I don't own Glee. :(
Please review...it helps with extrinsic motivation.
Dave stuck his hands under the cold water and brought them up to try to press away the heavy bags under his eyes.
He'd barely slept at all. Tossing and turning, he couldn't stop himself from snatching his phone and scrolling down his contacts to "Mr. Perfect".
Kurt.
He had shoved his phone under his pillow, shrugging off the feeling that, if he closed his phone, the contact would magically disappear, and he would lose Kurt's number forever.
He told himself that was stupid.
But the next morning, his fist was wrapped tightly around the thin Motorola, and Kurt's number was open on the screen.
He shook his head and stomped out of the bathroom, haphazardly checking his watch for the eighth time in ten minutes (which had, unfortunately, become a habit; he had started to count down the hours until his tutoring session began) and pushing his way through the throng of students trying to avoid the clutches of History class.
He managed his way down the hall and turned the corner, intent on heading to the gym, when he heard a very soft "David".
Whispered, nearly growled, and a thin, pale hand reached out, snagging Dave's wrist in the long fingers, and Dave was suddenly being dragged into a pitch dark broom closet.
Turpentine and dust filled his nose; he fought the urge to sneeze as, despite the darkness, the hand around his wrist slipped away.
"Kurt?"
He let his own hand, clammy from nerves, reach out into the black; there was a little gasp as his fingers grazed against a lean, heaving chest.
Goosebumps erupted on Dave's skin when he realized he could hear Kurt breathing.
Which meant, theoretically, that he was extremely close.
"Kurt, are you okay?"
There was a little sigh (Dave couldn't tell if it was exasperated or happy) and two fists clutched at the front of his shirt, dragging his face downward. "Not really, David. Not at all."
"What's...What's wrong?" He could feel Kurt's hot palms through his shirt. He could feel Kurt's breath, ghosting over his face, making his hands shake. He could feel Kurt move just then, pulling them flush together. He felt every curve, every line, every little breath that made Kurt's diaphragm heave.
"You."
Dave let his eyes fall shut.
"Make."
Kurt's lips tickled his jaw line; Dave bit back a groan.
"Me."
A hand smoothed down his Letterman jacket, making Dave wonder if Kurt could feel the butterflies in his stomach, the fast pace of his heart beating through his chest.
"Crazy."
His hands dove under Dave's shirt, hot fingers sliding down every notch in his spine.
Hips rolled forward involuntarily; Dave felt his cheeks flush, but Kurt let out a little gasp against the jock's skin that made him moan.
Kurt's lips stayed far away from Dave's.
Too far.
A hand snaked down; a finger tapped his belt buckle, the sound ringing through the dark closet. Dave bent his head, wanting to taste Kurt's skin, his full lips, but the countertenor moved away, and Dave's kiss landed on the air.
He felt teeth nip at his ear, the hand at his belt quickly working the prong out of worn leather, and Kurt's symphony voice, rough with lust, growling, "Tell me you want it."
He could only groan.
"Tell me you want it, David."
The hand dipped into his jeans.
Dave tucked his head into the soft nape of Kurt's neck, breathing in his coconut scent. "I just want you."
"What was that, Mr. Karofsky?"
And very suddenly, Kurt sounded more like his English teacher than a symphony.
His elbow slipped off his desk, and he was jolted unceremoniously into embarrassing reality. He blinked, rubbing carefully at his tired eyes, and managed a hurriedly muttered "sorry" that seemed to suffice.
He didn't dare look down at his lap; instead, he awkwardly tugged his tee shirt lower, over the tent in his jeans, and looked uncomfortably in Kurt's direction.
Only to find the countertenor examining him with a raised eyebrow and curious expression. He lifted his fingers (the long fingers, Dave realized with a core-jerking thought, that had just been - in dream world - slinking down his pants) and waved his thumbs around as though he was air-texting.
Seconds later, Dave felt his phone, tucked carefully in his left pocket, vibrate.
David, I thought we talked about sleeping in class.
He looked up from the screen and met Kurt's clear, teal eyes. He felt like texting him everything.
Everything, everything, everything.
But he settled for: "sry. got like no sleep. tutring after?"
And watched with bated, heavy breath as Kurt tried to shimmy his thin Motorola out of his skin-tight jeans.
The countertenor never typed back; he just gave Dave a sharp nod over his shoulder and raised his hand to answer a question that Dave definitely hadn't been listening to.
"What were you dreaming about?"
Dave could feel Kurt's shoulder just slightly touching his. He straightened his back against the bookshelf and tried to steady his heart; it was beating so quickly that he was sure Kurt could hear it pounding against his chest. "I don't remember my dreams."
"No, you just don't want to admit to the fact that you were having a sex dream." Kurt's cheeks turned pink, just slightly. Dave wanted to kiss the color away, but he just flipped another page in Oedipus and focused on keeping a straight face.
"You're a pervert, Kurt Hummel." He managed, forcing his mouth into a thin smile. Kurt's eyebrow disappeared into his perfect bangs.
"I'm observant." His teal eyes traveled downward and then flicked back up, his eyebrow twitching knowingly. The jock flushed a bright red. "And you're blushing, David."
And that's how things went on between them.
Kurt would notice something, something that no one else ever noticed about Dave, and the jock would feel his heart flutter and his face would turn bright red. The countertenor never failed to surprise him.
It took Dave another week to finish Oedipus.
Only a week.
He thought maybe his motivation came solely from Kurt, who quizzed him as he read aloud and texted him every night to make sure he had finished a canto.
Maybe it was the way Kurt's teal eyes stayed trained on his face as he read, or maybe it was the way he grinned, just slightly, whenever Dave stumbled over a word.
When he had finally read the last line, though, when everything was over, Kurt just plucked the thin text out of his hands and stood up to walk away.
"Hey!"
He turned to glance over his shoulder, teal eyes flashing in Dave's direction. "I promised to teach you Oedipus, David, not the whole Library of Alexandria."
The jock opened his mouth to protest, to say anything just to keep Kurt near him, but the countertenor readjusted the bag on his shoulder and said over him, "If you want to hang out, David, you have to ask. I refuse to let you use literature as an excuse to talk to me. If you want to be my friend, you'd better just admit it."
And promptly, before Dave could react at all, sashayed away.
The first time he saw Kurt's room, he wondered if it was possible for a room to look so much like a person.
Because Kurt's room was perfect.
It smelled like coconut, like Kurt's skin, and everything just seemed to work.
Just seemed to fit together in a way that only Kurt could achieve.
Dave took a deep breath. He hoped that if he breathed in hard enough, if he filled his lungs long enough, the Kurt's scent, that signature coconut, would stay implanted within him forever.
"Did you just sniff the air, David?"
He looked around just in time to see Kurt drag his heavy (designer) sweater over his head. The (designer) tee shirt beneath it rode up, flashing a little line of pale skin that made Dave want to grab him and rip off the expensive material.
Because, really, something as beautiful as Kurt shouldn't be covered all the time.
Kurt didn't seem to agree, though, because his shirt stayed where it was. He didn't notice Dave staring at him; he perched lightly on the edge of his white leather couch and patted the cushion next to him. "We should talk."
"About what?" He set himself on the cushions carefully and hoped that Kurt didn't notice when their knees brushed.
"About - "
There was a thump as Kurt's bedroom door was shoved open and that damn Finn Hudson, wearing only a pair of basketball shorts and carrying a huge stack of DVDs, burst into the room. "You left all these musicals on top of my X-Box again! I could barely carry them all the way up - "
His (gross, in Dave's opinion) chocolate eyes found the jock sitting idly against the white cushions.
"Karofsky." His name sounded like a cuss word on Finn's tongue. The Quarterback lifted an eyebrow and shifted the DVDs in his arms. "In my house. Sitting on Kurt's couch. With Kurt."
"Please do not flip a shit, Finn."
He looked like he wanted to yell or cry or punch something. His sickeningly handsome face was distorted with all types of different emotions; the DVDs in his arms swayed dangerously. Kurt stood and used his thin arms to sweep them from Finn's hands.
"We're...He's had a change of heart, Finn. We're kind of...We're kind of like really awkward friends."
Dave was sure he wasn't supposed to hear that last part; Kurt's voice was lowered to a soft whisper, just loud enough for the idiot Quarterback to hear him, and just loud enough to carry all the way back to Dave's awaiting ears.
Finn nodded and pressed a hand into Kurt's shoulder.
Dave managed to feel even worse about himself.
Because Finn felt like he had to protect Kurt from him.
"You can go." Kurt reassured him, his feathery fingers tapping his stepbrother on the bare expanse of his back. Dave looked down at his feet until he heard the door snap shut."Sorry. He's been extra protective ever since...Well. Anyway."
There was a silence while Dave tried to think of things that would fit into that sentence.
Ever since we became brothers.
Ever since we became friends.
Ever since I realized you were a monster.
Ever since we f-
"We should talk."
Dave shifted on the couch and watched Kurt pace across his bedroom, one hand at his mouth, smoothing over his lips as the wheels in his head turned at a pace that Dave just couldn't keep up with.
"We're friends, aren't we?"
"I guess."
"And friends help each other, right?"
"I...guess?"
Kurt's blue eyes were clear when they met Dave's again. Clear and intense and beautiful, and Dave just couldn't look away.
"Will you help me with something, David?"
"Yes."
There's a moment when they just look at each other, both of them trying to read the emotions under the surface, and then Kurt crossed the room at such a fast pace that Dave barely registered he was moving, and he's climbing into Dave's lap and suddenly, very suddenly...
Kurt Hummel is kissing him with such passion that Dave nearly passes out.
Review. :)
