WARNING: MA content. Sexual references, molestation, strong language, Non-Con, Male/Male Violence.

Please Review. So far I have gotten insane traffic on this, over 1,500 hits in a day, and 3 reviews, I am almost done writing the next chapter, but come on. A guy needs a little motivation. Throw the dog a bone will ya? *wink*

If you thought for a moment that in some obscure corner of my mind my guilt wasn't slitting the throat of my subconscious… it was… that vile thing that tore through my body and left claw marks on my soul. I traded soundless sleep for a lifetime of insomnia just to hold him in my arms. We're Romeo and Juliet. A perfect fucking love story. The only true kind left.

I, like most children was promised that in the theoretical 'one day' I would fall in love, and that when I fell victim to this affliction, I would understand. There would be some grand revelation, flashbacks, complete with a sweeping musical soundtrack.

But this love is a weeping wound. It's rank and hazy like a night of drunken sickness, and I stumble through it, in the hope that I'll find something to convince me that I am still alive. That the world hasn't shrank to nothing, and left me… out here, foundering in my regret.

It's like looking down the barrel of gun, in reverse. 'Just put it in your mouth Dave. Bring some direction to your moral compass cause this is the slope you keep slipping on.' The alternative was unthinkable.

I've never felt something so intense, so fundamentally solid, and real… real as the tiny shake in his beautiful, elegant, body, the arch of his back, the tremor of his perfect lips. Where the muscles in his neck strained and tensed at the angle I held him.

His back arched over my arms, his hips pressing up against mine, head tilted back.

Strange, when you realize why men have children. When you look into the eyes of someone and so long to be part of them, to have proof that you were there, with them, for a moment, that two sides of a whole spilt over and became a fluid force of unification. I wanted to be a part of this boy and to have that part of me inside of him…

I wanted to tell him that he made me weak. But instead I said:

"You're a fucking whore… you know that?"

Fear mimics arousal, the pupils widen and darken when you're terrified. The eyes take in the moment in an attempt to absorb more information, and Kurt… he took me in like he wanted me inside. His irises shrank to halos of blue.

Please, don't fuck me with those eyes, Kurt.

The simmering rage burned inside, and in a moment I had him, thrust around and shoved against the tile wall, his breath leaving the faintest fog against the chill of the painted glass, his left cheek crushed to its surface. His hands, shook, palming for support, slipping, pinned, helpless. I eased my body over his petite one, and fit the puzzles together like he was lost, and I'd finally found him, my face against his hair, his perfect ass against my hips.

And for that undeniable moment, I didn't know what I wanted. I was half monster and half human, a modern Jekyll and Hyde, and I couldn't remember why yesterday had been so simple. Fuck with him, hurt him, hate him… but now… my hands slipped, the elbow pressed to his back fell as I groped at his shirt, my frustration fisting his sweater, shoving him harder against the wall.

Nothing was simple anymore.

Kurt let out a tiny sound, something like a whimper. My jeans tightened, and I let out a sigh of throbbing desire.

"You're so fucking WEAK, you know that?! Nothing but a bitch-faced slut. You sucked me off last night with that slick mouth…"

I grabbed at his clothes frantically, my fingers hooking into the waist band of his jeans, tugging him back, turning him around. He slumped there against the wall, face turned away from me, knees bent, his weight slipping.

I cupped his cheek, my hand so large against him, he fit into me, perfectly, all his soft lines.

"You hungry for more, baby?" I said the sweet word as carelessly as I had spat cruel insults at him. My thumb pressed against his lower lip, watching it pale under the pressure.

We were pressed together in the light of the bathroom; it bleached everything to an almost gray. Someone had written "Fuck" on the mirror in lipstick, and "Joanne is a cunt" in permanent marker on the rim of the sink.

In the conformed ugliness of our surroundings he was dreamlike, beautiful, his face a perfect kind of adorable, not the adorable you think of when you see a puppy, or a baby chick, the kind of adorable you want to consume in one sweet lick. I would love to see him cum against his will… love to see the pleasure build up till it released in a flood of shame from his eyes.

Fever masked my vision, my lungs heaved in air, faster now. I couldn't deny how much I wanted to HAVE him.

I cupped his thighs in my calloused hands and, pulling him off the ground, grunting, I shoved him up against the sink. In one rough lift I pushed him on top, the small of his back digging painfully into the faucet, his head cracking back against the mirror, his cute little butt sliding into the basin, as I breathed into his neck. His sweet, sweet scent.

I couldn't control how much my body craved his…

I should fuck him, right here, finally, at last in this public restroom, take him, in this moment, while he teetered for something to hold on to, his delicate hands clutching at the rim of the sink, his knuckles whitening.

"You a little slut? Huh?"

I lifted my hand to slap him on the cheek hard, my stomach churning with desire as he flinched, his slightly upturned, cute, little nose crinkling in pain.

"Huh? Are you?"

Another slap struck the red into his cheeks and I bit back a groan as those cerulean eyes welled up against the sting.

It was only then that I realized that little Kurt hadn't fought me… that he'd leaned there against the mirror, shaking, and trembling turned away, his breath like a freight train in his lungs, thrown into a shocked silence.

His whole world must have been churning. Each touch must sear like fire.

I could see the tension in his brow, the quake of his lower lip as he finally moved to speak. He closed his eyes tight, as if he expected me to hit him.

"David."

Was that my name? On his lips? I could only stare at him as if it didn't mean anyone, or anything. As if I hadn't carried it for Nineteen years.

"David… it's…"

I stood there, my hands tangled in his blue sweater looking at him like a dumb dog blind-sided by a well aimed shovel.

"David… its okay…" Kurt's voice shattered, broke, quivered, and tears wilted his blue eyes, welling to fall against his softly pink cheeks with a perfection I could not explain. "Its okay… to… like boys…"

Something I had never heard before in my whole life. It's okay.

I was frozen, the kind of frozen I got the morning my mother told me my grandfather was gone. Gone like my first dog, Maximus, who clawed under the fence in our back yard and made a break for freedom. Gone like magic was the day my mom and dad told me there was no such thing as make-believe. The kind of gone that you can never get back.

Kurt sniffled and hyperventilated on the in-breath, struggling like a child struggles through hiccups. He fought to look me in the face as his hands slowly rose to fit over my fists, delicate, feminine, small, soothing.

I drew back, letting his sweater slip away from my grasp, but he caught my wrists, and left me powerless… limp… weak, just like him.

I wanted to pull away and strike him, to leave a dark bruise against his face to remind him that he was nothing but a faggot.

He was playing some game with me, some homo mind fuck.

He pulled me towards him, and set my large hands to his waist, right there, where the hem of his shirt rode up and teased a sliver of pale skin, hot to the touch of my fingertips. There was nothing but terror in his face, but the words that left his mouth were… soft, hypnotic, like he'd practiced them till they were polished and irrefutable.

"See… shh…" his hush was tremulous, almost a beg. "Shhh… it's okay, see, it's okay…"

Like a rider to a bucking, rearing, stallion he calmed me with his touch, like he knew what bravery was.

My thumbs skimmed his skin, tracing his hip bones, slender works of art. My ragged breath deepened. In and out, in and out. I squeezed hard, found perchance in the softness of him, daring to lean forward to breath him in, but like the addict I was, it wasn't enough… wasn't enough till I pressed my face to his sweater and inhaled his sweet scent. It was no longer dragon berry, but a mist of nameless spice that reminded me of cranberry pie.

I felt him shiver, holding back a strangled sob, his body taught with tension. I could feel how scared he was of me, like a newborn lamb.

Ease me, Kurt Hummel… let me feel you try to tame the aggression from my soul…touch me.

His body shifted, his hand coming up to brush my hair, like he were about to pet a wolf, barely touching, almost, and then pulling away, almost… and then pulling away again, until, at last, his fingers sank into my dark hair… and he held my head to his chest, like he loved me.

He had to. In some fucked up perverted way we were alone together, in a world that couldn't understand us. But he didn't, and he wouldn't. Because love to him was candies on Valentine's Day, and roses at dinner, and sweet kisses in the moonlight, and I could never be that.

I nearly crumbled against him, pushing him back into the mirror again. He grunted as the faucet dug into his spine. And my touch slithered underneath his shirt to trace his belly, perfect. Smooth.

He squirmed a little uncomfortably. "David…" He had enough courage to try to prize me from his body. "School's let out; we don't want anyone to catch us like this. We could… just… maybe…" His legs shifted as if he planned on trying to get off the sink, on which I had him perched, his cute ass perfectly fitted to it.

He really thought… he was going to get away…

"Maybe we could… we could see each other sometime, would you like that? Would you like to get to know me? Huh, maybe you want to… maybe… go out sometime, together…" He rambled like the dumb bitch that he was.

He was just trying to worm his way out of this bathroom with his words. With his lies. He didn't LIKE me, I didn't LIKE him, we would never go on some gay date and hold hands like two faggots. This, whatever this was… could never be that. There was no future for us, no forever.

"We could try… Dave, you don't have to be so angry…"

What a cunt.

I pushed him back harder till I heard him yelp at that cold metal digging into his skin till it bit through and know he bled.

"David…" his hand slipped from my hair and he tried to stable himself, his legs splaying wider as he twisted his body to relieve the pain. "Ouch! Not so rough… not so rough."

For someone who was scared of me, he sure thought quick on his feet. I let him get away with thinking he had me, I let him have the power for a precious few seconds and he was already trying to control me… as if.

I groaned and pushed my face into his chest against, then his neck…. Ohhh that was more like it. I bet he'd look delicious spread out on this sink, opening his body up for me. His thighs milky white and… ughnn

"I want to fuck…" my words came out like a drunk slur, hot breath against his skin.

Kurt's response was a more feverish twist of his hips, which I grabbed and turned toward me roughly. That a boy… his wrist hit the mirror as he pulled it out of my hold when I moved to grab for it. He started to push at my chest… I could feel the sudden realization sending him into a spiral of panic.

"I want to fuck you, baby, I need it."

I leaned back, shoving him, one arm against his throat, hearing the gasping swallow as I pushed his head against the glass, his back arched painfully. He breathed rapidly, his cheeks flooding with color.

I slid my free hand down between us, and grabbed at his crotch, cupping, my eyes dark with lust as I gave a nice hard squeeze.

He gasped… then-

His hand shot up and cracked me across the cheek.

SLAP!

… and a ringing silence followed.