A/N: Whew! Finaly done with this fic! Now I can focus on... other things. X3
Thanks for sticking by me, you guys! I never imagined this fic would run this long, nor did I expect to recieve over 320 reviews! You guys are nuts but also rock hardcore. So yeah. Love ya'll. ;D
It takes Dave a moment to calm down, his heart still fluttering wildly in his chest. "You told him that?" he murmurs, "And he said he'd do that… for me?"
"You seem so surprised," Kurt smiles, skating alongside Dave while they slowly pass a bright orange puck between them. He reaches over and rubs one of Dave's burly forearms. "But my dad likes you, now. Respects you. He thinks it was great how you stood up for yourself, and like how I was discriminated against for being a boy to sing 'Defying Gravity,' you were discriminated against for being gay to play hockey. And that's not right, Dave. It might even be – no, I'm pretty sure it is – illegal. So my dad wants to help. He won't hire a lawyer, but he will threaten the school with one until they let you back on the team."
"Why would I want to rejoin a team that hates me?" Dave grumbles. "I mean, I appreciate your dad deciding to come down here and back me up on this, but it's just going to stir up the dog shit."
"They let this cruddy school smell a little revolting for a while if it means getting back your other love," Kurt states firmly, swinging back sloppily on his stick and attempts a shot at the goal. He just barely makes it, the fortunate timing and angle earning him a rebound goal off of one of the poles supporting the frame for the netting. He stops, cutting Dave off in his skate path, ice chips flying from his designer ice skates. "And don't deny that you love hockey. Just practicing here with you for the past week has shown me how greatly you ache for it. Miss it."
Dave sighs, turning on the ice more gracefully than Kurt even thinks he himself can do, and starts skating up the long end of the rink. "Fine. You caught me. I really want back on that team, but not with those assholes as teammates. Wish there was another way."
"There isn't. But if they warmed up to you once when you first joined the team, they can warm up to you again when you rejoin, even as a outed gay," Kurt answers kindly as he snatches the puck out of the goal. He struggles a little to race to catch up with the jock while simultaneously batting the puck between either sides of his stick. "Come on, Dave. Don't be stubborn. Things can work out if you let them."
"I just… feel like your dad will be fighting my battles for me, as though I'm hiding behind him."
"No, no! I used to think that, but really, my dad is like 'the big guns.' Sometimes, to fight your own war, you need to whip out an extra weapon."
Dave stops to look Kurt up and down. A smile just barely touches his features. "I guess you're right. Well, when he gets here, I'm going to give him my thanks. Your dad's cool."
"I bet your dad would be a welcome addition if you told him about this," Kurt murmurs. "I called my dad since he's e-mail impaired most times, but I suggest you send yours an e-mail since he's usually working. I bet he'll hop right on board, because he cares about you, and besides, I doubt he would like the idea of you being kicked out of a sport… especially because of your sexuality."
"Dammit, Kurt, why do you always have to make so much sense?" Dave laughs, taking the pass Kurt unprofessionally sends his way. And this is the end of one conversation, because soon they're stoking up some memories, mentioning people from the previous school year, before changing the topic to bands certain people of all types listen to, and how sometimes one person's taste in music doesn't reflect who they are or what they look like.
"Take Rachel Berry for instance: she listens to precisely the type of music you think she would. But Artie? He liked just about anything and everything, varying from rock to hip-hop to, well, '80s dance. Which was perfectly acceptable, because that way he seemed fine with anything the club decided to sing."
"My friends weren't like that. Azimio listened to nothing but rap like you'd expect, and everyone else just followed in his and my footsteps to keep in our good graces. We were feared, I guess. But I tried to be less-so come senior year," Dave mumbles as the two skate off of the rink and head for the vacant locker room to change.
Once they're back outside, Kurt suddenly stops and tugs on his roommate's sleeve. "Can we get something to eat? It's not quite dinner hour, I know, but I'm hungry."
"And I'm always hungry, so I'm totally up for grabbing some grub. Whattya in the mood for?"
Kurt pauses to think about this, one of his fingers idly tapping his bottom lip, his eyes rolling to peer ay the sky, a sign, then return to Dave's face as he smiles. "I could really go for some barbeque pork ribs, actually."
Dave quirks an eyebrow. "Really? I expected to hear something along the lines of 'a Caesar salad' or something."
Kurt shakes his head, continuing his stroll. "Nah. When you grow up with a man like Burt Hummel for a father, you learn to like the rustic foods pretty quickly. Don't get me wrong, I love my healthy foods, but sometimes childhood kicks in and I really want a burger or something hearty."
"That's… awesome. Seriously, Kurt, you always surprise me in all the best ways," Dave retorts with a laugh. He doesn't even mind as Kurt catches up to him and takes his gloved hand. But even through the fabric, Kurt's are icy to the touch. "Hey, where are your gloves?"
Kurt shrugs. "Left them behind at the dorm. They didn't match my outfit."
"Kurt, you can't go around trading fashion for comfort. You're going to catch a cold," Dave scolds, a frown on his features.
The soprano shrugs and sticks his hands into the pockets of his fashionable little trench coat, Dave's hand joining one pocket as he keeps their fingers laced together. "I'll live. It's no big deal; I do it all the time. It just requires a little more hand lotion to keep out the drying cold, and a little warm-water hand washing to bring back the blood flow."
"That's ridiculous. For all that trouble you could've just, you know, worn gloves." Dave replies with a huff and a roll of his eyes. "Here," he grunts, and removes his hand to strip off his own gloves, "Take mine. They're fucking black, which means they match everything. Do me a favor and wear them before your hands fall off."
At first, the shorter boy doesn't know what to say. But he soon takes the gloves and slips them on – the fingers are too long and sag a little at the tips, baggy in the palms, where Dave's hands are larger – and flexes his fingers to help absorb the leftover heat. "Thanks," he murmurs quietly. "You always take care of me."
"Yeah, well. Someone's gotta protect your scrawny ass," Dave grumbles, a blush making its way onto his cheeks. He swallows it down and shoves his hands into his pockets to keep his own hands from getting frostbite.
They walk across the busy highway to a rib joint, a place with a rather happy looking hog as a logo, despite the fact that said hog was probably slaughtered to make the food within. "Oh the irony," Kurt smiles, gesturing to the grinning pig. "And it looks so cartoony-cute, too. Too bad I'm going to eat it."
Dave chuckles – Kurt really is very funny sometimes – and idly shrugs off the hold on his arm the smaller college student has. Kurt pretends not to notice as they walk through the doors and get seated by a middle-aged waitress (thank Gaga, too, because Kurt's sick and tired of young, single girls hitting on either himself or his boyfriend, because neither of them are interested, and it sucks in that awkward way).
As they're seated, Kurt picks up the drink menu, idly wishing he could order a Piña Colada without the alcohol, but knowing most places have it pre-mixed, and besides, it's kind of expensive. He goes with a Sprite instead, while Dave orders a Coke. But as soon as the drinks arrive, a group of noisy guys come in, and suddenly Dave is shooting a glance across the table at Kurt that says it all. 'Here comes trouble.'
It's Tyler and his goonies, a group of straight guys who are completely oblivious to Tyler's homosexuality. It takes them all but two minutes to access the situation: that glare their friend is sending the two boys in a nearby booth? Yeah, that's for a reason. And they want in on it.
Dave growls lowly under his breath, sinking lower into his seat. "I don't like this. If we hadn't already ordered, I'd just pay for the drinks and leave."
"Come on, Dave, I know you have more of a backbone than that," Kurt reprimands firmly. "What happened to the tough guy in you? The one who named his own fist The Fury?"
"…Kurt, as much as I like to boast about not taking no shit from nobody, I'd rather avoid some conflict sometimes. Like right now. We're, like, on a semi-date. I don't want to fuck it all up by getting in a fistfight with Jurcen, if it comes down to it," David mumbles in reply. He's frowning the entire time, his brows meeting together with scarcely a wrinkle between them.
The singer sighs through his nose and reaches across the sticky expanse of wood to nudge his lover. "Don't let it get to you. I'm sure that if we don't bother them, they won't bother us."
"Easy for you to say; you're not the one he outed in front of your entire hockey team," the jock snaps in reply, but instantly regrets it and allows his facial expression to melt into that of remorse and calm. "Oh my God, I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm just… so fucking angry at that douchebag. I want to knock his teeth in, make sure he swallows them, and then make him vomit them back up as I sock him one in the gut."
Kurt blinks and raises his brows, whistling lowly to himself. "Wow, Dave. Violent much?"
Kurt shakes his head. "It's nothing. I understand. But still… try to calm down. I think our food will be coming soon, and the sooner it does, the sooner we can eat and be out of here so you don't have to deal with him."
"I hate to admit it, but… I just wish Alyssa were here. She always knows how to handle him, even if he hurt her once."
Kurt takes a sip of his Sprite, nodding mostly to himself. "Mm. So true," he agrees.
As if on cue from Kurt's earlier words, their food arrives. Kurt ever-so-daintily digs into his ribs, somehow managing to eat them gracefully, and Dave doesn't know how it's possible, but it is, and he doesn't even have to be cliché and reach over to dab sauce from Kurt's chin or cheeks, because the boy is eating his food so damn carefully. Dave shrugs it off and delves into his own plate, scooping up food by the mouthful and stuffing it past his lips. He doesn't even pretend to be any less ravenous than he is.
Surprisingly, as Tyler walks by (most likely to get to the bathroom a few booths past the roommates' table and down a hall beyond), he doesn't say anything. He doesn't make a swing at either boy, or toss a comment, or shoot a glare. He acts as though they aren't there, or they're strangers, and walks right on by.
"Huh. Weird. With the way he looked at us initially, I thought he might have intended to walk by with his sole objective being to harm one or both of us physically or verbally," Kurt remarks with an out-of-place casual tone. He completes his sentence with a suckle at one of his BBQ-sauce-coated fingertips, the popping sound of the digit leaving his lips like a period at the end.
Dave quickly adverts his eyes (once again caught staring at Kurt's bizarre-yet-attractive mannerisms, the singer sending him a smirk as he catches him) and uses his carbonated beverage to clear his throat. "I thought he was going to do one of those things, too. But I guess not. I'm glad, though; maybe he's finally starting to feel bad about being such an asshole to me."
"And me," Kurt interjects.
"And you," Dave amends with a nod, "But… mostly me."
Tyler exits the bathroom soon enough, this time only sparing a single glance in David's direction, a clearly muddled-and-negative expression on his face as he does so.
"He was totally checking me out," Dave snorts sarcastically.
Kurt rolls his eyes, but he doesn't deny that he was sort of thinking of making the same exact comment. He finishes off his meal, lets Dave polish off his drink, and then they're asking for the bill. They thankfully leave the restaurant without consequence, and hopefully this is a sign that Tyler's days of harassment are over, and they can all go their separate ways.
Because sometimes things truly are that simple.
To say Kurt is just a wee bit suspicious and curious as to why Dave feels the need to leave the dorm room for nearly thirty minutes would be an understatement. He is more than intrigued, and finds himself pressed against the door, listening to Dave pace the hallway outside the room as he chats on the phone with somebody.
When David reenters the shared room, Kurt immediately leaps away from the door and plops onto his bed, taking a textbook lying there into his hands, as if he had been studying or doing homework. But Dave knows better.
"I was talking to my dad," he states coolly as he takes a seat on his own bed, their twin mattresses recently pushed away from one another again because they recently had friends over and didn't want to broadcast their sleeping together to the whole world just yet. The athlete runs his hands through his wavy brown locks and sighs through his parted lips. "He's furious." When Kurt sends him a worried expression, Dave hastily adds, "Not at me; at the school. He says there's a lawsuit there, but I dunno, I don't want things to get messy. I just want to play hockey again. It's not like I'm injured or anything; I'm just gay. What's so wrong with that?"
"Nothing, which is why our dads need to come here and help you get back on that team," Kurt states firmly. "But things might get messy, whether you like it or not, David."
"Yeah, yeah, I know; but still. Why me? Why couldn't this have been an issue for some other gay jock in the whole wide United States? Why does it always feel like these things happen to me?"
Kurt rolls his eyes. "Come on, don't victimize yourself. This is a big deal, but at the same time, it really isn't. So don't fret over it, all right? Everything is under control."
"I sure hope so."
"Have more faith in our parents. Both our dads have very strong qualities to them, and they know how to handle schools. I mean, just look at how my dad got you expelled but then your dad got you reenrolled! That's got to count for something, doesn't it? …I mean, despite the circumstances of the case. I know neither of us like to return to those hurtful memories," Kurt informs the other with a weak smile of assurance.
"You're right once again," Dave mutters under his breath. He flops back on the covers and closes his eyes. "I just hate it when things get all difficult on me. I'm lazy by nature, so anything that involves putting up an effort is… strenuous," he remarks idly.
He hears Kurt get up from the other bed and feels the mattress dip as the gleek sits down on the edge, near Dave's knees. Kurt's hand is suddenly a warm pressure on Dave's leg, working its way up his thigh. This catches Dave's attention, causing him to blinks open his eyes and lift his head to offer a wry smile.
"And just what are you up to?"
"Taking your mind off of what ails you," Kurt replies simply, and with a quick glance full of devious intentions sent Karofsky's way, it's all the jock can do not to snatch up the paler boy and pin him to the bed.
Instead, he props himself up on his elbows and gestures with a motion of his wrists for Kurt to come at him. Kurt complies easily, twisting his body to lie on his stomach, half of his torso leaning up against the broad width of Dave's chest. One arm wraps around beneath Dave's back as the other reaches up to touch his face, jaw, and neck, ducking down to skim across his collarbones.
Tonelessly, Kurt remarks, "You're getting a little stubbly. When did you shave last?"
Dave shrugs to the best of his abilities as he reclines backward, bringing Kurt further up his chest and holding him there, one thumb tucked into one of Kurt's empty belt loops. "A few days ago. I should probably shave the next time I shower, which will probably be tonight."
"Good, because I don't want sandpaper on my lips when I kiss you," Kurt smirks as he leans up and brushes said body part against the hollow of Dave's throat. He can feel Dave's vocal chords vibrate on the skin of his lips as the meatier boy hums his approval.
"Do I sense a make-out session coming on?" Dave whispers into Kurt's hair as he brings over his other hand, using it to curve around the shell of Kurt's ear and glide down into the back of Kurt's shirt, yanking its loose collar over the side of the singer's shoulder to expose the skin. He leans up, craning his neck a little to plant a kiss on that perfectly porcelain shoulder, loving how Kurt shivers minutely at the contact.
"Your Spidy-Senses are impeccable," Kurt murmurs mutedly in response. "Because that's precisely what's going to happen. After all, I think I deserve a little reward for being so good at practice today. And for coming up with the idea to include our fathers on the injustice going down at this college's oh-so-fabulous athletic field of learning."
"And you don't sound bitter or sarcastic at all towards the sports here," Dave snorts, smirking a little as he closes his eyes and presses another kiss to Kurt's temple.
Kurt shuts his eyes as well, and leans in to the touches, his free hand not supporting his body being put to good use of lifting Dave's shirt, because Kurt can honestly never get tired of that manly expanse of skin, the soft curls of hair on it oddly addicting and pleasing to the touch.
"I positively despise the sports here simply because I'm jealous that I'm not skilled enough for them, and because they wronged you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to stop talking for a while and get our minds off of this matter as I kiss you senseless."
"Hmm, I like that idea," Dave remarks with a grin as he watches Kurt undress him. Kurt sends him a look around his task, as if to say, 'I thought you would.'
Dave assists the thinner male on top of him in removing his own shirt, and once the pesky garments are carelessly tossed onto the adjacent bed, Dave takes Kurt into his arms and rolls them over, succeeding in trapping the other youth beneath him. He goes to work with his tongue, sucking at a place on Kurt's chest he knows the singer likes. One large hand holds him up as the other strokes down Kurt's side, thumb running over a nipple, fingers dusting across the bellybutton. Kurt arches into each sensation, emitting a small sigh of pleasure now and again.
The hockey jock lives for moments like these: moments when no one is watching, no one cares, no one is around to make snarky remarks or harmful accusations. There's only David and Kurt, Karofsky and Hummel, and nobody else. The world becomes smaller, more manageable, and entirely free of loathing or discrimination. It's solely the two of them, and filled with nothing but love with a dash of lust.
Kurt yanks his boyfriend up for a lengthy kiss, one of his hands smoothing over the planes of Dave's back. He brushes his fingers across the waistband of Dave's jeans, grappling for extra leverage, or at least trying to bring their bodies closer together (since they feel to almost never be close enough).
David can't help himself; he moans a little, because he not-so-secretly loves it whenever Kurt takes the initiative, like he is in bringing them flush against one another in this moment. With a little added force, Dave attacks Kurt with toothy, wet kisses along his neck and collarbones and drifts slowly lower and lower, each graze of his teeth and mouth of his lips making Kurt squirm.
Breathlessly, Kurt brings Dave's mouth back to his – he can't stand to let that taste ever fade, whatever taste it is that makes David so very David – and makes quick work of running his hands over the front of Dave's chest before slipping his hands into the back of Dave's pants.
"Eager, are we?" Dave growls seductively into Kurt's ear, one of his brows quirking as he nibbles gently on Kurt's bottom lip and runs his tongue over Kurt's before retreating. "Let me help you with that."
"Glad you stopped being so shy," Kurt breathes huskily as he helps his lover undo both of their pants. He bites down a hiss as the fabric of his colorful skinny jeans tugs down over his cloth-covered erection; already half-hard from all the kissing and touching he can't seem to get enough of. "Because I really do love your body, Dave," he adds in a whisper, a blush rising to his milky cheeks.
Dave tenderly kisses the rose that's blossoming on Kurt's face and gives the final shrug to remove Kurt's pants. He kicks off his own jeans and rolls onto his side, bringing Kurt flush against him like the smaller boy likes. Kurt sighs, a near-moan, at the action, and snuggles into the embrace, purposely grinding his hips against his roommate's.
The jock swallows a responsive moan, his hips jerking forward on their own accord to rub back, the almost rough barrier of underwear between them both maddening and gratifying. He touches down Kurt's smooth, toned back and leans onto him slightly to suck on a collarbone. Kurt gasps and presses his rising member into Dave's hipbone, already seeking release with a hushed, nearly inaudible whimper.
Dave hand glides down to the needy area and slips under the fabric of Kurt's boxer-briefs. He teases the sensitive flesh before Slowly making his way down Kurt's torso with his lips brushing over skin. Then, finally, he guides Kurt's length out of the fabric and spreads Kurt's legs with one hand running along the shaved hairless surface of his thighs.
"W-wait, are you going to –" Kurt stutters, trying to ask around his speedy breaths. Dave's never given oral pleasure before, only received it; Kurt has this hunch that it's because a lingering piece of David still refused to acknowledge just how gay he is, but it seems they're past all that now that Kurt's been inside of the larger boy, and what's more, Dave stood up for himself to his teammates. And while the logic is there, in the heat of the moment, all Kurt can really think about around scattered clips of phrases is how fucking sexy Dave is from this bizarre angle.
"It's alright; it's not so much an obligation as it is an odd craving," Dave remarks with a smirk as he grips the base of Kurt's pulsing arousal in his hand. He glances up briefly to see if Kurt recognizes his own words being used against him. He does. And that's somehow the only indication Dave needs to proceed.
He ducks his head down and listens carefully for Kurt's reaction as he hesitantly, teasingly licks the head of Kurt's member, his lips barely wrapping around the surface. Kurt's legs jump a little, and he hisses something under his breath as he writhes a bit on the bed. And Dave is just a little too pleased, a hair too smug about how minute an action can affect his lover.
Without warning, Dave dares himself to take as much of Kurt into his mouth as he can in one go. Kurt releases a high keening sound akin to a musical note as he arcs off the mattress, his hands tangling themselves in the sheets as a rather red blush consumes his face. The soprano tries to find words to describe what he's feeling as Dave starts to work his tongue around the organ in his mouth, but Kurt finds that there are no words for this. Only feelings; sharp, burning, tingling, shiver inducing, beyond blissful, etcetera. His mind washes blank as he thrashes his head side to side as Dave starts bobbing his head, licking up and down, swirling his tongue, moving his hand around the base, and generally aiming to drive Kurt as insane as possible. It's working.
Kurt comes with a start, his body jerking forward and his lip being bitten down on by mistake, the over-stimulation of a moving hand and mouth on him and the other hand on his leg just too much to bear. Dave surprises his fuzzy/glowing-feeling boyfriend by swallowing the load, although Kurt doesn't miss the brief expression of distaste on his face, clouding his brows.
Dave slinks upwards and plants a kiss or two at Kurt's neck and ear before holding him close. Without hesitation, Kurt aims to return the favor by turning his naked body and grinding his backside up against Dave's boxer-covered member.
"Shit," the hockey jock curses in a moan under his breath. He shrugs his underwear down without a second thought, because damn if it doesn't feel good to have that smooth skin and taunt muscle of Kurt's ass rubbing up against him. He grips Kurt's thighs without a second thought, thrusting dryly upwards between the cheeks, not caring how messy or strange it might appear. It feels too good for him to care. But it would feel better with something acting as a lubricant to help ward off the addicting-but-lightly-painful friction.
Sensing the discomfort, Kurt leans away for as moment – smiling to himself as Dave groans in protest, already missing the contact – and digs around in Dave's headboard drawers for some lube he knows the other boy had stashed somewhere. Locating it, he artfully slathers some onto himself – unaware of how Dave's eyes track the movements and how the jock licks his lips in anticipation, his arousal distractingly aching to touch again – and crawls back over to lay back-to-front with David again, this time reaching behind himself to grip his roommate's length and add the remaining lubricant to it.
He then continues his grinding all too enthusiastically, one hand reaching behind his head to hold onto the back of Dave's neck while the other clings to the side of Dave's thigh to act as leverage where they lay. Dave burrows into Kurt's neck, inhaling the scent of his milky-pale skin and occasionally nipping at where neck meet shoulder or offering a stray lick to Kurt's earlobe as the gleek revolves his hips, rubbing and rubbing, driving Dave just about stir-crazy.
"Kurt," David unconsciously sighs as his orgasm overtakes his body, making him sling to the boy in front of him and shudder against him. A pang touches Kurt's heart when he hears his own name being called out in such a manner, and it's enough to make him want to – and act on the urge to – turn around, ignoring the seed spilled onto his lower back, and kiss Dave full on the lips.
The jock mumbles something indistinguishable into Kurt's mouth as his hands reach up to comb back Kurt's hair and cradle his face. Kurt breaks the kiss and asks as his blue eyes flutter open, "What did you say?"
"Nothin'," Dave mumbles as he peers at his boyfriend with half-lidded eyes. "Jus' that I love you. But you already know that."
"Doesn't mean I don't want to stop hearing it anytime soon," Kurt replies warmly.
Within the week, things were all sorted out. The school threw what could only be called a hissy fit as soon as they found out what the athletic department's head hockey coach had decided. They demanded that Dave be let back on the team (their reasoning not at all biased from the direct threats of reporting this case to a lawyer made by both Burt Hummel and Paul Karofsky, who were two rather livid and concerned parents; no, not at all…), and that the team members not say a word to Karofsky about his sexuality lest it be automatically considered a hate-crime of slander or something else of the sort if any, more physical actions be taken.
And that shut up everybody.
Because nothing quite makes a statement like holding hands in public and getting kicked-off-then-put-back-on-a-sports-team when it comes to sexuality. Nothing quite makes people buzz with gossip and suddenly want to become your best friend as you become an increasing celebrity/popular in general like these sorts of things. Nothing.
And while Kurt is somewhat soaking in the limelight the students offer ("We'd be honored if you and your boyfriend joined the Gay-Straight Alliance we have set up at school; we could use more people, and you two are such a hot controversial topic right now –"), Dave is weary and stubborn and acting very grumpy when it comes to all of these people showing false (some real, but mostly false) interest in himself and Kurt.
Ever the protective (essentially possessive) boyfriend, David makes sure to knock everyone down a few pegs and keep Kurt close to his side.
But aside from that, things are looking up.
They don't hear from Tyler again, save for indirectly from Alyssa. She's good friends with both Kurt and Dave now, and she acts as their link to the public opinion (outside of those buttering the couple up, of course) and their news station on other things. Alyssa informs them that Tyler is now attending a therapy session twice a week with a psychologist ("The ones that can't prescribe you pills like candy," Alyssa jokes) to work on his issues with using people, getting overly angry/jealous, and bottling up his sexual feelings towards the same gender. The psychologist himself is homosexual, and Alyssa says that she was the one to recommend him to her asshole ex-boyfriend.
"I think he'll be good for Tyler," Alyssa relays later on with an offhand wave of her wrist. "Lord knows that boy could use a gay role model right now."
And it still frightens Dave a little to think that, if not for Kurt, he might be in the same boat as Tyler. Cue a shudder.
Kurt decides not to entirely give up on Blaine as a friend, and opts to keep in touch now and then with the dapper-wannabe lad via the Internet. Last time Kurt checked, Blaine is back with Jesse St. James, oddly happy, and completely determined to make this rekindled relationship a steady, serious one; he doesn't want to be, as Kurt called him, "a big, gay slut." And, Blaine noted honestly during his and Kurt's most recent conversation online, "I think I really want to keep him. I liked Jason a lot, but I'll never see him again, and besides, Jesse and I are very compatible. I might even love him a little."
So there it is, out in the open, and Kurt is fine with it. Fine with the openness Dave shows more often; fine with the openness between himself and his friends; and fine with the openness of the school and sports teams in the boys' collective affairs, because, hey, as Kurt points out to Dave later, "At least now we don't have to idea anything. And I'm actually kind of fond of the idea of grossing some people out with our PDA antics."
It makes Alyssa happy at least, giggling in her amused-by-the-cute-gayness way she does. But it makes Kurt even happier, because college is turning out to be the best years of his life. And he bets his bottom dollar that Dave feels the same way.
Because even what begins in loathing can have a happy ending, if given the chance.