It's a typical Saturday night at the Hummel-Hudson house. Burt and Carole are out for a date night, and the darkened living room is full of teenagers. Santana and Brittany have taken over Burt's favorite chair. Dave is sitting in the middle of the couch, sandwiched between Kurt and Finn. Rachel and Blaine are both sitting cross-legged on the floor, each with their head in their significant other's lap. Blaine's let the gel go this summer, and Kurt is taking every opportunity to run his hands through the silky, ridiculously curly mess that is his boyfriend's hair unbound. That freaky vampire man is about to come on and introduce tonight's movie, and Dave is staring determinedly at the screen, trying as always to ignore the fact that he's sitting next to Kurt, because Kurt is so obviously absorbed in Blaine. He's made himself stop letting that hurt him-mostly-because he knows Kurt really does like him, even if it's only as a friend.
His task becomes infinitely more difficult, however, when Svenboolie appears on the screen and Kurt squeaks and presses his face into Dave's shoulder.
"Viewers," Svenboolie says, in his highly suspect Transylvanian accent, "...brace yourselves for...Terror!"
"God, I will never stop hating that part!" Kurt mumbles against the skin of Dave's upper arm, and some disconnected part of Dave's brain thanks everything he can think of that he wore short sleeves, because he can feel Kurt's lips brushing feather-light against the bare skin of his arm, and it feels glorious. He completely misses the fact that Finn has inexplicably mirrored Kurt and buried his face in Dave's other shoulder.
"You're adorable," Blaine says fondly, reaching back to wrap a hand around the back of Kurt's knee and lean his head against the side of Kurt's calf. The gesture is so intimate, yet so casual, and suddenly Kurt seems to realize that he's sharing such a gesture with one too many people at the moment. He sits up abruptly. Dave misses the tickling of Kurt's lips against his arm immediately, and hates Blaine a little in spite of himself.
Except he doesn't, not really. Almost against his will, he's gotten to know Blaine over the last several weeks. He actually likes the guy okay, and they have way more in common than he would have thought. Blaine seems to understand, even more than Kurt if that's possible, exactly what Dave was feeling last spring. He also knows a hell of a lot more than Kurt does about football.
That doesn't stop the twinge in Dave's gut-muted, but still just there-whenever he takes in the million tiny ways that Blaine finds to touch Kurt, and that Kurt finds to touch Blaine. He wonders if either of them really appreciates the perfect comfort in having another human being you can reach out and physically connect yourself to at any moment, for any reason or none. He wonders if Blaine, specifically, appreciates how lucky he is to be able to reach out and press fingers to pale, soft skin at any moment. He wonders if he would ever stop appreciating that if he had it every day. He doubts it.
Dave doesn't volunteer contact with Kurt. They touch accidentally-sitting on the couch like this, because Kurt always seems to end up next to him-and Kurt occasionally initiates a hug or a brief squeeze of their hands, but Dave doesn't reach for those things himself, not anymore. Somewhere between Blaine becoming Dave's friend and Dave realizing that he still had a lot of unresolved attraction to Blaine'sboyfriend, it just stopped feeling okay to make those moves, however little intention he put behind them. They almost hurt, too, those brief moments of contact, because they were such an excruciatingly small taste of what he wants, and a reminder that he can't have it.
He doesn't ask Kurt to stop offering them, though. He allows himself those few guilty seconds of achy bliss, because he can't bear the thought of the awkward-or worse, hurt-look that might cross Kurt's face if he asked him to stop touching him, and told him why. He can't bear the idea of Blaine looking at him with suspicion instead of the small understanding they've come to. He also doesn't think he could stomach Finn's protective big-brother glares.
The movie tonight is Psycho, one of Dave's favorites. He's never found the film itself particularly scary, but he always locks the bathroom door when he takes a shower for about a week after watching it. He likes that about it, that it can creep into your head and stick with you that long, scaring you long after the credits have rolled by and you're off doing something as routine as taking a shower the next morning.
"Wait, is she seriously going to stop at that creepy little hotel? Oh my God."
Dave can't help but grin. One of his favorite parts of movie night is seeing how various people react to the films. Santana surprises him the least; her commentary on film is like her commentary on everything else: lewd, sarcastic, and yet incredibly accurate. He stopped trying to make sense of Brittany's outer monologue long ago, but he's seriously considered recording her statements for posterity, just in case she turns out to be some kind of oracle that speaks the future in riddles or something. Rachel mostly squeals and hides her face in Finn's lap, and Blaine pats her hand comfortingly while keeping up a sporadic commentary. He's like an encyclopedia of random movie trivia, and honestly Dave would find it annoying if it weren't so perfectly Blaine.
"Did you know this was the first movie to ever show a toilet onscreen? It was considered obscene in the 60s. Hitchcock would often make ridiculous requests that he thought the studio heads would refuse in order to get other things past their censorship rules."
"Fascinating, Blaine," Kurt says with just the slightest trace of sarcasm. That little trace is pretty much neutralized by the softness of Kurt's eyes as he stares down at the top of Blaine's curly head, and the slow, tender movements of his fingers through those curls. Dave fixates on the screen as hard as possible, because he's somehow never noticed before, but Kurt's hands have surprisingly broad palms and strong, sure fingers. He doesn't need to notice Kurt's hands.
A few minutes later he can't help it, though, because Kurt has practically wrapped himself around one of Dave's arms, and those strong, pale hands are squeezing him until it hurts, fingers digging into his bicep and face somehow pressed between Dave's shoulder and the back of the couch. On the floor, Blaine is completely unfazed as he comforts a shrieking Rachel. Santana and Brittany are just watching the movie, Brittany holding Santana rather tightly. Finn...has also wrapped himself around Dave's other arm. Dave spares him a very confused look before his attention zeroes back in on the fact that Kurt is actually holding onto him.
"Hey K," he whispers out of the corner of his mouth, "You okay?"
"Fine," Kurt spits through gritted teeth. "I just...tell me when it's over, okay? I don't know why I let you people talk me into watching these horrible movies."
Dave can't suppress a chuckle, and is rewarded with a one-eyed glare before Kurt buries his face again. He tries not to overthink it or enjoy it too much-Blaine is your friend, Blaine is a good guy, Kurt and Blaine love each other-but it's difficult not to enjoy the boy of your dreams curling himself around you for protection from the big bad psycho killer on the screen. When Kurt finally releases him a few minutes later, Dave's arm tingles slightly with the leftover warmth. Finn doesn't resurface, just keeps muttering something about "stupid vampires...stupid movie...nightmares for a week."
Dave isn't sure himself how they started this tradition, or how he came to be included in it. He never would have anticipated being allowed to visit Kurt's house, but for some reason he kept finding himself back there, ever since the start of summer. Usually it was Finn inviting him over to hang out, but even so he spent his fair share of time just sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee-black, one teaspoon of sugar-and talking to Kurt. He very seldom saw Burt or Carole, who were both incredibly busy with work during the week and took Saturday nights to catch up on spending time together. Burt had taken the time to sit him down right from the get-go, however, and make it very clear exactly where he stood.
"What you did to Kurt was inexcusable, Dave," he said sternly. "He is my son, he's the most important person in the world to me, and you caused him a lot of pain."
"I know, sir," Dave had said, staring at the tabletop and feeling the guilt well up so strong and fresh he could almost taste it. "I don't deserve a friend as amazing as Kurt. Even when I was hurting him...he protected me."
That's when Burt surprised him.
"Yeah, kid, I know. There aren't a lot of people in this world who deserve a friend as amazing as Kurt. Like I said, what you did to him was inexcusable. But what your so-called friends did to you was inexcusable, too. Nobody ought to have to feel like you must've felt. What you went through...that used to be one of my worst fears for my son. I just want you to know you got people who care about you, Dave. The Hummels are a package deal; you hurt one of us, you hurt all of us. But one of us takes you in, you get the rest of us, too. Understand?"
"Yes sir, Mr. Hummel," Dave had said. It was all he could say; his mind had been wiped blank by surprise and then sideswiped by an unexpected wave of emotion that he tried desperately not to show. He didn't think Burt Hummel would fault him for crying, but it was still the last thing he wanted to do right then.
Dave is pulled abruptly out of his reverie by a nudge at his right shoulder. He cocks his head toward Kurt.
"Yeah?"
"I really, really hate this movie," Kurt whispers. "They're going to go to that creepy motel and get picked off one by one by that weird guy's crazy mother and I do not know why I let you talk me into watching these things!"
"Hey, I didn't pick the movie," Dave defends himself. "This was all Blaine's idea."
"I know," Kurt says, shoving his boyfriend's back gently with his knee. "He picked it and you convinced me it wouldn't be that bad. 'It's from the sixties, Kurt,'" he imitates Dave's voice. "'It's not even that scary. C'mon, it's a classic, you have to see it.'"
"Your bear cub impressions are scarily accurate," Santana speaks up from the couch. Brittany has fallen asleep on her shoulder, and she's playing with the ends of her ponytail and ignoring the movie entirely in favor of grinning down at her girlfriend's sleeping face.
"Go back to lala land, 'Tana," Dave grumbles. She smirks at him, but doesn't say anything else. Blaine shushes them all.
"Guys, come on, you're killing the suspense."
"I thought the suspense was supposed to kill us."
"Shh!"
"Fine," Kurt grumbles. He pulls his legs up onto the couch, settling with his knees tucked to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Blaine re-situates himself against the back of the couch, reaching up to pat Kurt's leg affectionately before returning his attention to the movie. Blaine absolutely hates it when people talk or don't pay attention during movies. Dave still remembers the almost comical look on his face when Kurt answered a text message during Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.
When Sam and Lila arrive at the Bates Motel, Kurt curls himself into a tighter ball and leans into Dave again, hiding his face and making a distressed-sounding noise into Dave's arm. Finn does nearly the same on Dave's other side, but Dave is wholly focused on Kurt: more specifically, on the fact that Kurt is touching him again...is, in fact, pressed right up against his whole side, leaning into him heavily and breathing against his arm. Dave doesn't have room in his head to wonder why Finn is so terrified that he suddenly has no qualms about cuddling up to Dave like he's an oversized teddy bear.
Kurt is a warm, solid presence and a whiff of shampoo and cologne that Dave has to concentrate hard not to get lost in. His arm is already starting to lose feeling from the pressure of all Kurt's weight against it, so he does what seems, in the moment, to be the natural thing: he lifts his arm and puts it around Kurt's shoulders, pulling Kurt in and tucking him against Dave's side securely. He freezes as soon as he realizes what he's done, but Kurt's only response is to snuggle into Dave's side and take advantage of the new position to turn his face away and bury it in Dave's chest.
"That's better," he says quietly. "Thank you."
Dave just squeezes his shoulders and starts to mumble a 'you're welcome,' then thinks better of it and tries to inject some levity into the situation instead.
"Hey, protecting innocent young men from big bad monsters is what I do."
Kurt just huffs a laugh, warm breath against the fabric of Dave's shirt, and closes his eyes. He lets go of his knees with one arm and flicks Dave on the chest by way of a reprimand. When he relaxes his arm, it drapes across his own body so that just the tips of his fingers are brushing against Dave's thigh.
"Wake me up when this group exercise in masochism is over?"
"Sure, K," Dave says softly, his mouth a little dry and his throat entirely too wet. He realizes Kurt must be able to hear how fast his heart is beating, and tries not to dwell on it lest it make his heart beat even faster.
As Kurt falls asleep on him, he can't help but glance down at the top of the boy's head, a soft smile curving his lips. Kurt is warm against his side, warm where Dave's arm curves around his body, small spots of warmth where fingertips brush against his leg, so much casual, comforting human contact. He doesn't let himself think about Blaine sitting right below them, engrossed in the movie while Dave holds his sleeping boyfriend. He doesn't notice Santana shooting him a piercing glare across the room from above Brittany's head. He doesn't register that Rachel has crawled into Finn's lap, or that Finn is now using her hair as a shield from the world of psychosis and murder on screen. He doesn't let himself consider why Kurt is suddenly so cuddly, or wonder what people will think when the lights come on.
All he feels is Kurt in his arms, and given that, everything else is secondary.