Le Masque de Courage

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Warnings: Underage sex, prostitution, slash, angst, h/c, happy endings(!)
Pairings: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel/Dave Karofsky

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You can find this story, along with my other fanfic, on my Livejournal account. I always encourage people to read and review there because I never know if Fanfiction[dot]Net will decide to remove stories for Adult Content. Just replace the written [symbols] in brackets with the actual symbol.

My Live Journal: sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com
Direct LJ Story Link: sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]masque

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Summary: Ever since the day his mother told him that life was a masquerade, Blaine Anderson has proudly worn a mask of courage, to protect his soul from the world that has hurt and abused him and his heart from the man who pays his bills and uses his body. Dave Karofsky wears a different kind of mask, not to guard himself from others but to hide away the things he fears about himself. But neither boy was prepared when Kurt Hummel danced into their lives and their secrets came tumbling out. Each will find out the truth about the other, but can they keep Kurt from discovering their masquerade?

Better Summary: Because I have a great need to write pretty summaries that tell nothing, but I hate *reading* pretty summaries that mean nothing, allow me to summarize in a way that you can know whether you wanna read the dang story: Blaine is a kept boy. Dave is a confused Christian who is afraid he won't be accepted. They both want Kurt. Blaine finds out about Dave, Dave about Blaine. But neither want Kurt to know who they are "under the masks". This is a Blaine/Kurt/Dave fic.

Author's Note: This prelude are scenes from the past (about three years ago) as a set-up to the story. The first chapter will begin at the time of 'Never Been Kissed' and will be AU but similar to canon from there.

Disclaimer: Glee is not mine, it is Ryan Murphy and whoever else's. If it was mine, I would be doing something else with my time. Like swimming in a diamond encrusted pool and getting down with Max Adler (cause it's in my contract!) P Ryan Murphy, is that is *your* contract too?

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Le Masque de Courage - Prelude

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"You have to have courage, mon petit choux."

"But I'm afraid, maman. I don't want our home to move on without us."

"Life is a masquerade, Blaine. It is just another kind of circus." Her voice was soft as she ran a shaky hand through his curls. "You can be afraid in here," she touched a finger lightly to his small chest, "as long as the mask you wear is strong and brave."

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oooooo

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Blaine's mask slipped a little as the man shoved into his body, making it difficult to see beyond its sequined edges. Really, he should probably consider this a virtue, as what he *could* see was mostly comprised of fat and hairy.

Blaine was sure they were *quite* the sight, or would be if his small body could even be seen around the man atop him. A real tribute to Harlequin romance. The beautiful—if somewhat sweaty and exhausted—madam, dressed in nothing but his stockings and a beaded mask, quivering with not-exactly-pleasure as he lay sprawled on dark sheets. A room of faux luxury, drenched in cheap excess, with its red walls and lewd paintings and a mirror on the ceiling. And, of course, the middle aged, overweight man with bad breath and an unnatural amount of body hair having his way between the madam's legs. All that was missing now was the poor but astonishingly handsome love interest busting into the room to sweep the madam off his feet. Or back. Whatever.

Ah, God bless fairy tales and poorly written romance novels. Somehow Blaine didn't think his handsome savior was going to appear anytime soon. They just didn't keep a large stock of them at the Carnival Burlesque House. But what could you really expect from a brothel owned by a man who called himself 'Big Buddy'?

Fat fingers yanked at Blaine's curls, the sharp pain doing nothing to calm the sick feeling that seemed to forever rest in his gut. He should really cut his curls back. The mess practically begged to be pulled. But *she* had loved them so much, that twisted mop of tangles flopping around his face.

Blaine blinked back tears as the smiling face he hadn't seen in years flashed through his mind.

No. He wouldn't cry. He had to be strong. Courage. He had to wear his courage.

A trickle of sweat ran down his face as Blaine dig fingers hard into his legs. His thighs were literally shaking from the effort of keeping them up, pressed against his chest, as the man rutted into his ass, muscles aching badly from the somewhat awkward positioning. He really wished that he could just hook them over the man's shoulders, but there were some disadvantaged to being small.

Especially when it came to sex. Especially when your body could be purchased for small bucks. Especially when everyone knew it and often had quite the dandy time taking the goods then deciding afterward that his ass was on the sale rack, 50% off.

This was Blaine's third that night and his butt was burning, not to mention that his entire body was pulsing with nervous exhaustion. He had spent all day ducking around corners and skulking down hallways at school, the anxiety a weight so heavy a circus strongman couldn't have held it up, and he still hadn't managed to avoid the fists that seemed to have made it their mission in life to bring him ultimate misery. He'd been forced to come to work with bruises, which just meant that he had made less money dancing on countertops in fancy outfits and had been forced to take the rougher trade in his back room job instead of the gentler work his pretty face and young body often afforded him.

He had really just wanted to go from school straight to the crappy motel room he and his mother were calling home for the week, curl into a little ball, and fantasize about taking one of his Grandmammy's old recipes for 'special medicines,' slipping it into those bullies drinks at lunch, and watching them writhe in pain on the floor, vomiting up their insides.

But, no, Blaine had to work, despite the aching of his bones. He still owed Buddy his cut from *last* week and he'd had to spend most of next week's rent money on more meds when his maman's health had dipped. He hoped the bastards who had redefined 'school' as a synonym of 'dystopian hell' were happy. He should tell them that. Not that they'd know what it meant.

Damn them. Damn them all. As if his life wasn't wretched enough just trying to keep a roof over their heads! Why did everyone at that school have to despise him? He just wanted to graduate, get that stupid diploma, and find a real job, away from this inner city hell. Make enough money to get his maman the care she needed. And then he could go back to the life he loved.

But did anyone care? No. Even the principal judged him, as if she had any right.

Tears welled up again and Blaine blinked them away. Crying about it helped nothing. It changed nothing. The words would still echo in his mind.

'I really don't know what you expect us to do. I'm sorry that it is tough for you, but, well, you must admit that you have a certain… reputation. And there is really nothing we can do to fix *that.* Perhaps if you led a different sort of… lifestyle, then these things wouldn't be happening?'

A certain reputation. Ha. He did what he had to to care for himself and, more importantly, *her*. They had left their heart home and come to this hell to survive, not because they wanted to live among these house-dwellers. It was a school full of gang bangers, drug dealers, and thieves, but *he* was the one with the *certain reputation* because he would rather solicit his own body than sell cocaine to a child. They would suspend a boy dressed all in blue for yelling at a boy dressed all in red, but they couldn't do anything for Blaine when he was left beaten and bloody on the basketball court, his ribs aching from kick after kick.

Courage. He just needed to wear his courage.

The man ran hands up along Blaine's body and the boy faked a moan that he didn't feel at all. Simply an act. Life was a masquerade and courage… courage was just another mask. An outlandishly elegant collection of shiny accomplishments and bright ideals molded to fit the world's expectations, leaving the true person behind the mask a mystery. And as long as you hid behind your feathers and lace, no one could see the tears fall.

"Fucking slut," the man muttered as he pulled away from a messy kiss, leaving a trail of spit that tasted of coffee and dip running down Blaine's lips onto his chin. He reached up, fondling Blaine's face roughly, snapping one of the feathers that arched up from his mask.

A tear escaped Blaine's lashes, running down Blaine's cheek as the man made a soft grunting noise and rutted into him again, the quiet slap of his gut against Blaine's thighs seeming to almost reverberate throughout the room. But it was okay. His mask would hide his pain. The man would never see his tears.

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oooooo

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"Thank you, God, for all the things you've given me, for being there for me when things are… hard." Dave took a deep breath as he stared up at his dark ceiling, gripping the pillow in his arms so tightly that it felt like he was about to squeeze the stuffing out of it. "But, Jesus… I, well, sometimes I don't know what to think. I love You and I know You love me, so why is it… why do I feel like this, Christ?"

He felt a tear run down his cheek. What was he even doing? What was he saying? Their pastor said that you could talk to God about anything. That He would love you no matter what. That all your sins would be forgiven. But what if you weren't even sure what was a sin anymore?

"I know I don't always do the stuff that You'd probably want me to do. I mean, I know Jesus didn't, like, drop down from the Heavens to throw slushies in losers faces or make fun of people or whatever. He, like, hung out with the losers. And everybody sort of thought He was a loser. But… why do I feel like this, God?" Dave made a choking sound. "Is it because I haven't been a good person? Is that why… why when I look at…"

Dave sniffled, shrugging his shoulder to wipe away the snot on his sleeve. He couldn't say it. Not even to God. Because if he said it, that would make it real. How could it be real? Why was this happening to him?

"Is that why, when I look at the girls that my friends are all hot and bothered over, I don't feel anything? Is this, like, a punishment? Because my preacher says that isn't the way things work. With You, like, punishing us and stuff. Because Jesus died for our sins, so we don't have to be punished for them. But I can't think why else this would be happening to me."

He released the pillow and ran his hands roughly across his face, rubbing hard at his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Everybody says it's wrong. Even people who aren't, like, Christian. My friends. People on TV. My parents. Even my preacher, who is all for the 'everybody is a sinner and all sins are equal' thing says it's a sin. And I know I'm a sinner. But I could stop slushy-ing people, if I really tried. And I could stop talking mean about people behind their backs and putting kids in Dumpsters." He gave a hoarse laugh. "Not that I've even bothered to try and do that stuff. But the one thing I do try and stop…"

His dad was right. Dave was a weak person. A weak, pitiful person. If he believed things were wrong, why didn't he stop doing them? And why couldn't he stop the things he *did* try and stop?

"Maybe it's just 'cause You're too nice, God. I mean, I know You'll always love me, even when I've fucked everything up. But my friends? They would ditch me in a second if they thought I was turning into a loser. Well, a bigger loser than the puckhead I already am. And I just wanna be cool so bad. I don't wanna be one of the losers."

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Why was everything so confusing? They were supposed to be like Jesus. It seemed simple enough. So then why was it so very hard? Why was he so afraid?

God was strong. He should have courage in God. But…

"Jesus, I just don't understand. I try and I try, but I can't seem to stop. It just… comes into my mind. And I can't stop it. And the guilt… I'm so sorry, God. Please, just help me understand what I'm doing wrong. I don't want this. I don't want to *be* this—"

Dave let out a sob, covering his face with a pillow as the tears ran down his face.

"P-please, God. Please. I w-wanna be strong. T-tell me what to do. I'm so afraid. Every where I go I feel like I'm wearing some… some sort of *mask.* Pretending to be normal. Please. I just want to be normal for real."

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Another tear ran down Blaine's cheek.

What was it like to be a person with dignity? Someone with real courage, who didn't need peacock feathers and purple rhinestones layered with glitter to make it through the night? Someone who didn't have to glue their strength together, piece by shiny piece, then hide behind it hoping and praying no one would ever notice the cracks beneath the sequins?

The man collapsed suddenly, his breath heavy as his cock began to soften inside of Blaine. The stink of sweat and sex overwhelmed the cheap perfume he was wearing and Blaine turned his face to the side, rubbing his cheek against the mattress until his mask was firmly back in place.

Someday. Someday he would find a way out of this hell. And he and his maman would live happily ever after.

He just had to wear his courage. His mask would keep him strong.