Disclaimer: I ONLY own my Oc. Nothing else. NADA. Terribly sorry in advance for the name but I do explain it later in the story. If you're a true Gleek you'll understand why I had to do it.

~*Don't You Want Me?*~

By, Can't Get Any Better

Chapter 1: Who's That Guy?

!~*~!

Who's that guy?
Paulette: Where did he come from?
Who's that guy?
Stephanie: Where can I get one? - Grease 2 Cast

!~*~!

With a drawled out yawn, David Karofsky (simply Karofsky to anyone not a teacher that wanted to keep their teeth intact) threw the flimsy comforter away from his body before throwing his legs over the side of his bed to sit up and stretch out his tense muscles. With all the extra workout time he'd been pulling later, the tremendous crick in his neck was proof it was long overdue for him to upgrade from a single to king-sized and soon.

He reached over and slapped the snooze button on the blaring radio alarm clock on his nightstand that threw his room back into a calm silence. He had half a mind to take full advantage of the calm and just slip back into unconsciousness for a few more minutes.

"Don't even think about it, David!" he heard the sound of his father's voice bellow from most likely his parent's bedroom down the hall. Grumbling to himself and stretching out his neck muscles until it gave a satisfying "pop"; Karofsky pushed himself up from the bed and headed out into the bathroom.

Standing underneath the warm spray from the shower helped relax Dave's tense muscles. As he lathered his hair up with shampoo and conditioner, had unconsciously found himself quietly singing the lyrics to "Welcome to the 60s" from Hairspray (the 2007 version, he wasn't even sure if that song was in the original).

"Oh-oh-oh-oh-ooooh. Go, Mama, go, go, go!"

Soap-on-a-rope held to his mouth like a microphone, Dave's singer grew a little louder, so much that his voice began to echo off the tiled walls of his bathroom.

"Welcome to the sixties. Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey Mama…!"

A knock at the door startled the boy so much that the soap slipped from his hand causing him to nearly trip over. Quickly scooping up the falling item and slamming it onto the rack dangling from the showerhead, he ripped the curtain back, blinking the suds from his eyes.

"What?" he demanded to whoever was on the opposite side of the door.

"Dave, were you singing?" he father's voice answered from the hallway.

"Uh… nah, Pop," he replied quickly. "You hearin' things now?"

"Nobody likes a smartass," he father called back light-heartedly before the sound of his feet shuffling away down the hall allowed Dave to relax a bit.

Moving back to stand underneath the running water, Dave sighed heavily before stepping forward and allowing his forehead to drop against the wall, hard enough where any normal person would have cried out but Dave remained silent. After a moment he moved his hand up to smack against his forehead.

"Stupid!"

Half and hour later, – fresh, dressed and ready to go – Dave came jogging downstairs into the kitchen. Sitting at the small, wooden breakfast table, his father was in one seat, the morning paper opened and turned to the sports section, sitting next to him was good ol' Grandpa Murray shakily brining up a mug of piping hot coffee to his lips. He took a sip before grimacing and placing the mug back on the table.

"Son, I've hacked up shit that tasted better," he commented, giving his son a disapproving glare which Paul Karofsky seemed to completely ignore.

"Keep it up and you'll find out how good the coffee taste at a home," he mused, chuckling when he peered out the corner of his eye to see the horrified look in his father's face before the old grouch picked up the coffee and forced it down.

Karofsky chuckled at the exchange, used to occurrences like this before his father and grandfather. Reaching in the fridge he retrieved the half-empty carton of milk and chugged down what was left of it before tossing the weightless carton into the trash next to the fridge.

Digging back inside, he rummaged around the scarce amount of food inside, shrugging as he pulled out banana.

"I'm out," he announced as he threw a wave to the two other men before heading out of the kitchen and moving through the living room towards the front door.

"Have a good day, son. Tell Lisa I said hi."

Hearing that name, Karofsky stopped and visibly flinched.

Lisa Dewan was McKinley High royalty— superhot, superpopular, and had an unfathomably attraction to one David Karofsky. She was a prominent member of the Cheerios and almost every guy at school had either been with, or fantasized about being with her. And she was also currently Karofsky's girlfriend. What on earth made her pull a power move and ask him out off all the guys in McKinley he still wasn't sure, but there wasn't a chance in hell of him turning down a babe like Lisa; people would get suspicious.

If he had to pick a reason, it would probably be due to Lisa ex, and Karofsky's arch enemies, – now that he and the singing, dancing freak show were on neutral terms – Scott Evans. Scott was captain of the McKinley hockey team, the sport that had always played second fiddle in the popularity ranking to the Titans. He cheated; Lisa probably decided what better way to get even than sleeping with the enemy of her enemy – not that they'd got to the sex part yet. Dave still wasn't comfortable going there just yet.

Why he could never be like one of the regular, girl-loving assholes he hung with inside and out was a question that Karofsky struggled with day in and day out. Sure, there were programs around that promised they could "cure" his little problem, but Karofsky wasn't that stupid – he had a lifetime membership with the flamers, but that didn't mean he had to accept or acknowledge it.

Always one for exercise, and since McKinley was only a short, ten minute walk from his place, Karofsky didn't mind saving his Pop money for another car and took happily traveled the walking distance to school, he liked the thinking time the walk provided him anyways.

When he arrived at McKinley, the first person he noticed approaching him was his best accomplice, (he didn't like him enough to actually be friends) Azimio Adams. The two had a bit of a falling out once Dave aligned himself with Santana to form the "Bullywhips", but, once he was elected Prom King (an award he was soon happy to forget after learning his Queen) and Santana got a big, fat nothing, that alliance crumpled and it was back to his original motto: "A slushie a day keeps the losers at bay."

"Karofsky, my man!" Azimio greeted him with a man-shake.

"What's up, A?" Karofsky replied with a grin. He looked down and noticed the melting blue slushie in his friends grasp and his grin grew larger. "All right, who's on the agenda for a slushing this morning?"

Azimio gives him a puzzled look before he looks down at the slushie in his hand and shakes his head. "Aw, naw man this one's for me. You know I can't slushie the losers until I handle Big Papa."

A few more members of the Titans found their way over to the group and a conversation about the Hotties of McKinley ensued. The last person to be asked about the subject, Karofsky only smiled and agreed when he felt necessary, and only spoke when directly spoken to by the others. Just as he began to get way too uncomfortable with the discussion, the boys quickly hushed down as Azimio looked over Karofsky's shoulder and smirked.

"Here comes your girl," he spoke, hitting his shoulder.

Frowning, Karofsky turned around just in time to catch the lithe, curvy frame of Lisa as she lunged herself into his arms, instantly going on the attack of his lips. At the catcalls and whistles of his friend's behind him, Karofsky put on his automatic façade of pretending to enjoy it, closing his eyes and deepening the kiss while his hands snaked their way down to wrap around the girl's tiny waist.

For some reason, he found himself comparing her full, glossed-up lips to the thing, slightly chapped lips of Kurt Hummel the first time they'd… had a run-in of the lips that day in the locker room. Even though it'd only been for a few seconds, he couldn't help thinking that his lip entanglement with Hummel was… softer… better… real.

His eyes all of a sudden snapped open as Lisa's hands did some exploring of their own, trailing from his chest, all the way down to the crotch of his jeans. He gave a surprised grunt as, shielded by his wide figure, Lisa curled her hand around his junk, groping him through his jeans.

He abruptly broke the kiss, giving her an uneasy smile to which she purred in response before snuggling into his side. They turned back to face the guys who were all snickering while giving them amused looks.

"What?" Lisa asked innocently, once again dragging her manicured nail over the material of Karofsky's t-shirt. "Jealous that I picked a real man over you little boys?"

"Oh, baby," Azimio began, stroking his eyebrows back. "Trust me, ain't nothin' little over here."

"C'mon, dude," Karofsky grimaced at the mental image of Azimio anything but fully clothed. Homo or not there were just something's that you didn't want in your head.

"Gross," Lisa retorted. "Gotta go catch up with the girls. I'll see you after class."

Karofsky hadn't even noticed Lisa's hand move yet again until it squeezed his ass and he jumped slightly. Giggling, the girl gave him a flirty wave before jogging off to go and join a group of girls near the student parking lot.

Moving towards the front steps of the school with Azimio and the rest of the Titans in tow, the sound of a revving engine caught Karofsky's attention. Halfway up the steps, he stops and looks into the parking lot as the crowd of students standing around all stopped and stared at the glistening, red Ashton Martin DB9 Volante now parked in the one of the spaces.

"Whoa."

Gay or no gay, if there was one thing Karofsky knew—it was cars. Though he couldn't work on them for shit, he knew what he liked and what he didn't like when it came to a sleek automobile, and the metal beauty his eyes were was currently beholding he definitely liked.

"Damn!" Azimio commented. "That's a sweet ride."

"Whose ride is it?" Karofsky asked, not taking is eyes away from the parked beauty.

"Please, a ride like that—it's gotta be that Motta girl."

"Honey?"

"Nah, man, I think it's Sugar or something."

The skinny, dolled up girl dressed from head to toe in name brand labels emerged from the passengers' side of the car, eyes covered by large, Prada shades and arm holding up a matching bag. Giving superficial waves to those around her, she moved to stand at the trunk of the car, waiting as the door on the drivers' side opened.

"Who the hell's that?"

Climbing out of the car, a gangly with the exact same height and physique of Sugar (minus the tits) with shoulder-length bleached blond curly hair stepped into the parking lot. From Karofsky's range, he could see the boy was definitely colorful – lime green tank top, red skinny jeans, a black leather jacket and white sneakers with what looked like neon green laces.

Reaching inside her purse, Sugar handed the boy something that looked like a cell phone which he became engrossed in as they moved through the crowd, ignoring the stares the duo received as they passed.

"Aw hell, just what we need – another fruitcake. That was a dude, right?"

"Think so," Karofsky responded noncommittally.

That tank top definitely fit too snugly on that kid's chest for there to have been boobs, but, other than Hummel, he'd never met another guy that… petite.

"Damn, it's bad enough we still got Princess Hummel and butt-monkey sprinkling their fairy dust all round here—now we gotta deal with a he-she too!"

Karofsky didn't respond. Thoughts were running a mile a minute through his head about the identity of the mystery boy, and just how much effort it'd take to avoid him because the last thing he needed was another kissing-Kurt-in-the-locker-room fiasco.

!~*~!

If there was one thing that Karofsky knew he'd never understand—it was Spanish. He had enough trouble completing class work assigned to him in other classes in his own language and now they expect him to do it in foreign languages too! And why the hell did he need Spanish to graduate anyways? It wasn't like he planned on chumming it up in Mexico or Paraguay or anywhere else they spoke the language anytime soon.

Gnawing nervously at his fingernails, Dave sighed and glanced longingly up at the clock resting on the wall near the door of Mr. Schue's classroom, begging for it to somehow move a little faster.

"David. ¿Tiene la respuesta?"

Shit. Karofsky swore mentally. He didn't even have a clue what that meant, but from the expectant looks the vested, good-haired teacher and everyone else in the classroom were giving him, they were obviously expecting some form of answer.

"Uh…."

Snickers. He heard the sound of someone in the back mutter the word "Idiota," and he sure as hell didn't need to be a genius to know what that meant. Whirling around in his seat, he saw the annoying snickering faces of Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang and Mercedes Jones.

"Silenciar," Schuester reprimanded the trio and they quickly quieted down. "David, continuar."

At the intrusion of the knock on the door, just when Dave opened his mouth to give what surely would have been the wrong answer, the jock thanked his lucky stars for the distraction, hoping it'd give him enough time to force the answer out of one of the little nerd sitting next to him.

"Yes, can I help you?" he heard Mr. Schue ask the newcomer while Dave turned to the boy next to him.

"Tell me the answer or I slushie you every day for the rest of the month," he threatened the shuttering boy. Leaning in close, he made himself appear more threatening. "You hide, I find you."

"Yeah, hi, is this Spanish II? Are you Mr. Shuester?" he heard a bored, unfamiliar voice drawl.

After being told the answer by the trembling tenth grade, Karofsky smiled confidently, ready to prove just how "smart" he was to the class. He looked to where Schuester stood near the door and his eyes nearly bulged from his head.

It was the same boy from the parking lot who'd gotten out of the kickass car with that unfortunately-named Motta chick. Standing in the doorway, an uninterested expression on his face, Karofsky felt his breath catch in his throat. Snapping his eyes shut, he forced the indecent thoughts about the boys stunning good looks from his mind. He wasn't that person. He couldn't be that person.

"It is, and I am," Schue responded clapping his hands. He skirted back over to his desk and picked up the class roll while the boy slowly stepped further into the class, ignoring the curious stares he was receiving from the rest of the class. "And you must be… Sundae…? Motta!" He sounded more surprised by the last name than the first.

Al and Andie Motta had a fascination with pushing the envelope when it came to naming their children. There were the twins, Sugar and Sundae, and finally their youngest brother, Pony. Everyone wondered what could posses two people with such class and decorum to give their children such horrendous names. Even the nurse who'd delivered the twins had to ask the couple twice if they were absolutely positive with the names they'd selected for them following their birth. The entire staff just assumed the woman was still doped up on morphine when word spread about the name she and her husband had selected their settled on.

"Any relation to Sugar Motta?" Will asks, though, with the name of a desert, he was pretty sure he already knew the name.

"Twin sister, Fraternal," he replied with a shrug, stepping forward and handing the teacher his transfer sheet. It should've been obvious with names like that.

"All right, well, bienvenido. I am your instructor Senor Schuester, and welcome to McKinley."

"Thanks," the boy replied in his gentle tone, a genuine smile on his face.

"Um, why don't you just take a seat next to… Rebecca. She'll catch you up with where we are until we can get you settled in. Rebecca would you raise your hand, please."

A mousy-looking, African-American girl with glasses and curly black hair slowly raises her hand. Sundae looks to where she sits near the back and smiles to Mr. Schue one last time before beginning to move through the rows towards his sit.

Closing his eyes and counting back from ten (a method he found to has little effect) Karofsky resisted the urge to check out what kind of junk the boy had as he passed right past him to get to his new seat. He heard the sound of a chair sliding and the boy's bag dropping to the floor before the classroom grew quiet once more.

"Oh, before I forget, Mr. Motta is there anything you'd like to share about yourself with the class about yourself?"

Sundae doesn't even flinch when every eye in the class turns to look at him. Putting on a pondering face, he shrugs.

"Unlike my sister, I don't have self-diagnosed Asperger's — if I insult you, I mean it."

Everyone's eyes widen in surprise, including Mr. Schue's who seems to take a moment to let this new information digest. After a moment he nods and claps his hands.

"Well, okay then. Uh… let's continue."

In the front seat, Karofsky couldn't stop the grin that slowly spreading across his lips as the boy's voice played back in his head. Unlike Hummel, this one had a little backbone. Why did he find that… cute?

Quickly shaking the thoughts from his head, Dave gave an annoyed huff, thankful that, in the interruption, Schuester had forgotten that he was waiting on a response from him. Propping his elbow up the table to drop his head into his hand, Karofsky could only wonder: I wonder if this is the type of shit Tom Cruise goes through?


A/N: So, what'd ya think? Before I go on I wanna clear something up very quickly: this is DAVE's STORY. While, yes, Sundae is my OC and will sometimes be focused on, this story will center around Karofsky. The reason I'm pointing this out is because you usually see stories with OCs where they're introduced in the first chapter and the WHOLE story is focused solely on them and their problems and not the character we're actually reading the story for. Plus, while I do love and enjoy my OC Sundae, his life really just doesn't get my juices flowing like the angsty good stuff I get from writing Dave' drama-filled life. So, to be clear, this story will mainly revolve around DAVE.

Okay, rant out of the way. I started writing this story after seeing episode "I Am Unicorn" but it does contain elements from "Asian F" including Mercedes joining Shelby's glee club and possibly Mike's family issues... I dunno yet. But nothing from that point on is cannon in this fanfic, meaning no Rory Flanagan (though I may bring him about given an opportunity in the story), and Santana and Brittany are still in New Directions.

I happen to already be seven chapters written in this story and beginning the eighth sometime tonight so if you guys give me positive feedback (i.e. favorites and reviews please) there will be no super-extended breaks during this story as I never seem to be uninspired to write more troubles for Mr. Karofsky.

So, this brings about the end of my super-long, unnecessary A/N. Thank you for reading and (PLEASSSE) reviewing and most importantly enjoying :D see you VERY soon.