Title: Stolen Moments
Genre: Angst / Romance
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dave/Kurt, future!fic
Summary: When Love is not madness it is not love.
Without even a blink, Kurt laid out the rules. 1. Never speak of what happens here 2. Kurt calls all of the shots 3. Dave will leave before Kurt wakes.
Love unending for two people. The first is jungle_ride for her prompting of this fic for the help_japan charity auction on livejournal. The next is my faithful and loving beta who I always manage to make cry in apparently a good way traciamc .
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee and make no profit off of this work.
/
His pale skin shown against the dark blue of the bed. It was the same blue every time, the same pale skin. He always slept immediately after their time together, as if the beautiful boy couldn't stand to know in waking what he'd done, who he had done it with. His beautiful blue eyes would close during most of the sinful act, only opening for the briefest second when he reached his peak. Dave Karofsky lived for those moments.
His large callused hand petted down that pale spine. It was a violation of this tentative agreement. But he lived for the stolen moment. He'd watched the boy for what felt like a lifetime. In high-school, he'd watched with terrified eyes the boy would stride through his view with head held high and he tried to scare the boy into changing. Kurt never obeyed. He'd become more lovely, more confident, and had finished high-school and moved away from this horrible town.
In college, Kurt had gone to New York on a scholarship. Dave had dropped out when he fell into a cycle of depression after his parents found his porn and kicked him out of the house. He had no support and had to use the last of his second year student loan on two things. The first was to see Kurt in one of his shows. He knew it would probably the last time he'd ever see the boy. He'd cried in the audience that night. Kurt's performance in his role was beautiful, his acting flawless, his voice like crystal. He was struck by the yawning gap between the man in the spotlight and some closeted fat stalker from his home town. He placed the flowers he'd brought into the wastebasket in the bathroom in the theater before leaving. His little hope of a fantasy that maybe Kurt wasn't doing as well, maybe he wasn't that happy, Dave knew it had been selfish. He never wished any pain on Kurt, but somehow he'd imagined that Kurt would be tired of the limelight and come back to Lima with him. Kurt would make going home bearable.
The last task had been to clean himself up enough to get a job in Lima. He was working as a construction worker and a general handy-man. There wasn't a lot of building going on in the dead end cow-town so most days he was taking odd-jobs, scraping together enough money to pay for rent in his tiny studio apartment and food. He'd saved up that last bit of student loan and put it away. In his dreams he thought of going back to school, maybe getting a teaching credential, sports medicine, become a coach, something other then a Lima Loser.
Nearly 10 years later Dave had been able to get education through the online classes. He was working as a substitute teacher and was doing alright for himself. He still lived in the tiny studio apartment. He'd gotten a cat and the little creature was the light of his life. He'd named it Fancy and the prissy queen demanded his affection and adoration. He lived with her moods and her indifference and she lived with his loud sports watching and his annoying ability to sleep until past her feeding time. At night when the T.V. at the edge of his bed had lapsed into inane news she could curl onto his lap and he would pet and adore her. It was a good enough life. Or at least it had been.
Kurt Hummel waltzed back into Dave's life exactly one week before his 32nd birthday. He was still pale, still beautiful and still wearing bright colors and voluminous scarves. The countertenor had called his handyman number. He stood with his toolbox on the porch of the house he had so often sat across the street in his car watching as a teenager. When Kurt opened the door and ushered him in he was sure the man hadn't recognized him. He'd fixed the plumbing with perfect professional courtesy and been given his money with a swift fair-well.
He'd drunk deeply that night, drowned himself in the pain and woe of his existence being forgettable. He'd loved Kurt from afar for so long that he'd somehow forgotten that he was nothing to Kurt. He was some bully from high school that served no purpose but to improve his acting skills. He wasn't coherent for another 3 days when Fancy had begun mewling at him that she'd run out of her canned food and would simply not eat her hard food without her liver and onion Fancy Feast. Thank God for fussy diva's.
Dave found out through different clients that Kurt was home for good. His father was slowly dying and Kurt had returned to take care of him and take over the shop. He knew Hudson had left years ago for the bright lights of New York tailing behind Rachel. Kurt was alone dealing with an ill and dying father and a grieving step-mother. Thinking of Kurt stuck in this town did something to his chest. That something led him to the funeral to pay his respects to Kurt's father and to offer whatever he could to Kurt. Kurt barely took the card with his number. It was almost a year later when Kurt called.
Dave had been given an address and simple instructions how to get there. It was a run down little motel by the highway. He'd come to the room where Kurt had sat on the bed, legs crossed primly. Without even a blink, Kurt laid out the rules. 1. Never speak of what happens here 2. Kurt calls all of the shots 3. Dave will leave before Kurt wakes. Kurt was kind enough at least to not vocalize his disgust of Dave. His prim and proper voice had simply stated that it didn't mean anything and that since they were the only gay men in this black-hole of a cow-town they might as well use each other for satisfaction of the physical need for sex. Kurt's nose had wrinkled in obvious contempt, as if the very thought of sex was below his station. Dave wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, but in the end he'd gone to his knees and obeyed everything Kurt said.
Kurt was right, Dave commented to himself as he petted the sleeping man. They were using each other. Kurt was using him for sex and he was using Kurt for affection. He stole affection when Kurt slept. He would kiss the man's hair, tenderly kiss each mark he'd left on the still flawless skin. Kurt always demanded he make their actions rough, always demanded he push harder, more, faster, to make it hurt. He loved seeing the small circles that placed his claim on Kurt as much as he hated them. If Kurt would let him he'd show him much more gentle love, he'd be the one under Kurt's body. He stole one last whisper of lips over the skin of Kurt's shoulder before moving away to clean in the impossibly small bathroom.
Dave dressed finally, always taking his time. Any moment he could steal he would take. He'd never even tried to remain there as Kurt woke. He'd barely gotten this much of the other man. He'd take the stolen touches and illusion of love rather then lose Kurt. As the door closed, he never saw the tears falling over the face of the man who had never been asleep to begin with.