A/N: Written for lordofthepringles on tumblr for the Kurtofsky Gift Exchange.
Warnings: Established Kurtofsky friendship, a side of Finchel (more comic relief and necessary to the plot than an actual side pairing), mild resolved angst not related to Kurtofsky, anonymous sex, oral and anal sex, rimming, rough sex, and sweet sex.
Why We Fall
Chapter One
It was half past six on a Friday night and Dave had only been home long enough to remove his grey suit jacket and kick his shoes off on the mat in the foyer before he heard the sharp and, if he didn't know any better, urgent knock on the door behind him. Though he had upgraded from his studio apartment in the Bronx to his more functional two bedroom apartment in Manhattan (being closer to his office building and having ceiling fans that actually worked) not long after his last promotion two years ago, he did not know anyone in the building well enough to give someone a reason to be knocking on his door and around dinner time, no less. He didn't have a lot of time to socialize with the tenants on his floor—especially now that he was working longer hours, which meant less time at home and more time in his office. Much of his time was spent answering phone calls and making appointments with a number of notable sport's figures in the business to negotiate lucrative contracts between coaches and prospective, in-demand NFL material—all young, fit, and fresh out of college. He was still, of course, continuing to work his way up so he could eventually handle the affairs of some of the biggest names in football the world has seen. He was living his dream.
But making his dreams become a reality didn't mean that he didn't have time to socialize at all. His immediate circle of friends consisted of a handful of coworkers and some buddies from college. The friends he made during high school were practically nonexistent since being forcibly outed in the middle of his senior year and thanks to the great lengths he went to hide who he was up until that point.
There was, however, a few, and not to mention surprising, exceptions. One particular person came to mind; although, this would be an understatement as he usually was on his mind. He had become friends with this person in the strangest of coincidences and was the only person who would show up at his apartment without so much as a heads up, and the six, consecutive raps on the door foretold of the identity of his company.
When he entered his apartment just seconds before, he had every intention—every hope—of collapsing on the couch with a cold pumpkin ale to watch shitty reality T.V. shows until he passed out as just one way to recuperate from his hectic week at work. So the fact that he would turn around on the spot and expectantly wrench open the door, being quite certain of who was on the other side, spoke volumes as to just how much that said person meant to him.
Kurt wasn't sure how he managed to knock on the apartment door while carrying the teetering stack of slim, plastic, rectangular cases without dropping them, let alone walk three blocks to the building from his own apartment all the while receiving questioning, if not slightly judgmental, looks from the passersby. He had grown acclimated to the strange looks afforded to him while pounding the pavement of the concrete jungle that was New York City over the years. Being a costume designer for Broadway meant scouring the fabric shops in the city, and on a tight schedule, for that perfect shade of rich byzantium when all his assistants could find was a dull eggplant, and carting said rolls of fabric back to Hummel Studio, LLC. At any other time, he was either too preoccupied to notice the stares or was in too much of a good mood to care.
This time was different.
A part of him wanted to tell them off, to give them the finger as he passed had his hands not been full, but another part of him only wished to slink down into one of the many dank and disgusting street gutters lining the curbs; away from the looks and, even more so, away from the people who, in the end, were only out to hurt him.
Who were they to judge him and his obviously disheveled appearance, with his tear-stained face and mottled-crimson cheeks? None of them knew what he was going through, he gathered. None of them understood what it was like to be betrayed not once, not even twice, but three times and by the people he trusted most; or, rather, those he should have been able to.
Kurt sniffed, trying his best to avoid another onset of waterworks as he squished the stack of boxes between his chin and the palm of his hand to prevent them from falling. Nothing said "I'm done with this piece of shit" more than a movie marathon and fattening food with his best friend, so, with his free hand, he knocked on the door and desperately hoped that the man was already home.
While Dave easily figured out that it was Kurt by his knock alone, he hadn't prepared himself for this Kurt that stood before him. Looking through the peephole before opening the door would have helped ward off some of the shock he experienced when he was met with the upsetting sight. Dave had only a second to take in his friend's appearance before Kurt swept gracefully past him and into the room before Dave could say a word. His defined chin was held high over a stack of—'What was that?'—DVDs...? He frowned as he slowly shut the door behind him with his eyes never leaving Kurt's form. Kurt's back was rigid as he strode stoically across the room, completely cognizant of what he was doing and where he was going, indicative of just how often he came over his apartment.
"What… The fuck?" Dave finally broke his silence by voicing his concern and not over Kurt's presence and how easily he was able to "make himself at home", but the state he was in. He moved in towards the living room where Kurt set the stack of DVDs on top of the coffee table. Dave immediately felt a sense of foreboding. The two of them had plenty of movie nights, though usually on Saturdays and more frequently during their college days. Depending on who was hosting the movie night, the "guest" would usually choose from the "host's" collection. The fact that, as he drew closer to Kurt who was flipping through what looked like a rather substantial chunk of an entire shelf of DVDs, they were all superhero movies revealed that Kurt was plagued with a very specific problem; something that could only be solved by ogling muscled-men in spandex.
"I hope you didn't have anything planned," Kurt spoke up for the first time without so much as looking at Dave. Dave held his hands out at his sides, palms aimed towards Kurt in silent, concerned questioning as Kurt methodically sorted through the DVDs like he was following some sort of system known only to him. His voice had a slight waver and seemed an even higher pitch than normal, but it was restrained—like Kurt was doing all he could to maintain his composure.
"I was just in the neighborhood...Thought we could watch a movie."
"Or twenty?" Dave tacked on to the end of Kurt's frighteningly nonchalant statement with a scoff, though he knew perfectly well that, were Kurt to ask, he would stow away any plans he had that weekend to watch each and every one of those movies if it meant being able to cheer him up.
Dave cleared his throat as he placed one hand on his hip as the other raked through his hair, messing up the part at the side. He wished he knew what was wrong; what he could do to help.
"Did you seriously take a cab with all of these?" He attempted to joke, picking up "The Avengers 2" off the top of one of the piles, and then he realized Kurt was sorting the DVDs according to comic: One consisting of Marvel adaptations and the other DC.
"No..." Kurt murmured and, in both a trembling and without looking at him, added, "I walked."
Dave's lips parted empathetically as he tilted his head slightly to get a glimpse of Kurt's face. There was only one other time he could recall Kurt looking such a mess, with the whites of his eyes an angry pink and shimmering with restrained emotion. The last time Dave saw him like this—and it had been years—was for selfless reasons. The tears had been for him. Kurt had been there for him at a time when he didn't have anybody and, since then, Dave had promised himself that he would do the same for Kurt whenever the occasion called for it. And while Kurt would remind Dave numerous times that he wasn't indebted to him, Dave would simply state something along the lines of "What are friends for?" and reach out and squeeze his friend's hand as he recalled the point in time where the same soft hand slid across the downy hospital sheet and grasped his. Kurt hadn't simply guided him out of the hopelessness and gloom of his former life. No... He yanked him out of it.
"Kurt..." Dave murmured gently. He laid his hand on the other man's shoulder and, had they not been friends for so many years, Dave would have thought he had done something terribly wrong. It was as though he was able to witness Kurt's precariously built facade crumble, frame by frame. Kurt's bottom lip wobbled much like a child who had scraped his knee or lost his favorite toy, rather than a successful 27-year-old man in charge of his own costume design business. His composure slipped like an avalanche of snow on the face of a mountain; his normally bright and cheery face (though it was anything but cheery since he knocked on the door) contorted in pain and despair. For a moment it seemed as though Kurt was going to cover his face with his trembling hands, or else wipe away the tears, but then, as if changing his mind halfway through the action, he was closing the minute distance between the two of them and forcing the breath out of Dave from the sheer strength of the arms circling around his torso, fast and hard. Dave froze momentarily. Whether it was from the anguished grip of the hands desperately clutching the back of his shirt like it was the only thing that kept him from falling to the ground in a heap or the visible shaking of Kurt's own shoulders, he couldn't be sure. Dave let out a wavering sigh as he let his hands flatten over the man's back, one hand soothingly running over a shoulder as the other almost instinctively trailed up his spine before stopping abruptly just at the collar of the royal blue sweater he was wearing.
"Hey..." he breathed, his tongue darting out to lick his parched lips. He mentally scolded himself as his fingers itched to card through the same thick strands of hair that tickled his ear. But that would have been wrong. Very wrong. And while comforting friends was, of course, in the job description, stroking the hair of the friend whom, as much as he hated to admit it, he still had lingering, and not to mention pathetic, feelings for was definitely not the best idea.
"M'sorry." Dave could barely make out the clumsy articulation of words between the muffled sniffles against his chest, and that's when Kurt pulled away. He dragged his hands down Dave's ample torso before they moved to wipe away at the tears that streaked his reddened face. Dave's hands, however, relocated upon Kurt's upper arms, not quite ready—or willing—to let his friend go.
"Jesus, Kurt." Dave buckled his knees to compensate for the slight difference in height and to better see Kurt's face; to find any trace of a clue there as to what happened. "You gotta talk to me. Tell me what happened."
He guided Kurt towards the couch, just a few steps to their left, where they sat with their knees touching. Kurt's head was downcast as he shook it. It was as Kurt was digging in his pocket before withdrawing a fabric square that Dave realized just how long Kurt had let his hair grow out. For the second time in less than a minute, Dave was fighting the urge to reach out and brush away at the styled points projecting towards his temple and the locks that curled delicately around the shell of his ear. Kurt paid no mind to Dave's current dilemma as he hid his face in the handkerchief, soaking up the tears as Dave's expression grew dark. He would almost be ashamed of his thoughts if it wasn't for his sudden realization, which made the previously worried expression grow grave.
"What did he do?" he asked darkly and just a decibel over a whisper. Kurt gave a wet, though acerbic, laugh, as he withdrew his face from his hands and balled the handkerchief in his fist. Kurt said something indecipherable under his breath as his voice was thick with emotion and, well, phlegm.
"Fuck. I can't believe…" Kurt trailed off, coughing. Dave let his hand briefly touch the fabric of Kurt's slacks covering his knee before standing up, signaling he would be right back. He could still hear the sounds of Kurt's melancholic presence and could still see him sitting, hunched over, on the couch as went into the adjoining kitchen. Dave pursed his lips as he opened one of the cupboards and retrieved a clear glass. He grabbed the pitcher of filtered water off the counter and filled the glass half way. Before he could even bring the cool drink to Kurt, the small voice spoke up again, somehow managing to waver weakly towards the spot where Dave stood.
"Why does this keep happening to me?"
Dave froze, his hand unmoving upon the cupboard door having just shut it. He had no choice but to listen to what was nothing more than a barely distinguishable plea as he clenched the glass in his vice of a grip, before reminding himself that it was just that—glass—and that a trip to the emergency room for shards of glass in his hand would be counterproductive in helping his friend deal with his problems. So he was left feeling thoroughly useless as he stood there uncertain of what he should do.
It broke his heart.
Dave took a breath, building himself up before he went back into the living room. Kurt looked up at Dave with his puffy, red-rimmed eyes, the blue irises standing out starkly against the flushed, contrasting hue. Dave handed him the glass wordlessly, and Kurt took it. Dave had to give him credit as he saw the tiny, appreciative smile briefly upturn at the corners of his lips as he cradled the vessel in his hands to his chest as he leaned back into the earthy, suede couch cushions. Dave, rather than sitting next to him, sat on the edge of the sturdy mahogany coffee table so he would be able to see Kurt. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers loosely entwined with one another. His head was bowed, showing Kurt that he was ready to listen whenever he was ready to talk, but there was still no hurry. He heard the sound of lips drawing water from the glass in the form of a sip. Dave glanced up, only for his eyes to dart back down as he was distracted by the sheen of moisture that gathered above Kurt's lip from the water, and he saw Kurt staring down at the liquid in the glass as he spoke up.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Kurt slowly brought his hand to his mouth, both in contemplation towards Dave's conciliatory probing and to wipe away the residual droplets of water that gathered upon his cupid's bow. He nearly said yes, but when he spoke it had little to do with what had happened just hours ago.
"I don't know why you put up with me—always talking to you about my problems." He grimaced into the glass like he could see his decrepit reflection staring back.
"I've put up with a lot worse..." Dave said lightly, and then, as he gently nudged his knee with a knuckle, he chuckled and pointed out. "Remember Phillip?"
Kurt looked up and was met with a grin, and he couldn't help but snort.
Hanging his head and tapping the side of the glass with a short fingernail Kurt said, "Phillip was your boyfriend."
"Yeah, and his snoring was enough to wake up the entire floor so don't talk to me about simply "putting up with you". I put up with…" he paused as he thought contemplatively, "Big-headed coaches and lazy interns. When you need someone to talk to about whatever Ivan—"
"Ian…"
"…did to piss you off, I'll be here to listen..." Dave spoke as though the problems between Kurt and his boyfriend were something that broke and fixed itself too many times to count. But some things could only be fixed so many times before all that remained was a fine, powdery dust. In the first month it had mostly consisted of petty arguments. Nothing too dramatic. Ian became exasperated at small things and always things that were inherently Kurt: How long it took him to style his hair in the morning, wanting to go home to Ohio to spend Thanksgiving with his family (practically a tradition), his, apparently, annoying habits when it came to giving his unneeded opinion on people's wardrobe choices. He was a costume designer, for goodness' sake, he couldn't help it. Forgive him for wanting to spare his boyfriend the embarrassment of wearing brown shoes with a black belt. Kurt never would have guessed that he would have been so bad a boyfriend that it would have led to this.
"…and not just now, but tomorrow, or the week after that… I know how much you like this guy so…"
"He cheated on me," Kurt drawled, realizing that Dave had not heard him earlier when he amended Dave, muttering under his breath about how it wasn't "what" Ian did this time, but "whom". Kurt could actually pinpoint the second where Dave went from complete cluelessness to wanting to castrate the man. "'Liking him sort of flew out the window a couple of hours ago... Along with anything that he left in my apartment."
When Dave gaped at him he sighed and then explained.
"I got home from work early and I found him and his... Floozy... In my bed."
Kurt watched as Dave ran his hand over the shadow on his cheeks and couldn't help but feel guilty, despite what Dave said about always being there for him. It was obvious that he had had a long and hard work week. Leave it to him to make things worse.
"Wait, "floozy"?" Dave's eyes widened as his hand froze. "What?"
Kurt groaned.
"I shouldn't say floozy." He leaned his elbow against the arm of the couch as he rubbed his temple, his other hand holding the glass, which rested atop his thigh. "I'm sure she's a nice girl. I mean, she seemed even more surprised than me... Kept saying 'what does he mean by boyfriend?' and 'his apartment?'." Kurt waved his hand around. "Would have been nice to know that he was bisexual, though, not that it really matters. You can imagine my surprise when I hear someone with an even higher-pitched voice than me when I walked into the apartment." He still had trouble getting the sounds, and not to mention the images, of out of his mind. Finding out your boyfriend was cheating on you was hard enough—he had learned this with Blaine and Sean—actually catching your partner in the process was far more real.
Kurt paused, closing his eyes, and groaned as he said, "Fuck… I need to buy new sheets."
When Kurt opened his eyes once more, he found Dave staring at him incredulously before shaking his head.
"You just found your boyfriend in your bed, and with a chick no less, and you're worried about getting new sheets?"
"Well... Yeah. I mean, that's all they had between them to cover themselves up before I kicked them out into the hallway," Kurt stated plainly.
Dave let this sink in before asking quite seriously, "Have I told you lately how badass you are?"
Kurt cracked a small smile.
"You could stand to say it more often," he replied tiredly as the flicker of a smile died on his face. Dave sobered up quickly and rubbed his hands together.
"You gonna be okay?"
Kurt blinked before answering honestly, "I guess so. It's not like we had been together very long. But, still, long enough to give him his own key. Which I now know was stupid. But it's nothing a movie marathon with my best friend can't fix."
Dave squeezed his knee before standing and heading to the kitchen. Kurt followed suit.
"I was planning on going to the store tomorrow. I'm running a little low on groceries," Dave explained, "but I'm pretty sure I've got half a carton of ice cream in the back of the freezer." When Dave got to the refrigerator, he pulled open the top door and made an 'ah' sound and pulled out a carton of Neapolitan ice cream. Kurt grimaced as he folded his arms on top of the bar and rested his chin on it.
"I just caught my boyfriend cheating on me, David. I'm not a fourteen year old girl on her period," he grumbled. Dave gave him a curious look as he continued.
"I'm also going to need pizza with extra cheese," he explained placidly as he picked off a piece of fuzz on his sweater. "And alcohol. Lots of alcohol." Dave shook his head as he replaced the ice cream in the freezer for later.
"You order the pizza and I'll pick out the movie?" Dave asked. Kurt bit his lip contemplatively as he stared at Dave, who was already beginning to pull a couple of bottles out of the fridge.
Somehow, despite his horrible day—despite being boyfriend-less and lied to—Dave was able to make him go from feeling like less than dirt to a person of worth; to feeling that there were at least some good guys in the world.
Somehow, Kurt smiled.
"Sounds like a plan."
