Story: What It Means
Characters: Kurt/Blaine, Dave (Don't worry! You all know me by now. I can promise that that NC-17 does not belong to Klaine…aaand that's all I'mma gonna tell ya… I am so eeevil… ) ;) And no Klainofksy, either!
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: Kurt's extra special birthday wish? To go to a gay night club in Columbus. Why and where (and what happens there) is what this one's all about. I promise – this isn't as Klaine-y as it sounds…
Spoilers: Big time! Spoilers for all of season 2 and the recent rumors (or spoilers) from Ausiello about what our boy Dave has been up to since the prom… If you haven't read them, you might want to avoid this story.
A/N: Pretty much just an excuse to get Dave into a black leather jacket. And because the spoilers this week made me really, really happy…
A/N#2: Apologies to anyone who read this early Monday and were subjected to the myriad typos and logic-free thinking. (Seriously. I read one sentence and thought, "Huh. Wonder what I meant by that?") I was up until 4:30 writing and was determined to post it then, knowing if I didn't, I'd spend the day overworking it – and get nothing else done. I have since corrected the mistakes and added a little more flesh to its bones. Thanks to everyone who read it before and to those, hopefully, who will give it another shot now that it's a little bit more polished. So sorry, folks!
What It Means
It was Kurt's 18th birthday and the world rejoiced.
Well, actually, the world couldn't have care less, but the tiny portion of it that Kurt came in direct contact with rang it in with all the pomp and circumstance of a national holiday, which made Kurt feel very loved indeed.
Wonderful songs were sung for him in glee club – one a love song, the rest, merely fun. Cake was eaten – cake decorated with yummy little sugar cut outs of couture! Gifts were given – some jokes, some silky and fabulous. (One can never have too many scarves.)
His family celebration (plus Blaine) was also lovely; scrumptious food, colorful balloons, and exciting clothing gifts (all of which Kurt had bookmarked on his dad's laptop a month ago), as well as the shiny new iPad Kurt had wanted. There was even a Burt-approved glass of chardonnay with dinner that was fabulous. (None for Blaine, though, since he was only 17.)
And afterwards, after Finn had left to meet Rachel for coffee and his Dad and Carole had retired to their room so he and Blaine could "watch whatever they wanted on TV" (wink-wink), he had his private celebration with Blaine in the sunroom out back. Sweet words and breathless kisses and maybe going a little bit farther than they ever had before, rendered somewhat chaste by the house's creaky floors above them. Burt may have been a supportive dad, but he was also a protective one; they knew he'd be awake until he heard the engine of Blaine's vintage Mercedes roar to life and pull away from the curb…
And that was why, just one day after Kurt turned 18, he and Blaine were sitting in that same vintage Mercedes, in the parking lot of Somewhere Else, Columbus's hottest gay night club, trying to work up the nerve to actually go inside…
Last night, Blaine had given Kurt a lovely engraved pocket watch ("K – All my love. – B") and a cute little homemade coupon book – sparkly and colorful and covered with Blaine's charmingly inept doodles – entitling Kurt to things like an "Extra Special Backrub ;)", "Coffee and Muffin of Your Choice – at any time, day or nite!" (with a little heart dotting the "i" of "night"), and Blaine's favorite, the "Wildcard!" coupon (entitling Kurt, Blaine said, bushy eyebrows raised, to whatever Kurt wanted – whenever, wherever he wanted it…) That coupon would be the first one used, but not in a way that was even close to how Blaine had envisioned it…
Perhaps the most important coupon in the book, certainly the most…considerate of them, was the one that simply had a crudely-drawn STOP sign on it. (There were actually three of these in the little booklet.)
Kurt had colored deeply, but had bit his lip and smiled at the sight of the childishly drawn white on red sign. As much as he loved Blaine, as much as he loved kissing him and feeling Blaine's hands on him, anything beyond PG, anything below the waist, and Kurt started to squirm, suddenly awkward and uncomfortable. He wasn't a prude. He wasn't. He just wasn't ready.
He and Blaine had been talking about it for months now; long drawn-out discussions in which they both cried and Blaine swore he'd never love anyone but Kurt, never leave him, never hurt him, never do anything Kurt didn't want him to, and Kurt swore that he loved Blaine, that he wanted to be with him, that he loved every little thing about him, that his reluctance had nothing to do with how he felt about Blaine. The reason he held back was all about himself, no one else. It had nothing to do with Blaine at all. Here Kurt would turn away, covering his flushing cheeks with an innocent yawn, feeling, each and every time, the painful stab of the lie, the only lie he had ever told his boyfriend, burning deep in the center of his chest.
That it wasn't about Blaine was not a lie, but that it was all about Kurt, was.
It was partly about Kurt and partly…partly about someone else…
Kurt would never, could never admit this to anyone, least of all Blaine, but as hard as it was for even Kurt to believe, he just wasn't…he just wasn't attracted to Blaine.
Kurt wasn't questioning his sexual orientation, he was gay enough for any three boys, and it had nothing to do with whether he thought Blaine was attractive or not; Blaine was beautiful, adorable, and sexy. He was everything a boy could want – in a boyfriend and in a lover. Blaine made him feel safe and loved, but though the mere mention of his name could make Kurt's pulse quicken…it didn't quite make it boil…
It was almost more of an intellectual attraction than a sexual one.
Kurt had a long list of criteria, the Ideal Boyfriend and what his attributes should be, and looking over that list, each and every box was ticked off neatly, but still…somehow it just didn't add up to lust.
At first, Kurt had been at a loss to explain it.
He had everything he'd every wanted – why didn't he want what he had?
Had he and Blaine spent too much time in the holding pattern of "friendship?"
Had Kurt just been too hurt as he waited and pined and watched Blaine chase after every other boy but him?
Or had…or had Kurt been changed, changed by a thing that had been forced upon him, a thing that had been taken from him; a kiss that had been stolen under the most unpleasant circumstances?
He refused to think about it, refused to believe that what passed for passion that fateful day in the locker room had lingered in any way on his being.
It had been terrible, but he had gotten past it.
He wasn't an ogre, though. He understood that he wasn't the only one struggling. He had reached out, endeavored to help, striking a bargain that would be mutually beneficial to both of them; safety for himself, education and, hopefully, personal acceptance for Dave.
Somehow, though, between the craziness that colored those days between Prom and finals, the blissful blur of his first summer with a boyfriend, and the crush of the new school year, he realized he had seen neither red-and-white-hide nor curly-brown-hair of Dave Karofsky. He'd been mildly curious, naturally, but after Blaine had transferred to McKinley it had been forgotten. So much to think about, so much to be excited about; he could be forgiven for not noticing his bully's absence.
After all, he wasn't responsible for Dave Karofsky. He was only responsible for himself, for making his own dreams come true.
He had the boy he wanted, the most perfect, the most caring, the most…
So what if he needed a little…inspiration to set those particular wheels in motion, what could be wrong with that? After all, there was an entire industry dedicated to this kind of inspiration, wasn't there? He was by no means the only one in need.
"Wildcard!" coupon or not, Kurt had no doubt at all that Blaine would have agreed to take him to a gay nightclub for his birthday; Blaine lived to make Kurt happy.
Kurt's normally healthy cynical side may have been dying of starvation and neglect since they'd started dating, what with all the "klainebows" and flowers that seemed to spring up around them, and with the utter happiness that was coursing through his veins, but cynicism would never entirely disappear; he was fairly certain Blaine would have done anything at all for him, no matter how out of character or crazy it was, if it meant Kurt might finally consent to…if Kurt would finally give in and…and have sex with him…
And really, Kurt couldn't blame him for that.
Grabbing Blaine's hand and giving it a squeeze, Kurt pulled him in for a quick, nervous kiss then jumped out of the car. As he smoothed out the wrinkles in his suede blazer, Kurt wracked his brain for a moment. What was that apt, yet disgusting saying he'd heard once?
"Shit or get off the pot?"
Screwing up his courage, he reassured himself that his ensemble was the appropriate mix of modesty and style and that he looked absolutely smashing, and then he took Blaine's hand again.
"Ready, Blaine?" His fake grin was fake devilish. "Time to get off of that pot!"
Somewhere between Blaine's car and the entrance to the club, Kurt's hard won bravado began to waver. He was determined to do this, though, whether he died of embarrassment – or got arrested for carrying a fake ID…
Blaine's expression wasn't much better, his frozen smile, all teeth and raised eyebrows, was as faux as their IDs, but when Kurt whispered, "This. Is. ACTING!" into his ear like Jon Lovitz's Master Thespian and forced out a gleeful stage laugh, arm held out dramatically in front of him, he was finally break through Blaine's tharn. Blaine responded with his own stage laugh and was relaxed to give Kurt one of his patented 'I am the shit!' smiles.
They walked the rest of the way, arms linked, giddy and only partially faking it, prepared for whatever adventure the night might bring them…
They made it past the burly bouncer at the front door, a hulking man in a skin tight shirt who looked over their IDs, and then looked them over, and though he shook his head and let out a single disgusted laugh, he still let them through.
They were holding hands a little too tightly as they walked inside (Kurt fully expected to see tiny bruises in his palm from Blaine's manicure tomorrow morning), which was a good thing, because they were immediately enveloped by a moving wall of flesh that nearly separated them. Between the cloud of cologne, the haze from the smoke machines, the twitching laser lights, and what Kurt was thrilled to recognize as that thumpa-thumpa of the gay beat he'd heard about on "Queer as Folk," he knew they'd arrived!
This first glimpse into real gay culture, and its pursuit of love and sex, was equal parts exciting and overwhelming.
What have I gotten myself into?
They stood for a long while, just trying to absorb it all: the music that filled their senses and made their bones vibrate; the couples dancing and making out and groping each other on the dance floor (and in every corner of the club); the growing curiosity and flat-out interest in the two of them…
Kurt was…he was scared.
Seriously, what am I doing here?
He moved even closer to Blaine, pressing into his side, trying to hide himself behind Blaine's usual larger-than-life aura, but it was nowhere in sight; he was just staring into the crowd, the same frozen smile on his face.
Kurt couldn't help feeling disappointed in his boyfriend.
Blaine may have been a year behind him where calendars and birth certificates were concerned, but he had always been the brave one, the forward one, the wise one. Kurt's Gay Resource, he had become accustomed to thinking of his boyfriend as the worldly one; strong and true.
But Blaine seemed as overwhelmed as Kurt was at a time when Kurt needed him to be his protector. He needed the boy who would jump to Kurt's rescue at the merest glimpse of Dave Karofsky; he needed the boy who always made him feel safe and loved.
And he needed that boy right now.
All these Club Babylon wannabes were starting to freak him out; too much hair gel and CK1, not enough…not enough clothing. (Was it Shirtless Saturday? Kurt hadn't seen a sign out front.)
Grabbing Blaine's hand, he pulled gently, edging them backwards until they hit a wall, putting distance between themselves and their small crowd of admirers – and gaining some much needed breathing space.
After a moment, Kurt felt Blaine squeeze his hand. "You okay, babe?"
Now he's Protective Blaine…
"Y-yeah, I am," he said, hoping his voice was steady as he spoke. "I'm not sure if this is what I was expecting, though."
Suddenly the picture of cool – now that Kurt had "rescued" them from their suitors – he brought Kurt's hand to his lips and kissed it. "We don't have to stay, Kurt. We can go if you want. I'm sure we can find a karaoke bar somewhere, give Columbus a real treat…" His wink was pure smarm.
Is that how he wanted to spend his 18th birthday?
Karaoke and Diet Coke?
No, no, no…They couldn't leave yet. All they'd done was walk in the freaking door!
Kurt still…he still hadn't found his inspiration.
Tonight was about more than just Kurt's curiosity with real gay culture; he was looking for his mojo…
He didn't want to think he was scared of sex or frigid and he most certainly didn't want to think he wasn't attracted to his own boyfriend, but if he could get a feel for…for the thing that seemed to be driving all these men, the thing that brought them here, then maybe he could find out what it all meant for himself, maybe then he could follow through on the promise of Blaine's sweet kisses and soft caresses.
Maybe then he could learn what it really meant to be a gay man.
Blaine had gone off to use the rest room and though Kurt had promised to "wait right there," a request that had seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn't place why, he'd felt uncomfortable just standing there against the wall.
Plus, he'd begun to attract the attention of the other patrons again and the way they were looking at him made him feel a little bit like a celebrity and a little like a mouse in a trap…
Deciding he felt safer on the move, and that Blaine could text him if he wasn't at their wall when he got back, he set off to explore the club.
He found the large wooden bar, manned (or, really, womanned), by a drag queen in a Dorothy costume, and, it would seem, two members of the Village People. (The biker seemed to be quite popular and Kurt could see why; his leather jacket barely covered his broad, smooth chest and Kurt thought the chains and the hat were actually rather fetching.
What do you know? I have a type…
Past the rest rooms – no sign of Blaine – there was a small room guarded by another Neanderthal in a tight shirt. Kurt caught a glimpse inside, when the door opened to let someone out, of men receiving private lap dances from the club's white winged and nubile dancers. He wondered briefly what it cost…
Fending off the occasional advance – one from a beautiful shirtless boy with blond hair and a fabulous smile who kissed him on the neck before saying hello! – Kurt found himself walking through a doorway over which hung a beaded curtain.
There were no signs, but the hallway beyond was lined with couples, all taking advantage of the low lighting, and though the music didn't quite penetrate this far, the beat persisted, seeming to accompany the sounds of the men seeking pleasure within.
When his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, Kurt nearly turned around and ran out.
He couldn't believe where he was. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
This was it.
This was what men did to each other in pursuit of pleasure.
This was what it meant to be gay.
It wasn't about fashion or show tunes or Broadway. Those things were superficial, like fashion itself, something one chose to put on – or not.
But this…this they all had in common.
They all sought heat and friction and connection with another.
Kurt felt his heart beating like a drum in his chest and he could feel the thumpa-thumpa through his feet, in his bones.
He should leave this room now. He shouldn't be looking, shouldn't be watching, listening, smelling what was happening here.
But Kurt had never seen anything like it before. He'd avoided porn – mother's sons and all that – and everything else had just felt wrong, like slave trade, like prostitution – for money. Even the boys on Corbin Fisher were straight boys earning money for college by fucking other straight boys…
Everyone here was here of their own volition, their own need.
The hallway let out into a small room, broken up by walls (for leaning) and the odd blue-gelled strobe. Smoke machines pumped haze along floors and walls, around the feet, the knees, of men whose faces he couldn't see, but whose bodies, sweating and bared, were his to see.
I can't believe I'm seeing this. I can't believe I—
Someone touched his arm, a hand pulled at his jacket, another caressed his face, but Kurt shook his head, pulled gently away.
As tempting, as…amazing as this all was, he was here to look. His heart, and his body, belonged to someone else, someone elsewhere.
I wonder if he's back from the bathroom yet?
He checked his phone, saw now texts, no missed calls, and for a second thought to run outside, track down his boyfriend and…and bring him back here…
…and then something, someone, caught his eye.
He couldn't see the man's face, it was obscured in shadow, but the expanse of smooth muscle bared to the room, sweaty and heaving, back arched against the wall, was like a beacon and Kurt couldn't look away.
Two men knelt at his feet, faces buried deeply in his crotch as his hands guided them in their work.
Kurt felt his face flush as the man's erection became visible. He'd never seen anything so beautiful in all his life – so big and so very, very hard.
He was feeling strangely now, breath shallow, head swimming, and...
My god! I'm hard…
Seeing this, the room's siren hands were on him again, pulling him towards the wall, running up his legs, but he wanted nothing more than to continue watching.
Freeing himself, a hand now to his mouth, Kurt stood mesmerized as the kneeling men shared the man, tongues traveling his length, sucking, licking, fingers twisting, pausing to share a kiss between them, then, with his guiding hands at their heads, back to swallow him whole. The sounds of their bliss filled Kurt's ears; moans and grunts and murmured words of encouragement and when, as the pace sped up, the man whispered a warning, they drew away, but held fast, watching, rapt, as he painted his belly and their faces with his release.
Kurt, grateful that his pants were merely uncomfortably tight, and not wet, released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and watched as the two men rose to their feet, ravenously kissing the man they'd just brought such pleasure to.
Suddenly aware of his own behavior – he'd just watched two men give a third man an orgasm! – and beginning to feel intrusive in spite of the shadowed, but public space, Kurt moved closer to the wall, out of the way, quickly now because having come, the man was leaving. He pulled a worn leather jacket closed across his hard – gorgeous – chest, pulling himself free of the shadows, and Kurt, grateful for having gotten to see what he just had seen, wanted to give this man who had performed so incredibly, some small measure of privacy…so when he drew closer, wait—
Even in the semi-darkness and intermittent light of the strobe, Kurt knew that face.
Oh, my freaking god.
That was…that was Dave Karofsky? That body…t-that cock?
I just watched Dave Karofsky have sex with two men?
And then, a beat behind it.
Dave is out?
Ten feet away, face satisfied and composed, Dave was looking down the hall and outside, no longer needing to scan its length for partners, no longer caring who else was here, and, freaked, feeling like a voyeur and a hypocrite, Kurt…Kurt almost let him leave.
He had no idea what to say to him.
What do you say to someone who used to scare the crap out of you and who just gave you the biggest hard-on of your life?
'Hey, Dave! It's Kurt Hummel. Remember me? You've got a pretty dick. Can I touch it?'?
Finally, Kurt found his voice.
"D-Dave?" he said, feigning surprise, as though he'd just arrived and hadn't seen a thing, as though they'd just run into each other at the Lima Bean and not the smoky sex room of a gay night club in Columbus.
At the sound of Kurt's voice, Dave froze in place, and even in the half-light, Kurt could see all that lovely sex-color draining from his face.
As shocked as he was to see his bully here, he felt badly about that.
And then it was like someone flipped a switch somewhere.
One minute, Dave was this leather-clad sex warrior, the next he was again the scared little boy confessing his sins outside Kurt's French classroom.
"K-K-Kurt," Dave stuttered, aghast, face once again blazing. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He wasn't exactly running, but he clearly didn't want to be there talking to Kurt.
He has to know I saw something. Maybe he knows I saw everything.
Kurt took a deep breath, willing the normal (as normal as you can be while strange men have sex around you) into his voice.
"It's my birthday. Blaine and I came to Columbus to check out this club."
Dave's cheeks colored a softer shade of rose at this and though he was trying to hide it, there was a faint smile on his face.
"Oh, yeah? H-Happy Birthday, K…Hummel."
This has got to be the weirdest conversation I have ever had…
What had just happened over there in that corner would probably be burned in his memory for life (and he was still hard), but he hadn't seen Dave since he'd run from the gym that night of the prom. He had a million questions for him.
He'd been about to ask Dave where he'd been all this time, if he'd come out, if he was okay, but when he looked up, Dave was heading toward that beaded curtain and the club beyond.
Right before the doorway, someone stopped him, and Dave paused for a second as if deciding how to respond. He exchanged a few words with the man, they kissed heatedly, and then he was gone.
And he passed through the curtain, Kurt saw the hard hat that was strapped to the waistband of Dave's jacket and Kurt's imagination quickly built a story around it.
…After the prom Dave Karofsky had come out to his dad, but his dad hadn't taken it too well; Paul Karofsky, so understanding when it was someone else's son that was gay, had thrown Dave out of the house. Dave had come to Columbus to get away from everything – a father that didn't love him, a school filled with people who wouldn't accept him, and a town with little to offer him. He found work in construction (which would explain how his body had become so hard) and he had found himself; Dave Karofsky, happy at last…
Or maybe Dave hadn't been able to come out to his dad, and he'd just run away to Columbus. The end result was the same, though – Dave hanging out in the sex room of a gay night club, getting anonymous blowjobs from faceless, naked men…
In spite of Dave's obvious ease with himself, (and in spite of his discomfort at being discovered there), it made Kurt sad to think he'd had to give up his life and his family.
On the other hand, Dave had accepted himself and seemed to be happy.
Who would have thought it?
Kurt had found his mojo and it was…it was Dave Karofsky…
Shit, I'm still hard…
He tried to tell himself it didn't matter where he'd found it. It didn't matter if it was some nameless leather daddy or a guy who'd…who'd kissed him once.
It didn't matter.
Because he still had Blaine who loved him and wanted to make him happy.
It doesn't matter.
And Kurt repeated that to himself over and over as he tracked Blaine down by the dance floor and dragged him out of that club.
And while Kurt would go on to lose his virginity to Blaine Anderson that night, when he closed his eyes, he would still see that strong body covered in sweat and hear Dave's moans in the darkness.
Because in the end, it was Dave Karofsky, of all people, who had showed him what it meant to be gay…