Kurt looks at the sad, disgusting little contract they'd drawn up and psyches himself up for cuddling this Sunday. He'd said two to three weeks between each one; well, it had been two weeks. And he would be a hell of a lot happier going for the full three, but he figures if he keeps it to two for this one, it's completely fair of him to go three on the next one and Karofsky won't be able to complain about it, so he'll be able to stall on making out for a good while longer. Well… a few more weeks. Not that long. Long enough, though.

"Hey, Kurt?"

Kurt shoves the list under some old homework in the bottom drawer of his desk and manages to look mostly composed by the time Finn actually pokes his head in. "Yes?"

"I wanted to know if you feel like doing something."

Kurt frowns. "With you?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Oh. He's just broken up with his girlfriend, his ex-best friend is the one who cheated with her, his new friend is the one he's competing for popularity with… yeah, that'd do it. "Desperately lonely, huh?" Kurt smiles to take some of the sting out.

"No! I mean, I want to hang out with my new brother, is that a crime?"

Kurt keeps looking.

"And… I might be a little lonely." Finn shrugs and smiles in a way he has to know is completely charming and is probably using as an offensive weapon. "That's what family's for, right, to put up with you when no one else will?"

"Well, with an invitation like that, how could I say no?"

They decide to walk to the nearest Dairy Queen, which is about a mile away; Finn can get a sad excuse for a treat and Kurt can get a sad excuse for exercise.

Kurt makes sure the house is well behind them before he says, "Finn?"

"Uh-huh?"

"When you had sex with Santana, was it… awful?"

"…Uh. Why, are you gonna try girls again?"

"No, thank you. I just wondered. It would be different with R- with someone you liked, I guess."

"Oh. Well, yeah, dude. I mean, Santana's great and all, but the sex wasn't anything special. I just… mostly wish I could take it back. But it wasn't awful or anything on its own. I just feel awful about it. I mean, probably like you and Brittany, right?"

"Not… really. I was asking about Santana because she's intimidating. Brittany couldn't pressure someone if she tried. But if you – if you changed your mind or something…"

Finn makes a thinking face for a few worrying seconds, then says, "Oh. No, dude, I didn't – I mean, no lie, Santana's kinda scary, but she didn't – I didn't ever feel like – I just wanted to stop being a virgin, it wasn't her fault."

"Oh. Well, that's good. I mean, not… really, but better than it could have been."

"Kurt," Finn says.

"Yes?"

"Are you… okay? Like is Blaine…"

"What? No! God, Finn, no! We're not even together, I keep telling everyone. And even if we were, he'd never push me. He's a kind, polite person. Anyway, he wouldn't have to push me, because I would be all over that."

"Oh, okay, good," Finn says quickly. "Yeah, never mind, then."

"Don't mention this conversation to anyone and I'll buy your ice cream."

"Sure, dude. I mean, you don't have to. I'm pretty sure sage advice on sex is one of my brotherly duties now." He perks up. "Hey, I've totally had more sex than you. I actually know more about this than you do! You have to get a boyfriend so I can have useful knowledge."

"Really. That sounds great, Finn; I'll come to you for everything I could possibly need to know about gay sex. My dad will be so relieved."

"How different can it be? I'm sure I've totally got it covered."

"Yes, between you and the internet, what could possibly go wrong?" Kurt shakes his head. "I really didn't mean this to go in an actual-sex direction. Just… sex-related things. I just thought… even if you hadn't had sex with Santana, just done other stuff, you did them with her even though you don't like her that way."

"Yeah, but… like, I don't like her that way, but I do… but she's hot. I did want to do them with her. I don't want to marry her, but she does turn me on. Or did. I guess… are you asking whether it's worth it to fool around with someone who turns you on but that you don't like all that much? Because I'm gonna go with no, mostly. It'd bite you in the ass."

Kurt waits for that to turn into a crude joke, and blesses Finn's innocent little heart when it doesn't. "No," he sighs, and decides there's no way to ask whether, hypothetically, Finn thinks it's worth it to fool around with someone whom you don't like, who actively frightens you, and who does not in fact turn you on at all. "I mean, who would I even do that with? I'm the only out guy at school, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Well, if you do get the chance. You should… not. I think." Finn considers. "Or like if it's with a girl again, you probably shouldn't."

"I promise not to make out with any more girls."

"Cool." Finn nods to himself and appears to consider his good deed for the day done; Kurt is pretty sure he can depend on Finn's natural dog-like attention span, coupled with his Rachel Drama, to banish the entire incident from his mind.


"David, are you on a diet you haven't told us about?"

"What? Dad, I play hockey and football, I don't have the energy to pussyfoot around how many calories a hamburg has."

Paul smiles, but the wrinkle between his brows goes nowhere. "No, I know, and I didn't mean to suggest that you should diet. You're a healthy growing boy. No, it's just that… your mother's been finding groceries and takeout receipts that aren't ours, and aren't the kind of thing you usually eat."

"Oh. All the fish and healthy crap. Healthy stuff."

"Yes, that."

Half of Dave's stomach clenches with terror, because this is it, this is a clue, this… someone could find out that he's been macking on Hummel and then his life is over just like that – and the other half… doesn't. Part of him is fine with this. He does love his parents, and he does want them to know that he's happy now, and why. A little bit of why, anyway.

He shoves his algebra homework away on the desk. "Actually," he says, "I kind of have to tell you something."

Paul comes in and sits on Dave's bed, facing him and clearly bracing himself for the worst. A few weeks ago that would have pissed Dave off, like why does everyone always expect the worst from him, what's he ever done that's so bad they have to act like he's got a bomb strapped to his chest all the time. Now, though, he takes a deep breath and considers that he just got himself expelled so maybe he should give his dad the benefit of a doubt.

"You know how there's a rule against me having people over without telling you first? Kinda been breaking it. The food's for," and Dave does apologize to Kurt mentally, "her. I mean, I eat it too, but just because she wants to."

Paul nods to himself. "Have you been having sex?"

"No! No, they're just dates. On Sundays, when you guys are out."

"Alright, David, I'm confused. Why have you been hiding this girl? You've never hidden – have you been hiding girlfriends?"

"No, you know them all. Except for now."

"Okay. So… why are you hiding her?"

"It's just… private. Our relationship."

"Is she older?"

"No, my age. It's nothing bad, Dad, I promise, I just really want this to be something that's… mine. Only mine. I feel better about everything lately, and it's because of this. I know I've been real messed up but you gotta trust me on this one."

"David… I don't know. Are you doing anything illegal?"

"No. I swear."

"Then what is it that you think your mother and I wouldn't support about this?"

"That's not the point, Dad. I know you guys'd be fine with everything if I introduced you. It's just, like I said, it's private. Not wrong, just private."

"Is there any chance you'll tell us more sometime soon?"

"I don't know. I'll… I don't think so."

"Do we know this girl?"

Dave thinks this isn't really funny, but he can't keep himself from smiling. "Actually, yeah. Dad, I promise, it's fine. We go to the same school. She gets good grades, she's nice, she eats healthy stuff, we just hang out. It's just important to me right now and I don't want to have to talk about it."

Paul sighs heavily. "Sure. I… can't say this makes me very happy to hear, but sure. Keep having her over if she's making you happy – and as long as you keep thinking about telling us more. Very seriously thinking."

Dave nods. "If you want."

"I'd like that, yes," Paul says dryly. "I'm going to go break this to your mother, unless there's anything else you'd like to share."

"No, that covers it."


"Hey, babe," Karofsky says, tugging Kurt inside. "C'mere." He kisses Kurt's forehead. "So how's your weekend been?"

"Uneventful. Some shopping, some house-cleaning, some homework. How about you?"

"We had a match yesterday, actually."

"Oh." Kurt gropes mentally for a second, assures himself that Finn was not at a game yesterday which eliminates football, and guesses, "And by match, you mean hockey?"

"Yeah." Karofsky takes his hand and tugs him toward the living room. "My shoulder's killing me." He rolls the right shoulder with a wince.

"I should see the other guy, though, huh?" His sympathy is squarely with the other guy at the moment; he's been on the receiving end of Karofsky's lighter "knock the gay kid around" slams and doesn't even want to think about the full-speed, pads-on treatment. Still, he puts a hand gingerly on the shoulder in question. "I'm sorry. Should I ask if you guys won, or is that a faux pas? I'm afraid I haven't really ever followed McKinley's hockey team."

"We suck," Karofsky informs him lightly. "Not as bad as the football team used to, and we win more than we lose, but we're not really all that great. This time we did win though, yeah."

"Well, congratulations."

"It was pretty sweet," Karofsky admits, grinning now. "I got the winning goal."

"That's great!" Kurt realizes it is pretty definitely time for a celebratory kiss, and goes for one. Kisses are, as it turns out, surprisingly awkward to initiate, but Karofsky takes charge quickly and Kurt falls back on what is becoming his standby position of "try to kiss back hard enough that you don't get backed up, and do something with your tongue." He doesn't imagine this is making a terribly good kisser out of him, but until Karofsky actually lodges a complaint along with constructive criticism he doesn't know what else to do.

When Karofsky lets him go again, he's smiling. "I'm just going to claim all the winning goals from now on, if I get that out of it," he says. Kurt is comparatively sure this is a joke, and laughs nervously. Karofsky grins, so that was probably correct. "Anyway, I got us a movie," he adds. "And I made dinner already – sit down, I'll get it."

"Oh, okay." Kurt drops onto the couch, which is leather and makes him a little nervous. It's also cold until you've been sitting on it for awhile. The movie is on the coffee table, in one of the irritating boxes their local video store uses – basically a hard plastic sleeve for the DVD, with absolutely no information pertaining to the film itself. The case is clear, so he can see it's called The Last House on the Left and is, with the color scheme and all, probably horror, but there's nothing else to go on.

"You got us a horror flick?" he asks dubiously when Karofsky gets back with the plates.

"Uh, yeah?" He sets them down and puts the movie in. "It's date night, that's pretty standard." He takes in Kurt's face. "Oh, wow, dude, you've seriously never dated even a little."

"I thought sappy romantic comedies were standard," Kurt confesses. "And The Notebook."

"Well, yeah, those too. I didn't actually know if you liked those, though, or if that was too… uh. If you liked those."

"Too girly," Kurt finishes for him. "As compared to everything else about me."

"For example. So I went with the other standard."

"I'm either touched or insulted, I'm still deciding."

"Maybe a little of both," Karofsky suggests, tugging a quilt off a nearby armchair and monopolizing the cushion to Kurt's right. He flicks the blanket over them and fishes for the remote.

"I'll settle for that." Kurt reaches for his plate and bottle. Dinner proves to be spanakopita and delicious, and he tells Karofsky so. The food and discussion thereof distracts them both for the first fifteen minutes, during which time the screen is pretty much dedicated solely to showing off as much of the main character's naked skin as possible anyway once the first violent scene is over, and since the main character is a girl Kurt's not too broken up over missing it.

The girl and her friend, resident Designated First Victim, end up in a hotel room with some teenage boy; there is discussion of a makeover and Kurt is briefly engaged. He's mostly waiting for something nominally frightening to happen, as he supposes that will be as good an excuse as any to start cuddling. His palms are sweaty and it is not because of the promise of more onscreen violence. He's starting to worry he'll miss the violence, he's so busy watching Karofsky out of the corner of his eye and trying to figure out how awkward it will be to cover the rest of the distance between them.

Then the violence starts. Kurt doesn't miss it. He does fail to move any closer to Karofsky.

It's not as if it's a particularly good movie, or as if the acting is really anything special, or the writing, or anything. He thinks probably a year ago he would just have rolled his eyes and taken the disc out because it's not his thing. But that was before that kiss in the locker room and the death threat and the cake topper, before he started to feel this all the time. And the movie is capturing… this. The constant, nails-on-a-chalkboard fear that nothing you do or say can stop someone who's always there, always stronger, always meaner, and who wants to hurt you. The equally constant nerve-twanging don't-think-about-it fear that the violence won't just be physical.

He never does move any closer to Karofsky, and he doesn't notice it happen but apparently Karofsky moves closer to him, because his right side is warm and pressed up against something solid and there's a huge arm around him and the remote's in his lap now, he's not sure when that happened.

"Kurt? I'm serious, we can just –"

Or, okay, not just the fear, because now it's pretty explicitly happening, very explicit even, there's really not much more explicit they could get without it being porn, he may have seen porn that was less explicit although also a lot less violent –

Karofsky reaches over and puts his right hand over Kurt's eyes, his left hand groping in Kurt's lap for a second.

The movie stops. Karofsky moves away, turns on the lamp. "Kurt," he says. "I'm sorry. Why didn't you turn it off?"

"What?"

"I gave you the remote fifteen minutes ago, when you started looking queasy. Are you okay?"

"I need –" Kurt shoves the quilt off and stands, then rushes for the bathroom.


Ten minutes later, he stumbles back out, wiping his mouth and feeling disgusting. Karofsky's leaning against the wall in the hallway right outside, chewing his lip furiously. "I'm sorry," he says again, taking Kurt's elbow. "Come with me, I'll get you – I know you hate being messed up."

Kurt hasn't been upstairs in the Karofsky household yet. The entire upper floor has a thick white carpet, which Kurt faults for the eerie silence which prevails even once they're up there. Karofsky's room is huge and smells faintly of sweat, and the walls are plastered with aggressive heteronormativity. The floor is so clean and recently-vacuumed, matches the rest of the house so well, that Kurt realizes with a start they must have a maid service; no professional woman is going to work nine to five and then cleaning her seventeen-year-old's room this thoroughly. The bed, which is huge, is very neatly made.

Karofsky also has his own bathroom. He gives Kurt a glass of tap water, which Kurt drinks although it's probably even less sanitary than the last thing he had in his mouth; he doesn't keep his own toothbrush in the bathroom, never mind random drinking glasses. He also produces mouthwash and a toothbrush still in the box. Kurt silently busies himself getting the nasty taste out of his mouth; Karofsky keeps a hand on his back the whole time. It feels like the fingers span shoulder to shoulder, like he could pick Kurt up with that one hand.

"I'm really sorry," Karofsky says. "I didn't know what it was about, it was just supposed to be… a stupid date movie. I thought it looked like they put more effort into it than the one next to it on the shelf and I just grabbed it. Are you okay?"

Kurt manages, finally, to meet Karofsky's eyes in the mirror. He looks hurt and bewildered and concerned. He does not look like a deviant sociopath who chose that movie as a threat, or a reminder, or a perverse promise.

And if that's an act, well, Kurt had better make like he believes it.

"I'm fine," he says. "Sorry, it just…"

"It was gross," Karofsky agrees hurriedly. "I don't blame you. I just wanted a horror movie for traditional cuddle-time, you know, you were supposed to jump when the demons popped out and grab my hand for security. That kind of thing. It wasn't supposed to be actually upsetting. Just… fun. Fake scary. And I ended up grabbing you because your expression was freaking me out, which is the opposite of what I was going for in at least two ways."

Kurt spits into the sink. "I didn't actually say we could progress tonight."

"Uh, yeah, sorry. Next week there's not going to be much opportunity. It's – a surprise."

Kurt plants his hands on the edge of the sink for balance, and thanks the cleaning service when he doesn't feel a fine grit under his palms the way he does when Finn finishes in the bathroom.

"Are you pissed?" Karofsky looks… God, he looks like Finn. Finn makes that same expression, helpless and hopeful.

"Possibly."

"I really am sorry."

Kurt splashes water on his face. The movement does nothing to dislodge Karofsky's hand. "Nice room."

"Yeah, I was gonna clean up before I showed it to you."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I need you to not be standing right behind me just now, Karofsky."

"Okay," Karofsky says, stepping sideways and taking his hand back. "Would you grab me an icy-hot patch while you're there, though? They're in the cabinet. My shoulder's killing me."

Kurt goes on tiptoe and reaches up to swing the mirror open. There's an entire medical cabinet's worth of sports-related emergency supplies, including a box of icy-hot patches. He fishes one out. "Got it."

"Uh." Karofsky's gaze snaps back to eye-level. "Thanks."

"Really? Right now? I am distraught, Karofsky."

"Sorry."

"You are not. You're smiling."

"I kind of missed you yelling at me more than I expected to. But it's Dave. I mean, I know you're pissed, and I get it, but… my name's Dave."

"Right. Fine. Dave. Do you need help with your ridiculous patch?"

"Oh. Sure, I guess. I can't really reach it on my own." He starts to pull his shirt up and stops. "Are you okay now? Aside from being mad?"

"Couldn't be better."

Karofsky hauls his shirt up around his neck and turns around.

"Oh, ouch," Kurt comments; the bruise is really pretty spectacular.

"You totally should see the other guy, though," Karofsky says, with enough of the high school hallways sneer in his voice to kill Kurt's momentary sympathy.

"I'm sure the blood vessels in your back are very impressed with your prowess on the battlefield," he says, carefully setting the patch over the worst of the bruising and smoothing it down. "And you're set."

"Thanks."

"No problem, I do it for Finn whenever Carole's late from work." He tosses the wrapping into the bin. "Let's go downstairs?"


Dave does his level best to smile in the face of the fact that Hudson is living with Kurt. Given the way Kurt flinches, it may not be his friendliest smile ever. "Sure," he says, tucking Kurt under his arm. "Let's go downstairs."

"What were you thinking of doing for the rest our time?"

"Well, if you feel better, you could eat some more. You just lost it all. And my mom owns The Notebook; we could do that other traditional date night movie thing."

"I am intensely not hungry, but an overdone, escapist fluff piece masquerading as drama sounds just about right."

"Great." He squeezes Kurt tighter. "We can still cuddle, right?"

Kurt looks up at him, expression odd and tense. He nods.

And it is great. The movie sucks balls, but Dave already knows that and he doesn't waste any time watching it. Kurt's face, aside from being stunningly pretty, is expressive, and pale enough that the light from the screen plays over it nicely. Dave spends the entire movie watching Kurt and never once gets bored. It probably helps that they're sitting pressed together, with one of Kurt's legs draped over Dave's and one hand on Dave's knee, the other just for Dave to hold; he keeps his eyes up, but God does Hummel have fine legs and he's not ashamed to say he spends a lot of time appreciating the feel of them. And his hands are smooth and soft and hell, Dave probably spends a good hour just playing with the one he's holding, stroking the fingers and palm, molding it into peace signs and bird-whipping. Kurt looks at him weird at first, but shakes his head and lets it go. He's kind of got nails, for a dude – they're not long or anything, but they're long enough, and shaped enough, that he must spend time on them. They'll feel fantastic on Dave's back.

They don't finish the movie; nine-thirty rolls around first. Or, actually, nine-fifteen, which is when Kurt gets antsy and has to find all his stuff. This is fine by Dave; it gives him plenty of time to maneuver Kurt around to almost-leaving but then kissing-pressed-up-against-the-door-instead. He's found if he puts his hands on Hummel's waist with his fingers wide, he can feel everything – muscles shifting under the dreamy-soft skin on his abdomen and back, sharp juts of his hips, delicious swell of his ass.

"I'm sorry about the movie," he says again. "I didn't ever want to freak you out. I'll read the description next time."

"Deal," Kurt says, and kisses him once before he opens the door, nose brushing Dave's cheek along with his lips.

"Shit," Dave adds once the door's shut behind him. Looking for a little sympathy, he texts Azimio with his woes. fuck man, i just screwed a date up. got last house on the left, she puked dinner up

Azimio texts back seconds later, the fuck did u watch that w/ her 4, she got a weak stomach like that?

well jesus dude excuse me, didn't know it was a rapefest

yes u did asswipe killroy told us last week in the locker room, sick fuck practically creamed just talkin about it

well i forgot, w/ev

doghouse, bro. ain't no helpin u now

we'll see. i got something planned


"Dad?"

"Hey, kiddo," Burt whispers, gesturing to Carole, who's fallen asleep on the couch next to him. "How'd it go?"

"Alright. Half of two bad movies." He wrinkles his nose and slides over the back of the couch to get next to his dad on the other side. Burt wraps an arm around him and Kurt burrows in, folding his legs up under himself. Burt smells faintly of grease and the organic, environmentally-friendly soap Kurt insists he use. "Where's Finn?"

"Here." Finn is, unsurprisingly, eating something neon orange.

Kurt holds a hand out, and feels a little guilty because he knows Finn thinks it's sort of weird how close everyone else is fine being but won't turn him down in front of his dad. But it gets him what he wants, which is to be safe and warm and have his dad's arm around him and Finn's hand in his, even if Finn's hand is greasy and covered in fake-cheese dust.

Finn sinks down next to them, trying to not let his bag crinkle. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Kurt says, because nothing is, now. He has an irrational fear that they'll smell Karofsky on him, but other than that, he's fine and safe and has them right here and nothing is going to happen. "I love you guys."

Burt and Finn exchange a look over his head.

"We love you too," says Finn. "Want some?" He brandishes the bag.

"Ugh, no, that's disgusting. I'm not feeling that maudlin."

Burt says, "You know I don't like to mess with your life, buddy, but I'm gonna have to meet this Blaine."

Oh, shit.