Disclaimer: I don't own GLEE, David Karofsky, Kurt Hummel, or anything else that is in this fanfic. They all belong to FOX. I just write fanfics, so don't sue me, k?
Note: I should so be working on the, like, twenty fics people are waiting for me to finish, lol. Instead, I started a new one. This is so like me. It's my first Gleefic, though, so please be gentle, k?
Note 2: This takes place after A Very Glee Christmas. It might end up ignoring the events of The Sue Sylvester Bowl Shuffle and on, depending on what happens, but it likely will, just to warn you. But this is a fanfic, so how canon it is shouldn't really matter that much, right?
Note 3: This is a Kurtofsky fic. That means I support the pairing of Dave Karofsky and Kurt Hummel. If you do not agree with my pairing, I respect your opinion but ask that you please do the same and not flame my fanfic. I know there are a lot of people who aren't fans of this pairing, some people actively offended by it. I do have to ask, though, if you're one of those people, why are you reading a fanfic that's been clearly stated as Kurtofsky twice (once in this paragraph, and once in the fanfic description) then? Anyone who has comments and reviews that are not flames, however, are perfectly welcome. Thank you!
The days were starting to blend together since Winter Vacation ended. Go to school. Pretend to care. Laugh at glee club. Go to football practice. Come home. Start over again tomorrow.
"Dave, tell us what's going on with you."
Oh, and endure parents' facade of caring.
"You've been acting so different, you used to be such a nice boy. What happened?"
"Nothing, mom. Just kinda stressed, I guess. I'm going to bed."
"Leave it, dear. We've tried everything. When David feels like talking to us, he will."
Dave snorted as he ascended the stairs to his sport-covered sanctuary. Talk to them about it? Never gonna happen. They wouldn't understand. No one understood. There was something horribly wrong with him.
For the longest time, he wasn't quite aware of it. It was something there in the back of his mind, nagging at him and pulling on his brain, always pulling him in the same direction. But he always ignored it, thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him. There was no way it was right... right? No way it was telling him to look at who he thought it was telling him to.
The sound of shifting and clacking woke him up from a pleasantly dreamless slumber. His eyes shot open as he realized someone was there in the room with him, and he sat up quickly.
"Honestly, Dave, do you have enough collector's hockey pucks?"
The jock blinked. It couldn't be. The room was still dark, so it was still the middle of the night, so... what the hell was he doing in his room?
"I mean," the young man at the dresser across from his bed continued on, the alarm and confusion in his companion completely unnoticed, "what are you planning on doing with all of this once you're set for college? I'm sure this won't all fit in a dorm room." Even in the dark, his bright green eyes stood out, turning to gaze at the baffled Dave.
Karofsky finally shook himself out of his stupor, looking to his closed door, and back before hissing, "How in the hell did you get in my house, Hummel?"
Baby-doll features spread into a smile as Kurt turned to him, clasping his hands behind his back and striding over to the side of the bed. "Does that really matter now? Here I am, and here you are. And you're mostly naked," the last part was said with a light chuckle.
Dave looked down at himself, having forgotten that he usually sleeps in nothing but his boxers. He grabbed the blanket and yanked it over himself to at least cover up past his hips. "Alright, how about what are you doing in my house?" he growled, smothering his embarrassment.
Kurt himself was dressed as fabulously as Dave remembered, a sweater that halted just halfway down his thighs when he sat on the side of the bed, gracefully crossing his legs. Tight leggings peeked out to cover to his knees only to be covered themselves by a distressingly long pair of boots.
Dave wasn't quite sure why he noticed all of that. But it really did look quite stunning on the fashion-forward teenage boy perched daintily on his bed. "Don't you already know that answer? I'm here to talk about exactly how far into the closet you've buried yourself."
"I'm not gay!" Dave snapped, mostly out of reflex. "And get off my bed, homo!"
Kurt, surprisingly, didn't look even remotely intimidated. He actually seemed to consider the order. He finally settled on, "Mmm... no." He emphasized by leaning back on his hands and getting comfortable. "Not until we make progress. Now, repeat after me. 'I am gay.'"
"Hell no! If you don't get outta my room, I'm gonna pummel you!"
The green-eyed boy turned his gaze on him again, cocking an eyebrow. "If you're going to beat me up, you might as well just do it. Because I'm not going anywhere until you admit you're at least a little closeted."
"Well, that's progress."
"Wha-?" Karofsky stared at him, that last sentence being about the last he expected. It was progress? What was? He hadn't said anything but...
Dave suddenly understood exactly what those three words and that sly smile meant, feeling his face turn a bit red. "That's not what I meant, you sicko!"
"That's not what your face is saying," there was an actual giggle with that one. Kurt grasped one hand in the other and stretched them above his head, arching his back as he did. A pop came out of a couple of joints.
Dave just stared. Kurt was thin, lithe, flexible, but he'd already known all that. What he hadn't known was how desirable he looked in that one motion, everything from the curve of his midriff to the nape of his neck. "Mmmm... aah..." the boy moaned a bit as he released himself, pivoting on his pelvic bone and resting down horizontally next to the shocked jock.
"W-what are you doing?" Karofsky yelped.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking a break. You're a hard nut to crack." Kurt looked down and blinked. "Oops. Sorry, forgot I had these on." He sat up just enough to reach down and unzip one of his boots, pulling it off to reveal the rest of his legging-clad leg and tossed it on the ground. He then did the same with the other boot and laid back down, arms behind his perfectly coiffed head.
Dave swallowed, eyes traveling down the length of him. Every inch was perfect, head to toe, and extremely desirable. This was bad. He could combat these desires at school, where there was everything there to distract him and other jocks to back him up, but here? In his own house, his own bed? No, he wasn't gay. He wasn't. He couldn't be. No matter how much he wanted to reach out and touch one of those lean thighs.
"I'm not going to stop you if you want to touch me."
Dave started, blinking at him. Instead of denying it, however, he found himself asking, "Why not?"
Kurt scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You haven't figured it out yet, Einstein? How friendly I'm being, your parents not waking up? Hell, the fact that I'm even here in the middle of the night, and not cowering from you? You're dreaming, ham-hock."
The jock stared at him a moment. "I am, aren't I?" he asked, as if the realization had just hit him. Without waiting for an answer, he practically pounced on the other teenage boy, pinning him to the mattress and practically trying to smother him with his own mouth. Dream-Kurt reacted accordingly, arms wrapping around his neck and one leg snaking around Dave's. It was a good make out, even if one that never actually happened. But after a couple of minutes... Karofsky stopped.
Dream-Kurt looked confused. "What's wrong? Don't you want to touch me?" he asked, sounding a bit hurt.
Dave stared at him, feeling bad but knowing exactly what the problem was. "You're not the real thing. It's not right."
The dream boy stared at him a few more seconds before smiling. He reached up and kissed the jock on the cheek. "You'll be just fine."
Dave gave him a puzzled look, but before he could ask what he meant Dream-Kurt reached over to the alarm clock by the bed and clicked it on.
Karofsky started awake, sitting up in his bed and blinking rapidly, looking around. It was morning, the sun was coming out, and his alarm was blaring. He reached over and turned it off, looking down at the space in his bed next to him. It was of course empty and devoid of any sign that Dream-Kurt had been there, but what had happened had felt oddly... real. It also felt like a sign that something important was going to happen.