A/N: Written for the Kurtofskythings Gift Exchange for vkdemon. Prompt - Skank!Kurt and Jock!Dave's rivalry at school is notorious. They would never reveal that all that aggression is foreplay for their private life. D/s if you like, but please steamy sexy aggression. Wanted: D/s, vulnerability, forbidden love. Unwanted: Not too much Fluff.
I hope you enjoy it - it contains about as much porn all my other Kurtofsky fics combined! Let me know what you think. Thanks to the vkdemon for very kindly agreeing to let me stray from skank!Kurt (although there are hints of him in there) while filling the prompt, and thanks also to rubylis for beta reading and generally motivating me to keep going!
Oh, and the title comes from an old, out-of-use English expression that means, essentially, the same as 'when hell freezes over'. I came across it just after starting to write this fic and couldn't resist.
Title: In The Reign of Queen Dick
He moans out loud when a hot, hungry tongue circles the head of his dick. His pajama pants are in a forgotten pile by his bed and his back is pressed against the cool, polished wood of the closet door.
"Is this what you came here for?" He whispers and threads his fingers through soft hair, tugging it, tilting his head back until their eyes meet and he nods up at him, blinks, just enough to show agreement in the half-light. "Couldn't wait another minute, huh? Always so hungry for it when I play hard to get," he laughs, almost losing himself to sensation, to the moment, but not enough to raise his voice, to risk waking his sleeping Dad at this hour. He holds his breath, bites his lip and uses his grip on the other boy's hair to pull him closer, to force himself in deeper, harder, with every stuttering thrust.
"Ah, that's it, take it all," he instructs, voice low and breathy,"I know you can," he stifles a moan as he hurtles towards incoherence, "know you want to." He feels his cock reach the back of his throat, muscle contracting deliciously around the head as he swallows. "Good boy," he mewls and stills his hips, savoring the sensation as hot little whips of want lash at his skin and the eager-to-please boy on his knees below him hums with pleasure and swallows again, and again, fingers gently, rhythmically, fondling his balls. He sucks cock so well, he thinks, as he repeats, "that's it, good boy", hips starting to rock again, and he's not sure why that fact still surprises him. This is a boy who yearns so much to be liked, accepted, praised, reassured and rewarded, in every other aspect of his life, his delicate ego craves it. Sex, it turns out, is no different.
Well, maybe a little different. Because the tables turn when sex is involved; the alpha becomes the beta, the mask slips along with his need to be in control - the pretence of it, at least - their roles reverse entirely and it's something that no one else gets to see. In a world where everything they say or do or think or feel is posted, updated, commented on, criticized, this is something private, something just for them. And it's something neither one of them knew they needed until it happened.\
It all started with a kiss.
Although that makes it sound almost romantic. That kiss had been desperate - passionate, even - but definitely not romantic. It was unexpected and unwanted. That was, until it happened again. And again.
He'd been flirting - trying to initiate a sexting session, really - with Blaine Warbler all morning, the guise of scoping out the competition for glee club the week before had given him the perfect excuse to scope out the talent of a different kind on the rival team and, when his phone buzzed in his hand for the umpteenth time, he thought he might just have found someone with promise.
'So what exactly do I have to do to encourage you to come back up here and spy on me again? ;)'
He'd tried not to grin at the picture of the dapper Dalton boy on his phone as he attempted to compose a suitably flirty response to the message en route to his French class.
Before he could reply, though, he felt a presence behind him, heavy footsteps matching his own, and then his phone was knocked violently out of his hand, the smile wiped off his face.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, meathead?" It was the work of Karofsky, of course. "That phone cost more than your entire wardrobe."
"And?"
He scrambled to pick up his smartphone and glared daggers into the back of Karofsky's retreating head.
"I know you're not actually smart enough to understand that objects have monetary value, but you better understand that if this phone is broken, I'll make sure you pay for it."
Karofsky stopped at that and turned to scowl at him before rushing forward, shoving him hard and pinning him bodily to the nearest locker. "I'd like to see you try," he growled, chest heaving, eyes dark with…well, he didn't know what at the time, but whatever he thought he saw there that day was enough to make him follow Karofsky after he'd gone still against him, swallowed, and ran into the boy's locker room.
"What is your problem with me?"
"You mean, other than the fact your faggy ass is sneaking in here to catch a peek at my junk?"
"Every straight boy's nightmare, a predatory gay out to molest and convert you," he took a step closer, emboldened by the rage he felt inside, "Well, guess what, hamhock? You're not my type."
"Oh no? Not what I heard."
"And what, pray tell, did you hear, exactly?"
"That your type is anything with a dick."
"Only if it's a big one," Kurt pointedly looked down at Dave's crotch with a sneer, "so you have nothing to worry about."
Karofsky closed his eyes, fists balled at his sides. "Don't fucking push me, Hummel."
He's still not sure why he didn't run. This shit had been going on for months - the shoving, the name-calling, the screaming matches in the hallways - all unprovoked. Well, mostly; he wasn't above an occasional bout of bully-baiting. He wanted an answer, a reason, once and for all. And if it came in the form of a black eye, well, it would at least be leverage to make Principal Figgins take him seriously for once. "Or what?"
"Or I…I swear to god, I'll…"
"Do it. Hit me. Do whatever you want to do, but it won't change who or what I am; you can't punch the gay out of me anymore than I can punch the ignoramus out of you."
"Get out of my fucking face!"
Instead, Kurt laughed right in that face; a nervous, crazy cackle borne of surging fear and adrenalin. "Aw, the scared little boy's too scared even to push the little fag out of the way."
He saw Karofsky's face come towards him then, so suddenly, so fiercely that he was sure he was about to be head-butted. He closed his eyes, braced himself for the blow. Instead of a dull pain to his head, though, there were big, warm hands on his cheeks and sloppy wet lips against his. What the actual fuck? Karofsky was kissing him. He was too shocked to pull away or kiss back, and it was over before he even had the chance.
Karofsky looked at him, eyes wide and face flushed a splotchy red.
Kurt blinked back at him, stunned, before his eyes dipped to catch the tented fabric of his jeans. He involuntarily licked his lips, the salty taste of Karofsky's sweat and fear lingering there. It wasn't wholly unpleasant, he realised, just as Karofsky attacked him with his mouth again.
That time, he did kiss back. A hate-kiss, he'd thought, and bit down on Karofsky's bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. It earned him a whimper, but not the kind he expected; the hands on his face flexed and tightened their grip, his body inched closer and he deepened their kiss. Testing, Kurt twisted a fist into his hair and pulled sharply on the surprisingly soft curls. That earned him a guttural moan from Karofsky as he proceeded to grind his erection against his hip.
He tugged at his hair again, fiercely enough to pull their lips apart. "Is this what you've wanted all along?"
"What?" Karofsky asked, dazed, breath coming hard. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, and Kurt saw there what he saw a glimpse of before, what he now recognised as lust. Fuck, Karofsky wants me, he thought as a shiver prickled his skin and a million thoughts, possibilities, ran through his mind.
He'd never thought of Karofsky like that until that moment. Never saw any sign that the name-calling was just an excuse to talk, that the shoving was an excuse to touch. It seemed ludicrously immature. He bit back another bout of nervous laughter as the boy's thumb continued to stroke roughly over his cheekbone. He might be no Blaine Warbler, but pickings were slim and Kurt was ready to seize any opportunity he had to make his school life a little bit more exciting. And Karofsky could solve two of his problems; no more bullying and no more hard-up, lone McKinley gay boy. Not that he expected to host any kind of coming out party for this one, but he wasn't exactly a stranger to clandestine hook-ups; it's just that he was an underage boy living in Lima, Ohio, not New York City, so they usually involved a webcam and a microphone.
"This, dumbbell," Kurt said, rolling his eyes and thrusting his hips against him.
He whimpered again and Kurt felt his own lips stretch into a feral smile at the sound. "What if it is?"
"What about what I want?"
Karofsky huffed out a strangled, humorless laugh and pulled back and away, out of Kurt's grip, to haul his bag and other belongings out of his locker as he began to speak with a rushed, maniacal edge, "Yeah, well, I'm sorry, okay? I am, for all of it. I just wanted you to…fuck. What I want doesn't matter anyway. Just please, fuck, don't—"
"Don't what?" Kurt asked softly, innocently, as he raised a hand to close the locker Karofsky had become so engrossed in searching.
He stilled and looked at him with wide, imploring eyes, "Don't tell anyone, Hummel, or I swear to God-"
"You swear to god what?"
"I'll…"
"You'll what?" He asked and saw the hurt, suddenly, the visible wince that went along with the slow bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, set his jaw, struggled to speak. "You'll hit me? You'll hurt me?"
Karofsky screwed his eyes shut and shook his head.
He held so much power over his would-be tormentor in that moment, their roles so completely, irrevocably reversed. He felt drunk with it, giddy with glee. He edged closer still and smiled. "You don't want any of those things, do you?"
"No."
"What do you want?"
"It doesn't matter," he blustered, attempted to straighten slumped shoulders, "I can't have…I can't be like you."
"Oh, but I think you are like me, whether you want to admit it or not."
"Fuck, Kurt…I said I'm sorry. Don't, okay?"
There were tears in Karofsky's eyes, threatening to spill, and the sight - that unseen, unexpected vulnerability - coupled with the use of his first name, so strange sounding on Karofsky's lips, did something to Kurt; made his chest tighten and his pulse quicken. He knew he should stop, but…he wanted more of this. And he was tired of never getting what he wanted. "Why not?"
He swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his ever-present letterman jacket and swallowed hard before speaking again. "Just…don't say anything, okay? And I promise I'll leave you alone."
"What if that's not what I want?"
Kurt watched him swallow again, saw how the thick knot of his Adam's apple bobbed, pushed at the delicate skin of his throat. Kurt felt hot at the sight, at the realisation of what he was doing, what he was about to do.
"What do you mean?" Karofsky asked, eventually, brow furrowed, eyes red, as he stood stock still.
"Tell me what you want, right now, more than hitting me, more than walking out of here and never touching me again."
"I want…" he started, then sighed and looked Kurt in the eye, "shit, why are you doing this?"
"Say it and you'll see," he said, standing up straight, bringing their eyes almost level.
"Fuck, I just want…you. To kiss you again."
The surge of desire Kurt felt at that moment topped anything he'd ever felt before. He let his tongue trace slowly over suddenly dry, wanting lips and closed the gap between them. "Good boy," he whispered as he gave Dave Karofsky what he - what they both - wanted.
He hollows his cheeks, alternating exquisitely between sucking and licking as Kurt slowly, inch by teasing inch, fucks his face, struggling to keep his eyes open so he can watch.
It's a sweet sight he never tires of seeing; this big hunk of boy on his knees in front of him, eyelashes fluttering over damp eyes and lips stretched wide. And, if he's honest, it's all the sweeter because he knows his is the only cock that's ever fucked this hot, eager mouth - eager for him, only ever him - and, despite the fact he's keen to keep any feelings at bay, he wants - at times like this, desperately - to keep it that way.
Kurt whines as he feels the slow rhythm of his hips disturbed and the warm, grounding weight of Karofsky's hand disappears from his balls. He hears the blunt scrape of a zipper being slowly undone before Karofsky's groaning around his length, the sudden vibration of it tingling inwards and upwards through Kurt's solar plexus, little bolts of electric pleasure extending all the way through his limbs to the twitching tips of his fingers.
He yanks at Karofsky's hair, pulling him back so that wide eyes shoot up to meet his and a quiet moan of protestation escapes when Kurt's dick leaves his mouth empty.
"Ah-ah-ah, what did I say about that?"
Karofsky bites on his wet bottom lip, barely concealing a less-than-contrite smile as his hand abandons his own erection to reach for Kurt's, wrapping his fingers loosely around the shaft. "Good boys ask permission first," he says, voice rough with arousal, and presses a small, absurdly chaste, closed-mouth kiss to the crown of Kurt's slick cock before asking, "Can I?"
He'd made Karofsky ask for it each and every time since he'd stolen that first kiss.
Kurt never pushed him to admit to why he wanted him; to admit that he was gay or bi or whatever he was. He never pushed him to talk about why he felt the need to belittled him in public and worship him in private. That wasn't part of their unspoken agreement. Besides, if he'd ever asked Karofsky those questions he'd be forced to answer some of them himself.
He enjoyed being able to push this boy in other ways, though; loved the fact that he could make a boy who had trouble saying the word 'gay' without derision admit that he wanted him, to admit - to reveal, in detail - what, exactly, he wanted from him.
What had started with their revelatory locker room make-out session had continued just a few feet away less than a week later.
They'd kissed until the bell rang, that day; until they were both breathless and boneless in the others arms. Then it was over, as suddenly as it had started. He'd thought Karofsky was avoiding him after that. There were no shoulder-checks at his locker, no homophobic slurs and no slushie facials. He almost missed the attention. Then, he began to catch Karofsky looking at him in the hallway, to see him walking conspicuously past the door of the music room during glee club meetings, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the boy grew bolder; desperate or hungry enough to ask for more.
Kurt was in the shower at school, alone, when it finally happened. He always showered after the other guys had left; he'd managed to switch math classes so that he had a study hall period right after gym. It afforded him the time to properly exfoliate and moisturise and, more importantly, to shower and dress without freaking out the straight boys (fun though that sometimes was).
He'd been doing this since the second week of the first semester and he'd never, not once, been interrupted by anyone, not even Coach Tanaka, so when he'd first heard the gentle shuffling of fabric, the soft echo of bare feet slapping wet tile, his body tensed, but only until he saw the boy stepping into the shower stall beside him.
He didn't speak, didn't say a word as he dropped his towel and turned on the faucet. Kurt kept his eyes straight ahead, ostensibly ignoring Karofsky even as he was aware of the boy's every hesitant movement in his periphery. He could feel his eyes on him. He'd come here on purpose, no question, ready to ask for more when it became obvious that Kurt wouldn't offer it otherwise.
Kurt was ready, though - so ready - for more, but he wasn't about to hand it to him on a silver platter. After all, Karofsky was one of a group of guys that had teased and taunted Kurt since elementary school, he wasn't going to miss his chance to do a little teasing himself as payback.
Kurt slowly soaped up his arms and chest, his motions over-emphasised, more thorough than usual, his quiet murmurs of appreciation as his muscles loosened under massaging fingers louder than they needed to be. He did so love to put on a show, even if Karofsky pretended not to watch. He gave himself away, though, when Kurt let his hands travel lower. His breath audibly hitched and, when he glanced across at him, he was openly watching, standing there, unmoving, under the spray of the shower.
Satisfied, Kurt dipped his head forward, allowing the water to run down his back, and braced a hand on the cool tile in front of him. He took his rapidly hardening cock in hand and let his eyes close momentarily as he gasped at the touch, his cock throbbing almost painfully in his fist as he turned to finally acknowledge his audience of one. "Are you trying to peek at my junk, Karofsky?"
"Fuck you," he said, without any real malice, and turned to face the discolored white tiles in front of him.
"Is that what you want?"
"Don't you have a boyfriend for that?" Karofsky narrowed his eyes but didn't look at him as he spoke. His tone was defensive, though the words came out slow and tentative.
Kurt was thrown by the question. His hand stilled. "You mean Blaine?"
Dave shrugged, doing a piss-poor job of feigning nonchalance.
He'd only texted with Blaine, shared a few Facebook messages. His interest had started to wane since Karofsky - very much his type, it turned out, and right there at his own school – had made his interest painfully clear. "How do you know about him?"
"I know about a lot of things," he shrugged again and ran unsteady hands through his wet hair.
Kurt couldn't help but notice the visible flex of broad biceps and he had the urge to reach out and touch, to feel those strong arms pinned, restrained, beneath him. "I guess you do," he closed his eyes again and made an effort to steady his breathing, "like how you knew I was here."
"I was just—"
"He's not my boyfriend, you know," Kurt cut in, suddenly keen to make that fact clear.
"Maybe not yet."
"Maybe not ever."
Karofsky's lips twitched towards a smile as he looked across at him. "No?"
Kurt smiled back and felt the tickle of a thrill course through him at the glimmer of hope in the boy's eyes. "Maybe I don't want a boyfriend at all."
He huffed at that and stuck his head under the spray, hiding whatever expression Kurt might have been able to see on his face behind scrunched eyes and a stream of hot water.
Kurt bit back his widening smile and felt himself harden fully when Karofsky looked at him again. He recognised what he saw there from last time; something frightened and fearless, all at once. He shuffled across the narrow stall so that his shoulder pressed against the thin slab that separated him from Karofsky, letting it take his weight, and began to stroke himself in earnest, unsure of how much exactly Karofsky could see from his vantage point on the other side. He made sure that his movements were sure and unsubtle enough not to be mistaken.
Karofsky looked at him hungrily, edged closer so they were, but for two inches of tiled plywood, shoulder to shoulder as he continued to watch.
Kurt felt that same power-drunk lust as before, that same heady certainty as he began to let himself go, jerking off with slow, steady strokes. He heard Karofsky's breath grow increasingly heavy and turned to see sharp teeth pressed hard against his bottom lip. His eyes trailed lower to watch the labored rise and fall of his furred chest, to take in surprisingly narrow hips and, finally, to see the swell of his erection bob lightly, twitching with need, under the teasing touch of the shower spray. "You can join in, if you want."
"You want me to…?" he turned and motioned to Kurt's stall.
Kurt squeezed at the base of his cock, hoping to slow himself down. "You want to touch me?"
He nodded, eyes falling shut at the admission.
"Not yet, touch yourself instead," Kurt said, voice betraying his desire, an octave lower than usual, "show me how you do it."
And he did, Kurt watching every flick and twist of his wrist with rapt attention.
He worked slowly at first, timidly, teasing himself until Kurt barked, "Faster," and his fist grew swift in compliance.
Kurt sped up to match his pace; broken, whispered words of encouragement spilling from his lips.
"Can I…?" he asked before long, looked Kurt square in the eye, broad chest heaving ever harder under the weak spray of the shower as crystalline droplets of water clung to the dark hair there, glistening like his pleading hazel eyes.
Kurt's whole body thrummed at the sight, muscles coiling tight, balls drawn up, signalling how achingly close he was, too.
Karofsky braced his free hand on the thin, slippery surface of the divider between them, eyes never wandering, as it rose to Kurt's shoulder, squeezing gently as he asked, "Please?" That captivating, intoxicating gaze still trained on his own.
Kurt shifted his weight and switched hands, groaning at the momentary loss of contact but wanting to reward this show of faith, this display of submission, somehow, and placed a surprisingly steady hand on top of Karofsky's where it lay on his shoulder, wet fingers curling around the other boy's.
"Do it," he nodded, finally, in response and said, for the first time, but certainly not the last, "Come for me, Karofsky," and, like Kurt knew he would, he instantly complied.
"No touching yourself , not yet," Kurt warns, guiding Karofsky's hand up and down his own, over-sensitized length, "save it all for me."
There's a spitty-wet finger tracing under his balls, short nail scraping gently across his perineum, making his breath catch in his throat as it breaches the cleft of his ass to push gently at his entrance.
Karofsky sits back on his heals, breathing heavily, palm still circling Kurt's cock as his finger teases between his cheeks, causing his legs to tremble.
"Then let me…?" He asks, voice a bare, desperate whisper.
"Let you what?" Kurt asks, because he never does like to make it too easy for him, especially not after they've had one of their little spats.
That wet, insistent finger circles his rim, over and over again, before he answers, "Let me show you that I've learned my lesson."
Tonight hadn't been the first time Karofsky had threatened to show up at Kurt's house in the middle of the night, uninvited, but tonight had been the first time that he'd actually gone through with it.
He'd been texting Kurt all afternoon, all night. 'I'm sorry, said the first one, while Kurt was eating lunch, 'let me make it up to you.' He'd barely read the message, hardly managed to conceal his smile, before his phone buzzed again, 'Meet me after school?' and again a moment later, 'I want to show you how sorry I am.'
Mercedes had raised a questioning eyebrow, smiled in delight, as she craned her neck to try and see, "That Dalton boy still blowing up your phone?"
Kurt bit his tongue – if only she knew - and shoved his cell back into his hip pocket. "As a gentleman, I couldn't possibly say."
It continued steadily throughout the rest of the day - 'Meet me in the locker room after class, make me pay ;)' - every secret vibration of his cell sending a stimulating buzz through his body - 'Please?' - until he was rushing to his car after the last class of the day, sparing his phone only a glance as it signalled another, 'Are you really mad at me?', keen to avoid spoiling his fun by encountering Karofsky again.
Kurt knew just how much this boy hated being ignored, especially by him, and that's why he'd decided that he wasn't going to reply to a single one of his messages. It wasn't his favorite method of punishment, but it was effective, and he knew that the longer he made him wait, the better it would be when he finally gave him some attention.
During dinner, it was, 'Talk to me?' then, 'Are you busy?'. He'd found himself picturing Karofsky's face, despondent with longing as he waited for a response that wouldn't come, and his own sly, secretive grin at the thought had caused his Dad to frown at him and start talking in abstract circles about caution and consequence.
There'd been a lull after that, a silent spell that had allowed Kurt to do his homework without too much of a distraction, before - obviously done with his sulking - Karofsky had started up again. 'Please, Kurt. I'll do anything you want. Punish me some other way.'
He hummed happily and kept his phone close, watching as it lit up every few minutes while he readied himself for bed.
'Don't stay mad at me.'
'I can't stop thinking about you.'
'Tell me what you want me to do.'
'Can I come over?'
He'd almost wanted to reply to that one; fresh out of the shower, still naked and wet, he'd managed to resist the temptation to send Karofsky a sexy selfie and tell him, in detail, what a show he'd already missed. Instead, he'd pulled on pajamas and moisturized, quietly satisfied with the strength of his resolve. The weekend was only around the corner, he thought, crawling into bed and letting his mind begin to drift with delicious possibilities, before his reverie was broken by the quiet ding of another message.
'I'm in my car, on my way.'
He knew he had no chance of sleeping after that one. He stared, instead, at his phone where it lay beside his pillow, heart drumming an anticipatory tattoo in his chest as he willed it to light up again, to tell him what might be happening next.
'I'm parked at the end of your street.'
Kurt sat up in shock and switched on his small bedside lamp. He read and reread the message, thumb stroking over the touchscreen, fingers itching to call his possible bluff.
'I see your light on. Are you up? Happy I'm out here freezing my ass off for you?'
He found himself biting back his smile as a frisson of excitement worked its way down his spine at that. He was happy - he was ecstatic - shocked and awed and thoroughly impressed by the boy's boldness, by his desire to be heard, to be acknowledged.
The phone vibrated again in his fist. 'I'll wait here all night if I have to.'
And with that, Kurt had found himself padding softly up the stairs to make sure his Dad had gone to bed, locking his bedroom door and attempting to fix his hair before he'd replied, 'If you can make it through the basement window without waking my Dad, then you can come in. If you're a good boy, I might have something for you.'
Having his room in the basement of the house definitely had its perks. Barely a minute after he'd sent the text, there was a lumbering shadow on the lawn and he was scooting out of bed with his heart racing, sliding the window wide open for Karofsky to squeeze through, feet first.
"Sneakers off," he said, before the boy's feet had even hit the ground.
Karofsky did as he was told, wordlessly toeing off his shoes in the corner of the room and standing there, head bowed, shivering in just his shirt sleeves, waiting for further instructions. His uniform letterman was nowhere to be seen; Kurt knew, from recent experience, that meant he was trying to please him, impress him.
"You were bad today," Kurt said, moving in to stand close to him.
"I'm sorry."
"You're what?"
"I'm sorry, Kurt. It's just…I saw you this morning, at the drinking fountain, and it—"
Oh, Kurt smirked, and pulled the boy forward with a claiming hand on the back of his neck, so that their lips were almost touching. He hadn't been entirely sure that Karofsky had actually seen him that morning, but Kurt had spotted him, loitering in the hallway with his friends, and had stopped to take a drink; bending lower than was necessary, ass in the air to stretch sinfully tight pants even tighter, as he lapped lasciviously at the drinking water, putting on a not-so-private show.
"And it worked?" He whispered, waiting until Karofsky nodded to force their lips together with bruising pressure. He tasted of toothpaste and smelled of Axe body spray. Kurt smiled into the kiss; yep, he'd definitely made an effort.
"Get on your knees," Kurt panted when they parted for breath, and Karofsky caved to his authority without question, dropping to the floor, sending another heady rush of blood through his thrumming veins.
He looked down at him; face flushed, lips pink and wet and so achingly close to the obvious erection straining at the fabric of his sleep pants. Kurt used his hand to tilt the boy's chin up towards him, drawing his gaze away from his dick.
"You remember how, earlier today, you told me you didn't speak homo?" Karofsky nodded but stayed silent; he looked more hungry than penitent, now. "Well, open your mouth," Kurt said, drawing his hand back to hook both thumbs into the waistband of his pajamas, working them slowly down over his hips, over the swell of his throbbing erection, "it's time to learn."
They'd agreed early on that the little schoolyard altercations between them should continue, by way of keeping up appearances. Although, in truth, it was a game that excited them both. He knew he could tease the boy to distraction in front of his dimwitted friends, and he knew, too, the harder Karofsky pushed in response, the more he wanted to be punished for it later, and Kurt was only too happy to seek retribution.
They'd been in the crowded cafeteria when it happened. Thursdays were always hellish; it was the only day of the week on which Coach Sylvester allowed the Cheerios to eat carbs, which meant the place was packed with wolfish cheerleaders. And, as sure as flies followed shit, wherever Cheerios went, the McKinley Titans followed.
He'd been waiting in line, slowly approaching the register, ignoring the catcalls and shit-talk going on behind him as he discussed the futility of this weeks glee club assignment with Mercedes, when he'd felt a heavy hand on his shoulder before being shoved so hard his lunch tray almost hit the floor.
"There's a line, meathead."
Ignoring his initial admonishment, Karofsky pressed back against him - maintaining bodily contact for a little longer than strictly necessary - to let Azimio Adams cut in in front of them both.
Kurt shot his best 'can you believe this asshole?' face at Mercedes and poked his index finger into the shoulder of Karofsky's hideous letterman jacket. "I said, there's a line. You join at the end, not in the middle, not that I'd expect an Neanderthal like you to understand social conventions."
Karofsky turned to look at him, his expression stayed deceptively cool as warm eyes raked over his face for a fraction too long before he blinked and asked, "What did you say?"
"You heard me, Cheez-Whiz."
"Nah, sorry, didn't catch that either," he turned to grin at his asshole friend - always seeking some kind of approval - before looking back at Kurt, "See, I don't talk homo."
"Just ignore his lame ass, Kurt," Mercedes snarled in an attempt to quell their feud, but it was futile. She knew that as well as they did.
"Oh, no?" Kurt smiled sweetly as fear flashed in his erstwhile bully's eyes. He watched Karofsky's jaw set in that oh-so-familiar way. It never did hurt to remind him exactly who was in charge in these situations. "Hmm, that's a shame. Then you won't be able to answer my question about whether it was your mother or your father who actually fucked an ape to end up with you for a son."
"Dude!" Azimio howled behind him, "You gonna take that from the fairy queen?"
Karofsky's Adam's apple bobbed tightly, and something like relief flashed across his face before he scowled again and grabbed Kurt's jacket by the lapel, using it to haul him closer, "Don't say things like that, or I'll—"
"Oh, you understood that?" Kurt interjected, face flushing a little with the heat of proximity, at the thought of so many unseeing eyes on them. "Well understand this. There. Is. A. Line."
Karofsky instantly loosened his grip on Kurt's jacket and patted the fabric roughly back into place. His back was to his friend and a small smirk quirked his lips, indicating that he understood the double meaning, the warning, in Kurt's words.
"Oh yeah, so there is," he said calmly and grabbed the apple from Kurt's tray.
Kurt felt his nostrils flare. He thought this game was over, that he had won. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm hungry," he replied, taking a sloppy bite from the apple before pulling a face and putting it back on Kurt's tray, adding quietly, "but not for this." He turned and slapped his friend on the forearm who, obviously bored by their exchange, was now busying himself asking a freshman Cheerio if she knew how to get to the top of the pyramid. "C'mon, Z, there's more gay in this place than I can handle. Let's cut math next period and go to the diner on Ashton instead."
"What? But it's Thursday." He looked at Karofsky, then pointedly back at the cheerleader who'd since turned her back on him. "And tots, man."
"Fuck tater tots, dude," he said, dropping his empty tray on the counter and walking away, Azimio reluctantly in tow.
"Hey! You can pay for this!" Kurt yelled after him, brandishing the bitten apple in his fist. Karofsky turned back to glance over his shoulder; eyes full of promise, a small knowing smirk on his lips. He knew he would pay, and Kurt knew, of course, that had been the whole point.
"What are you doing?" he gasps when bold, strong hands grab and twist his hips, flipping him around so he's facing the closet door.
"Let me make you feel good, Kurt, please," Karofsky says, his words, his pleading tone, as well as the hot, tickling sensation caused by his breath ghosting over sensitive skin, encouraging Kurt to acquiesce.
He feels warm hands stretch to cover his ass; palms splayed, kneading lightly, pulling his cheeks apart before there's the coarse scrape of stubble against his skin, deliciously at odds with the softness of the suddenly lapping tongue between them. Kurt remembers a time when just the thought of this act made him blush; now, he's spreading his legs wider, arching his spine, pushing back into the duelling sensations, wanting more of both.
He raises his arms so that his elbows press flat against the closet door, wrists crossed in front of his face to form a pillow that he can rest his head against, to stifle his moans of quiet rapture, as Karofsky eats his ass like it's ambrosia; taking his time to taste, to work his tongue gently into him, teasing him senseless before a thick finger follows, circles his rim and works its way roughly inside.
Kurt gasps hard and bites the back of his wrist as Karofsky pumps the single digit in and out, excruciatingly slowly.
"Is this okay?"
"Yes," he whines as his hips buck of their own accord; cock aching for more of the sweet, wet friction of before.
Karofsky pulls out altogether and he feels is tongue there again, so hot, before two fingers are massaging over his wet, clenching hole. "Are you sure?"
"Fuck David, yes," and, permission assured, he kisses the fleshy curve of his ass cheek and plunges both fingers into him, twisting, stretching him wider.
"Tell me if you want more," he says, "tell me if you want my cock," his voice is hoarse with need, "I wanna give you everything."
"Yes," Kurt grunts at that, "more," clenching around his fingers before he reaches behind himself to push them away, "bed, now."
Kurt moves on jelly-legs to splay himself shamelessly across his comforter as Karofsky crawls across the floor on all fours behind him, fully dressed except for the leaking, purple cock hanging out of his fly. The sight would be enough to make him laugh if he wasn't already so ridiculously turned on.
"Take your clothes off," he orders and, propped up on one elbow, begins to stroke himself - gently pulling at his shaft, teasing the head with his thumb - as he watches Karofsky haphazardly pull off his shirt then stand to kick off his jeans and boxers.
He stands there waiting for Kurt's direction, utterly naked, his chest rising, falling shakily with every exhalation. Kurt's mouth floods with saliva a the sight of so much hot, naked skin, all his for the taking.
"There's lube in the drawer beside you," Kurt tells him, an order more than a statement, "get a condom, too.
Karofsky finds the supplies and inches closer to the bed, his eyes sweeping hungrily over Kurt's body; cock stiff, pulsing and ready.
"Lay down," Kurt instructs and the boy obeys, climbs onto the bed and rests on his side, facing Kurt, attention never wavering.
Kurt pushes at his chest as soon as he's settled, climbs to straddle his thighs and takes his cock in hand. Karofsky gasps, cries out, "Fuuuuck," as Kurt rolls on the condom, squirts cold lube onto his shaft, and uses a deft hand to paint it slick from root to tip.
"Sssh," he instructs and rocks his hips forward so that his own cock slip-slides against Karofsky's covered length, and adds, "you better be quiet. My Dad keeps a shot gun in his closet and won't hesitate to use it of he catches you balls deep in his little boy."
Karofsky lets out a strangled, unintelligible sound at that and looks up at Kurt, stupefied, like he's not sure whether the statement's meant to make him laugh or cry.
"I can help you out, though," he purrs assuredly and moves forward to push Karofsky's strong, yielding arms slowly up and away from his sides, pinning his wrists ceremoniously above his head as he leans in close to ask, "you want me to help you out?"
Karofsky nods mutely at him, even as his breath rushes hard and mists over his not-quite-smiling lips. Kurt nods back for good measure and reluctantly extracts himself from the warmth of the boy beneath him, crawling cat-like, turning to kneel on the edge of the bed, bending brazenly, to find what he's looking for on the floor.
He's pleased to note, when he turns back, that Karofsky has kept his arms in place without restraint. "Such a good boy," he murmurs as reward as he climbs back aboard and quickly shoves the boy's own discarded cotton boxers, balled up, into his open, waiting mouth to ensure his silence.
Kurt hums his approval and grabs for Karofsky's dick again, aiming to get the angle just right as he raises his hips and thrusts forward, allowing the slippery length of it to drag tauntingly under his balls and along the seem of his ass.
He's ready now - fuck, so ready - as he lines himself up with the shiny pink head of the dick in his grip, and towers over this helpless boy, trembling under the heat of his sedulous gaze.
"Is this what you want?" He manages to ask, and Karofsky groans around his makeshift gag, nods, eyes wide and always so, so pretty when they're pleading.
Satisfied, Kurt starts to ease himself down onto Karofsky's thick length and it's all he can do not to cry out himself as the glorious tension that's been building between them all day and all night, minute by aching, longing minute, begins to unravel.
He chews on his lip and tugs at the silky hair on Karofsky's pecs as he moves only slowly at first, adjusting to the welcome intrusion, before his pace quickens, hips spinning as he lifts his ass up and rams it back down, over and over and over again.
Karofsky's hips begin to buck erratically underneath him; . his sweaty brow furrows, his hands clasp at the comforter above his head, and Kurt can hear the muffled words he's trying to say; please, Kurt, please...
"Don't you dare," he warns, voice high, louder than he knows it should be but, really, he's so beyond caring by now and, anyway, somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that his Dad would be way more embarrassed about finding him like this than he would about being found. Heedless, he digs his nails into Karofsky's chest as he slams himself down on Karofsky's dick, fast and hard, and repeats, "Don't you fucking dare come yet."
Karofsky moans again around the fabric in his mouth, eyes rolling back before squeezing shut, and Kurt pauses when he's fully impaled again, gently rolls his hips, knowing that if he continues to ride him hard it'll all be over too soon. Kurt reaches for both of the boy's wrists and tugs, forcing him to release his iron grip on the blanket below him, guiding one big hand back onto his neglected cock and drawing the other up to his mouth. "Make me come and keep me quiet," he tells him before sucking two fingers into his mouth, tonguing them, biting them, as Karofsky's keen hand works him over and his hips buck impatiently beneath his ass.
It's a blur of sheer sensation after that; he feels this boy everywhere - under him, in him, on him - in that moment, so completely and utterly his. Karofsky's wet fingers slip out of his mouth, splay across his face and Kurt's biting at the heel of one hand as he comes into the other, shooting sordid stripes across his belly, mess extending all the way up to the thick, dark hair on his chest. He feels his body clench, from his eyes to his toes, and he forces quivering hips, burning thighs, to rise and fall - once, twice more - before he's mumbling, "Now, now, now," and he feels the shuddering body beneath him do the same.
When Kurt next opens his eyes, returning from a world gone temporarily black, there's a stupid, sated smile on Karofsky's face - one that's just for him, just for times like this - as he lies there naked and filthy beside him. His breath is yet to settle, though his gag is gone, and his arm is outstretched, hand reaching across the flat of Kurt's belly to press against the jutting curve of his hip.
"I guess this means you forgive me?"
Kurt suppresses his own smile at the question. "For now."
"Thank you," he says anyway, pressing a soft kiss into Kurt's shoulder.
Kurt turns on his side to face him, lets his own hand reach to run his nails in slow circles through the sweat-dampened hair below Karofsky's navel, lets his smile slip through. "You're welcome."
"You look so good like this."
Kurt huffs, has the nerve to actually blush, "What, with my hair a mess and my face bright red? I'm sure."
"You do," Karofsky smiles slyly trails his fingers over Kurt's hip, "You're usually so put together. You look…sexy, like this. Well fucked."
Kurt laughs and drags his hand up to pinch a pink, pert nipple. "Shut up."
"Can you think of a way to make me?"
"I can think of a dozen ways…" he says and leans in to kiss Karofsky hard, thrusting his tongue into his mouth, eliciting a deep, rumbling moan. Kurt sucks at his already abused bottom lip, holds onto the tender flesh with a gentle scrape of his teeth as they part. "And I've tried three or four of them tonight already." He can feel his cock jump at the memory, springing back to life against the press of Karofsky's thigh.
Karofsky's hand trails over his belly, resting when tickling fingers reach his pubic hair. "The night's still young."
"Hardly," Kurt sighs, and pushes the boy's hand out of temptation's way.
There's a growing silence between them then, a reluctant, cloying quietness, before Karofsky asks, "Can I stay?"
The question takes Kurt by surprise. He blinks back at Karofsky's soft, resolute gaze. They might sleep together but they've never actually slept together. It's seems too…sweet for what they have; too intimate, too coupley.
"But don't you turn into a homophobic asshole at dawn?"
He frowns at first, looks up and away from Kurt's face, before a small smile returns along with his gaze. "Not until the first bell rings at school."
Kurt grins, amused. "Quite the Cinderfella."
The silence stretches between them again, but it doesn't cause Karofsky to retract the request as he waits for an answer, hand going still on Kurt's hip, sanguine smile staying put. "Come on," he says, eventually, "I think my car's probably already turned into a pumpkin or some shit by now anyway."
He laughs at the ongoing fairytale analogy. It may have started with a kiss, but their's wasn't the fairytale romance Kurt had always dreamed of; Karofsky was no Prince Charming and he himself was, by no means, a blushing princess. Nor, now, did he want to be. In their story, he got to play the part of the wicked Queen and he wanted to, somehow, hold onto his reign over this boy for as long as he could.
"Well?" Karofsky asks hopefully, playfully, although there's fear of rejection in his eyes. Kurt's seen it enough to know.
"Okay," he says at last, turning to kiss softly smiling lips, to press their sticky bodies together, "but you have to get cleaned up."
"You're actually letting me spend the night?" He asks, mock-incredulous as he pushes a solid thigh between Kurt's legs.
"Yes, David," he sighs into another kiss, because although he always makes him ask, the answer's always yes, eventually, and if Kurt wasn't so sure that this was the opposite of everything he ever thought he wanted, he'd almost think that meant something.
The end.