Story: Proof

Fandom: Glee
Author: ibshafer
Rating: NC-17
Character: Santana/Dave (yes, you read that right… hee!), Kurtofsky, Brittana, and acknowledgement of K-k-klaine… (Fear not! You guys should know me by now, I hope…)

Disclaimer: I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me spin them around the page now and then.

Summary: Oh, the lengths that Santana will go to prove a point…

Warning: Up to NON

Length: 5,116

A/N: Sometimes two minds are better than one; in this case, mine benefited greatly from the insightful and brilliant merlinhiver, whose musings dovetailed perfectly with my own, kicking this story up a few notches from a simple 'Santana figures Dave out' story to the…to the guilty pleasure only the brave are willing to admit they want to see happen. Enjoy! (Don't worry! This is still a Pirate story!) :D

A/N#2: See my Glee fic archive . (Check latest journal entry for most recent updates.)

Proof

~ibshafer

When she'd gotten out of bed that morning, she would never have dreamed the day would lead her here, but here she most definitely was.

In an abandoned art classroom on the 3rd floor.

Having sex.

With Dave Karofsky…

[-section break-]

She hadn't expected him to jump so high.

OK, who was she kidding?

When she'd seen him sitting by himself at that library table in the very back, nose buried in an old issue of Sports Illustrated like his life depended on it, well, she had pretty much expected whatever she'd said, he would have jumped.

In fact, getting that big, dumb jack-off to react was the sole reason she'd broken her no-rooms-with-more-than-ten-books rule and gone into the library in the first place. She'd thought she'd seen him lumbering by when she was going into the girls' bathroom and since the only other thing down this way was the choir room and she knew damn well he wasn't going there, she'd used her considerable deductive skills and, (once she'd freshened her lip gloss and spritzed on some extra luv; Glo – the irony was not lost on her), she'd set off for the [shudder] library.

So, when she leaned in real close and whispered, 'I think I've figured you out, Karofsky' two inches from his left ear, she'd expected him to swallow his gum or start growling or something, not launch himself out of the chair like there was a big-ass spring under his butt, sending the magazine spiraling across the room like some suicidal seagull...

Jeez…

She'd practically had to pry him off the ceiling…

Actually, it was priceless.

"What the fuck, Lopez," he hissed, face as red as his jacket, chest heaving like he'd just run some monster play, while being chased by monsters…

She just stared him up – she would have stared him 'down,' but he was twitching and on his feet, so naturally it was up – and showed him all her teeth.

"Need to change your shorts, Betsy-Wetsy," she asked, catching the edge of her lip between her teeth in faux sympathy. "I think your mom packed an extra pair in your gym bag…"

Karofsky froze, glaring at her.

He looked like he wanted to say something; he leaned forward, screwing his mouth down in that perfect pirate grimace he made when he was really pissed, but in the end, he let out the big lungful of air he'd been holding, cast a desultory glance at the ceiling, grabbed his backpack and spun as gracefully on his heel as his buck-two-fitty bod would allow him – which was actually, surprisingly, graceful.

Not so fast, big man…

She grabbed his arm (and an impressive arm it was; he really had been pumping iron…) and yanked him back towards the table.

"Didn't ya hear what I just whispered in your ear, Wavey-Davey?" He made a face like he couldn't have cared less, but she knew better; the vein in his temple was throbbing out a bitchin' beat and all kinds of color was flooding his fat face.

"I said," she began, leaning in closer and lowering her voice, breathing cinnamon-gum-scented breath on him. "I've figured out what makes you tick, Karofsky."

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?" His voice was all nonchalance – he was actually a pretty good actor – but she wasn't buying.

"You sure this is a conversation you want to have here, Pirate?" She used her chin to point to Mrs. Bremmerman who trundled by just then with a book cart.

Wavey-Davey's arched eyebrow arched itself farther up his steep forehead.

"I got nothing to hide, ," he said, hands spread wide. His smirk was pure bravado, but she could see his pulse quickening.

"Uh-huh."

Riiight…

"So…" she began, shrugging. "We could have a conversation about, say, Kurt Hummel, and you'd be okay with that…." She looked up as Jacob Ben Jewfro walked into the library and busied himself in the periodicals. Karofsky ticked a glance in the dweeb's direction, a muscle in his left cheek twitching almost imperceptibly. "I wouldn't want to spill any beans you've been keeping…say, in your locker or...I dunno, your closet, or anything… You sure?"

Mrs. Bremmerman came by again, glaring at them genially over her cart.

"You know, this is a library… We shouldn't be talking in here about anything anyway…" she said, suddenly the soul of propriety.

Davey took another second to mull it over – she could practically see the wheels turning in that big head of his – then finally shrugged himself.

"Fine," he muttered, resigned, but clearly not happy about it. "Where, then?"

She caught Ben Jewfro spying at them over the top of his black nerd specs and shook her head, looking back at the Pirate.

"I'll tell you when we're outta here…" she whispered, hand covering her mouth; the snitch read lips.

"Groovy," he said, sounding not at all like it was. "Lead the way, Princess…"

She felt herself inwardly giggling; they could so have a nickname off…

[-section break-]

Once she'd shooed him into the art studio, she closed the door quickly behind her, pulling the old-style shade down to cover the window and, pleased to find one, flipping the door lock into place.

She had no ulterior motives. There wasn't a lot of foot traffic here at the far end of the 3rd floor; she just didn't want to chance anyone walking in on them.

This wasn't going to be an easy conversation and though she still had every intention of torturing the hell out of the fuckwad, she wanted some privacy to do it.

She was betting she'd be able to use whatever happened here to her advantage.

And advantage was something she'd had far too little of for far too fucking long…

He was leafing through old, dusty piles of drawings, a faint grimace on his face, when she turned back from the door, and the way he was ignoring her spoke volumes; he'd come up here, clearly, to keep her from making a very public scene in the library, but now that they were out of there, he was obviously not in a hurry to get 'to it.'

Too bad, she was, huh?

"Aren't you curious," she asked, taking a step or two across the room.

Karofsky's eyebrows narrowed and she could see the storm clouds gathering.

No, this wasn't going to be an easy conversation at all.

"About what, sweetheart?"

Man, Pirate Dave had nonchalance down to an artform…

Choosing a different tack, she danced a few steps toward the closest easel.

"See, last week when I ran into you putting a beatin' on Kurt Hummel's boytoy, I'm pretty sure one of them almost let something slip—"

"I wasn't putting a 'beatin' on' him," Davey growled, face now bright red. "He came after me first! Put those pansy hands of his on my…on my chest and he shoved me! Was I supposed to let Spanky McWhitey Pants just push me around?"

Spanky McWhitey Pants? Twenty points for Pirate Dave!

As impressed as she was, she couldn't show it. Arms folded across her chest, she stood staring at him until he stopped twitching.

"You're missing the point here, Man'o'war." Picking up a stubby piece of charcoal, she started to sketch out some loose black lines. "In the middle of all of that, I noticed two things… One," she drew a vague check mark on the paper. "It seemed like there was something, some big secret, between you three; something none of you would talk about." The charcoal traced another check. "Two, through all of that, Kurt didn't look too upset… I mean, his boyfriend is basically being attacked by the guy who chased him out of the school and you'd think he'd be jumping on your back or kicking at your shins, something to defend his man, but no…he just stood there." She looked away from the easel to where Dave stood by the window, frozen in place. "It was like he was some damsel, watching the prince and the black knight duel for her hand – and he didn't fucking mind…"

Davey stood frozen, jaw slack and eyes wide, for only another second, and then clamped his mouth shut and looked at her like she was nuts.

"Quite an imagination you got there, sweetheart. You ever think about writing for the soaps?" He winked at her, but his grin was a sham and she knew it; she'd hit more than a nerve – she'd hit that nail right fucking square on the head...

What was important here was not whether Kurt was upset about the fight; no, what was important was Dave's reaction to hearing that he wasn't…

"I have a theory about you, Davey," she said, back to her un-drawing. "But before I tell you my theory, I'm going to tell you a little story first. You up for a story?"

"'M all ears, Maya Angelou," he grinned, clearly relieved to have something else to focus on. Finding a desk with a loose pile of drop cloths on it, he made himself comfortable, one sneakered foot laid across his knee. "Spin me a tale…" he drawled.

Flipping a page, she started to sketch loosely on the paper. She wasn't an artist by any stretch of the imagination, but she'd been roped into playing Pictionary for enough family game nights to be able to get her message across. As she trailed the charcoal over the page, an scene began to take shape – a castle, a moat, the sky, and in the tower, a princess with long, flowing hair…

"Once upon a time, there were two beautiful princesses," she said, her tone one you'd use to read, say, "Goodnight Moon" to a five-year old. She drew the second princess now, this one with dark hair. "These princesses did everything today, they listened to music together, they studied together," she paused to catch his eye, licking her glossed lips suggestively. "They even did the nasty with princes together… And sometimes, when there were no princes around, they would do the nasty with each other…"

"Yeah, baby!" The pirate's grin was anemic, but she could see from the way his ears were glowing red that he was starting to see where this was going. Whether he'd read beyond the obvious metaphoric reference, that she and Brit were the princesses, and gotten to the deeper meaning, remained to be seen.

"One day, one of the princesses – this one," she said, pointing to the light-haired princess. "Asked the other what they needed princes for since they could be and were everything each other could want. She said she liked her 'sweet lady kisses' and…" She trailed off, her shame welling up within her a second. Beating it back down, she began to draw storm clouds over the castle, lightning bolts and rain striking the ground, the castle, the princesses in the tower. "And the other princess…she was afraid, afraid of what the princes, and the other people in the kingdom, and the jousting team, and fuck, her parents, would say." She was breathing heavily now, the sing-song hint to her voice completely gone, leaving behind only the bitterness, the self-hate. "And because of that, she became a very mean princess, a wicked princess. And…" she felt herself start to tear up, fought to keep it under control. "And she was mean to people – people she liked, people she didn't like; she was a real royal bitch to everyone. And when the other princess asked her why, she said it was because she loved her – and was too scared to be with her, too scared of what people would do or say…"

She was crying softly when she finished and Dave, to his credit, no longer grinning, had nothing snarky to say.

Wiping at her face, she looked over at him. "Do you understand why I told you this story, Karofsky?"

She saw him swallow, his face white as a sheet as he struggled to regain some of his signature bravado.

With an effort, he forced a shit-eating grin across his suddenly pale face. "Why, Lopez, I do believe you're trying to tell me that you're gay for Brittany Pierce," he said.

"You're half right, Pirate Davey…"

Great time to get your stupid on, Einstein…

"Did anything seem…familiar in that story? Anything you might have felt…yourself?"

Karofsky looked at her, again, like she was just plain nuts, and having lost her patience, she decided to cut to the chase.

"You and I are a lot of like, you know that, Karofsky?"

She saw his eyes crinkle at the corners; apparently she was very funny…

"I'll take that as a compliment, dollface," he said, looking her up and down with a fair estimation of a wolfish grin. "We're both hot."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I am, anyway." She shook her head, taking a step closer and fixing him with the full weight of her glare. "You and me, Karofsky… we both treat the people we care about like shit because we can't handle how we feel about them; that's how we're alike."

She could tell what she'd said had caught him off guard because though he tried to laugh it off, her words had clearly hit home.

"Riiiight," he scoffed. "I'm a just a mass of hidden feelings…"

Enough dancing!

"I know you're in love with Kurt Hummel and you don't want him to know about it."

There!

She'd said it.

Just dropped the bomb and waited for the fall-out…

No more pretending; now he wasangry!

"What the fuck are you talking about, Lopez!" He was on his feet, pushing past her, at the door in three long strides. He hadn't seen her flip the lock, though, and that gave her enough time to catch up and slip herself in between the door and his big bear of a body. "Get the hell out of my way! I don't have to sit here and listen to some lesbian talk shit!"

"Nuh-uh," she hissed, grabbing his letterman by the zippers and yanking him close. "You wanna prove to me you're not into boys, that you don't secretly pine for Kurt? Kiss me, Davey!"

"Are you crazy?" He tried to push away from her, but she'd glued herself to his chest; he would have had to put his big hands on her breasts and he was staring at them like they were radioactive – so that wasn't going to happen. "What good would k-kissing a dyke do, anyway? What would you know about being straight?"

She pushed herself up against him, rubbing her body against his; unsurprisingly, his only reaction seemed to be revulsion, but she still wasn't letting go.

"Oh, I've fucked enough guys to know the difference, David." She leaned in and ran her nose over the exposed skin of his throat. "D'ja ever wonder why I never fucked you, Karofsky?" He was struggling against her, trying to pry her off his chest, but she'd gotten some good leverage before he'd known what had hit him and his efforts were useless. She leaned up, felt his broad upper body, his chest swelling shallowly against hers as he fought, and she closed her teeth over the jut of his chin. "It's because," she purred, soothing the spot with the tip of her tongue, pleased at his whimper – he was so close to giving in… "I knew you were gay…"

"I am not gay," he screamed, voice stricken and the obvious pain on his face almost made her falter for a moment. "I'm not gay," he repeated, angrily, cheeks blazing. "I'm not!"

"Prove it to me, Karofsky!" She was on her toes, steady eyes locked on his frantic ones. "Prove it right now! Kiss me!"

He'd run out of rope, she'd left him no slack; having no other choice – he kissed her.

She'd kissed enough boys, done enough of a general survey, to know what 'good' and 'bad' kisses felt like. This one wasn't bad, but she'd hardly call it good, either. It was rote, by the book, your standard mashing of lips on lips.

He was there with her, these were definitely the lips, the surprisingly soft lips, of the bruiser known as Dave Karofsky, attached to hers, and yet he didn't seem present.

That he didn't have much experience, with anyone, was clear. His hands fumbled with her shoulders, flitted at her waist, spazzed in the opposite direction if they so much as grazed a boob. And there was none of the wanting that usually accompanied the kisses she got. Even with Brit, even before they'd realized what they were doing with each other, what they wanted from each other, there was a hunger. But here, now, as Dave Karofsky tried his awkward best to prove to her that kissing girls was his thing, there was none of that; nothing to prove that that was true.

He couldn't prove it because it wasn't true; Dave Karofsky was gay…

She pulled away abruptly, running the back of her hand across her mouth.

Dave was watching her closely and when she shook her head 'no,' he threw his hands up in frustration.

"C'mon! I don't…I don't have a lot of…experience. That doesn't mean I'm…that I'm…" He huffed once, shaking his head. "Just because I suck…that doesn't mean…" He trailed off.

He couldn't even say the word.

More proof that it's true, Davey…

She looked up into his face; he was actually kind of hot looking when you got past the attitude and the bravado. And he was trying so hard to be attracted to her. The fact that that didn't bother her more, that someone had to try to make himself be attracted to her, only served as further proof to herself that she was gay…

Dave, on the other hand, was desperate.

"I'm straight, I tell ya," he cried and then, to prove his point, he pulled his big hands off her shoulders and, after what looked to be a pretty intense internal argument, he laid them slowly, with great care, on her breasts. The expression on his face as he made himself give each a squeeze was almost comical. Or it would have been if it weren't so tragic.

She must be crazy. To be thinking what she was thinking, she must be.

Oh, fuck… What's one more?

Lifting his hands from her boobs and taking them in hers, she led him around and back towards the desk.

Something had happened in the last five minutes, something that had changed the way she saw him, the way she thought of him.

She'd brought him up here in the hopes of humiliating him into admitting he was gay for Kurt – so she could blackmail him into keeping the hallway bully brigade off her back and the Slushies out of her face. At some point soon she was hoping to come Out, feeling sure it was the only way to convince Brit she was serious about her feelings for her, and she wasn't going to be able to do that with every Tom, Dork, and Azimio on her case, not to mention, Pirate Davey.

If she had to reduce him to tears, burst the big green balloon that was his delusions of straightdom, she had had no problem doing that. Shit, maybe she could convince (read: blackmail) him to leave Kurt alone so he could come back to McKinley.

But after feeling him trembling against her, trying to kiss her and run away from her at the same time, she was so sure he was hating on himself way more that he had ever hated on anyone else, that just looking at him now was making her heart break. This big bear of a guy, all bluff, gruff, and anger, and he was afraid of…he was afraid of himself.

She'd already forced him to kiss her and he was still holding on to his delusion. There was only one thing left to do; one way left to prove it to him…

"You're straight, huh? You really think so, stud," she asked, biting her lip when she saw him nod earnestly. God, how could she have ever seen him as anything but a scared little boy, desperate for approval, desperate to hide?

"Like I said, Dave; you're gonna have to prove it to me."

"Prove it? How'm I supposed to prove…" he grumbled, trailing off as he figured it out, eyebrow lifting slowly, cheeks beginning to burn.

Still holding his hands, she stepped him closer to the desk and when his ass hit, she squeezed his hands lightly with a nod and a silent, 'sit.' He sat down, a look of barely contained panic in his eyes and it was pretty clear to her that not only had he never been with a guy before, he'd never been with anyone before.

She smiled up at him then, a genuine smile, a smile that said not only was she not trying to hurt him, she wanted to help him. If this was what he needed – to understand himself – then she was going to help him to do it.

Leaning into him, pressing herself against his big, warm body, she looked him in the eye, slipped a hand into his curls (soft…), and kissed him again, pleased when he seemed to relax against her, pleased when she felt his tongue soft and welcoming against hers this time, not desperate and frantic and aimless. She pressed herself closer, pushed herself between his spread thighs, and when she was close enough to feel, and felt him thickening against her, she thought maybe, just maybe she was wrong.

Which was fine, too, right?

There was a tiny sound in the back of his throat as her hands slid down between them and sought out his belt, the heat coming off him, gathering there, was fucking fabulous, and she was starting to think this might just turn into normal sex after all. She helped him free himself, palmed his length, whistled appreciatively (wow…) and then grinned when he giggled at that. (Huge and cute?)

She wasn't thinking about 'gay' or 'straight' anymore; she wasn't thinking about anyone other then David and Santana right now, and when she kissed him and she felt him kiss her back with just as much heat, she felt her pulse quickening, thrilled despite her own understanding that "this" wasn't really her thing anymore; pleasure felt good, that's all she knew…

She unbuttoned his cotton shirt, kissed a line down his firm, lightly furred chest, followed the pleasure trail below and…and…

And he'd been ready a second ago…

Charging on anyway, she slipped his softened length between her lips, felt him begin to harden again in her mouth, and was about to settle into her task when she looked up and found him, face wet with tears, looking down at her, not with heated interest and lust, but with utter terror. She let him go then and was on her feet, mouth on his in an instant, hoping to kiss the lust she'd seen only moments before back into him. He shuddered against her, one hand curling tentatively around her waist, the other slipping down between his own legs, squeezing himself fiercely. She could tell from his frustrated breathing that he was getting no where and her heart broke for him, despite the fact that his very failure proved the point she'd been trying to make.

She leaned against him, hand slipping down between them again, covering his own where he was desperately pulling at himself, feeling his frantic motions, feeling his pain. She kissed him on the forehead, felt him close his eyes against the obvious tenderness there, hoped against hope he didn't see the pity it was laced with, and whispered as gently, as softly, as openly as she could, "Keep your eyes closed, Dave and pretend for a minute that I'm not me. Can you do that?"

"W-who am I supposed to pretend you are?" His breath was ragged in her face, frustrated, defeated.

"I want to try something, okay?" She kissed him lightly on the lips, pleased when he returned it, if only half-heartedly. "Just for a second. If it doesn't work, we can try something else. Just for now, I want you do to something for me."

"Wh-what's that?" He was shivering, still desperately trying at himself, and she knew his hand – and his dick – had to hurt.

She bit her lip, thought about changing her mind, changed it back, and spoke.

"I want you to pretend I'm Kurt."

There was a tiny, strangled cry in the back of Dave's throat and his face, where it was pressed against hers, was wet once again.

"No, no…" he whimpered. "Please, not…"

"Sssshhh," she said softly, kneeling once again. "It's going to be okay, David. I promise." She caught his gaze with her own – steadfast – and nodded. "Close your eyes and pretend…"

And with that she slipped him into her mouth again, being careful not moan at all (with her girl's voice) or touch him (with her long nails) and the response wasn't immediate, but there was a response. She felt the heat of him in her mouth as she ran her tongue down his length, licking him to full hardness, and felt his moan rumbling through his body, heard his breath catching in his throat, and she was actually beginning to think she might just get into this action herself when she looked up at him.

Eyes wide, face white as a sheet, he'd come to the conclusion she'd been fighting for – and he'd been fighting against.

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgod…" he rasped out, pulling away from her, hitting the nearest wall and curling in on himself. "."

She cursed herself for her arrogance.

Why did she think she could do this? That she could push someone hard enough to make them shatter – and then just walk away with what she wanted.

I'm a bigger asswipe than he is…

She rose off he knees and threw her arms around him, hugging him from behind.

"Sssssh, David, its okay. I swear to you its okay…"

She didn't know if that was true, but three weeks ago, she'd felt the pain he was feeling right now and she would have given the world if someone had lied to her then, just to help her get through it.

"If it's so great," came his voice, muffled against the arms. "How come you're not…not Out?"

She felt herself start to laugh, decided it wasn't the time for it then changed her mind because it was.

"You wanna know why I'm still in the closet, Dave Karofsky?" Hands on his right arm, she spun him around, peering up into his blotchy face. "I was scared of you…" She laughed softly. "That's pretty funny, isn't it?" He looked at her like she'd just grown horns so she went on. "Me – afraid of you?" She threw a faux punch at his chest. "We both know I could take you."

Dave just stared at her for a second and she wasn't sure if he was going to argue with her to defend his honor, or just start crying again.

He surprised her.

He started to laugh.

"Fuck, yeah, you could." He wiped his face with his sleeve, staring at it with disgust. "Shit, I must be gay; I'm wondering if I need to dry clean my jacket…"

She nodded sagely. "Oh, I would. You don't want that red to run; you'd end up with a pink jacket, which, okay, I know, is semi-appropriate, but…but maybe not your color?"

He smiled at her, a real smile, the first one she'd ever seen from him, at least outside of that halftime show, anyway. It was nice. She smiled back then threw her arms around him, giving him a quick hug before releasing him.

He stumbled over to the desk and sat down hard. "Fuck," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm in love with Kurt Hummel…" His eyes went wide and he looked up at her. "Wow, huh?"

Now that he'd said it, all she could do was nod in agreement.

No shit, Sherlock.

"When you dragged me up here, was this what you thought would happen?" He was looking at her with such an earnest expression on his face it was like she was seeing him for the first time. The truth was, he wasn't the person she'd thought he was – she could see that now.

She laughed softly. "Oh, no fucking way, Davey." She flounced over and sat down next to him, butting him with her hip to get him to move down and give her more room. "I thought I was going to humiliate you into a confession and then blackmail you into leaving me alone…" She bumped his shoulder with her own. "Pretty fucked up, even for me."

He seemed to consider this a moment, chewing his lower lip as he did so, then he reached for her hand and threaded her fingers through his.

"And now," he asked, giving her hand a squeeze.

She looked over at him, brushed an errant curl off his forehead, smiled when he smiled at her doing it, and shrugged.

"Who knows, Pirate. Maybe we could help each other."

He shrugged back. "Fuck knows I'm gonna need it."

They sat in silence for a moment and then Dave spoke.

"You wanna tell me why you keep calling me 'pirate?'"

She looked his way, caught the wide smile, realized something was missing besides for the pain, and shook her head.

"I used to think you looked like one," she said, laughing. "But anymore, I don't think so…."

Fini…

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