Author's Note: I got a few (read: a lot of) requests for Dave to get a chance to act out that little rimming fantasy he told his 'anonymous' peer counselor about.
So this is that. Actually at first it's the abridged story of most of their senior year, as told by Dave Karofsky. But the point of it is the last scene, and if smut bothers you you'll have a good idea of where to stop when it starts coming.
Dave actually started growing pubes in fourth grade. He didn't know what the hell was going on; his dad would sit him down now and then and start random awkward conversations about hair growing in weird places and how his voice would get deeper and girls would seem, well, different, but he'd always get red and flustered and take off with the talk half-done.
Said something once about Dave's balls dropping and then ran for the fucking hills, leaving Dave bewildered and thinking about New Years Eve and that Dick Clark dude and the big thing in Times Square, and that was the only other ball dropping he'd ever heard of. Hell if he could figure out what that had to do with his nuts, but his dad never could finish that talk.
His dad ended up just giving him a lot of pamphlets and making it clear that they were never going to speak of any of it aloud.
(Dave still has a few of those pamphlets – even when he was ten he knew that shit was comedy gold. One day if he ever has a kid he wants to whip out copies of Sarah's Chest Makes Me Feel Funny (Explaining Development to Your Teen-aged Son) or It Makes Jesus Cry When I Touch Myself (A young Christian's Guide to Puberty), with their frequent Old Testament quotes and randomly Capitalized WORDS and chapters (now with full-color illustrations!) describing how bad it'll hurt to pee when Satan's sex-cancers are filling your loins.)
Needless to say, none of that shit helped when fifth grade came around and Finn Hudson peeked in on his package in the showers after gym one day.
Dave was never really comfortable with himself. He was a dude, he didn't fucking stare into mirrors and sob like chicks do. He didn't care that he wasn't hot shit like Hudson and his little pack. He was a hairy, chubby kid, whatever.
When he left the showers he let it go. But in the showers...that shit was awkward.
When the guys started noticing chicks, it was harder to let it go that he was this weird, oversized furry little bastard. Suddenly the guys weren't just awkwardly showering without making eye contact. Suddenly they were flexing biceps and comparing abs and shit.
Luckily, Dave's always had one big advantage on most of the guys around him. In fact when someone would start any crap, laughing at his hairy arms or his soft stomach or whatever, all Dave had to do was face them, full frontal, and ask them why they thought their shit was hot.
One look down, one gaping stare quickly averted, and that conversation would be over.
Still, when it gets right down to it, Dave has always been pretty aware that he's not the hottest guy ever. He's fucking strong, he can knock a fucker out on the field, he can run sprints and out-lift everyone on the team except Z, and he's catching up to Z fucking fast. But its always kind of been there, in his head. He's never lost the instinct to turn away in the showers, to hide himself, to feel like he's different and not as deserving of being happy with himself as the beautiful people are. It doesn't kill him. Doesn't drive him to the floor of his shower to curl up and sob like some fucking girl.
He's awkward. He's strong and he's hairy and he has been since he was like nine years old, and he's always felt a little annoyed by his body. Like it's this big independently-growing thing that he's stuck riding around in.
He's never liked it.
Until he started hooking up with Kurt fucking Hummel.
They're not, like, boyfriends or anything. They don't really put any name to what they are. They talk some and Kurt comes over when Dave's dad works late, and they don't go to Kurt's place because it's a fucking zoo there's so many people around. They don't talk at school, but Dave keeps up the bullywhip thing and goes to PFLAG same as always, and the guys call him a fag for it and he shoves them too hard and it's the same shit it always was.
Except then Kurt shows up at his door.
Kurt likes his hairy, strong body. Kurt runs fingers up and down his chest, grinning at the way his chest hair swirls and sticks up or pastes flat under his fingers. After he gets off and he's tired, Kurt will lay down for a while with his head on Dave's soft belly, murmuring like he's content there, like it's a perfect pillow.
If Kurt's pissed at him for something – usually the inevitable coming out argument that Dave has starting calling the Closet Fight – he'll glare at Dave and order him to flex his bicep, and then his eyes will get dark and his anger will fade and he's pretty much raring to go.
Dave doesn't hate his body. Dave is starting to really fucking like his body. He's hairy – that gives Kurt something to toy with, to tug on and run fingertips through. He's strong – Kurt goes slack-jawed when he wears short sleeves and makes a muscle. He's soft in the middle – Kurt needs a pillow. If Dave's gut exists only to be Kurt's pillow, that is fucking fine with Dave.
Kurt is nothing like Dave. Kurt's skin is pale and smooth, his muscles are long and lean, wrapped smoothly around bone, under skin, without a blemish to mar them. Sometimes, when Dave's fuck-happy enough to actually say some of this shit out loud, Kurt will murmur about this freckle or that scar, but as often as he points them out Dave doesn't ever see a single thing he's talking about.
Kurt's skin flushes pink from his cheeks all the way down his chest, and it's fucking beautiful. Kurt is slender and long and graceful, and it must be the dancing or whatever but he can move and flex and slip around Dave's solid and graceless body like he's a fucking eel.
Dave fought being gay for a long time, covered it under denial and his usual macho bullshit. But the first time Kurt shimmied out of his obscene jeans, not wearing a thing underneath, and his dick jumped out to play, Dave had no fucking doubt that he was gay.
Every fucking thing about Dave is one hundred percent queer, and he's a dumbass for not knowing before. His mouth was made for cock, for Kurt's cock. His broad hands were designed to slip over Kurt's skin, to drag up his thighs and squeeze his ass and hold him close. He hears Kurt gasp and murmur and mumble nonsense and that's the only thing in the world that his ears were ever meant to hear.
He sucks Kurt's dick the second week they're...a thing, whatever they are. Kurt makes these sounds like he's dying and he comes fast and hard, and stares at Dave in awe when he swallows Kurt's cum like Dave just invented swallowing right then and there.
He's a little scared of Dave's dick, but he kneels between Dave's legs and slicks both hands up with some lotion he always carries around with him (being Fancy is good for one thing at least), and works at Dave's dick like he's milking a cow upside down or something, and Dave's never felt so fucking good.
Dave's fucking cock is so gay for Kurt it practically lisps when it goes off.
They fight over Christmas break – fucking Closet Fight again, Kurt is fucking obsessed – and Dave is left sitting at home alone while his dad works, playing on Live with Z or Puckerman or whoever's on, wondering where Kurt is and if he's found himself some new stud yet.
He's fucking beautiful, he could walk into a room of straight guys and walk out with phone numbers, so. Dave's body is designed to be gay with Kurt Hummel, but that doesn't mean he's the only guy who can make Kurt happy. Just means Kurt's probably the only one for him.
They make up in January, when Dave sees Kurt walking up the parking lot towards school and practically manhandles him into Dave's letterman because he's wearing this purple designer whatever that does shit against Ohio in the winter. Kurt glares at him until he gestures too hard to push him away and a seam under the arm of the jacket rips.
Kurt instantly coos over it like Dave's worn-out letterman is some priceless thing, and he apologizes with big round eyes and sews it up himself that weekend, sitting on Dave's couch with a sewing kit he brought from home ("because you and your dad will have one of those ten dollar kits from Target if you have anything at all, and I can not work with that").
Dave thanks him by lapping at his dick like its an ice cream cone in danger of melting until Kurt shrieks and grabs Dave's hair and spurts off over his face.
They're good until early March, when Kurt decides his fucking pretty-boy ex has suffered enough and they're meant to be just the best of fucking friends. Dave can't handle his own fucking issues so he blows up at Kurt for going back to that prep-school Ken doll and tells him to get lost. Kurt comes to his house after a couple of days (to bring him back some DVD he borrowed so he doesn't have to look at any trace of Dave ever again, he admits later) and walks right in without knocking and he catches Dave sobbing like a fucking infant, tracing his hand up and down that sewed-up seam in his jacket like it means something huge.
Dave grasps at him and doesn't even try to get in his pants until Kurt promises he's not going anywhere, especially not with Blaine, even if Dave is this big dumb closeted shit. Later, when they're naked on Dave's bed and they're sliding together, grinding, and it's so hot that Kurt even sweats, Kurt licks at Dave's throat and whispers with fierce rolls of his hips that Ken dolls would be perfect, maybe, except when you realize they're not packing anything in their little doll jeans. Dave laughs when he comes, and it's kind of a sob but Kurt doesn't think he's a pussy for crying, so he doesn't fight it too hard.
Kurt gets weird in April, and Dave is dumb but not so dumb that he doesn't notice the signs going up everywhere for prom king and queen. He actually is dumb enough to think maybe Kurt's just embarrassed by what happened last year, and it's Dickless Anderson (the only person who actually knows that they're fucking around) who takes pity and tells Dave that Kurt's upset because he wants a senior prom the way he's always dreamed of. He wants a limo and dinner and a dance with his boyfriend, like every other couple.
Dave knows instantly that Blaine's right, and he only sees a future of worse and worse Closet Fights because of it, and it depresses him.
He blows up at his dad and his priest one Saturday when they ambush him with a clean-cut little tool in a suit who beams at him with huge white teeth and tells him about how the love of God cured him of sin, surely Dave can be next. Dave punches him in the smug little face and goes off on his dad like somebody else is at the wheel in his head.
His dad kicks him out, but then texts Dave that night and tells him that since God says hate the sin but love the sinner, he can come home.
It's when he gets that text that Dave calls Kurt. Not before, when he was planning to shiver through the night in his truck parked out at the shut-down Kroegers a few blocks from school. He reads that text and calls Kurt and starts crying over the phone when he admits that going back hurts more than staying gone.
Kurt pulls up in his sparkling SUV and drags Dave in the backseat with the engine on and heaters blasting, and he lets Dave rant on and on about how he's tired of feeling like a freak every time his dad looks at him, and why can't he just be normal? He's not normal anywhere, not with his dad, not with Kurt, who won't think he's a real legit fucking queer until he's out of the closet.
Kurt's smart enough not to take that personally. He holds on to Dave and lets him cry and tells him softly that he's sorry, he won't pressure Dave anymore, that he deserves to feel normal sometimes.
And that night when he's in his own bed at home trying to sleep, Dave realizes that he really does want to feel normal. He doesn't want to be treated normal, because fuck how people treat him. He wants to feel like what he is is normal.
He thinks about that for a long time, because it feels like a huge scary thing.
Kurt plans the prom with Mercedes and his other dork-ass friends, and he tells Dave without a trace of sadness in his smile that they're going in a big group so no one feels left out or alone.
The pressure's off Dave, so just like that he decides he wants his...his thing, his boyfriend or whatever...Kurt, he wants his fucking Kurt to have what he always dreamed of.
He makes plans.
He goes to Mercedes, because he's a fucking idiot and he obviously isn't gonna go to Blaine. He swears her to secrecy, which isn't really fair because she looks like she's agreeing out of fear for her life even though Dave hasn't fucked with her or any other kids all year. He tells her he wants to take Kurt to prom, and stops her from freaking out by telling her he wants to surprise him because he's worth it or some gay shit that makes her go all starry-eyed. She agrees to help him, and to not kill Kurt for not telling her about Dave until after prom.
She helps him pick a suit that'll impress his fancy-assed surprise date, and gives him limo tips, dancing tips. He asks her, red faced, if guys are really supposed to book hotel rooms for prom night. She giggles and tells him that's between the two of them, and maybe there's something in his face when he asks but after that talk she's always smiling at him like he's some big dumb cute teddy bear or something
Z asks if Dave could hook him up with that, 'that' being Mercedes, and Dave hears himself like a voice from the distance saying sure, if Z doesn't mind that she's helping him hook up with Kurt. Z just calls him a pussy for needing her help, and drives like twenty miles out of their way to prank him by pulling up at the Dress Barn off 114th when Dave says he needs shoes for his fancy new suit.
Dave hits him, hard, and Z yelps and calls Dave a fag and Dave calls Z, in his best Fancy voice, a Nazi hetero-fascist breeder until Z almost pisses himself laughing.
And that's done with. He's out, to his best friend at least, and it's cool just like that.
He hooks Z up with Mercedes, and it almost backfires when Kurt comes to Dave one day, visibly upset, and tells him the big group date is off because Mercedes is going to prom with Z.
Luckily before Dave can threaten harm on more of Kurt's friends to get them to do the big group thing Kurt wants, Kurt gives him a chance to look like a fucking superhero. He tells Dave that he doesn't want Prom at all this year, that he'd much rather spend an evening with Dave than at some overrated party with the same people he sees every day at school. In other words he lies his cute little ass off. Dave fakes excitement for that idea, which he buries under fake reluctance ("You sure about this, man? Not like it's a big deal to me...but I think hanging out somewhere private's an okay idea.") Kurt buys it, rolling his eyes at how easy Dave is to read.
But it breaks Kurt's heart, and that makes Dave feel nauseated, but luckily it's only a few days from Prom when all this shit goes down.
Dave has the limo booked. He gets Mercedes to get Finn to go through Kurt's well-tailored laundry and pluck out a few samples, and whines at the dude at the suit shop until he agrees to tailor this Fucking Expensive Suit Mercedes picks for Kurt by measuring out Kurt's stolen clothes.
The day of Prom Kurt is unconsolably miserable at school, watching the girls giggle and compare dress descriptions and leave early to get their hair did or whatever. Dave pretends to be an oaf, nudging Kurt when no one's looking and telling him not to worry, that they'll have plenty of fun on their own. Even gives a kind of eyebrow wag so Kurt thinks he's just thinking with his dick. Kurt smiles and walks off so sad Dave has to stop from going after him.
It's nothing elaborate, Dave's set-up. His dad is away at a seminar that weekend (Dave's fucking relieved because he really didn't want to book a hotel room without asking Kurt, that's seriously fucking presumptuous), so Kurt comes over after school and they do homework and Kurt sighs a lot and stares out into space.
Then Dave 'spills' his soda all over Kurt's shirt.
It's a dumb idea but it works. Kurt jumps in his shower to get the sugary soda off his skin, yelling out directions through the door like Dave doesn't know how to soak a fucking shirt in warm water.
Dave takes off downstairs with Kurt's clothes, his heart beating in his throat, leaving Kurt alone upstairs with Dave's bedroom door open and that tailored suit laying out on Dave's bed.
Dave changes in his dad's bedroom, and Mercedes is annoying as hell sometimes but when he looks at himself in the mirror he doesn't feel big or hairy or awkward. He feels sharp. There's dark blue threaded in his tie to match a thin blue pinstripe design thing in Kurt's suit, and his shirt is silver to match the tie Mercedes picked for Kurt, and he's got two of those lapel flower things, dyed blue like some fucking Martha Stewart shit, ready for both of them.
He looks like a man, broad shouldered and standing straight. He doesn't even look like he's fucking terrified.
There's silence from upstairs for a long time, and Dave checks and rechecks his reflection and straightens his hair and tugs at the suit until there's a noise at last from on the stairwell.
Kurt isn't confused at all. He's wearing the suit, his hair is styled up however the hell he makes that happen, and his eyes are red. There's tracks down his face like he's still crying, and he's smiling so big his eyes are squinting almost shut.
Dave steps out from the dark hallway, and...its like...the moment Kurt sees him and his eyes get wide and his gasp is so loud Dave hears it downstairs...that moment happens and Dave is pretty sure an instant later that he's never going to get self-conscious again, ever.
He is what he is, but he made Kurt Hummel gasp. No one is ever gonna take that away from him, no matter what.
He moves to the bottom of the stairs, holding a hand out. He's got a job here, he's got to give Kurt the Prom he always dreamed of. He's got to make up for last year, and this year, and every Closet Fight they've ever had, and every minute that Kurt thought that he was being denied his dream.
He holds up the two flowers on their short stems as Kurt moves down the stairs with his eyes leaking.
He smiles, trying not to be sheepish. Trying to be perfect instead. "I never actually asked you," he says, voice low and uneven until he clears his throat. "But will you be my date to Prom?"
Kurt launches himself down the bottom half of the stairs and the flowers get crushed between them when Kurt grabs him and he stumbles back and they kiss. Kurt's tears smear on Dave's cheek and he laughs when Dave pulls back, flushed, to hold up his now-maimed flowers.
Kurt laughs through tears and takes the flowers and tosses them over his shoulder and grabs Dave for another hard kiss.
Fuck it, they don't need the flowers.
Dave blushes when Kurt gets himself together enough to draw back and scope him out more critically. He steps back and strikes his best attempt at guy-in-a-suit-ad-checking-his-watch-and-posing. Kurt giggles but his eyes are appreciative brushing all over Dave.
"Mercedes helped you," he says, and Dave admits it but it makes Kurt glow. Takes Dave until he's holding the front door open for Kurt to realize that Kurt's happy because that means Dave told Mercedes about them.
The limo sits humming on the sidewalk, and Kurt beams and grabs Dave's hand and doesn't let go.
Prom itself is kind of a blur. Dave walks in holding Kurt's hand and he considers it a good sign that Kurt only seems to realize the full impact of that when he becomes aware of how many people are staring. He sucks in a breath, his hand clenching around Dave's, and turns a wide-eyed stare on him.
Dave shrugs, casual, like he comes out in front of hundreds of slack-jawed teenagers all the time, like it's his Friday night thing. But this is a moment, too, isn't it? So he stops them on the outsides of the crowd with staring eyes on them, and he takes Kurt's hands in his and shrugs.
"I don't know if this being gay shit is worth it," he says, and it's not perfect Prince Charming shit, but it's Dave. "But you sure as hell are."
Kurt gives another eye-squinting smile and leans up on his toes and murmurs, "Me and the gay shit are kind of a package deal, David."
Dave laughs and Kurt slips back to his side and Dave takes his arm and they keep moving towards the Gleek table so Kurt can squeal with his friends or whatever.
It relaxes Dave, that little comment of Kurt's, because he realizes that things don't necessarily have to be charming and fairy tale perfect to make this night great for Kurt. Kurt knows him – they've been getting each other off for months, almost all year. Not like Kurt doesn't know what he's getting into.
Z's over with Mercedes, but Dave doesn't let himself get too distracted bullshitting with his pal. He watches Kurt out of the corner of his eye until he sees Kurt's gaze starting to wander to the dance floor.
He elbows Z to shut him up and moves around the gathered Gleeks and clears his throat behind Kurt, holding out his hand when Kurt turns. His little suave move kind of bites it when his mind goes blank, when he looks at Kurt's dazzling, happy, beautiful fucking eyes and can't remember his perfect Hollywood line.
He grins, sheepish, and nods at the dance floor. "Wanna go do that?"
Kurt takes his hand with a giddy little nod, and turns wide eyes to his gal pals as Dave steers him away.
Dancing is not Dave's thing, but Kurt doesn't break into any West Side Story shit, they just kinda jam together like all the other kids are doing. There's a lot of stares, but surprisingly little bullshit. Which makes sense when he thinks about it: there's not a dude in that place not thinking about how they might actually get laid tonight if they don't piss their dates off, and that's gonna keep them in line.
There's a couple of fast songs before a slow one starts. Dave just pulls Kurt in before he can hesitate, and slides his hands around that perfect trim little waist.
Kurt smiles at him like some fucking Renaissance angel painting and curls his ams over Dave's shoulders and around his neck.
"This is perfect," Kurt murmurs about halfway through the song.
Dave is too busy feeling about fifty feet tall to bother answering, because that's all he wanted for Kurt. He keeps his eyes open, as tempting as it is to just sink in and forget everything but Kurt: the slow dance is attracting more looks than before, and Dave's never gonna retire the Bullywhip badge where Kurt is concerned.
Dave is half of one of the only two all-dude couples on that floor (since Blaine asked that skinny little Irish kid to be his date), but Dave's also one of the only guys there who doesn't have to obsess about whether or not he's getting some action afterward. He wonders if anyone who's staring so scandalized at their slow dance would ever guess that he's had Kurt spread in front of him, naked and gasping and arching while Dave takes in his pale, pretty cock until his throat burns.
Fuck. Wrong thought for a romantic moment. But Kurt's lined up against him, his fingertips are sifting absently through Dave's hair, his hips are under Dave's palms, and there's only so much a guy can handle without a fucking reaction.
He bends his head in and trails his lips under Kurt's ear, sighing so that Kurt will shiver against him the way he always does.
Kurt hums when he shivers, pushing in even closer. He tilts his face up and his voice is a soft stroke of breath against Dave's face. "You know what would make this night perfect?"
Please let it involve your dick and my mouth, Dave isn't dumb enough to say out loud. "Mmm?" he answers simply, and it doubles as a sound of satisfaction when he breathes in and realizes that Kurt smells like Kurt's hair product crap but also like Dave's shampoo, and that is fucking hot.
Kurt's fingers slip up the back of his head, twining through his short hair. "You remember the first time we ever really talked?"
Dave hesitates. "What, last year? Pretty sure I don't want to remember that shit right now."
"Wrong. The first time we really talked."
Dave hums suddenly, getting it and feeling the instant blush.
They first really talked, in Kurt's sense of the words, online, through a supposedly-anonymous website Dave's old shrink sent him to to bond with gay kids or some shit. They talked a long fucking time before they figured out who was on the other side of the chat. Dave said some fucking embarrassing stuff.
Yeah, he remembers. They talk about it now and then, but it still makes Dave sheepish so Kurt doesn't make him suffer long usually.
Kurt speaks softly, almost sounding hesitant. "Don't get mad, but...there's a chance that the log is saved on my laptop."
Dave wants to pull back, but he also wants to catch on fire and spontaneously combust to spare himself embarrassment. He compromises by tensing but not losing his slow intimate sway with Kurt.
"I don't go back and read all of it, usually. There's just one part I go back to, over and over again."
He sounds like he wants Dave to ask, to cue him, but Dave is flushed red and uncomfortable and he stays quiet.
Kurt tilts his head closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "'The guy on the bottom is always so fucking responsive,'" he says. "'Like, even if it's not a surprise, it's still so fucking good he can't even believe it.'"
Dave blinks, and his eyes go wide. He almost wants to pull back, to look down at him, but Kurt's fingers tighten in his hair.
"'Sometimes I can get off just imagining what he'd sound like, you know?'" Kurt is definitely whispering now, but Dave can't hear a fucking thing except his voice. The universe is a black hole around them, and this is the only thing that exists. "'But there's the other thing, the picturing it. Just picturing this guy laid out, just...the curve of his back, you know? How he'd arch and push his ass up higher trying to get closer, making those sounds...'"
Dave pulls back, his heart drumming in his chest, his mouth suddenly dry.
Kurt looks up at him, cheeks pink but eyes steady. "You know how many times I've read that? You know how often I've thought about it? God, I must have really liked that stupid job if I actually stopped you from going on. Even before I knew it was you, Dave...that was the hottest thing I'd ever even heard of."
God, the suit is too tight around his throat and it's stifling in that crowd of dancers, and Dave can't even pull back because his dick is fucking tenting in his suit like some American Pie sight gag.
Kurt's head ducks but his eyes lift and he regards Dave through pale eyelashes. It's a fucking picture of this angel boy and these devil eyes, and fuck. "You gave me my fantasy," he says. "Let me give you yours."
Kurt's fantasy of the dream Prom probably doesn't end with him and his date knocking people the fuck over on their rush to escape the dance early, but Dave can't bring himself to care too much.
Dave didn't want to be so presumptuous as to get a hotel room, but he does have a big empty house all to himself for a weekend. He couldn't do anything with his bedroom – had to keep his secret, after all – and he's sure as hell not taking Kurt in to his fucking dad's room.
But there's a guest room, and it's not much usually but that's where Dave let himself get presumptuous. There's a futon and a desk in there, it's not much to look at normally. But he unfolded the futon flat and piled every fucking comforter and bedspread in the house over it. He didn't know if candles were ridiculous or not, so he brought in his desk lamp and one of the downstairs end table lamps and put them on the floor. Only thing he bought for the occasion were these dark amber lightbulbs at Home Depot, and the lights are honey colored and it's dim enough to be romantic or something but not dark.
He left the lighting and everything laid out and perfect, and it's been sitting like that since Kurt was in the shower washing up spilled soda earlier.
Kurt notices everything. He turns to Dave as Dave shuts the door after them, and he's glowing gold in the light.
Dave can't stop looking at him, the blue in the suit catching the light and sparkling from his eyes. He's fucking gorgeous. He's already every fantasy Dave's ever had, just standing there waiting for him. Maybe the best part, though, is the way he looks at Dave. The way he smiles so gently and his eyes are so fucking bright and soft and caring. The way he studies Dave in this way, this searching way, like there's more to Dave than he can catch in one glimpse.
When Kurt looks at Dave, Dave feels like a man. Like that suit made him look earlier, like he can walk on his own and hold his head high, like maybe he's a big hairy dumb shit but this is his fucking life and he's the king of it.
Dave grabs at the neck of his shirt, hooking the knot of his tie and shimmying it loose. He's hard but, hell, he's been hard since Kurt started slow-dancing with him, it's become this kind of constant ache, this background noise.
He's hard, but tonight isn't about him. Even this, Kurt's words and his promise and his fulfilling Dave's fantasy...even the fantasy isn't about Dave. It's about Dave wanting to pleasure Kurt. He's not too macho to admit it. He doesn't need some greater reason – he's not trying to make Kurt happy so that Kurt will suck his dick or something. He doesn't honestly give a shit about himself, and that's kind of a funny thing to realize. He hates blue balls as much as the next guy, but the odds of Kurt spurting in his mouth and him not getting off from that are fucking miniscule anyway. When he sucks Kurt, it's because the heat and slide and taste of Kurt in his mouth is everything he never knew he always wanted.
He doesn't know when it happened that giving Kurt Hummel whatever the hell he wants became the most important thing – the only important thing – in Dave's life, but he doesn't question it. He does kind of hope that Kurt doesn't realize it yet, though. He loves the guy, but Kurt can be kind of high-maintenance and maybe it's alright to let him think he's still gotta work for something now and then.
Dave works the knot of his tie down until it unravels and hangs around his neck. He leans back against the door, studying Kurt. "Can't believe you can make a three-piece suit look this fucking hot," he mutters, shaking his head, opening the buttons of his suit jacket.
Kurt grins and pinks and closes the distance between them, shooing Dave's hands away and taking over with the buttons. "Me? You didn't feel all those eyes on you tonight?"
Dave snorts, slipping his fingers up the thin lapel of Kurt's jacket. Fucking expensive, this thing, but worth it. Christ. "Come out in front of small-town idiots, you gotta expect a few eyes."
"Uh, no." Kurt pushed Dave's jacket open and leans in, running his hands up Dave's chest, up the lines of his fancy black button-down shirt. "Those weren't 'look at the new gay' stares. Those were..." He shakes his head, his teeth digging into his lip as he smiles, fingers twisting at the top button of Dave's shirt. "Those were 'who the hell is that' stares."
Dave feels his face heating.
"Do you have any idea," Kurt goes on, working open the too many buttons with deft fingers, "how sexy you look?"
Dave grins, and hell. He must have some idea, because he doesn't instantly deny it or roll his eyes the way he normally would.
Kurt pulls his shirt from those black suit pants and makes quick work of the bottom buttons. Pushing the shirt open, he slips his hands in, curls his fingers up Dave's sides and around to his back, sighing happily.
"Not just the clothes, either," he says, looking up through those sinner eyelashes of his. "It's this." He leans up and brushes his mouth against the corner of Dave's mouth, the tilted edge of his smile. "When you smile," he murmurs against Dave's cheek, "nobody can look at you without wishing they were the cause of it." His fingers trace patterns up Dave's back under his shirt. "Most of those idiots never realized that before tonight, that's all. Because you never smile at them like this."
Dave's breathing's getting a little harder, and he leans in helplessly. Kurt trails his lips down Dave's cheek, over his jawline, and Dave has to catch himself from taking over, grabbing Kurt's chin and pushing him into a real kiss. This is less than his body wants, but something in his head, some part of that awkward guy he's always been, the guy who hunches and fidgets with his clothes and never feels quite as good as the other guys, wants Kurt to keep talking forever.
Kurt draws back enough to look up at Dave, and he grins with this edge that makes Dave's erection ache fiercely. "You only smile like this for me."
Dave nods. It's true. He's never noticed it, but he was never big on smiling before this year, before the last few months. His life before Kurt was guilt and shame and his dad's tearful fear for his soul. What the fuck was there to smile about?
Kurt's hands slide around to Dave's sides, and his fingertips trail down to the waist of Dave's pants. "You have no idea how many times I've thanked Blaine for making me sign up to be a counselor on that website. Sometimes when I think about it, when I think that it was just some amazing coincidence that brought us together like this..."
Dave shakes his head and reaches for Kurt, for his suit, his tie, something. He needs to start moving, to do something. It's nice, it's unbelievable, hearing this kind of thing from Kurt of all people, but Dave can't take a compliment to save his fucking life, and this night isn't about him, damn it.
His hands catch in the knot of Kurt's tie and he tugs, pulling it off over Kurt's head rather than undoing it all the way. He tosses it to the side.
Kurt hums a little, picking up on Dave's sudden urgency. He's got his jacket unbuttoned by the time Dave reaches out again, and Dave tugs it down over Kurt's shoulders and works it off, tossing it over in the corner. He leans in at the same time, cutting off Kurt's inevitable clothes-should-be-treated-like-members-of-the-family sniff of offense by driving their mouths together.
Kurt gives in instantly, melting against him, arms coming up and around his shoulders until both hands are locked in Dave's hair and he's kissing in that needy, whimpering way that goes right to Dave's dick.
Dave forces his hands between them so he can work at Kurt's buttons, and he only has to slip and fumble the first two before he just growls against Kurt's mouth and grabs the opening with both hands and yanks.
"Dave!" Kurt pulls back in surprise at the rip of fabric and pop of buttons. He looks down at himself even as Dave pulls a second time, ridding them of the last few buttons and pushing his shirt open impatiently.
"I bought it, I can break it," Dave mutters, lost in the pale cream of Kurt's skin the moment it's uncovered.
Kurt looks up at him and his eyes are this swirling dark blue. He makes a sound, a growl, something that would normally come from Dave. He yanks the shirt down off his arms and throws it aside and grabs for Dave's shirt instantly.
Dave shrugs jacket and shirt off in one careless gesture, leaving them where they fall. He reaches for Kurt, pulling him in, and fuck. God, it makes no sense that it feels this fucking good just to feel Kurt's skin against his.
Their mouths meet, clumsy and eager, and Dave's hands slide down and his fingers work inside the back of his pants until he's got that pert, perfect ass in his hands. Kurt groans and arches in, working their hips together.
This is the way Dave knows how to dance with Kurt. This is what he feels the way people are supposed to feel music. The arch of Kurt against him, the press and slip of their erections driving together, the way Kurt's ass flexes and clenches under his hands. It's a song, their own fucking song, that starts the moment Dave feels Kurt's skin under his fingers and doesn't end until Kurt is drained and sated and sweating.
Kurt makes all the sounds Dave loves, the whimpers and whines and helpless little gasps against his mouth.
Kurt's the smaller of the two of them, the one that's so obviously gay, the prissy little choir boy, but there is nothing passive about him. Dave knew that the first day Kurt showed up at his house and mounted him on his couch, grinding until they both got off. Kurt is a fucking guy, when he wants to come he goes after it. And when he gets aggressive it is the hottest thing in the fucking universe.
When he grabs the waistband of Dave's pants there's nothing delicate in it, nothing soft and genteel and please-sir-may-I. He yanks to unbutton, unzip, and he dips his hand inside Dave's boxers the moment he can.
Dave's got to pull away, to shut his eyes and bite at his lip and focus to keep from blowing his top just from the feeling of Kurt's long, talented fingers gripping his dick. He tilts his head back and groans as Kurt strokes firmly up the length of him, and Kurt's mouth lands on his neck instantly, hot and demanding as he nips his way up Dave's throat.
The first time they got off on each other's skin, naked in Dave's bed and jerking each other off fast and hard, Kurt sank against Dave after and trailed his fingertip absently over a glistening line of cum on Dave's chest and said, "I used to think sex was so dirty." And Dave just rumbled, too sleepy to laugh, and asked if he still thought that. Kurt leaned over and lapped the tip of his tongue across that cooling patch of cum and said, "Hell, yeah," with a wicked fucking grin that made Dave hard all over again.
And there's not trace of the prissy little neat-freak Fancy in Dave's bed, never has been. Dave was baffled when Kurt said he was still a virgin, that the couch with Dave was the first time he ever got off with someone, because seriously. Blaine must really be a dickless Ken doll if he wasn't all over Kurt every chance he got.
Kurt's hot pretty much all the time. Get him naked and he burns. He sizzles like a fucking steak, and Dave's completely fucking helpless not to touch him.
He grips at Kurt as Kurt touches him, digging his fingers into that beautiful firm little ass, gasping, and Kurt pumps his dick like he's in Dave's head, like he feels what Dave feels and knows exactly what's perfect. It's rough and dry and Dave doesn't give a shit, the burn of friction just means he won't shoot off too soon.
He can't stand there and wait for it, though, it's not the way he is. Kurt's not a passive little flower in the bedroom and Dave will laugh at anyone who assumes he would be, but Dave never lets him drive for too long. He can't. He can't feel Kurt's skin against his without becoming obsessed with the idea of touching and tasting and making Kurt blow his fucking top.
He pulls Kurt in against him, trapping his hand into stillness, and Kurt groans as his own erection rubs against the back of his trapped hand. Dave catches that groan in his mouth and dips his tongue in to catch any remnants. Kurt kisses back like he's on fire, hot and frantic and fast, tongue restless against Dave's.
Dave has to force his hands to let go of the ass they love so fucking much. He jerks at Kurt's slacks, fumbling and yanking until Kurt makes a sound of complaint and breaks away with a wet gasp, helping Dave open his pants.
"The suit...nice," Kurt murmurs as they impatiently tug and open. "Could wear it again if you don't destroy it."
Dave could give a shit about the suit or the hundreds of fucking dollars it set him back. "Fuck it," he growls, "I'll buy you another one."
Kurt gets the pants open and pushed down past his hips before Dave can do any major damage, and he goes to work on Dave's next. And before Dave can catch his breath they collide together again and Kurt's ass is bare under his hands and their cocks grind together until they're both gasping for control.
Dave looks down their bodies and watches them drive together, and all he has to do is get a look at the darkened, glistening head of Kurt's gorgeous little cock before he's hitting his knees, desperate for more than a look.
Kurt moans over his head – this has become fucking routine by now – and slides his hands into Dave's hair, already breathing harder.
Kurt's dick is pale and perfect like the rest of him, but it flushes so deep it looks painful when he's turned on like this. Dave never understood what an oral fixation was until he saw it for the first time and his eyes and his mouth had this connection, this completely unconscious and instant moment of 'fuck yes' when his mouth wanted what his eyes were seeing and that became the only fucking desire that ever meant anything.
Maybe it's gay to love another guy's dick this much. Whatever, Dave would own up to any label they wanted to put on him if it got him eye-level with a fucking masterpiece of anatomy like this.
He leans in and he catches that flushed head with his tongue, and he's happy. He wraps his lips around that swollen head and slides down until his mouth is full of Kurt, and he's so fucking at peace he thinks there must actually be a God.
It's melodramatic and maybe it's dumb and he doesn't give a single shit.
He reaches up and curls his hands around Kurt's ass and he takes him in, deep and slow, just savoring. Kurt's whining over his head, his fingers tight in Dave's hair, not forcing but not exactly subtle.
Dave breathes in the scent of Kurt, and feels the brush of wiry curls of hair against the tip of his nose, and he can't quite go all the way yet but he's getting closer all the time; and if he's ever had a goal in his life...
Kurt tugs at his hair, whimpering, and Dave slides up until he's got just the head in his mouth. He shuts his eyes in contentment, stroking his tongue up and tracing the flared underside of Kurt's cock and listening to the tone of Kurt's whimpers change, rise.
"Dave. Dave, God."
Kurt's a mouthy guy in bed. He likes to chant, he especially likes to chant Dave's name.
Dave is not complaining.
He could be here for hours, but Kurt is oddly impatient tonight. He grips at Dave's hair suddenly, tight, and tugs.
Dave voices a grumble of reluctance and savors the way the vibration makes Kurt shudder like an idling engine. Kurt tugs him again, though, and Dave gives in after another moment, dragging his lips tight around the head of his cock as he lets Kurt slip free.
"God. Oh my god, you're so..." Kurt shuts his eyes and tilts his head back, but his hands stay in Dave's hair. He swallows and catches his breath before looking down again.
Dave looks up at him, waiting, resisting the urge to lean until that slippery cock-head nudges against his cheek.
Kurt groans when he looks down. "Stop that. I want..."
Dave fights a grin but swallows to coat his throat and murmurs, "Whatever you want, Kurt, you know that."
"Stop that," Kurt whines, but his eyes open and he licks his lips, deliberate. "I want your mouth."
Dave leans in again instantly.
Kurt grips his hair. "In me," he completes, and when Dave looks up he's flushed red.
But...fuck. Jesus, like he's embarrassed, like he wants something he shouldn't. Like this isn't Dave's ultimate fucking fantasy no matter how often they get off together.
Dave swallows and pushes to his feet. Kurt's fingers relax and fall from his hair, and they meet in a hungry, messy clash of a kiss. Dave's heart beats so fast he'd be worried if this was football practice, and he has to break off the kiss because breathing is this fast and shallow thing he can't control.
Kurt meets his eyes for a moment, his pupils huge, his face open and flushed and beautiful. He looks away from Dave, towards the futon, and he's nervous.
Dave doesn't think, doesn't let this turn into anything awkward. He doesn't want a single negative moment here, not when Kurt's giving him this thing he's wanted so fucking badly.
Dave grips Kurt's shoulder and turns him, sliding in behind him instantly. His hand curls up Kurt's chest, stroking over pale pink nipples blindly as his mouth finds Kurt's throat.
Kurt lets out a breath and leans back against him, his head falling back against Dave. He arches back, and Dave's breath stutters when his cock pushes up against the swell of Kurt's ass.
He steers them a few slow steps towards the futon, never loosening his grip or letting his hungry mouth slip from Kurt's heated skin. His other hand slides down Kurt's side, trailing over his hip and down his thigh. He's so fucking hot. He's so long and lean and fucking perfect, and Dave can't help but think that it's a good thing that, as Kurt told him ages ago, Hummels mate for keeps. Because hell if he's letting this go.
He loosens his hold enough to let Kurt slip down to his knees on the futon. Kurt starts to drop to his hands, but Dave holds him up as he slips down to his knees behind him. He kneels on the floor, and it puts him right in line with the slender curve of Kurt's spine.
Dave leans in instantly, his hands wrapping around Kurt's hips as he trails his restless mouth along the small of his back. He doesn't want to give Kurt a single moment to doubt or regret this, and to make sure he's good and distracted he slips his hand around, trails his rough fingertips through wiry curls on his way to wrapping his hand around that perfect fucking cock of his.
Kurt makes a sound, low and closed-mouth like people do when they just bit into something fucking delicious. His head bows and Dave slides his other hand up that long back, curling over his shoulder as he mouths an almost invisible freckle right above the swell of his ass.
He nudges Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt gets the idea fast and slips down to lean on his hands. And he's right there suddenly, when Dave stops sucking on that freckled patch of skin and slips back enough to take stock.
He's right there, his porcelain-pale ass presented like a fucking reward.
Dave swallows back a thrum of instant desire. He slips his hand down and grips his cock, giving it a warning squeeze. No going off too soon. This needs to last.
He doesn't wait long – Kurt's a stud in bed, nothing shy or timid about him, but Dave can imagine that being bare-assed on his hands and knees inches from a guy's face might start feeling awkward. So he leans in and brushes his lips over the unbelievably soft skin of a pale cheek. He strokes Kurt's cock as slow as he can manage. Distraction, pleasure, not release. Kurt whines and his head is low between his shoulder blades and he sure as hell doesn't seem like he feels all that awkward.
Dave gives both of their cocks a last tug and squeeze before he focuses on the objective here. His fingers slide up Kurt's legs, nudging them apart little by little. Kurt follows every last nudge and tug like he's helpless to hesitate, like he's wired to do whatever Dave wants of him. It would be a powerful fucking feeling except Dave knows himself and he knows he only wants to make Kurt come harder than he ever has. That's pretty much all he ever wants these days.
He leans in and mouths at Kurt's ass, skin like warm velvet under his tongue. Something, nerves or anticipation or desire, is making Kurt tremble under his hands and his mouth.
"Dave." Kurt sighs out his name suddenly, voice thick. Impatient, restless.
Dave swallows and slides his palms to cover those ass cheeks. With a breathless feeling like he's not getting enough oxygen, he spreads Kurt open.
Kurt shivers and makes a slight, helpless sound.
Dave licks his lips unconsciously, and wonders randomly if it's gay to find a guy's asshole so fucking incredible. It's this tight little pucker, it seems impossibly tiny, and true to Kurt the skin is pink right around the edges before melting out into that perfect paleness.
Dave swallows again. He leans in and it's this huge, overwhelming moment. He doesn't know if wanting something so badly is a bad thing, if the reality of getting it will always pale compared to the fantasy of it. But he exhales and his breath hits Kurt's exposed skin and Kurt shudders with a gasp. And fuck, this is going to be awesome.
Dave kisses him, his lower back right over the line of his spread cheeks. He slips his mouth down, holding Kurt with firm hands as he places his first light kiss against that pink pucker.
"Dave!" Kurt's ass clenches and relaxes under his hands. He seems breathless, anxious.
Dave smiles to himself, small and private, and licks a sudden trail from that pucker upwards. Kurt shifts in surprise, and Dave sees his hands gripping tight around the piles of comforters he's kneeling on.
He can't tease, he's got shit for self-control. He returns to that pucker of flesh and presses his mouth down. He traces it with the tip of his tongue, feeling the slip of skin and the firmness of muscle, the tiniest little give in the middle. That dip becomes his focus, his everything, and he skims and flickers and traces with his tongue until he's helpless to resist trying to push his tongue inside.
And it's everything he wanted. For once it's what porn made it out to be, because the sounds that come from Kurt are pure shock and pleasure, like he truly didn't believe something like this could ever feel like that. He is shuddering against Dave, and he's a noisy guy usually but Dave has never managed to get these sounds from him. They're graceless, they're hoarse and harsh, these startled grunts and drawn out 'nnggg unnngggg's that fall from him. And the flex of his back as he pushes in, curves and arches and drives his ass closer to Dave's mouth...
Dave's lost to it. His entire body is his mouth, lips pressed tight against Kurt's skin, tongue dipping and swirling over that pucker, driving in, stroking over, driving in again. He works Kurt open bit by bit, and he can't be sure if he's been doing it for hours or if he just started. He doesn't know any fucking thing except Kurt sounds like he's dying and Dave has never been so turned on in his life.
He can feel the give, the opening up millimeter by millimeter. He pushes and probes and his tongue slips in deeper each time. Dave can hear himself making these noises, these sloppy little sounds like someone eating too fast with their mouth full, but fuck it. Kurt's stuttered groans are only getting louder, Dave could give a shit for any noise that isn't falling from Kurt's mouth.
The chanting starts slowly, or maybe Kurt's moans just randomly form into words, into Dave's name groaned so helplessly. Kurt drops to his elbows like he can't hold himself up, and there's sweat slicking down his back and in his hair as he looks back over his shoulder. His pupils are blown black, and there's no kind of rational look in those eyes.
It's fucking want, and that's all. Lust and pleasure like he's crazed with it.
Dave's finding it hard to focus, but he looks up over Kurt's soft skin and meets his eyes and drives his tongue hard and deep, that impossibly small pucker barely giving way before closing in around him.
Kurt flinches with it, shakes, and his head drops down again and his hips pulse forward and shove back. "Fuck, Dave, god fuck..." His voice is thick and strange, choked and lower than usual. "Dave," he groans and gasps, like he has to say Dave's name to get oxygen in and out. "Dave, Dave, nnngggg, fuck, Dave, you...fuck, fuck, this...you..."
Dave listens like it's music; Kurt's singing this song like the artist he is, a song he wrote for Dave and sings for Dave that no one else will ever get to hear. Kurt's voice lands on him like a weight, like a warm press on his shoulders.
He drives his tongue in, finding a kind of a rhythm with it, thrusting in as deep as he can, and again, and again.
He's got one hand pressing Kurt's cheek to the side and his dick in his other hand and he doesn't even know when that happened. He strokes himself dry and doesn't give a shit, his entire focus is on Kurt as his twitches get more violent and his words cut off into nothing but nnngggs and gasps.
Only when he realizes that his tongue is aching, getting tired from the new exercise, does he start thinking about letting either of them get off.
"Dave," Kurt grounds out before Dave can do anything special to try to get him off. It's all choke and rumble, barely any voice. "Dave. God. Dave. Gonna..."
Dave shuts his eyes and releases his dick and spreads Kurt apart with both hands, driving his tongue in deep and pushing in and out fast.
Kurt cries out, loud, high, and his body shifts as he reaches under him desperately. The moment he touches his cock he shouts, broken and loud and he's coming so hard it seems to drive him backward.
Dave's so fucking synced up to Kurt that he only has to stroke himself a couple of times before his own dick is blowing, and he clenches his hand in the flesh of Kurt's cheek and buries his face in the crack of his ass and spurts until nothing's left to come out, until he's just twitching and pulsing and dry.
Kurt sags, and Dave has just enough sense left to not collapse right on top of him. He catches the edge of the futon with his hand as Kurt sprawls out, shivering, and slowly Dave pushes himself up, crawls up on the pile of comforters to collapse on his stomach beside Kurt.
He wants to pass out, hard, but he loves these moments too much to let himself. He pushes his heavy eyelids up and admires the slick shine of sweat on Kurt's skin, and the way his back rises and falls with his frantic fast breath. He loves this absolute laziness, the way his body feels twice as heavy as normal and he doesn't ever want to move. The way he's so fucking warm all over, and he can still feel his pulse in his dick, and he can see that Kurt feels the same. He made Kurt feel the same.
He shuts his eyes, breathless but peaceful, and he can feel sleep coming but a soft touch on his back pushes that away.
He pries his eyes open, and Kurt's staring at him. He's on his side now, and he looks from Dave's face to his own hand dusting across Dave's sweaty back.
Kurt doesn't have to say anything – Dave knows him by now, his reactions. He knows he's not gonna have any trouble suggesting this particular fantasy again whenever he wants. Kurt will already know that Dave can read him – hell, it's not like the guy's subtle about what feels good in bed.
Kurt doesn't have to speak, but he does. His voice is hoarse, but the words are clear. "You're incredible," he says. He smiles as his eyes slide closed heavily. "I love you."
Dave's known for months now that certain parts of his body are really fucking gay for parts of Kurt Hummel. He's obsessed with a guy's dick, and now he's developing a healthy obsession for his ass, and there's no denying the gayness of that. His mouth is totally queer for Kurt's cock, his hands are gay for Kurt's hips and thighs and cheeks. His cock is gay for Kurt's hands and the slip of Kurt's cock against it.
But Kurt says those words, and Dave knows just like that that wanting Kurt as bad as he does isn't gay or straight or any other damned thing. It's just love.
Kurt's sound asleep and snoring before Dave can say it back, but Dave doesn't get too bothered by that. He's a big, awkward, uncertain shithead sometimes, but he's smart enough to know what his first words are gonna be in the morning.