A/N: Written to fulfill a prompt at the LiveJournal Glee Kink Meme.
Rain pelted down on Kurt as he made a mad dash from his car to the school. Thankfully, his tasteful see-through D&G raincoat managed to keep most of the moisture at bay. He breathed a sigh of relief as he re-entered the halls of William McKinley High, still fifteen minutes early for glee practice. He'd thought his forgetting of his hair gel would cause him to be tardy to what was arguably one of the two highlights of his week (the other, amazingly, was Cheerios practice), but that hadn't turned out to be the case. He'd gelled up and still had time to spare.
Humming a Sondheim tune to himself, he strolled towards the choir room, idly wondering what Mr. Schue's assignment for that week would be. He had just approached the door when he heard a soft, feminine voice that could only belong to Tina say breathlessly, "I wouldn't mind a piece of Mike Chang."
That particular sentence stopped him dead in his tracks. Tina was one of his closest friends, but she'd never confided that particular fact to him. Kurt was under the impression she only had eyes for Artie. If she'd kept the information from him, it meant she hadn't been comfortable sharing - and Kurt was reluctant to barge in and make her self-conscious. So he did what any good friend would do in that particular situation. He stood outside the door and eavesdropped.
"I thought you were into Artie," said another girl's voice. Santana, concluded Kurt.
It sounded like Tina was embarrassed. "I am. Totally, he's the best. And I would never get with Mike because I'm scared people will start to think we're some sort of walking statistic for intra-racial dating. But…well, let's just say I wouldn't say no to a threesome with the guy. Especially if he were…you know…on top." He was unable to see her, but Kurt could've sworn Tina was blushing.
Santana spoke up again. "Mike, huh? He's got the moves on the dancefloor, but I'm not so sure they'd show up anywhere else. Now Matt…yum."
"You like Matt?" asked possibly the most easily-recognizable voice in glee: Rachel.
"What's not to like?" came Santana's blithe response. "Big hands, big feet…you know what I'm talking about."
"He likes peas?" Kurt rolled his eyes. Brittany and her non-sequiturs. Like him, no one had been able to decode her sentiment, and the room had lapsed into momentary silence, before she offered her rationale, "Cause he's like, related to the Jolly Green Giant. The pea king."
Santana chose to ignore her friend's absurd statement and forged on. "It would be really nice to be with a guy who's got the width, the length, and the girth."
"But I thought…that is…" Rachel appeared to be having a hard time forming her sentence, but after a slight pause, noted, "You've slept with Puck."
Santana offered a small, scornful laugh. "Let me just say, Puck makes up in enthusiasm what he lacks in other attributes." Her emphasis of the last word touched off a round of unruly laughter.
"It might be the pregnancy, but sometimes, I get really horny for Kurt."
The topic of Quinn's announcement had to clutch at the wall for support as a wave of shock crashed over him. "I keep having this fantasy where I'm just lying on my bed and Kurt sneaks in and starts eating me out. It's so erotic because I can't see him over the bump and, I come, like fifteen times," revealed Quinn. She was panting slightly. "It's got to be the hormones, right?"
The next statement he heard, delivered in the dulcet tones of none other than Kurt's best friend, Mercedes, almost made him collapse into a dead faint. "You can blame whatever you want, honey, but between you and me, you have got to admit, the boy is fine. Especially his…" Being outside the door, Kurt couldn't see the accompanying gestures that prompted the spate of uncontrollable girlish giggles, but he could imagine, and he blushed at the thought.
Pure, perverse curiosity overcame him, and he sucked in a breath before gingerly pulling the door open a crack. As he'd gathered from his brief stint listening at the door, only the glee girls were in the room. They all seemed too absorbed in their gabfest to notice him at the door, and for that, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks.
"Hey, whatcha doing?" The deep voice at Kurt's back made him jump.
He spun around and found himself face-to-face with all the club's male members. Finn, who had been the one to speak, appeared as if he was going to repeat his question. Hurriedly, Kurt put a finger to his lips to indicate silence, and before any of them could protest, Brittany's voice sounded loud and clear from within the choir room. "When we were making out in his room, I got like, sopping wet."
Puck raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Last week when he wore those wet-look pants, I think I had an eyegasm," remarked Santana.
"What's an…Oh," said Rachel sheepishly. More laughter.
Matt and Mike exchanged incredulous looks, before turning to gape at Kurt. "Dude, you wore those wet pants," hissed Puck. "They're talking about you!"
Artie's mouth was wide open, his stunned look mirrored in the faces of the other four guys. Kurt realized the discomfort he'd begun feeling with Quinn's declaration had now risen exponentially. The next thing the eavesdroppers heard did nothing to relieve the knot of tension building in the pit of Kurt's stomach. "I'd reverse cowgirl him. And I'd make Artie tape it. I bet we'd go viral in an hour," chuckled Tina.
"Kurt's face is too pretty not to be looked at during sex," countered Santana. "I'd take him from the front, rough, while Brit would do him with a strap-on. Then we'd switch, of course." Santana and Brittany grinned at each other, perfect understanding between them.
"Hey guys, what's up?" The cheerful query could only have one source. Kurt wondered why death couldn't be induced voluntarily. The boys turned en masse to look guiltily at Mr. Schue. "Why aren't you going…"
His question was cut off by Mercedes happily chirping, "Taking Kurt in the ass? I'll leave that to you two. I'd rather just have some good, old-fashioned sex in the back of his car. There's plenty of room back there." Their glee coach did a passable impersonation of a man having a heart attack then, and all the guys, except Kurt, silently implored him to keep their presence a secret. Possibly stunned, Mr. Schue nodded dumbly at their silent request.
"Of course, I'd also want him to treat me like a dirty whore and slap my face with his cock. Repeatedly," came Santana's voice again. "God, how amazing would it be if he tied me up and told me I couldn't come until he said so?" She closed her eyes for a second and shivered, as if in delight.
All the gathered males turned as one to look at Kurt. Their expressions ranged from disbelief to outright shock. Puck irritably mouthed, "Kurt?"
"I'd be a little scared to be tied up," admitted Rachel. "No, I'd rather dress him up in cute little overalls and force him to plow the garden. If you know what I mean." Rachel simultaneously blushed and smiled wide at her invented euphemism.
Quinn rolled her eyes. "We all know what you mean, Berry. You want Kurt to go down on you. Don't steal my fantasy."
Finn and Puck, having arrived too late to hear Quinn's confession, both looked as if they would need to be carted off in an ambulance and given oxygen.
Rachel pouted, "I didn't".
"How fast do you think he'd come?" Brittany wondered aloud, twirling a strand of golden hair.
"My man Kurt is the tortoise, girl, slow and steady towards the finish line," drawled Mercedes.
"I bet I could get him to come in thirty seconds if I could get him into my mouth." Quinn glanced around the group, daring anyone to challenge her. Finn clutched at his heart.
"God, that's another Kurt fantasy of mine," Santana confessed.
"Share," encouraged Tina.
Kurt heard the collective breath being drawn behind him. A quick glance behind him revealed that all the guys, Mr. Schue included, were enthralled, waiting with bated breath to hear Santana's story. Kurt couldn't help but wonder if he should've just barged in at the beginning and brought all the sex confessions (a large number of them, apparently, involving him) to a grinding halt. Then again, he couldn't help but feel a teeny, tiny, itty-bitty, bit…proud. Man, if dad could hear all this! His son's a stud! Kurt felt giddy.
Santana was detailing her fantasy scenario in an excited voice (or as excited as Santana ever got). "We'd be like, the last two Cheerios still hanging around after practice. And he'd be super-horny, from the exertion, you know, and he'd corner me in the locker room. He'd order me to suck his cock, to relieve the tension, right? I'd say no, but duh, I'd really want to, so he'd slap me around a little – with his cock, of course. Then he'd tie me up with one of those Hermes scarves he keeps in his locker and pull me down by my hair and stick his cock into my mouth. And he'd be like, 'Make me come in two minutes or less. Or else'. And I would." Santana sat back and folded her arms over her chest in a satisfied fashion. "Several times."
There was a short silence, broken by Tina's animated, "That's hot!"
Puck punched Kurt half-playfully, half-seriously in the arm. "Dang, Hummel, what the hell did you do for Santana to come up with that?"
"Tina was turned on by that?" murmured Artie in a confused tone. He was in for a greater shock when his better half began speaking.
"I'd be in for that. But my ultimate Kurt fantasy would be to be triple-teamed by him, Artie, and Mike Chang. While Rihanna's Rude Boy plays on repeat in the background." Tina clapped her hands at her own fantasy.
"What's tri…Oh," said Rachel.
"Well, I still say, missionary in the back of his car, like Titanic. And I'd want it to be raining, like right now," chimed in Mercedes. "So we could steam up the windows."
"I'd like to pour maple syrup all over him and eat him like a short stack." Brittany licked her lips, as though demonstrating what she'd do. "The British invented maple syrup. I like the British."
Rachel looked thoughtful. "I think my favorite Kurt fantasy is dressing him up like one of those slave boys in Ancient Greece…"
"Why do all your fantasies involve costumes?" asked Quinn wearily.
Rachel folded her hands primly in her lap. "A little theatricality never hurt anyone."
Everyone except Brittany rolled their eyes. Brittany was still licking her lips like she was eating an imaginary stack of sex pancakes.
"She needs the costumes to spice up her dull fantasies," snickered Quinn. Mercedes and Tina chortled in agreement.
Rachel made a face. "Anyhow," she continued, clearing her throat, "He'd be dressed up like one of those slave boys. And I'd have this whip, you know, made out of leather. And we'd play these little games, you know, slave and mistress games. Like, I'd put some currants in my…well, you know where…and force him to tease them out one by one, using only his tongue. But if he makes me come before all the currants are out, he loses, and I'd whip him on his sweet, pert, white backside. I'd whip him until he bled or cried for mercy, or both. I'd kiss and suck all the little wounds until he came, then we'd start all over again."
Rachel tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear and leaned forward, continuing the tale for her captive audience. "And another game would be him blindfolded and suspended spread-eagled from the ceiling with silk ropes. I'd get down on my knees and suck him off just to the brink of orgasm. But then I'd stop. I'd tell him if he could come in the next five minutes, I'd let him take me any way he wants to – but if he can't, I get to whip him. I'd enjoy watching him struggle to jerk off without his hands. I'd take a peacock feather and run it all over him, teasing him. I'd stick gold stars all over him and taunt him that he can't even come when his mistress commands him. Sometimes, I even imagine he breaks free from the ropes and forces me up against the wall, like an animal, and after he's come and is all weak and soft, I take the whip and slap him across the face so hard, I cut his cheek open. Then he takes the blood and smears it across my breasts, then jerks off all over my face!"
All of the girls stared at their normally prissy teammate as she finished relating her fantasy with a slight breathlessness. "Rachel…that was erotic," acknowledged Quinn.
Rachel smiled happily. "Thanks."
"All right, guys, I think we've heard enough," whispered Mr. Schue.
"Yeah," muttered Finn moodily. Puck nodded in agreement, too stunned to speak. The other guys were similarly dumbstruck.
Mr. Schue gently pulled the door shut, then announced, in as loud a voice as he could manage, "Okay guys, let's get some practice in, huh?"
The male members of the glee club filed into the choir room. Kurt was the last to enter, on very shaky legs. He took his customary seat next to Mercedes, who shot him a friendly smile. An image of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio flashed in his mind's eye and he felt a small frisson of shyness, coupled with pure masculine pride, pervade him.
The euphoria was quickly dissipated when he saw the jealous gazes of his fellow guy teammates. Puck, especially, was vigorously shaking his head with an incredulous expression on his face. Mike kept raising his eyebrows in a quizzical expression as he surveyed the female population of the room. Matt looked back and forth between Kurt and the various girls, as if trying to determine if there was something he was missing. Artie glanced at Kurt, then studied Tina with a look of utter disbelief on his face. Finn just looked stricken.
It was odd – but not at all unpleasant – to be on the receiving end of so much male jealousy. As he turned to face forward, he caught Rachel's eye. She stared at him for a second. Then, she winked and smiled, looking sweet and innocent in that day's candy-colored outfit and pigtails. Kurt remembered her elaborate fantasy, blushed, and quickly turned to face Mr. Schue.
Kurt's only thought was, She's just lucky I'm gay.