A/N: This drabble/oneshot is dedicated to hpgleek713 for being my 400th review on my Kurtofsky story, 'Rewrite'! They mentioned how they like the way I write Dave and Kurt kissing scenes, so…
HERE'S S'MORE KISSIN' IN A RANDOM SIT-U-ATION, AND 'S ALL GOOD, AMIRIGHT? 8D
"Dammit, Karofsky, I said that I didn't want anything to do with you! Why don't you listen?"
I can't help it if I can't stay away from you. You're this addiction I have, this craving I get all the time, and I no matter how hard I try, I can't quit you. I want to – for my sanity, I know I need to – but I can't.
"Let go of me. I know I'm back at McKinley, now, but that doesn't mean you have the right to come near me at all! What is your major malfunction, anyway? Too gay to function?"
It's true. I am too gay to function. I can't deal with it nor accept it. I don't want it, can't be it; not in high school. Not when I'm in sports, especially football. Gay doesn't fit me. It doesn't seem like it'd work with me. But I want you, Kurt. I love everything about you, even the bad parts, and definitely all of the good parts. Every last bit of you I hunger for but can't have.
"Say something, you dumb hamhock! Stop staring at me and just say something!"
"You're not scared," I murmur. All I see in your eyes is anger and hatred, but no more fear.
"Yeah, well, I got over it. You aren't worth my terror," you spit back at me, eyes locking with mine. I pull you in closer where I have you by the wrist, and I reach down and grab your other wrist to stabilize you as you stumble forward. But my grip isn't very tight; I know my strength, and I'm hardly using it. You could break free if you wanted. Why aren't you breaking free?
"Kurt," I breathe, and you look at me, startled. I rarely use your first name. I rarely – if ever – speak this softly, this tenderly. I angle my head down and drop my forehead onto your warm shoulder. "I missed you."
I can feel your fists unclench by the way the tendons in your wrists relax. You sound huffy and embarrassed as you retort bitterly, "That's a lie. Why would you of all people miss me? You hate me. You bullied me. Still are, right now, by the way you're acting aggressively. I swear, anything can set you off! I should start calling you the Hulk."
I wince when you call me that. I'm not that big, and rarely get that angry. I inhale brokenly, shakily. "Kurt, please… Stop…" I beg through clenched teeth, and I sound a little irritated, but really, I'm just hurt.
Stop resisting me.
"'Please' what, Karofsky? Stop what? –I'm not doing anything to you! I've never hurt you the way you've physically abused me. Why do you act like this?"
You hurt me all the time, but you don't realize it. You never see how much you burn me inside, how you make my heart ache, how much I pine for you all the time but don't want to, can't get to, because I shouldn't be a homo like you, I shouldn't want to kiss you so fiercely or hold you so close to me like this. Even now as I breathe in your intoxicating scent from your clothes and breathe hotly into your shoulder, I move closer, always needing to be closer, because…
"Because I love you."
You freeze in place, but then you whip backward violently, tearing yourself from me; my head snaps upward, staring, and my hands grow cold without your skin between my fingers.
"Love? What the hell do you know about love, Karofsky? You can't hurt the people you love! You can't love the person you harass! That doesn't make any sense, and it goes against everything ever portrayed about love," you hurl at me, yelling, and it echoes against the walls of the empty choir room.
I knew it was a mistake to come here after your Glee Club meeting ended. I knew you would reject me.
But I had to try. Clearing my throat, I confess, "I've been so lost without you around, Kurt. I've been falling apart piece by piece… Even though I was bullying you, it was the only way. I couldn't let anyone know, but I needed to get it out somehow. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm backwards, but I'm only human; I'm only a teenager, I'm only one guy, I'm just… Dave Karofsky," I say harshly, lowly; I'm torn up inside. Tears spring to my eyes and I force them back. "Please, Kurt. I just want one moment with you. One where I can tell you how much I missed you and how much I need and love you and… and just stop resisting for one moment, okay? Only once, that's all I ask. Let me let my guard down just this once, and I swear I will never bother you again."
You eye me suspiciously, but you seem to understand my words and motives. You come closer, just a step, merely a few inches, but it's enough. I sigh through my nose with relief, and a small smile graces my lips.
"You… swear you'll never touch me again if I do this? Give you this?"
"You have my word, Kurt. God, you have my whole heart and soul that I will never slushie you or insult you or touch you ever again if you give me this one moment. I'll act like you don't exist. I might glance your way, but I promise to drop my eyes if ours connect, and I swear I will never shove or lay a single finger on you again," I say firmly, determinedly, and with as much strength in my pokerface as I can give.
You nod slowly, unsurely, and exhale weakly. "Fine. I'll do it. But only because I'm desperate for the torment to end and for less stress in my life. Without you in it, without being paranoid over you every time I round a corner or go to class, I can rest easier and finish out this year and all of next year with my old personality back."
It cuts me deep to hear you say that; I love you so much, but you hate my guts. I did that, though. It's my fault, so I shouldn't be hurting this badly. I know I was wrong, and I hate myself more than you hate me because of it. All because I was such an asshole to you. But after having you gone for months… Months and months without you around… It's all I can do right now to keep myself controlled and not grab you again, not bring you flush against me and kiss you.
I take a step closer, and you barely flinch. You wait. I come closer still, and you're fine. "Get this over with, Karofsky," you hiss viciously, and you have the best facial expressions, Kurt. And your voice is so much lower and so undeniably sexy when you growl like that, even if it's meant to be out of spite.
I cup your jaw in one hand, smoothing my thumb over your skin; it's so flawless, better than anything I've ever felt, and I love that I can feel it under my fingertips again.
You close your eyes before I touch you. You're keeping them shut tight, the lids quivering, as you brace yourself. I try not to think how you might be picturing your prep school friend, Blaine. I try not to think how this means you truly can't stand me. I shove away all the negativity and focus solely on you.
I lean down carefully, and go slow as I brush, touch, and finally press my lips to your mouth. I have to be gentle. I have to prove to you how much I love you, truly do, and now that you've giving me the chance and time, I can pour it all out of my heart without fear of getting caught or having you push me away again.
Kurt, why are your lips so perfect? Plump and flushed with color and smooth and soft, but firm and tasting very clearly of boy and there's a musky sweetness like honey on your lips, and idly I wonder if you wear honey-laced lip balm to keep your lips this moist and perfect.
You're warm, so warm, under my hands; I reach out and slide my free hand around your waist and onto your hip, pulling you to me until our chests collide gently. The hand I have on your face I choose to move back into your hair at the base of your head as I bend my own head down and angle my mouth to deepen the kiss, my lips moving over yours.
I'm shocked to find you playing along, for your future safety's sake or my evident desperation, I don't know. But I don't care about your reasoning, because you're kissing back, and as I open my mouth and lick your lips, you actually let me inside. You open your mouth to me, your hands coming up and gripping feebly at the front of my polo over my collarbones. You cling to the fabric, fisting it and making a muffled grunt into my mouth as I thoroughly explore that wet cavern.
I play with your tongue, suck on your bottom lip, tickle the roof of your mouth with the tip of my tongue, and all the while feel overjoyed as you kiss me back with just as much effort. As payback, I think, you nip my lips, your teeth grazing and temporarily pinching the tender skin, and it is like nothing I've ever felt. I moan into your mouth; softly, pathetically, nearly like the helpless whimper that escaped me the very first time I had kissed you all those months ago.
But shockingly, you press against me, going on the pads of your feet to get taller and more leverage on me. You kiss me violently, trying to gain control as you move the tongue play from your mouth to mine and turn it into a battle.
I'm making all sorts of noises now, gasps and grunts and whimpers as my hands start scanning your smaller frame. Kurt, I just love how I can feel your lungs – such air control after all that singing – contract in your ribcage, and as I move one hand closer to your sternum, the other down to your hipbone, I can feel your heart beating as erratically as mine, as quickly as a rabbit's.
I moan again, stumbling back a step, taking you with me, and I run into the piano. I catch myself with the hand from your heart flying backward to my side. My thumb presses against the bone of your pelvis through the fabric of your pants.
You are so different, suddenly. So much more willing, so much surer of yourself, and I almost can't handle it. You're everywhere; your hands are zipping up and down my shirtfront, curving around my abdomen to my back, pushing me until I get up onto the piano, sitting on it, kissing down at an angle to your mouth where your entire body is trapped between my legs, your torso touching my inner knees, and you are just driving me crazy.
I can't believe it. Soon you're kissing down my jaw and neck, yanking open the three buttons on the top of my pullover polo, kissing whatever skin you can reach, avoiding my chest hair. You run one hand under my shirt up my body, and a shiver courses down my spine.
I love you. I love you.
I want to say it over and over with the way you're touching me. Are you only doing this so I keep good on my promise? I was going to anyway, but those sucks and nips and stray licks you're giving me to my neck and shoulder and earlobe is maddening. I keep my hands trained to your shoulders and hair, one tangled up in your mussed coif and the other dangling diagonally down your spine from where my elbow rests on your shoulder. I can feel your shoulder blades moving under my forearm, and I can't suppress the whines and moans that fall out of my mouth.
"Kurt… Fancy… Kurt…"
Your name and my nickname for you, over and over, mashing together, the tone a mingled mess of affection and lingering scraps of detestation for what you do to me.
I love you, but hate you.
I hate you so much sometimes, because I know this isn't real. It's momentary, and then everything will be back to normal, but worse, because I promised not to be near you any more if you gave me this.
I hate myself, too, for swearing to that. Giving you my word on that. After having this taste of you, this brush with passion, how could I ever think that I wouldn't just want you even more?
I'm a fool. I'm a coward and a fool. And I love you, Kurt, I love you and need you, but you're only doing this to probably quell some of your teenage hormones and get me off your back permanently.
I turn my face into your neck as my head drops forward, my hips bucking where I sit on the piano, because I can't take it. My nose catches a whiff of your scent again, and I start placing scattered kisses and suckles on your tender, delicate throat, your skin like warm milk under my lips.
You make a keening noise, lips parting from my skin, hands stilling on my body, as I work around one of your collarbones with my mouth. Your nails scratch down my sides over my shirt, and it doesn't hurt. It tingles me, and I sigh into your skin as I bring you impossibly closer, feeling your solid chest graze the strain I possess beneath the fly of my jeans.
I groan lightly, drag my face up, and capture your lips again, my hands on either side of your face.
I pull back, finally opening my eyes, and find you doing the same.
And that's when the moment shatters.
Your face hardens from blissful and passionate to ice in seconds. The bitch queen is back, and you shove me away by the shoulders. Or, rather, you shove yourself away, since I'm still perched on the piano's top and you, Kurt, are free to move about the floor.
"Are we done here, Karofsky? I need to get home, and I just can't wait to be rid of you," you huff defiantly. You fix your hair and straighten your vest and bowtie, your cute little designer clothes entirely Kurt-like in style and pattern and color and form.
"Y-yeah," I pant lightly, my voice small and fragile and quiet. "We're done here, Hummel. We can go our separate ways, now." And I glance away, because it's too painful. Not my arousal, not the callous expression on your face (although both hurt in their own ways), but instead my heart. My heart is thumping and twisting in my chest, my stomach in knots, as you turn sharply on your heel, collect your messenger bag, and leave the choir room without another word.
At school the next day, you can't take your eyes off of me. I can feel your eyes even when I'm not looking at you; I promised I'd drop them. But whenever we pass in the halls or whenever we share a class, I catch you out of the corner of my vision peering over at me.
Are you glaring out of loathing? Are you curious to see if I'll keep my word?
Or did you actually enjoy making out with me, and want to do it again?
…I guess I'll never have an answer.
But it's enough for me to at least know that you can look at me, now, without being scared, Kurt. At least there's that.