he cares about.

BrianD: I...wow, this is weird. But...speaking as someone who's kind of in the other guy's shoes...is being gay the only thing you and him have in common? Maybe he doesn't know what else to talk about.

Dave thinks about that, about his life compared to Kurt's sparkling Fancy world.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Probably. I don't know, we never talk about anything real. Maybe we do have other things in common. I mean...probably not, I guess. He sings in the fucking glee club and I play football, so.

Brian doesn't say anything.

Dave sits back and blinks, and he's surprised to notice that his face itches, that there's a drying line from his eye to his chin, like something about going off on a typed rant made him fucking shed a tear.

Which is dumb. But maybe it's not. Maybe despite her complete douchebaggery his therapist actually had a good idea, and he did need to tell someone about some of this shit.

It's not gonna fix anything, which sucks, but. Maybe his head will be a little clearer tomorrow.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: You still there? Don't tell me you're disgusted by football players or something. I know sweaty and chubby isn't everybody's thing.

BrianD: You said you lied on the sign-in page about where you live?

Dave blinks. Is the guy trying to track him down now? Choke him with a rainbow flag?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Yeah. What difference does that make?

BrianD: And I'm guessing that  thisisfuckingbullshit@biteme.com  isn't actually your email address.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: What the hell? Fucking glad I made something up now. What are you going through my info for?

BrianD: Sorry. Um...what you're saying just sounds really familiar.

Dave frowns at the screen. Familiar?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: I'm sure I'm not the only closeted jock in the world. You're supposed to be helping me here, right? Not creeping me the fuck out.

BrianD: Sorry, you're right, I'm being silly. Look, I understand what you're saying. Or I guess I don't understand it, since I'm not that way at all, but it's

There's another pause.

BrianD: I can't do this. I have to ask. Where do you live?

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Fuck you, man, that's not cool. This is supposed to be anonymous.

BrianD: If I tell you my real name is Kurt, does that mean anything to you?

Dave stares at the screen, and the blinking cursor waiting for him to type in text. His vision seems to focus on the word, the name. Kurt, blinking in courier font on this obnoxious website.

This...

Fuck.

He debates saying no, playing this off, but by the time he thinks of trying it, the pause has gone on too long to be believable. But for the love of shit, what the hell...?

Why can he never get any fucking break? For Christ's actual sake.

BrianD: God, I'm sorry. It's not supposed to happen like this. The computer should make sure that nobody who knows each other gets...and even if you lied about where you live, the odds of this...of you and me...

asfjaertkjbzxvio: Don't worry about it.

He types those words and sits back, looking away from the screen.

God. Shit. This is so fucking stupid, and Dave is just suddenly so tired of this constant war in his head, and with his dad, and with Kurt. He can't even get help from the goddamned Rainbow Network.

Jesus fuck, if he thinks about what he's written here there's a really good chance he'll panic and do something really, really stupid.

Oddly, he feels calm. Nervous, a little anxious, like he's standing on the cusp of freaking out but isn't quite there yet. Or maybe this is just too big, and it's going to take a while to realize how bad he actually needs to freak.

Mother of Christ, fuck Dave and his stupid teasing. He told Brian...Jesus, he told Kurt about porn, and...

He turns back to the computer to shut the browser and leave this humiliating experience behind him – if Kurt will even let him – and he sees that 'Brian' has written a whole wall of things in the last minute.

BrianD: Dave? Dave, look, I'm sorry. I only signed up for this site after PFLAG started, because of all the kids at the meetings who never had anyone to talk to. And Blaine thought it was a good idea, and like I said I used to come here to talk to the counselors sometimes so I know it's a good site, and I never even thought you would...

BrianD: I'm sorry, okay? Really. Just you kept saying more and more and I thought it was just so odd that someone else in some other school seemed to be having the same kind of issues we're having, and...and you're right, I never talk to you about anything but being gay, and I keep telling you how happy you should be, and I'm sorry.

BrianD: I really think you would be happier if you just let yourself be, but it's not my call. And we are friends, really, it's how I think of us even if we don't really talk or anything. I think what you're doing is really great, you know? I mean, you keep coming to the meetings and you don't say anything but you still show up every time, and I figured you would have tried to get out of it by now but you haven't.

BrianD: We are friends, I swear.

Dave draws in a breath and tries to ignore the heat prickling at his eyes.

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: Look, Kurt...if we're really friends just forget about this. Don't say anything, don't think about it, don't...

Asfjaertkjbzxvio: You're the only friend I have right now, okay? I should have known I would ruin it. Just don't

Shit. He can't say anymore, his calm is already dissolving.

He reaches out and clicks the website closed before he can screw anything else up, and then he turns off his monitor and goes to his bed, dropping flat on his face and waiting for the world to finish crumbling in around him.


So that's Dave's Saturday.

Sunday his dad vanishes to go to church and his regular prayer circle afterward, and Dave begs off. Normally his dad wouldn't let him – his soul still needs saving, after all – but Dave must really look like shit, because the moment his dad opens his door and peeks in, he agrees that Dave can stay home.

When the doorbell rings a few minutes after his dad leaves, Dave wants to ignore it. Maybe it's one of his dad's church friends, maybe his dad called someone in tears because his sinner son is missing church and adding to his likely-to-burn tally.

But it seems a little soon for that, so Dave pushes out of bed and straggles down the hall and to the front door.

He sees a pair of round blue-green eyes and shuts the door again instantly.

But Kurt is too quick. His foot snakes out and catches in the doorframe, and Dave pushes against it but the guy is stubborn. As badly as Dave wants to ram it closed, over and over again, that's the unhealthy anger. He's trying for the healthy kind.

"These are three hundred dollar boots, can you please stop trying to squish this one? Or at least let me switch my feet out so they'll have matching divots."

Dave snorts and lets the door open.

Kurt stays where he is, looking inside warily. "I sat outside and waited for your dad to leave. All that stuff you said about hell...I figured he was a church guy."

Dave almost wants to feel flattered at the idea of Fancy playing creeper to him for a change, but. Memories of all that stuff he said effectively kill that feeling.

"I said don't mention it." He turns and moves over to the small living room, though it's basically an invitation to let Kurt into his house, and he really wants to be done with this shit so much. "I meant it, okay? Not in the 'aww, shucks, don't mention it' way. In the 'if you ever talk about this in front of me, I'll...'"

He stops himself in time.

But Kurt's there to rain on his self-control. "You'll kill me?" he suggests mildly.

Dave winces. He drops on the worn couch and throws his arm over his face – melodrama, Kurt should like that. "What are you doing here?"

"Dave..." There are quiet little mouse footsteps, and Kurt's voice gets louder. "Okay...first...I really am sorry about what happened. You thought you were safe, you should have been safe. It shouldn't have happened that way."

Dave shrugs, though he's been ranting about that particular fact in his head non-stop since last night. "I'm the one that lied about where I live. Wouldn't have happened if I was honest, right?"

"No, but...still." Kurt clears his throat. "I just want to get that out of the way, okay? I'm sorry it happened."

"Fine. Noted. Please shut the fuck up about it."

"I also wanted to say..."

Dave's arm comes from over his eyes really fast when there's a brush of movement and a sudden heavy weight settling on his legs.

Like, settling settling.

He blinks up at Kurt.

Kurt smiles, faint and intent, as if straddling Dave Karofsky on a couch is something he does whenever he's bored.

Dave swallows and tries to sit up, but Kurt's hands plant on his chest and push him down on his back instantly.

He tries for anger, but what comes out sure as hell doesn't sound angry. "What are you doing?"

"You told me...sorry, you told Brian that you had a thing for a guy you knew. A guy who you helped with math, and went to meetings with. One of the only two gay guys you know."

Dave flushes and looks away from him. "I also told you not to fucking mention-"

"Brian told you that he's going through the same thing from the other side."

Dave swallows, shaking his head.

"He said he was starting to like a guy, starting to think they could be more than friends. But he was too scared to say anything."

"You're not scared of anything," Dave says, his voice hoarse enough to give every last feeling away.

"Nothing but you." Kurt sounds like he's smiling. "For a different reason now than a year ago, but...you're still the only thing in the world that frightens me."

Dave sucks in a breath and risks looking up at him again.

Yeah, he's smiling. His eyes are glowing and he looks perfectly content to sit there straddling Dave's legs, looking down at him with those freaking eyes of his.

Dave swallows. He can't believe that an hour ago his life was over, but since he already knows what rock bottom feels like, he draws in a breath and risks hitting it again.

"I told him a few other things."

Kurt grins, and his pale skin flushes pink, and...Jesus. "I don't know if I'm ready to act out porn scenes," he says, eyes dipping for just a moment now that they're talking about him. "But I seem to remember Brian telling you that there's someone he could picture on the other side of a scene like that."

Dave's arm comes down. He reaches out, feeling breathless, and lets his hand curl around Kurt's waist. "I'm supposed to believe he was talking about me?"

"Believe whatever you want," Kurt answers cheerfully. He reaches for Dave's other hand and brings it up to slip around his other hip. He pinks and trembles a little, and Dave can't help but shiver as well.

Dave's hands are full of Kurt, the waist of his designer jeans, the softness of cashmere or whatever his sweater's made of. Kurt, warm under the clothes, slender and smooth and fucking perfect.

Kurt's hands trail down Dave's chest, tracing random patterns as he watches his fingertips in interest. "I want to talk," he says with a soft smile that doesn't even seem fucking real, it's so pretty. "About other things, I mean. I want to see what we have in common. I want to know you, Dave. The guy behind the gay." He grins sheepishly.

Dave laughs, stunted.

Kurt's smile fades but his eyes don't lose their glitter. "I want you to know why being gay is worth it. Why the stuff from your dad, and church, and whatever you'd risk with the guys at school...I want you to see why it's worth all that in the end."

"If this is a counseling method, it's fucked up." But Dave's hands tighten around Kurt, feeling the shift and bunch in muscles with each of Kurt's breaths.

Kurt smiles. "I'll reassign you to someone else," he says. "Or you could always try signing up again without the made-up information."

Dave grins, flushing. "Yeah, I could do that."

"Good, then I am officially no longer your peer counselor." Kurt's fingers hook into Dave's shirt. "And to celebrate I want to kiss you so badly that I don't even care that it looks like you haven't showered yet today."

"Oh, screw off," Dave laughs, but his hands slip under the bottom hem of that fluffy sweater, and his fingertips stroke up over warm skin.

Kurt shivers and grins and leans in. He stops maybe two inches from Dave's mouth. "You brushed your teeth at least, right?"

Saying a quiet thank-you to himself for listening to his dad's obsessive lessons about oral hygiene, Dave answers by leaning up off the couch and pressing his mouth to Kurt's.

Kurt's response is straight out of any of Dave's fantasies – the moment of surprise, then the instant melt into enthusiastic reaction. His hands tighten in Dave's shirt, he drives Dave back into the couch and kisses like he's starved and Dave is food, like he really has been thinking about him, wanting him, this whole time.

He even makes one of those sounds Dave dreams off, strangled and high and helpless, against Dave's mouth.

Dave slides his hands up under that sweater, tracing the smooth line of Kurt's spine, all slender lines and curves, and he's so thin compared to Dave. So fucking delicate, but he kisses hard and hungry.

His lips part before Dave can even recover from the idea of the kiss, and Dave's made out awkwardly with a few Cheerios before but he doesn't have the background for this. Still, he reacts before he can think, or worry, or get nervous. He slips his tongue out and traces at Kurt's lush bottom lip before dipping inside and tasting him.

Kurt seems to melt against him, letting Dave's shirt go to grip the arm of the couch behind his head, to sink in to him chest to chest.

If talking to some anonymous (ha ha) counselor about sex fantasies was enough to turn Dave on, this is even worse. This innocent kissing, the glide of Kurt's tongue slick against his and the puff of Kurt's breath against his face.

Dave growls into the kiss, and Kurt whimpers in answer. Dave grasps at his skin under his sweater, accidentally dragging his fingernails down Kurt's spine before he catches himself.

Kurt gasps and pulls back, eyes shut, face flushed. "Do that again."

Dave swallows and obeys instantly, like Kurt's mouth has been hard-wired to his brain. He drags his hands up the line of smooth muscles and drags them down again, fingernails scratching light but firm against his skin.

"Oh..." Shuddering, Kurt opens his eyes, his expression echoing the surprise in his voice. He licks his swollen lips and meets Dave's eyes for just an instant before diving in again, driving their mouths together desperately.

Dave is all for that. He trails his fingernails down Kurt's back a last time as their tongues wrestle and their lips clash. It's hot and graceless and it's better than he ever fucking imagined it would be.

He frees his hands from Kurt's sweater and, breathless, drags them down his jeans to grasp the lush curve of the perfect little ass that's been haunting his fantasies.

"Dave." Kurt murmurs against his mouth, arching in until his hips are driving against Dave's.

Dave's eyes fly open and his breath catches, and he didn't even realize, didn't care, that he was hard, not until the moment after he has any chance to be embarrassed by it. Kurt's dick is just as hard, driving against his.

Dave's hands tighten around his ass, holding him right where he is. "Fuck," he mutters, and Kurt's gasping so he contents his mouth with trailing over the line of his jaw, tracing that perfect pale skin.

"Dave, Dave, Dave..." It sounds like a mantra, like a chant Dave wants to pull from that soft, high voice as often as possible. "Dave...your dad..."

"Hours," Dave says into his skin, unwilling to let him go.

"Sure?"

He reluctantly draws back and meets Kurt's dazed eyes, and his dick throbs in his jeans just looking at his flushed face and mussed hair. "Hours," he insists, and this time he lets himself taste Kurt's throat, the line of his neck. "And if he does come home," he growls between kisses and licks and bites of that perfect fucking skin, "maybe the coronary will kill him and I can stop saying rosaries every night."

Kurt draws back instantly, but before Dave can worry that he disapproves of the joke, he meets Dave's eyes and says with clipped intensity, "Fuck him."

He reaches for the hem of his sweater, and in front of Dave's amazed eyes he pulls it up and off. Suddenly Dave's universe is filled with pale skin and smooth, slender planes of muscle.

Dave's hands stretch out like they have minds of their own, but Kurt swats them down and grabs at Dave's t-shirt. "Off. Now."

Dave surges up to obey – Kurt owns his brain, apparently – and it drives their hips together and he sees stars as Kurt whimpers and tugs at his shirt and does this...this obscene roll with those fucking dancer hips, something that grinds their dicks together.

Kurt is so beautiful maybe because he's so different from Dave – slender and pale – but Dave can't bring himself to feel self-conscious when Kurt tears his shirt from his shoulders and throws it somewhere out of sight. Because Kurt drinks him in – the hair coating his chest, his thick arms and stomach and chest – like Dave's beautiful for those exact same reasons.

Dave groans just from the look in Kurt's eyes, and he reaches for him eagerly.

Kurt's hand slips up his chest, fingers curling through the thickest patch of hair and he makes this choked sound and drives their mouths together desperately.

There's nothing like it. No porn, no fantasies, nothing has prepared Dave for the slide of Kurt's bare skin against his, the press of their chests, the touch of Kurt's fingers against him. The grind of their hips, the way his dick wants to fucking rip through the fly of his jeans.

He's never been this hard, and it's never felt so good. Kurt grinds against him, alternating between kissing like he needs the air from Dave's lungs, and throwing his head back to moan as their bodies drive together.

Dave can't breathe, can't think. He drives his thigh up between Kurt's legs and the friction gets that much more intense. He finds himself gripping Kurt's hair to hold him still enough that he can suck at his throat and taste his pulse getting faster and faster.

Kurt's voice is everything he knew it would be, high but dipping low, smooth but dropping into rough growls. Helpless and thoughtless and this constant stream of eager sounds until Dave's never again going to get off at some actor moaning in a porno.

"Dave..."

That's the best sound, when the noises form a word, and Dave can hear his name dripping from Kurt's lips and it's nothing like he fantasied it would be. It's better, it's so much better.

Kurt's whimpers get sharper, higher. His grinding hips move less evenly. He shuts his eyes and buries his face in Dave's shoulder and neck.

Dave's been so caught up in Kurt that he hasn't paid himself any mind. He's startled to realize how close he is, how frantic his own pushing hips have become.

"...Kurt, Kurt, shit," he can hear himself growl as his head drops back, his eyes shut and it's almost pain that wracks his body, this unbearable wave of too much that he can't give in to, he has to wait, keep going, keep moving.

"God. Dave. I'm..." Kurt makes his sudden high whining sound and his hips jerk frantically, and even the whine dissolves into chokes and grunts.

Fuck, Dave can't focus, can't watch, and it's got to be the most perfect sight in the world. It's got to make the bullshit worth it, watching Kurt come. But his head is back, he can't get a grip on himself as he lets go of whatever control he's managed to grasp on to and drives up into Kurt's body once, twice, again, and that's it. He's gone.

Nothing away from the couch matters, not in the flash of white like an explosion that bursts behind his eyelids. Not through the pulse of his dick, the way he comes in his jeans and it doesn't fucking end, pulse after pulse wracking through him as Kurt sags and grasps his arms and mouths his neck.

He shivers through it, shivers some more like aftershocks after an earthquake.

When he can think again, when the tremors have stopped and his breathing is a little less wild and harsh, Dave becomes aware of Kurt laying against him, sprawled on his chest and still trying to catch his own breath.

Dave has to swallow down this lump that instantly forms in his throat. He forces his pleasure-heavy arms to move, to lift and wrap around Kurt, and he fits against Dave so fucking well he wants to cry. He wants to think thoughts and say words that it is way too soon to even contemplate.

When Kurt comes back to himself enough to move, his head tilts down and his lips trail across Dave's collarbone. Dave swallows and tightens his grip, stroking up the sweat-dampened hair at the back of Kurt's neck, managing a smile at the way Kurt's breath shivers out of him in response.

"Jesus, Kurt," he murmurs finally.

"Never met him," Kurt mumbles into his skin. "Though I think I just came closer than I ever have before."

Dave laughs, low and breathy, and Kurt laughs with him a moment later.

This has to be worth it. Fuck the therapist, fuck the Rainbow Network and the priest and his dad's narrow, worried eyes. Maybe Dave's a sinner, maybe he's a fucked up kid, a self-hating queer, but he could take on the entire world if it means having this shivering, warm body in his arms.

"I prob'ly should've warned you," Kurt says through heavy lips, curling in like Dave is his pillow and he's sacked out for the night, "when Hummels mate it's for keeps."

Dave shuts his eyes and presses his mouth down into Kurt's sweaty hair. "That your way of telling me that you're going back to Bushbrows?"

Kurt blinks up at him and slaps his chest lightly, though he doesn't fight a giggle. "God, is that what you're calling him this week? Sorry, I'll be more specific: Hummels mate for keeps until you steal all the solos in Glee and explain to them in all seriousness that they have a 'non-standard' voice and it's best used in harmonies."

Dave laughs. "Fucking idiot."

"Yes. He is." Kurt drops his cheek back against Dave's chest. "Luckily you're smarter than that."

"Bet your ass. I'm never joining glee, like ever, and your voice sounds like the closest thing to heaven I've experienced until like five minutes ago."

Kurt blinks. He looks up. He gapes at Dave.

Dave grins – Bushbrows might be charming, but Dave's isn't some caveman. He can hold his own.

Kurt smiles after a moment and leans up to kiss Dave. And yeah, there's no way being gay isn't worth it. Kurt isn't a wife and kids and the American Dream the way the toilet paper commercials tell it, but the one thing Dave's never taken into account in all his anger is that what he might find with another guy may be even better than all those things.

Apparently the Rainbow Network is a brilliant site behind the clip art and the exclamation points. Apparently Dave's therapist is an idiot-savant who is a complete douche ninety-nine percent of the time, but occasionally can have fits of genius.

And apparently, being gay gets Dave Kurt fucking Hummel, so.

In the end maybe it all evens out.

Chapter Text

Dave actually started growing pubes in fourth grade. He didn't know what the hell was going on; his dad would sit him down now and then and start random awkward conversations about hair growing in weird places and how his voice would get deeper and girls would seem, well, different, but he'd always get red and flustered and take off with the talk half-done.

Said something once about Dave's balls dropping and then ran for the fucking hills, leaving Dave bewildered and thinking about New Years Eve and that Dick Clark dude and the big thing in Times Square, and that was the only other ball dropping he'd ever heard of. Hell if he could figure out what that had to do with his nuts, but his dad never could finish that talk.

His dad ended up just giving him a lot of pamphlets and making it clear that they were never going to speak of any of it aloud.

(Dave still has a few of those pamphlets – even when he was ten he knew that shit was comedy gold. One day if he ever has a kid he wants to whip out copies of Sarah's Chest Makes Me Feel Funny (Explaining Development to Your Teen-aged Son) or It Makes Jesus Cry When I Touch Myself (A young Christian's Guide to Puberty), with their frequent Old Testament quotes and randomly Capitalized WORDS and chapters (now with full-color illustrations!) describing how bad it'll hurt to pee when Satan's sex-cancers are filling your loins.)

Needless to say, none of that shit helped when fifth grade came around and Finn Hudson peeked in on his package in the showers after gym one day.

Dave was never really comfortable with himself. He was a dude, he didn't fucking stare into mirrors and sob like chicks do. He didn't care that he wasn't hot shit like Hudson and his little pack. He was a hairy, chubby kid, whatever.

When he left the showers he let it go. But in the showers...that shit was awkward.

When the guys started noticing chicks, it was harder to let it go that he was this weird, oversized furry little bastard. Suddenly the guys weren't just awkwardly showering without making eye contact. Suddenly they were flexing biceps and comparing abs and shit.

Luckily, Dave's always had one big advantage on most of the guys around him. In fact when someone would start any crap, laughing at his hairy arms or his soft stomach or whatever, all Dave had to do was face them, full frontal, and ask them why they thought their shit was hot.

One look down, one gaping stare quickly averted, and that conversation would be over.

Still, when it gets right down to it, Dave has always been pretty aware that he's not the hottest guy ever. He's strong, he can knock a fucker out on the field, he can run sprints and out-lift everyone on the team except Z, and he's catching up to Z fast. But it's always kind of been there, in his head. He's never lost the instinct to turn away in the showers, to hide himself, to feel like he's different and not as deserving of being happy with himself as the beautiful people are. It doesn't kill him. Doesn't drive him to the floor of his shower to curl up and sob like some girl. But it's there.

He's awkward. He's strong and he's hairy and he has been since he was like nine years old, and he's always felt a little annoyed by his body. Like it's this big independently-growing thing that he's stuck riding around in.

He's never liked it.

Until he started hooking up with Kurt Hummel.


They're not, like, boyfriends or anything. They don't really put any name to what they are. They talk some and Kurt comes over when Dave's dad works late, and they don't go to Kurt's place because it's a fucking zoo there's so many people around. They don't talk at school, but Dave keeps up the bullywhip thing and goes to PFLAG same as always, and the guys call him a fag for it and he shoves them too hard and it's the same shit it always was.

Except then Kurt shows up at his door.

Kurt likes his hairy, strong body. Kurt runs fingers up and down his chest, grinning at the way his chest hair swirls and sticks up or pastes flat under his fingers. After he gets off and he's tired, Kurt will lay down for a while with his head on Dave's soft belly, murmuring like he's content there, like it's a perfect pillow.

If Kurt's pissed at him for something – usually the inevitable coming out argument that Dave has starting calling the Closet Fight – he'll glare at Dave and order him to flex his bicep, and then his eyes will get dark and his anger will fade and he's pretty much raring to go.

Dave doesn't hate his body. Dave is starting to really fucking like his body. He's hairy – that gives Kurt something to toy with, to tug on and run fingertips through. He's strong – Kurt goes slack-jawed when he wears short sleeves and makes a muscle. He's soft in the middle – Kurt needs a pillow. If Dave's gut exists only to be Kurt's pillow, that is fine with Dave.

Kurt...

Kurt is nothing like Dave. Kurt's skin is pale, his muscles are long and lean, wrapped smoothly around bone, under skin, without a blemish to mar them. Sometimes, when Dave's fuck-happy enough to actually say some of this shit out loud, Kurt will murmur about this freckle or that scar, but as often as he points them out Dave doesn't ever see a single thing he's talking about.

Kurt's skin flushes pink from his cheeks all the way down his chest, and it's beautiful. Kurt is slender and long and graceful, and it must be the dancing or whatever but he can move and flex and slip around Dave's solid and graceless body like he's a fucking eel.

Dave fought being gay for a long time, covered it under denial and his usual macho bullshit. But the first time Kurt shimmied out of his obscene jeans, not wearing a thing underneath, and his dick jumped out to play, Dave had no fucking doubt that he was gay.

Everything about Dave is one hundred percent queer, and he's a dumbass for not knowing before. His mouth was made for cock, for Kurt's cock. His broad hands were designed to slip over Kurt's skin, to drag up his thighs and squeeze his ass and hold him close. He hears Kurt gasp and murmur and mumble nonsense and that's the only thing in the world that his ears were ever meant to hear.


He sucks Kurt's dick the second week they're...a thing, whatever they are. Kurt makes these sounds like he's dying and he comes fast and hard, and stares at Dave in awe when he swallows like Dave just invented swallowing right then and there.

He's a little scared of Dave's dick, but he kneels between Dave's legs and slicks both hands up with some lotion he always carries around with him (being Fancy is good for one thing at least), and works at him like he's milking a cow upside down or something, and Dave's never felt so fucking good.

Dave's cock is so gay for Kurt it practically lisps when it goes off.


They fight over Christmas break – Closet Fight again, Kurt is fucking obsessed – and Dave is left sitting at home alone while his dad works, playing on Live with Z or Puckerman or whoever's on, wondering where Kurt is and if he's found himself some new stud yet.

He's so beautiful he could walk into a room of straight guys and walk out with phone numbers, so. Dave's body is designed to be gay with Kurt Hummel, but that doesn't mean he's the only guy who can make Kurt happy. Just means Kurt's probably the only one for him.

They make up in January, when Dave sees Kurt walking up the parking lot towards school and practically manhandles him into Dave's letterman because he's wearing this purple designer whatever that does shit against Ohio in the winter. Kurt glares at him until he gestures too hard to push him away and a seam under the arm of the jacket rips.

Kurt instantly coos over it like Dave's worn-out letterman is some priceless thing, and he apologizes with big round eyes and sews it up himself that weekend, sitting on Dave's couch with a sewing kit he brought from home ("because you and your dad will have one of those ten dollar kits from Target if you have anything at all, and I can not work with that").

Dave thanks him by lapping at his dick like it's an ice cream cone in danger of melting until Kurt shrieks and grabs Dave's hair and spurts off over his face.


They're good until early March, when Kurt decides that his pretty-boy ex has suffered enough and they're meant to be just the best of fucking friends. Dave can't handle his own issues so he blows up at Kurt for going back to that prep-school Ken doll and tells him to get lost. Kurt comes to his house after a couple of days (to bring him back some DVD he borrowed so he doesn't have to look at any trace of Dave ever again, he admits later) and walks right in without knocking and he catches Dave sobbing like a fucking infant, tracing his hand up and down that sewed-up seam in his jacket like it means something huge.

Dave grasps at him and doesn't even try to get in his pants until Kurt promises he's not going anywhere, especially not with Blaine, even if Dave is this big dumb closeted shit. Later, when they're naked on Dave's bed and they're sliding together, grinding, and it's so hot that Kurt even sweats, Kurt licks at Dave's throat and whispers with fierce rolls of his hips that Ken dolls would be perfect, maybe, except when you realize they're not packing anything in their little doll jeans. Dave laughs when he comes, and it's kind of a sob but Kurt doesn't think he's a pussy for crying, so he doesn't fight it too hard.


Kurt gets weird in April, and Dave is dumb but not so dumb that he doesn't notice the signs going up everywhere for prom king and queen. He actually is dumb enough to think maybe Kurt's just embarrassed by what happened last year, and it's Dickless Anderson (the only person who actually knows that they're fucking around) who takes pity and tells Dave that Kurt's upset because he wants a senior prom the way he's always dreamed of. He wants a limo and dinner and a dance with his boyfriend, like every other couple.

Dave knows instantly that Blaine's right, and he only sees a future of worse and worse Closet Fights because of it, and it depresses him.

He blows up at his dad and his priest one Saturday when they ambush him with a clean-cut little tool in a suit who beams at him with huge white teeth and tells him about how the love of God cured him of sin, surely Dave can be next. Dave punches him in the smug little face and goes off on his dad like somebody else is at the wheel in his head.

His dad kicks him out, but then texts Dave that night and tells him that since God says hate the sin but love the sinner, he can come home.

It's when he gets that text that Dave calls Kurt. Not before, when he was planning to shiver through the night in his truck parked out at the shut-down Kroegers a few blocks from school. He reads that text and calls Kurt and starts crying over the phone when he admits that going back hurts more than staying gone.

Kurt pulls up in his sparkling SUV and drags Dave in the backseat with the engine on and heaters blasting, and he lets Dave rant on and on about how he's tired of feeling like a freak every time his dad looks at him, and why can't he just be normal? He's not normal anywhere, not with his dad, not with Kurt, who won't think he's a real legit fucking queer until he's out of the closet.

Kurt's smart enough not to take that personally. He holds on to Dave and lets him cry and tells him softly that he's sorry, he won't pressure Dave anymore, that he deserves to feel normal sometimes.

And that night when he's in his own bed at home trying to sleep, Dave realizes that he really does want to feel normal. He doesn't want to be treated normal, because fuck how people treat him. He wants to feel like what he is is normal.

He thinks about that for a long time, because it feels like a huge scary thing.


Kurt plans the prom with Mercedes and his other dork-ass friends, and he tells Dave without a trace of sadness in his smile that they're going in a big group so no one feels left out or alone.

The pressure's off Dave, so just like that he decides he wants his...his thing, his boyfriend or whatever...Kurt, he wants his fucking Kurt to have what he always dreamed of.

He makes plans.

He goes to Mercedes, because he's an idiot and he obviously isn't gonna go to Blaine. He swears her to secrecy, which isn't really fair because she looks like she's agreeing out of fear for her life even though Dave hasn't fucked with her or any other kids all year. He tells her he wants to take Kurt to prom, and stops her from freaking out by telling her he wants to surprise him because he's worth it or some gay shit that makes her go all starry-eyed. She agrees to help him, and to not kill Kurt for not telling her about Dave until after prom.

She helps him pick a suit that'll impress his fancy-assed surprise date, and gives him limo tips, dancing tips. He asks her, red faced, if guys are really supposed to book hotel rooms for prom night. She giggles and tells him that's between the two of them, and maybe there's something in his face when he asks but after that talk she's always smiling at him like he's some big dumb cute teddy bear or something


Z asks if Dave could hook him up with that, 'that' being Mercedes, and Dave hears himself like a voice from the distance saying sure, if Z doesn't mind that she's helping him hook up with Kurt. Z just calls him a pussy for needing her help, and drives like twenty miles out of their way to prank him by pulling up at the Dress Barn off 114th when Dave says he needs shoes for his fancy new suit.

Dave hits him, hard, and Z yelps and calls Dave a fag and Dave calls Z, in his best Fancy voice, a Nazi hetero-fascist breeder until Z almost pisses himself laughing.

And that's done with. He's out, to his best friend at least, and it's cool just like that.


He hooks Z up with Mercedes, and it almost backfires when Kurt comes to Dave one day, visibly upset, and tells him the big group date is off because Mercedes is going to prom with Z.

Luckily before Dave can threaten harm on more of Kurt's friends to get them to do the big group thing Kurt wants, Kurt gives him a chance to look like a fucking superhero. He tells Dave that he doesn't want Prom at all this year, that he'd much rather spend an evening with Dave than at some overrated party with the same people he sees every day at school.

In other words he lies his cute little ass off.

Dave fakes excitement for that idea, which he buries under fake reluctance ("You sure about this, man? Not like it's a big deal to me...but I think hanging out somewhere private's an okay idea.") Kurt buys it, rolling his eyes at how easy Dave is to read.

But it breaks Kurt's heart, and that makes Dave feel nauseated, but luckily it's only a few days from Prom when all this shit goes down.

Dave has the limo booked. He gets Mercedes to get Finn to go through Kurt's well-tailored laundry and pluck out a few samples, and whines at the dude at the suit shop until he agrees to tailor this Fucking Expensive Suit Mercedes picks for Kurt by measuring out Kurt's stolen clothes.


The day of Prom Kurt is inconsolably miserable at school, watching the girls giggle and compare dress descriptions and leave early to get their hair did or whatever. Dave pretends to be an oaf, nudging Kurt when no one's looking and telling him not to worry, that they'll have plenty of fun on their own. Even gives a kind of eyebrow wag so Kurt thinks he's just thinking with his dick. Kurt smiles and walks off so sad that Dave has to stop from going after him.

It's nothing elaborate, Dave's set-up. His dad is away at a seminar that weekend (Dave's fucking relieved because he really didn't want to book a hotel room without asking Kurt, that's seriously fucking presumptuous), so Kurt comes over after school and they do homework and Kurt sighs a lot and stares out into space.

Then Dave spills his soda all over Kurt's shirt.

It's a dumb idea but it works. Kurt jumps in his shower to get the sugary soda off his skin, yelling out directions through the door like Dave doesn't know how to soak a shirt in warm water.

Dave takes off downstairs with Kurt's clothes, his heart beating in his throat, leaving Kurt alone upstairs with Dave's bedroom door open and that tailored suit laying out on Dave's bed.

Dave changes in his dad's bedroom, and Mercedes is annoying as hell sometimes but when he looks at himself in the mirror he doesn't feel big or hairy or awkward. He feels sharp. There's dark blue threaded in his tie to match a thin blue pinstripe design thing in Kurt's suit, and his shirt is silver to match the tie Mercedes picked for Kurt, and he's got two of those lapel flower things, dyed blue like some fucking Martha Stewart shit, ready for both of them.

He looks like a man, broad shouldered and standing straight. He doesn't even look like he's terrified.

There's silence from upstairs for a long time, and Dave checks and rechecks his reflection and straightens his hair and tugs at the suit until there's a noise at last from on the stairwell.

Kurt isn't confused at all. He's wearing the suit, his hair is styled up however the hell he makes that happen, and his eyes are red. There's tracks down his face like he's still crying, and he's smiling so big his eyes are squinting almost shut.

Dave steps out from the dark hallway, and...its like...the moment Kurt sees him his eyes get wide and his gasp is so loud Dave hears it downstairs...and that moment happens and Dave is pretty sure an instant later that he's never going to get self-conscious again, ever.

He is what he is, hairy and big and all, but he made Kurt Hummel gasp. No one is ever gonna take that away from him, no matter what.

He moves to the bottom of the stairs, holding a hand out. He's got a job here, he's got to give Kurt the Prom he always dreamed of. He's got to make up for last year, and this year, and every Closet Fight they've ever had, and every minute that Kurt thought that he was being denied his dream.

He holds up the two flowers on their short stems as Kurt moves down the stairs with his eyes leaking. He smiles, trying not to be sheepish. Trying to be perfect instead.

"I never actually asked you," he says, voice low and uneven until he clears his throat. "But will you be my date to Prom?"

Kurt launches himself down the bottom half of the stairs and the flowers get crushed between them when Kurt grabs him and he stumbles back and they kiss. Kurt's tears smear on Dave's cheek and he laughs when Dave pulls back, flushed, to hold up his now-maimed flowers.

Kurt laughs through tears and takes the flowers and tosses them over his shoulder and grabs Dave for another hard kiss.

Fuck it, they don't need the flowers.

Dave blushes when Kurt gets himself together enough to draw back and scope him out more critically. He steps back and strikes his best attempt at guy-in-a-suit-ad-checking-his-watch-and-posing. Kurt giggles but his eyes are appreciative brushing all over Dave.

"Mercedes helped you," he says, and Dave admits it but it makes Kurt glow. Takes Dave until he's holding the front door open for Kurt to realize that Kurt's happy because that means Dave told Mercedes about them.

The limo sits humming on the sidewalk, and Kurt beams and grabs Dave's hand and doesn't let go.


Prom itself is kind of a blur. Dave walks in holding Kurt's hand and he considers it a good sign that Kurt only seems to realize the full impact of that when he becomes aware of how many people are staring. Kurt sucks in a breath, his hand clenching around Dave's, and turns a wide-eyed stare on him.

"You...you're...?"

Dave shrugs, casual, like he comes out in front of hundreds of slack-jawed teenagers all the time, like it's his Friday night thing. But this is a moment, too, isn't it? So he stops them on the outsides of the crowd with staring eyes on them, and he takes Kurt's hands in his and shrugs.

"I don't know if this being gay shit is worth it," he says, and it's not perfect Prince Charming shit, but it's Dave. "But you sure as hell are."

Kurt gives another eye-squinting smile and leans up on his toes and murmurs, "Me and the gay shit are kind of a package deal, David."

Dave laughs and Kurt slips back to his side and Dave takes his arm and they keep moving towards the Gleek table so Kurt can squeal with his friends or whatever.

It relaxes Dave, that little comment of Kurt's, because he realizes that things don't necessarily have to be charming and fairy tale perfect to make this night great for Kurt. Kurt knows him – they've been getting each other off for months, almost all year. Not like Kurt doesn't know what he's getting into.

Z's over with Mercedes, but Dave doesn't let himself get too distracted bullshitting with his pal. He watches Kurt out of the corner of his eye until he sees Kurt's gaze starting to wander to the dance floor.

He elbows Z to shut him up and moves around the gathered Gleeks and clears his throat behind Kurt, holding out his hand when Kurt turns. His little suave move kind of bites it when his mind goes blank, when he looks at Kurt's dazzling, happy, beautiful fucking eyes and can't remember his perfect Hollywood line.

He grins, sheepish, and nods at the dance floor. "Wanna go do that?"

Kurt takes his hand with a giddy little nod, and turns wide eyes to his gal pals as Dave steers him away.

Dancing is not Dave's thing, but Kurt doesn't break into any West Side Story shit, they just kinda jam together like all the other kids are doing. There's a lot of stares, but surprisingly little bullshit. Which makes sense when he thinks about it: there's not a dude in that place not thinking about how they might actually get laid tonight if they don't piss their dates off, and that's gonna keep them in line.

There's a couple of fast songs before a slow one starts. Dave just pulls Kurt in before he can hesitate, and slides his hands around that perfect trim little waist.

Kurt smiles at him like some Renaissance angel painting and curls his ams over Dave's shoulders and around his neck.

"This is perfect," Kurt murmurs about halfway through the song.

Dave is too busy feeling about fifty feet tall to bother answering, because that's all he wanted for Kurt. He keeps his eyes open, as tempting as it is to just sink in and forget everything but Kurt: the slow dance is attracting more looks than before, and Dave's never gonna retire the Bullywhip badge where Kurt is concerned.

Dave is half of one of the only two all-dude couples on that floor (since Blaine asked that skinny little Irish kid to be his date), but Dave's also one of the only guys there who doesn't have to obsess about whether or not he's getting some action afterward. He wonders if anyone who's staring so scandalized at their slow dance would ever guess that he's had Kurt spread in front of him, naked and gasping and arching while Dave takes in his pale, pretty cock until his throat burns.

Fuck. Wrong thought for a romantic moment. But Kurt's lined up against him, his fingertips are sifting absently through Dave's hair, his hips are under Dave's palms, and there's only so much a guy can handle without a reaction.

He bends his head in and trails his lips under Kurt's ear, sighing so that Kurt will shiver against him the way he always does.

Kurt hums when he shivers, pushing in even closer. He tilts his face up and his voice is a soft stroke of breath against Dave's face. "You know what would make this night perfect?"

Please let it involve your dick and my mouth, Dave isn't dumb enough to say out loud. "Mmm?" he answers simply, and it doubles as a sound of satisfaction when he breathes in and realizes that Kurt smells like Kurt's hair product crap but also like Dave's shampoo, and that is fucking hot.

Kurt's fingers slip up the back of his head, twining through his short hair. "You remember the first time we ever really talked?"

Dave hesitates. "What, last year? Pretty sure I don't want to remember that shit right now."

"Wrong. The first time we really talked."

Dave hums suddenly, getting it and feeling the instant blush.

They first really talked, in Kurt's sense of the words, online, through a supposedly-anonymous website Dave's old shrink sent him to to bond with gay kids or some shit. They talked a long time before they figured out who was on the other side of the chat. Dave said some fucking embarrassing stuff.

Yeah, he remembers. They talk about it now and then, but it still makes Dave sheepish so Kurt doesn't make him suffer long usually.

Kurt speaks softly, almost sounding hesitant. "Don't get mad, but...there's a chance that the log is saved on my laptop."

Dave wants to pull back, but he also wants to catch on fire and spontaneously combust to spare himself embarrassment. He compromises by tensing but not losing his slow intimate sway with Kurt.

"I don't go back and read all of it, usually. There's just one part I go back to, over and over again." He sounds like he wants Dave to ask, to cue him, but Dave is flushed red and uncomfortable and he stays quiet.

Kurt tilts his head closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "'The guy on the bottom is always so responsive,'" he says. "'Like, even if it's not a surprise, it's still so fucking good he can't even believe it.'"

Dave blinks, and his eyes go wide. He almost wants to pull back, to look down at him, but Kurt's fingers tighten in his hair.

"'Sometimes I can get off just imagining what he'd sound like, you know?'" Kurt is definitely whispering now, but Dave can't hear a fucking thing except his voice. The universe is a black hole around them, and this is the only thing that exists. "'But there's the other thing, the picturing it. Just picturing this guy laid out, just...the curve of his back, you know? How he'd arch and push his ass up higher trying to get closer, making those sounds...'"

Fuck.

Fucking fuck.

Dave pulls back, his heart drumming in his chest, his mouth suddenly dry.

Kurt looks up at him, cheeks pink but eyes steady. "You know how many times I've read that? You know how often I've thought about it? God, I must have really liked that stupid job if I actually stopped you from going on. Even before I knew it was you, Dave...that was the hottest thing I'd ever even heard of."

God, the suit is too tight around his throat and it's stifling in that crowd of dancers, and Dave can't even pull back because his dick is tenting in his suit like some American Pie sight gag.

Kurt's head ducks but his eyes lift and he regards Dave through pale eyelashes. It's a picture of this angel boy and these devil eyes, and fuck. "You gave me my fantasy," he says. "Let me give you yours."

Kurt's fantasy of the dream Prom probably doesn't end with him and his date knocking people the fuck over on their rush to escape the dance early, but Dave can't bring himself to care too much.


Dave didn't want to be so presumptuous as to get a hotel room, but he does have a big empty house all to himself for a weekend. He couldn't do anything with his bedroom – had to keep his secret, after all – and he's sure as hell not taking Kurt in to his dad's room.

But there's a guest room, and it's not much usually but that's where Dave let himself get presumptuous. There's a futon and a desk in there, it's not much to look at normally. But he unfolded the futon flat and piled every comforter and bedspread in the house over it. He didn't know if candles were ridiculous or not, so he brought in his desk lamp and one of the downstairs end table lamps and put them on the floor. Only thing he bought for the occasion were these dark amber lightbulbs at Home Depot, and the lights are honey colored and it's dim enough to be romantic or something but not dark.

He left the lighting and everything laid out and perfect, and it's been sitting like that since Kurt was in the shower washing up spilled soda earlier.

Kurt notices everything. He turns to Dave as Dave shuts the door after them, and he's glowing gold in the light.

Dave can't stop looking at him, the blue in the suit catching the light and sparkling from his eyes. He's fucking gorgeous. He's already every fantasy Dave's ever had, just standing there waiting for him. Maybe the best part, though, is the way he looks at Dave. The way he smiles so gently and his eyes are so bright and soft and caring. The way he studies Dave in this way, this searching way, like there's more to Dave than he can catch in one glimpse.

When Kurt looks at Dave, Dave feels like a man. Like that suit made him look earlier, like he can walk on his own and hold his head high, like maybe he's a big hairy dumb shit but this is his fucking life and he's the king of it.

Dave grabs at the neck of his shirt, hooking the knot of his tie and shimmying it loose. He's hard but, hell, he's been hard since Kurt started slow-dancing with him, it's become this kind of constant ache, this background noise.

He's hard, but tonight isn't about him. Even this, Kurt's words and his promise and his fulfilling Dave's fantasy...even the fantasy isn't about Dave. It's about Dave wanting to pleasure Kurt. He's not too macho to admit it. He doesn't need some greater reason – he's not trying to make Kurt happy so that Kurt will suck his dick or something. He doesn't honestly give a shit about himself, and that's kind of a funny thing to realize. He hates blue balls as much as the next guy, but the odds of Kurt spurting in his mouth and him not getting off from that are miniscule anyway. When he sucks Kurt, it's because the heat and slide and taste of Kurt in his mouth is everything he never knew he always wanted.

He doesn't know when it happened that giving Kurt Hummel whatever the hell he wants became the most important thing – the only important thing – in Dave's life, but he doesn't question it. He does kind of hope that Kurt doesn't realize it yet, though. He loves the guy, but Kurt can be kind of high-maintenance and maybe it's alright to let him think he's still gotta work for something now and then.

Dave works the knot of his tie down until it unravels and hangs around his neck. He leans back against the door, studying Kurt. "Can't believe you can make a three-piece suit look this fucking hot," he mutters, shaking his head, opening the buttons of his suit jacket.

Kurt grins and pinks and closes the distance between them, shooing Dave's hands away and taking over with the buttons. "Me? You didn't feel all those eyes on you tonight?"

Dave snorts, slipping his fingers up the thin lapel of Kurt's jacket. Fucking expensive, this thing, but worth it. Christ. "Come out in front of small-town idiots, you gotta expect a few eyes."

"Uh, no." Kurt pushed Dave's jacket open and leans in, running his hands up Dave's chest, up the lines of his fancy black button-down shirt. "Those weren't 'look at the new gay' stares. Those were..." He shakes his head, his teeth digging into his lip as he smiles, fingers twisting at the top button of Dave's shirt. "Those were 'who the hell is that' stares."

Dave feels his face heating.

"Do you have any idea," Kurt goes on, working open the too many buttons with deft fingers, "how sexy you look?"

Dave grins, and hell. He must have some idea, because he doesn't instantly deny it or roll his eyes the way he normally would.

Kurt pulls his shirt from those black suit pants and makes quick work of the bottom buttons. Pushing the shirt open, he slips his hands in, curls his fingers up Dave's sides and around to his back, sighing happily.

"Not just the clothes, either," he says, looking up through those sinner eyelashes of his. "It's this." He leans up and brushes his mouth against the corner of Dave's mouth, the tilted edge of his smile. "When you smile," he murmurs against Dave's cheek, "nobody can look at you without wishing they were the cause of it." His fingers trace patterns up Dave's back under his shirt. "Most of those idiots never realized that before tonight, that's all. Because you never smile at them like this."

Dave's breathing's getting a little harder, and he leans in helplessly. Kurt trails his lips down Dave's cheek, over his jawline, and Dave has to catch himself from taking over, grabbing Kurt's chin and pushing him into a real kiss. This is less than his body wants, but something in his head, some part of that awkward guy he's always been, the guy who hunches and fidgets with his clothes and never feels quite as good as the other guys, wants Kurt to keep talking forever.

Kurt draws back enough to look up at Dave, and he grins with this edge that makes Dave's erection ache fiercely. "You only smile like this for me."

Dave nods. It's true. He's never noticed it, but he was never big on smiling before this year, before the last few months. His life before Kurt was guilt and shame and his dad's tearful fear for his soul. What was there to smile about?

Kurt's hands slide around to Dave's sides, and his fingertips trail down to the waist of Dave's pants. "You have no idea how many times I've thanked Blaine for making me sign up to be a counselor on that website. Sometimes when I think about it, when I think that it was just some amazing coincidence that brought us together like this..."

Dave shakes his head and reaches for Kurt, for his suit, his tie, something. He needs to start moving, to do something. It's nice, it's unbelievable, hearing this kind of thing from Kurt of all people, but Dave can't take a compliment to save his life, and this night isn't about him, damn it.

His hands catch in the knot of Kurt's tie and he tugs, pulling it off over Kurt's head rather than undoing it all the way. He tosses it to the side.

Kurt hums a little, picking up on Dave's sudden urgency. He's got his jacket unbuttoned by the time Dave reaches out again, and Dave tugs it down over Kurt's shoulders and works it off, tossing it over in the corner. He leans in at the same time, cutting off Kurt's inevitable clothes-should-be-treated-like-members-of-the-family sniff of offense by driving their mouths together.

Kurt gives in instantly, melting against him, arms coming up and around his shoulders until both hands are locked in Dave's hair and he's kissing in that needy, whimpering way that goes right to Dave's dick.

Dave forces his hands between them so he can work at Kurt's buttons, and he only has to slip and fumble the first two before he just growls against Kurt's mouth and grabs the opening with both hands and yanks.

"Dave!" Kurt pulls back in surprise at the rip of fabric and pop of buttons. He looks down at himself even as Dave pulls a second time, ridding them of the last few buttons and pushing his shirt open impatiently.

"I bought it, I can break it," Dave mutters, lost in the pale cream of Kurt's skin the moment it's uncovered.

Kurt looks up at him and his eyes are this swirling dark blue. He makes a sound, a growl, something that would normally come from Dave. He yanks the shirt down off his arms and throws it aside and grabs for Dave's shirt instantly.

Dave shrugs jacket and shirt off in one careless gesture, leaving them where they fall. He reaches for Kurt, pulling him in, and fuck. God, it makes no sense that it feels this fucking good just to feel Kurt's skin against his.

Their mouths meet, clumsy and eager, and Dave's hands slide down and his fingers work inside the back of his pants until he's got that pert, perfect ass in his hands. Kurt groans and arches in, working their hips together.

This is the way Dave knows how to dance with Kurt. This is what he feels the way people are supposed to feel music. The arch of Kurt against him, the press and slip of their erections driving together, the way Kurt's ass flexes and clenches under his hands. It's a song, their own song, that starts the moment Dave feels Kurt's skin under his fingers and doesn't end until Kurt is drained and sated and sweating.

Kurt makes all the sounds Dave loves, the whimpers and whines and helpless little gasps against his mouth.

Kurt's the smaller of the two of them, the one that's so obviously gay, the prissy little choir boy, but there is nothing passive about him. Dave knew that the first day Kurt showed up at his house and mounted him on his couch, grinding until they both got off. Kurt is a guy: when he wants to come he goes after it. And when he gets aggressive it is the hottest thing in the universe.

When he grabs the waistband of Dave's pants there's nothing delicate in it, nothing soft and genteel and please-sir-may-I. He yanks to unbutton, unzip, and he dips his hand inside Dave's boxers the moment he can.

Dave's got to pull away, to shut his eyes and bite at his lip and focus to keep from blowing his top just from the feeling of Kurt's long, talented fingers gripping his dick. He tilts his head back and groans as Kurt strokes firmly up the length of him, and Kurt's mouth lands on his neck instantly, hot and demanding as he nips his way up Dave's throat.

The first time they got off on each other's skin, naked in Dave's bed and jerking each other off fast and hard, Kurt sank against Dave after and trailed his fingertip absently over a glistening line of cum on Dave's chest and said, "I used to think sex was so dirty." And Dave just rumbled, too sleepy to laugh, and asked if he still thought that. Kurt leaned over and lapped the tip of his tongue across that cooling patch of cum and said, "Hell, yeah," with a wicked grin that made Dave hard all over again.

And there's not trace of the prissy little neat-freak Fancy in Dave's bed, never has been. Dave was baffled when Kurt said he was still a virgin, that the couch with Dave was the first time he ever got off with someone, because seriously. Blaine must really be a dickless Ken doll if he wasn't all over Kurt every chance he got.

Kurt's hot pretty much all the time. Get him naked and he burns. He sizzles like a fucking steak, and Dave's completely helpless not to touch him.

He grips at Kurt as Kurt touches him, digging his fingers into that beautiful firm little ass, gasping, and Kurt pumps his dick like he's in Dave's head, like he feels what Dave feels and knows exactly what's perfect. It's rough and dry and Dave doesn't give a shit, the burn of friction just means he won't shoot off too soon.

He can't stand there and wait for it, though, that's not the way he is. Kurt's not a passive little flower in the bedroom and Dave will laugh at anyone who assumes he would be, but Dave never lets him drive for too long. He can't. He can't feel Kurt's skin against his without becoming obsessed with the idea of touching and tasting and making Kurt blow his top.

He pulls Kurt in against him, trapping his hand into stillness, and Kurt groans as his own erection rubs against the back of his trapped hand. Dave catches that groan in his mouth and dips his tongue in to catch any remnants. Kurt kisses back like he's on fire, hot and frantic and fast, tongue restless against Dave's.

Dave has to force his hands to let go of the ass they love so much. He jerks at Kurt's slacks, fumbling and yanking until Kurt makes a sound of complaint and breaks away with a wet gasp, helping Dave open his pants.

"The suit...nice," Kurt murmurs as they impatiently tug and open. "Could wear it again if you don't destroy it."

Dave could give a shit about the suit or the hundreds of fucking dollars it set him back. "Fuck it," he growls, "I'll buy you another one."

Kurt gets the pants open and pushed down past his hips before Dave can do any major damage, and he goes to work on Dave's next. And before Dave can catch his breath they collide together again and Kurt's ass is bare under his hands and their cocks grind together until they're both gasping for control.

Dave looks down their bodies and watches them drive together, and all he has to do is get a look at the darkened, glistening head of Kurt's gorgeous little cock before he's hitting his knees, desperate for more than a look.

Kurt moans over his head – this has become fucking routine by now – and slides his hands into Dave's hair, already breathing harder.

Kurt's dick is pale and perfect like the rest of him, but it flushes so deep it looks painful when he's turned on like this. Dave never understood what an oral fixation was until he saw it for the first time and his eyes and his mouth had this connection, this completely unconscious and instant moment of 'fuck yes' when his mouth wanted what his eyes were seeing and that became the only fucking desire that ever meant anything.

Maybe it's gay to love another guy's dick this much. Whatever, Dave would own up to any label they wanted to put on him if it got him eye-level with a masterpiece of anatomy like this.

He leans in and he catches that flushed head with his tongue, and he's happy. He wraps his lips around that swollen head and slides down until his mouth is full of Kurt, and he's so at peace that he thinks there must actually be a God. It's melodramatic and maybe it's dumb and he doesn't give a single shit.

He reaches up and curls his hands around Kurt's ass and he takes him in, deep and slow, just savoring. Kurt's whining over his head, his fingers tight in Dave's hair, not forcing but not exactly subtle.

Dave breathes in the scent of Kurt, and feels the brush of wiry curls of hair against the tip of his nose, and he can't quite go all the way yet but he's getting closer all the time; and if he's ever had a goal in his life...

Kurt tugs at his hair, whimpering, and Dave slides up until he's got just the head in his mouth. He shuts his eyes in contentment, stroking his tongue up and tracing the flared underside of Kurt's cock and listening to the tone of Kurt's whimpers change, rise.

"Dave. Dave, God."

Kurt's a mouthy guy in bed. He likes to chant, he especially likes to chant Dave's name.

"Jesus. Dave...Dave."

Dave is not complaining.

He could be here for hours, but Kurt is oddly impatient tonight. He grips at Dave's hair suddenly, tight, and tugs.

Dave voices a grumble of reluctance and savors the way the vibration makes Kurt shudder like an idling engine. Kurt tugs him again, though, and Dave gives in after another moment, dragging his lips tight around the head of his cock as he lets Kurt slip free.

"God. Oh my god, you're so..." Kurt shuts his eyes and tilts his head back, but his hands stay in Dave's hair. He swallows and catches his breath before looking down again.

Dave looks up at him, waiting, resisting the urge to lean until that slippery cock-head nudges against his cheek.

Kurt groans when he looks down. "Stop that. I want..."

Dave fights a grin but swallows to coat his throat and murmurs, "Whatever you want, Kurt, you know that."

"Stop that," Kurt whines, but his eyes open and he licks his lips, deliberate. "I want your mouth."

Dave leans in again instantly.

Kurt grips his hair. "In me," he completes, and when Dave looks up he's flushed red.

But...fuck. Jesus, like he's embarrassed, like he wants something he shouldn't. Like this isn't Dave's ultimate fantasy no matter how often they get off together.

Dave swallows and pushes to his feet. Kurt's fingers relax and fall from his hair, and they meet in a hungry, messy clash of a kiss. Dave's heart beats so fast he'd be worried if this was football practice, and he has to break off the kiss because breathing is this fast and shallow thing he can't control.

Kurt meets his eyes for a moment, his pupils huge, his face open and flushed and beautiful. He looks away from Dave, towards the futon, and he's nervous.

Dave doesn't think, doesn't let this turn into anything awkward. He doesn't want a single negative moment here, not when Kurt's giving him this thing he's wanted so badly.

Dave grips Kurt's shoulder and turns him, sliding in behind him instantly. His hand curls up Kurt's chest, stroking over pale pink nipples blindly as his mouth finds Kurt's throat.

Kurt lets out a breath and leans back against him, his head falling back against Dave. He arches back, and Dave's breath stutters when his cock pushes up against the swell of Kurt's ass.

He steers them a few slow steps towards the futon, never loosening his grip or letting his hungry mouth slip from Kurt's heated skin. His other hand slides down Kurt's side, trailing over his hip and down his thigh. He's so fucking hot. He's so long and lean and perfect, and Dave can't help but think that it's a good thing that, as Kurt told him ages ago, Hummels mate for keeps. Because hell if he's letting this go.

He loosens his hold enough to let Kurt slip down to his knees on the futon. Kurt starts to drop to his hands, but Dave holds him up as he slips down to his knees behind him. He kneels on the floor, and it puts him right in line with the slender curve of Kurt's spine.

Dave leans in instantly, his hands wrapping around Kurt's hips as he trails his restless mouth along the small of his back. He doesn't want to give Kurt a single moment to doubt or regret this, and to make sure he's good and distracted he slips his hand around, trails his rough fingertips through wiry curls on his way to wrapping his hand around that perfect fucking cock of his.

Kurt makes a sound, low and closed-mouth like people do when they just bit into something fucking delicious. His head bows and Dave slides his other hand up that long back, curling over his shoulder as he mouths an almost invisible freckle right above the swell of his ass.

He nudges Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt gets the idea fast and slips down to lean on his hands. And he's right there suddenly, when Dave stops sucking on that freckled patch of skin and slips back enough to take stock.

He's right there, his porcelain-pale ass presented like a reward.

Dave swallows back a thrum of instant desire. He slips his hand down and grips his cock, giving it a warning squeeze. No going off too soon. This needs to last.

He doesn't wait long – Kurt's a stud in bed, nothing shy or timid about him, but Dave can imagine that being bare-assed on his hands and knees inches from a guy's face might start feeling awkward. So he leans in and brushes his lips over the unbelievably soft skin of a pale cheek. He strokes Kurt's cock as slow as he can manage. Distraction, pleasure, not release. Kurt whines and his head is low between his shoulder blades and he sure as hell doesn't seem like he feels all that awkward.

Perfect.

Dave gives both of their cocks a last tug and squeeze before he focuses on the objective here. His fingers slide up Kurt's legs, nudging them apart little by little. Kurt follows every last nudge and tug like he's helpless to hesitate, like he's wired to do whatever Dave wants of him. It would be a powerful feeling except Dave knows himself and he knows he only wants to make Kurt come harder than he ever has. That's pretty much all he ever wants these days.

He leans in and mouths at Kurt's ass, skin like warm velvet under his tongue. Something, nerves or anticipation or desire, is making Kurt tremble under his hands and his mouth.

"Dave." Kurt sighs out his name suddenly, voice thick. Impatient, restless.

Dave swallows and slides his palms to cover those ass cheeks. With a breathless feeling like he's not getting enough oxygen, he spreads Kurt open.

Kurt shivers and makes a slight, helpless sound.

Dave licks his lips unconsciously, and wonders randomly if it's gay to find a guy's asshole so fucking incredible. It's this tight little pucker, it seems impossibly tiny, and true to Kurt the skin is pink right around the edges before melting out into that perfect paleness.

Dave swallows again. He leans in and it's this huge, overwhelming moment. He doesn't know if wanting something so badly is a bad thing, if the reality of getting it will always pale compared to the fantasy of it. But he exhales and his breath hits Kurt's exposed skin and Kurt shudders with a gasp. And fuck, this is going to be awesome.

Dave kisses him, his lower back right over the line of his spread cheeks. He slips his mouth down, holding Kurt with firm hands as he places his first light kiss against that pink pucker.

"Dave!" Kurt's ass clenches and relaxes under his hands. He seems breathless, anxious.

Dave smiles to himself, small and private, and licks a sudden trail from that pucker upwards. Kurt shifts in surprise, and Dave sees his hands gripping tight around the piles of comforters he's kneeling on.

He can't tease, he's got shit for self-control. He returns to that pucker of flesh and presses his mouth down. He traces it with the tip of his tongue, feeling the slip of skin and the firmness of muscle, the tiniest little give in the middle. That dip becomes his focus, his everything, and he skims and flickers and traces with his tongue until he's helpless to resist trying to push his tongue inside.

And it's everything he wanted. For once it's what porn made it out to be, because the sounds that come from Kurt are pure shock and pleasure, like he truly didn't believe something like this could ever feel like that. He is shuddering against Dave, and he's a noisy guy usually but Dave has never managed to get these sounds from him. They're graceless, they're hoarse and harsh, these startled grunts and drawn out 'nnggg unnngggg's that fall from him. And the flex of his back as he pushes in, curves and arches and drives his ass closer to Dave's mouth...

Dave's lost to it. His entire body is his mouth, lips pressed tight against Kurt's skin, tongue dipping and swirling over that pucker, driving in, stroking over, driving in again. He works Kurt open bit by bit, and he can't be sure if he's been doing it for hours or if he just started. He doesn't know anything except Kurt sounds like he's dying and Dave has never been so turned on in his life.

He can feel the give, the opening up millimeter by millimeter. He pushes and probes and his tongue slips in deeper each time. Dave can hear himself making these noises, these sloppy little sounds like someone eating too fast with their mouth full, but fuck it. Kurt's stuttered groans are only getting louder, Dave could give a shit for any noise that isn't falling from Kurt's mouth.

The chanting starts slowly, or maybe Kurt's moans just randomly form into words, into Dave's name groaned so helplessly. Kurt drops to his elbows like he can't hold himself up, and there's sweat slicking down his back and in his hair as he looks back over his shoulder. His pupils are blown black, and there's no kind of rational look in those eyes.

It's want, and that's all. Lust and pleasure like he's crazed with it.

Dave's finding it hard to focus, but he looks up over Kurt's soft skin and meets his eyes and drives his tongue hard and deep, that impossibly small pucker barely giving way before closing in around him.

Kurt flinches with it, shakes, and his head drops down again and his hips pulse forward and shove back. "Fuck, Dave, god fuck..." His voice is thick and strange, choked and lower than usual. "Dave," he groans and gasps, like he has to say Dave's name to get oxygen in and out. "Dave, Dave, nnngggg, fuck, Dave, you...fuck, fuck, this...you..."

Dave listens like it's music; Kurt's singing this song like the artist he is, a song he wrote for Dave and sings for Dave that no one else will ever get to hear. Kurt's voice lands on him like a weight, like a warm press on his shoulders.

He drives his tongue in, finding a kind of a rhythm with it, thrusting in as deep as he can, and again, and again.

He's got one hand pressing Kurt's cheek to the side and his dick in his other hand and he doesn't even know when that happened. He strokes himself dry and doesn't give a shit, his entire focus is on Kurt as his twitches get more violent and his words cut off into nothing but nnngggs and gasps.

Only when he realizes that his tongue is aching, getting tired from the new exercise, does he start thinking about letting either of them get off.

"Dave," Kurt grounds out before Dave can do anything special to try to get him off. It's all choke and rumble, barely any voice. "Dave. God. Dave. Gonna..."

Dave shuts his eyes and releases his dick and spreads Kurt apart with both hands, driving his tongue in deep and pushing in and out fast.

Kurt cries out, loud, high, and his body shifts as he reaches under him desperately. The moment he touches his cock he shouts, broken and loud and he's coming so hard it seems to drive him backward.

Dave's so synced up to Kurt that he only has to stroke himself a couple of times before his own dick goes off, and he clenches his hand in the flesh of Kurt's cheek and buries his face in the crack of his ass and spurts until nothing's left to come out, until he's just twitching and pulsing and dry.

Kurt sags, and Dave has just enough sense left to not collapse right on top of him. He catches the edge of the futon with his hand as Kurt sprawls out, shivering, and slowly Dave pushes himself up, crawls up on the pile of comforters to collapse on his stomach beside Kurt.

He wants to pass out, hard, but he loves these moments too much to let himself. He pushes his heavy eyelids up and admires the slick shine of sweat on Kurt's skin, and the way his back rises and falls with his frantic fast breath. He loves this absolute laziness, the way his body feels twice as heavy as normal and he doesn't ever want to move. The way he's so warm all over, and he can still feel his pulse in his dick, and he can see that Kurt feels the same. He made Kurt feel the same.

He shuts his eyes, breathless but peaceful, and he can feel sleep coming but a soft touch on his back pushes that away.

He pries his eyes open, and Kurt's staring at him. He's on his side now, and he looks from Dave's face to his own hand dusting across Dave's sweaty back.

Kurt doesn't have to say anything – Dave knows him by now, his reactions. He knows he's not gonna have any trouble suggesting this particular fantasy again whenever he wants. Kurt will already know that Dave can read him – hell, it's not like the guy's subtle about what feels good in bed.

Kurt doesn't have to speak, but he does. His voice is hoarse, but the words are clear. "You're incredible," he says. He smiles as his eyes slide closed heavily. "I love you."

And...

Okay.

Dave's known for months now that certain parts of his body are really gay for parts of Kurt Hummel. He's obsessed with a guy's dick, and now he's developing a healthy obsession for his ass, and there's no denying the gayness of that. His mouth is totally queer for Kurt's cock, his hands are gay for Kurt's hips and thighs and cheeks. His cock is gay for Kurt's hands and the slip of Kurt's cock against it.

But Kurt says those words, and Dave knows just like that that wanting Kurt as bad as he does isn't gay or straight or any other damned thing. It's just love.

Kurt's sound asleep and snoring before Dave can say it back, but Dave doesn't get too bothered by that. He's a big, awkward, uncertain shithead sometimes, but he's smart enough to know what his first words are gonna be in the morning.