I do not own Glee.
The moment is very quiet. A man can be seen alone in an unnamed room. He sits in a large arm chair, rocking back and forth. He leans his head into his hand and stares at the wall with a distant expression. Even if one could get a decent view of the man's eyes, it is impossible to guess what the man is thinking about.
But in truth, the man does not care for what he is thinking. When he feels another, smaller pair of hands run along the inside of his thighs, he abandons all attempts at logical thought. He takes a deep breath as he feels the warmth of a small, fit, smooth body press against his. The breath brings the smell of floral perfume, salon-brand hair spray, and a third scent he can't quite identify. All the scents of a woman.
Except not.
This little fact flickers across the man's mind for an instant before he feels the smaller person straddle his lap. The position is comfortable to the man, as well as the other person. Yet, the man has still not opened his eyes; he knows that if he does, the moment will crumble like sand through his fingers.
The other person seems to understand this, because soft, moist lips press against the man's cheek. At the same time, a hand reaches for the other side of the man's head and holds him still so the kiss can last longer. The man can't help but lean into the kiss just a little bit. The pressure seems too much for the other person, and so he removes his lips, only to lean his forehead against the temple of the man.
The breath from the other person seeps down into the man's shirt, making a shiver of pleasure run through him.
The other person presses his lips against the man again, this time at the base of his ear. The person leads his kiss down the length of the man's jaw line, leaving a trail of moist liquid on his skin. The person's kisses leave the man's face, leading now into the crook of his neck. The person continues to trail along the neck of the man, who moves his head in the opposite direction to feel the entire sensation.
Even so, the man feels the brush of the person's short, brunette hair under his chin. The brush causes a shock to run from his chin, filling his entire head. That, in combination with the warm buzz emanating from his neck, causes a pleasant fog to fill his mind.
All thoughts of doubt vanish as the other person makes his way from the man's neck, up his other jaw line, to the base of the man's left ear. The man can feel the person's breath again. It does nothing, but everything at the same time and all the man can do is lean deeper into the chair he had forgotten he was in.
Up until now, he had thought he was floating.
The other person no longer kisses. Instead, he adjusts himself so that he is leaning into the man, with his head leaning over the man's right shoulder. The person is breathing hard from the moment of elongated kissing; he had forgotten to breathe.
The man can feel the person's breath again, but this time, it acts only as a comfort that the moment would not end on bad terms. With a brilliant sense of relief, the man leans his face into the shoulder of the other person, letting out a sigh. Somehow, the other person can sense something else stirring under the surface of the man. He reaches for the large, rough hand of the man, silently telling him that he can speak.
The man lets out another sigh; this time, filled with uncertainty. "I am tired of lying," he murmurs into the other person's shoulder.
The person tightens his embrace on the man.
"I am tired of going to school with this empty space inside me," the man whispers. He turns his head so that he is speaking directly into the person's ear. "I am tired of going to bed every night aching for whatever will fill the space up."
The person answers by pressing his wet lips against the man's neck again, right above the carotid artery. The man can feel his pulse beating hysterically against the kiss. He wonders if the person can feel the pulse himself.
"I am tired of fighting it," the man says. He holds the person's hand tighter, "Tired of fighting this."
"Then don't," the other person replies. His high-pitched voice shocks the man for a moment.
"But everybody—" the man starts.
"What is the point of pleasing everybody, if it only makes you miserable?" the other person asks.
The man doesn't have an answer.
"There is none," the person answers for him. He moves away from the man's ear and straightens up so that the man is sure the person is staring straight at him. The man feels smooth, nimble hands cup his head. The feel of the person's silky palms causes a pleasant warmth to fill the man's face. Then he feels two thumbs come over his eyes. "Open them," the person whispers.
Fear takes the man for a second. It will all fall apart. It always does.
"Open them, Dave" the person commands again. There is a pleading edge to his voice.
The man can't help but obey. As he slowly opens them, he feels something wet and warm flow down his cheeks. But as the something falls, it is almost like the man's fear comes out with it.
The other person brings his thumbs to the man's cheeks and brushes away the something that is falling. The man looks to the person. Within seconds, a smile breaks across the person's perfect, flawless face. It lights up his eyes; eyes greens as the fields of California and as blue as the azure of the Pacific. They remind the man of a small coastal house that he used to visit all the time as a child.
And as the other person leans in closer, the man realizes what the third scent is. He only manages to grasp that the scent is the fresh wind of the ocean before the person completely overtakes the man with simple lip-against-lip contact.
Dave Karofsky opens his eyes. For one moment, the darkness that surrounds him acts as a security blanket, holding the soft feeling he has within him. Then the alarm that is supposed to be waking him makes him jump, causing the feeling to vanish.
All that is left is the familiar emptiness that is threatening to consume him all hours of the day…
…except when he sleeps.
I am tired of lying. I am tired of going to school with this empty space inside me. I am tired of going to bed every night aching for whatever will fill it up. I am tired of fighting it.
"I am tired of fighting this," Dave whispers as he closes his eyes for one more glimpse of the boy with the greenish-blue eyes.
For any confusion…
The man=Karofsky
The person=Kurt
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