Warnings: couple racist, sexist and homophobic comments, swearing, lack of beta

AN: So this fic is strongly inspired by "Mad Men". Like, really strongly. Anyone who watches the show, will for sure recognize what I borrowed for this story.

I don't know when I'll continue it, mostly due to a lack of time, but here it is part 1 for now. The rating may jump up because this story just begs for a no-Kurt-we-shouldn't-do-this angst/smut.


The local was alright. Quite elegant and cozy. Dave sit back in his lodge and looked around. The air was heavy from cigarette smoke, large gray clouds were hanging over every group gathered in the room. People were chatting animatedly but his seat was situated more to the side, so the laughter wouldn't disturb any conversation. The perfect place for this kind of meeting. Way too expensive for Dave's taste, but it's not like money played any role in this situation. The company was always paying for those dinners and Dave suspected that overall, it didn't matter how much he was spending on making their clients felt welcome and well taken care off. At least considering that the generous gifts Schuester was throwing at his secretary were probably paid with a money from the same safe, as well the ones for that mysterious chick he was banging in the city. And… who knows, maybe sometimes he even bought something for his wife.

Dave pulled out a worn-out looking notebook and a tiny pen from the inner pocket of his jacket suit. He flipped through couple of pages. "Ryerson's lipsticks" was the title of the note he stopped at. Just another campaign the company was working on. Dave was determined to make his opinions heard this time, so his project had to be good. He tapped the pencil couple times on the surface, absorbed in his own thoughts. Then started scratching a draft of a poster.

"Can I get you anything else, sir?"

Dave looked up, surprised, to see a waiter standing right next to him, a professional smile plastered on his face. He was black and wrinkled. Dave looked down at his table. His glass was indeed empty, and he didn't even remember when he drunk it. Dave frowned and looked back at the man.

"Why do women like wearing lipstick?" he asked and put the notebook on the table.

The guy looked startled. He gazed around anxiously, uncertain of what is expected from him. Dave winced mentally and reminded himself that those people need more time and patience. He eased the frown out of his face and let his lips curl up in what he hoped was a comforting smile.

"Do you have a wife?" He started again.

The man before him relaxed at the familiar context and smiled widely. "Yes, sir. It's going to be twenty three years in October since we got married with my Janet, sir."

Dave nodded politely. "That's swell. She does wear lipstick, right?" Dave pointed his pencil at the man. "What makes her decide to buy a certain mark?"

The alarmed look appeared on guy's face again. Dave sighed. "Your help would be very appreciated." He said calmly, although annoyance started creeping into his mood.

"I'm afraid I can't help, sir. I've never asked her about that kind of things. She just wears a red one. I guess ladies just like looking nice for their men, sir."

Dave narrowed his eyes and slowly leaned back in his seat. "You know, that's actually well…" He gasped suddenly, a childish excitement lighted up his whole face and ideas for slogans and TV ads started running through his mind. "That is actually very well said!" He looked up at the man and ignored the dubious expression on his face. "Cher Baiser Lipstick. My husband approves." He waved his hand in the air, imagining the slogan on a poster, and grinned widely. "Thank you." He said and went back to scratching in his small notebook. He threw "Oh, and one more Scotch, please." in the waiter's way and returned to explaining on paper why emphasizing basic needs of the prettier sex, like being admired by men, is the key to a successful lipstick campaign.

After a moment, his enthusiasm boiled down and Dave just stared at the pages covered in careful hand-writing. He checked the time. The guy he was supposed to meet was almost forty minutes late. Of course. Dave huffed in annoyance. Fucking people from "Lima Steel Corporation", thinking the world should just adjust to them. And fucking Schuester, making him waste time on this, when he could just finish his presentation for tomorrow. Although the question is, he thought grimly, what's the sense of showering his bosses with new projects for campaigns if no one was really listening to him. Dave deserved better. He had ideas, big plans for the company. But creativity doesn't count when you're just a young account executive. Dave was 26, so everytime he made an allusion to a promotion, he was met with a condescending stare. Okay, nevermind. He was better than those old pricks anyway. He knew it.

"David Karofsky, I assume?" A small hand landed on his shoulder, startling him. Dave turned his head. The high voice didn't match with a figure of a young, big-eyed man staring down at him, but it wasn't the time to wonder about that. He pushed the notebook hurriedly into his pocket, stood up and reached his hand out.

"That's correct. I'm pleased to finally meet you, Mr Hummel" he said smoothly shaking the other man's hand and secretly hoped the guy won't take the barely noticeable accent he put at "finally" as a jab at his lateness. Although that's exactly what it was.

"The pleasure is mine." The high voice filled the air again. The man smiled brightly and sat at the opposite side of the table.


They moved on to ordering their food. Hummel stared at the menu for a long while, frowning disapprovingly and constantly asking the waiter for details about certain dishes. Dave had enough time to study surreptitiously the other man. He had a pale face with quite unusual, but fascinating features. The first thing that caught Dave attention, man's eyes, big and unbelievably blue, were adding to the innocent image. The guy looked fragile and delicate, which apparently contrasted vividly with his personality. For the short time they spent already in each other presence, Dave noticed that Hummel was demanding and acted awfully superior, as if he believed the restaurant should be thankful just for having him there. Dave figured such confidence is natural when your father is an owner of the third-largest steel producer in the United States.

The waiter took their orders -finally- and brought the wine Hummel ordered. Dave knew now was the time to absorb themselves in a boring small-talk. He opened his mouth but whatever conversation topic he had prepared, it was cut off by the other man.

"So, tell me, Mr Karofsky, are you married?" Hummel asked bluntly.

The question caught Dave off guard. He smiled tightly and said: "Unfortunately, I haven't found the right person yet."

"Perfect" Hummel muttered into his glass.

Dave raised an eyebrow at that, not sure if he heard correctly. "Excuse me?"

But the other man just smiled mischievously and busied himself with watching the red wine twirling in his glass.

"What about you?" Dave asked and, out of fear that it sounded harsh, added hurriedly "sir."

Hummel put the glass on the table. He looked at Dave for a moment and answered "Actually, I don't plan to settle down. I find the life style of decent people completely unappealing."

Dave chuckled at that. But one look at man's face had said him that he's serious. Dave gaped at him for a while, then cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink. Yet another bizarre thing about the guy. Speaking of bizarre...

Dave leaned back in his seat and smiled, voicing out his thoughts.

"I wouldn't suspect you of representing a steel company. I always thought you are all tough, big guys." Dave tensed the moment that sentenced came out of his mouth. It sounded way better in his head. Take it as a joke, man. Take it as a joke, he thought nervously.

Hummel laughed and Dave relaxed visibly, knowing they're on the same wavelength.

"Oh, I am tough, believe me." He said, obviously amused, and leaned towards Dave. "It's just a disguise. The company likes to use my feeble, obscure self to delude people like you into thinking we're not going to negotiate a better price for that advertisement campaign."

Dave let his eyes slide again over the man's silhouette. Perfectly combed hair, sleek suit, perfumes so strong he could smell them from his own seat. If anyone asked Dave Karofsky, "obscure" would be probably the last word on his list of adjectives that could describe Kurt Hummel. But he ignored that remark.

"That's indeed a cunning move." He leaned forward too. "But since you exposed your company's strategy now…"

Hummel smiled wickedly and licked his lips. "I guess I have to make sure now, that you won't reveal it in your office tomorrow."

Dave bit his lip to keep the straight expression on his face. Maybe after all the guy won't be a pain in the ass to work for, as everyone in the office originally predicted. He seemed pretty cool for now.

"Unfortunately, I'm very loyal to my company. That would require a lot of convincing." Dave answered, playful smile ghosting his lips.

Something changed in Hummel at that. There was a new emotion in his eyes and the intensity of his stare made Dave's breath catch in his throat and a heat spread over his face.

The man responded, his voice low and quiet. "I'm a very convincing man, David."

Dave broke the eye contact, suddenly nervous and not even knowing why. He looked down. Their hands were inches apart on the table. Kurt slowly slid his hand towards Dave's. Dave observed the motion, knowing what was going to happen and dreading it, but at the same time, he was too caught up to say any word of protest. Kurt's fingers brushed along Dave's and started circling over his knuckles. His fingers were cold against Dave's skin, but Dave felt the heat inside him growing at that chilly touch.

Someone on the right side pushed a chair away loudly and it broke the spell. Dave nearly jumped in his seat and looked around abruptly, terrified that anyone could noticed what happened. Kurt looked at him smiling smugly, and took a sip of his wine.

Dave stared at him in disbelief for a moment. Then excused himself to go to the bathroom.


The water dripped from Dave's cheeks and chin. One stubborn drop was hanging on the end of his nose and refused to fall off. Dave's impression was staring back at him blankly from the mirror as he wondered if he could just sneak out of the restaurant without going back to his table. Of fucking course not. With Dave's luck, not only did he collide with one of those disgusting freaks, he was actually forced to interact with him and kiss his ass, at least until he signed the contract. Peachy.

Dave straightened up with a sigh, wiped his face on a towel and headed off the bathroom. He stopped in his tracks couple feet from the table. Hummel was sitting in his seat, just like Dave left him. The food was already delivered, which meant Dave must have been in the bathroom for quite some time. But Hummel apparently waited for him before starting eating. How fucking polite of him.

Dave took a deep breath, reminding himself that he wants to be promoted, not fired, and closed the distance between himself and the table. He casted a quick look at the other man before settling on his spot. Hummel looked composed, bored even, as if nothing happened couple minutes ago.

"Oh, finally" Hummel murmured, not looking up from the glass of wine in his hand. "The food is getting cold." He put the glass away and picked up his fork and knife.

Dave observed the careless motions of his hands as Hummel cut off a small fragment from the cutlet. He held up the piece of meat in front of his mouth and closed his lips around the fork. The utensil slowly withdrew from his mouth. He looked up at Dave.

Their eyes locked and Dave shifted nervously in his seat. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his right hand, trying to gather his thoughts.

"Mr. Hummel. With all the respect, the... thing you did earlier. It was inappropriate and I wish for it to not happen again."

Hummel stared at him completely puzzled, the hand holding a fork with another morsel stayed frozen in midair.

"What thing do you mean, specifically?" The bright eyes were wide and innocent. His expression didn't leave any doubt that he's confused by Dave's request.

And it was Dave's turn to look puzzled. He passed his eyes over the surroundings. People in the restaurant were absorbed in their own cliques. No one paid any attention to them. The life around, loquacious and drunk, went on. Apparently no one noticed anything strange, except for Dave. Traitorous thought made its way into his mind. What if he's going crazy. What if he imagined it all somehow. But the soft brush of other man's fingers still made his flesh creep and there's no way he could dream up that. He leaned in slightly and whispered. "You know."

Hummel cocked his head to the side. Then he slowly put the utensils away on his plate. "I'm afraid not." He said coldly. "Maybe you could describe it what do you mean, so we could be on the same page?"

Dave cleared his throat and put hands on his lap, nervously twisting the material of his suit in fingers. He was pretty sure that if his cheeks weren't already red, they'll be in no time.

"You... your hand..." he stammered and dared to look Hummel in the face. The corner of man's lips twitched in long restrained laughter and Dave finally understood. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from saying any expletives and stood up abruptly from the table.

"I hope you'll enjoy our presentation on the official meeting, sir. Because this one is over."

Hummel smiled at him again, lazily licked his lips and said. "I hope so too. I don't like being left unsatisfied."

Dave's hands clenched into fists. He turned around and left the local.