Summary: Prison orange is so not Kurt's color, but unfortunately that is the least of his troubles when he finds himself in a place where dropping the soap is more than just an annoyance in the shower. With no street skills and sparkly pink toenails, things aren't looking up for Kurt-especially when he's assigned to the cell of the terrifying bully who landed him in this place in the first place. But there are a lot of things for Kurt to learn about Dave Karofsky (including the fact that he knows damn well how to make you le'go his Eggo) and a lot of things for Dave to learn about Kurt Hummel (including the fact that he knows damn well how to help heal a heart.)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongeth to the creators of Glee and such. Ryan Murphy, don't bother to sue me, I ain't got nothin' to take! (And I don't wanna go to jail, either!)
Author's Note: And here is the second bit I'd written today, though I am gonna be exhausted as hell at work tomorrow, LOL! Just a warning: some serious nastiness in here. Get ready to tear up for Dave, 'cause the boy just can't catch a break. But I promise-there WILL be a happy ending. I only write happily ever afters! ;)
NOTE ON CONTENT/RATING: In this story there will be mentions of physical and sexual abuse, attempted non-con in the future, language, boy/boy sex in the future. This version may have some edits for lower rating . I will make a note on any edited chapters. If you are of legal age in your area of residence and would like to read the unedited version that includes ALL smut, you can find this version at:
sparklybat [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] cellmate
(Replace the [info in brackets] with the correct symbol.)
o o o
Chapter 14: Just a Dream
Dave took a steadying breath as Burt pulled the car into the garage. He could handle this. He'd be fine. Kurt wouldn't let his dad hurt him. Right? Well… not too bad, at least. It was obvious that Fancy had his old man totally whipped and, for God knew what reason, the princess had suddenly decided that he was firmly on Dave's side, no holds barred.
Dave wasn't sure what had stirred the other boy's sudden maternal instincts. When he had humiliated him in public, making him kiss his boots? When he had held him down on the bunk and called him a slut? When Kurt had walked into the room only to be greeted by the lovely sight of cum dripping down Dave's face, some nameless man's dick slapping against his cheek? It was nuts.
But nuts or not, Kurt had officially turned into a breast, all coos and comfort. Quite the change from when he had first walked in on Dave's little tryst. He had hardly recognized the other boy as he rushed in with fury in his eyes, his arms flailing about in the air as he launched himself onto the guard, screeching like a banshee, his manicured nails clawing at the man's shirt. The fucker hadn't known what to do. Apparently the idea that you don't hit girls was well ingrained in his redneck skull, because he hadn't even tried to fight the princess off.
The next thing Dave knew he was wrapped up in an old jacket that Kurt had *insisted* they give him, despite the fact that his shaking hands were more from the shock of seeing Kurt swoop in like a transvestite superhero than the cold, as he pretended to sip hot chocolate so that Fancy would stop whining about how it would make him feel better. 'Pretending' being the key word since Dave was fairly certain that anything going in his stomach at that moment was destined to come right back up.
They'd stood around for two hours like that, with Kurt all up in his space, cooing and petting his hair like he was some sort of dog. Normally Dave would have pulled away in disgust and scheduled Kurt a little trip to the porcelain god for treating him like a sad puppy, but after what Kurt had seen, well, he'd take whatever hint of affection he could get. He had better enjoy it while he could because once Ladyface got a moment to really think about what he'd seen, he'd be damned lucky if the boy would let him be his footstool, much less his pet. And he sure as hell wouldn't be interested in being anything else.
Hey, it was better than nothing, and nothing is all he'd ever had, so he might as well just go with it. He could probably manage the tongue bit. Now he'd just have to figure out how to wag his tail.
"Kurt, why don't you leave us alone for a few?" Burt said, turning to his son. Dave flinched at the words. He really, really didn't want to be alone with Burt Hummel. The man was no pansy, except maybe where his son was concerned. In fact, he sort of reminded Dave of his Pops, except his Pops didn't believe in taking it easy on a person just because they were the fruit of your loins. But they both had that kind of rough charm about them, and Dave would be willing to bet that Burt wasn't afraid to get rough if it was needed.
Going home with strange men never turned out well. Not that Burt was really a strange man in the truest sense of the word, but he definitely had more than a few reasons to dislike Dave. And a few was all he needed. Kurt no doubt had the best of intentions, but he couldn't be there every second and there was no promise that his old man would play by the rules once he was out of sight. Hence the giant lump in Dave's stomach. But hey, it might be better to just get it over with, anyway. He'd have to face the music sometime.
Kurt studied Dave for a moment, a questioning look on his face, then seem to come to some decision, giving a sharp nod. Dave swallowed nervously as the other boy opened the car door and climbed out, flicking his wrist in a really gayish way as he smiled down at them.
"Okay. I'll go make us something to eat, if Carole hasn't already put something together." Another motherly smile. "You look hungry, David."
Hungry. Right. Yeah, he was hungry. He was *always* hungry. But the look on Burt's face just kind of made him wanna puke, so…
"Thanks, Kurt," he mumbled, doing his best to avoid his gaze, focusing hard on his scratched knuckles as the smaller boy wiggled his fingers in farewell and headed into the house.
There was a shuffling sound as Burt twisted around in his seat, eyes serious as he studied Dave, his mouth in a tight line.
Dave hid a shiver, pulling the dirty coat more tightly around him like it was some kind of armor. It smelled pretty foul, but Dave actually liked that—smelling like crap did a lot to keep people away. And that was where Dave tended to like people: Far, far away from his body.
"David, I just want to make it very, very clear that *any* kind of misbehavior will *not* be tolerated in my home. This is a zero tolerance household and I expect you to be respectful and polite while under my roof."
Dave's heart sped up. He hated this part, where they laid out the rules. They always seemed so obvious, as clear as fucking crystal, but in the end, he always fucked it up. It was pretty much impossible not to. There were *always* hidden layers.
Burt expected him to be respectful and polite. But what, *precisely*, did that mean? Should he solemnly swear that he would and risk being called a cheeky bastard? Should he just nod and hope Burt didn't take his silence for a lie? There was no right answer to these questions, because he wasn't really expected to live up to his word. The judgements had already been made. So Dave just stayed silent, staring down at his hands.
"David? Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," Dave said miserably, squeezing his eyes shut as Burt reached out and used his hand to tilt his face upwatd. "I understand, Mr. Hummel." God, his muscles were so tense they hurt. He was doing his best to hide behind his eyelids, holding his breath as he waited, on edge at the thought of what that hand on his chin might do next. He had learned at a young age that meeting their eyes never did you any good. It mostly just got you punched in the face for being a disrespectful brat.
"Dave? Look at me."
The boy forced his lungs to inhale, taking in a steadying breath as he inched his eyes open just enough to see the slimmest sliver of Burt in front of him. "Yes, sir."
Burt's brow furrowed and he released Dave's face abruptly, looking a little perturbed. "All right," he said slowly, and Dave squeezed his eyes shut again. "Well. As long as you understand."
"I do," Dave muttered, his fingertips digging into his own arms as he stared into the darkness of his eyelids, wondering what Burt's face looked like but not enough to actually open his eyes and see. "I won't give you any reason to be mad, sir. I promise, sir."
Burt made a sound of acknowledgement, then there was a moment of rustling and the engine shut off. Dave shivered as a door opened and the cold of the garage began to seep into the car.
"Well, come on in, then. It's freezing out here."
o o o
Mrs. Hudson looked really good. Her short visit to the juvie center aside, it had been a long time since he had seen her, and she looked happier than he remembered. He hoped she was happy. That year of Pop Tart lunches was one of his fondest memories, and he and Finn hadn't even really been friends. Such a nice lady. He was really sorry he had hurt her son.
Carole looked up from the pot she was stirring, the smile slipping from her face as her eyes settled on Dave.
He dropped his gaze, blushing. She'd given him food and he'd strangled her son. He shouldn't be here. This wasn't right.
There was a heavy moment of silence then her voice rang out, and Dave looked up, greeted by a pleasant, if somewhat forced, smile. "Dave Karofsky… it has been a long time, young man. Kurt says that you're staying the night?" Her voice was careful, but friendly, and a wave of guilt rushed through Dave. She was such a nice lady. Just looking at her kind of made him hope that Burt's fists found his face before the night was out. He didn't deserve any less.
"Hi, Mrs. Hudson," he said. His voice came out as a whisper, but at least then he could be sure that he wasn't being too loud. Yet another survival skill that he had picked up in foster care—noisy prey attracts the predators. A quiet boy could be ignored. Well, as much as you could ignore a kid the size of a gladiator standing in your kitchen. "You look really nice."
And she did, though she was just dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. But something about her smile just lit up her face, making her more beautiful than any of those doped-up looking models could hope to be.
"Um, thank you, Dave." She gestured toward the kitchen table where Kurt was mixing some sort of dark green, limp looking salad. "Would you like to sit down and have something to drink? Dinner should be finished in just a few minutes."
Dave lowered his head, nodding slowly, then carefully sat down in one of the chairs while Burt opened the fridge, ducking down to pull out a beer, popping the top off and taking a sip. Dave's eyes widened for a moment then he looked quickly away, staring hard down at the table. Just what he needed—booze, added to an already terrifying equation.
"What would you like, Dave? We have Coke, every kind of Diet drink you can imagine, Dr. Pepper, and some kind of fizzy water that sort of tastes like grapefruit." Burt raised an eyebrow in his direction and Dave nervously ran his tongue across his lips. His throat hurt like hell and something to drink would be nice, but somehow he didn't think that depleting Burt's soda stash would put him on the man's good side and, God help him, he definitely wanted to be on the man's good side if he was going to sleep under his roof. What would the polite, respectful thing to drink be?
"Um, water is good. I mean, regular water from the faucet, not the fizzy water stuff."
Burt shut the refrigerator with a shrug and opened a cabinet, pulling out a glass and moving around Carole to fill it up at the sink. He set it down in front of Dave and the boy did his best to simultaneously smile in thanks and avoid the man's eyes, carefully lifting the glass to his lips and sipping at the cool water.
God, that tasted glorious, washing away the last taints of sex that lingered on his tongue. His throat still hurt like a bitch, but at least it wasn't so dry anymore. Without thinking, Dave chugged the glass, setting it aside with a little sigh then blushing a little when he saw the look on Burt's face. He dropped his eyes, embarrassed. It probably wasn't considered polite company to chug your water like a keg. "Sorry," he muttered, reaching out to play with the edge of the glass, running his finger along the rim.
Burt just shrugged again and raised his beer in a little salute before taking a sip, then set it down on the table. Dave pointedly didn't look at it. Maybe if he pretended it wasn't there, Burt would forget about it.
"So, what's for dinner, beautiful?" the man asked, tugging at the back of her hair in a playful way.
Carole laughed and spun around, planting a little kiss on his lips. "Spaghetti and meat sauce. I would have planned something a little more extravagant if I'd know we were having guests, but…" She smiled at Dave, almost apologetically, and he took a leap of faith that Burt wouldn't beat him up for being too nice to his woman, daring to smile back at her.
"Spaghetti sounds awesome, Mrs. Hudson."
A loud banging noise came from what Dave guessed was the living room and Finn's voice rose. "Kurt! You're back! Hey, mom is dinner ready—whoa!" Finn skidded to an abrupt halt just inside the kitchen door, his eyes wide as he took in Dave hunched over the table. "Oh," he said as he looked from Dave back to Kurt and then to Dave again. "This is… interesting. Someone going to fill me in on why Karofsky is in our kitchen?" He reached up to touch the bruises that still mottled his neck and Dave dropped his eyes, wishing that the floor would just open up and swallow him.
"Dave is staying for dinner, Finn," Carole said briskly, smiling placatingly at her son as she took the pan of noodles off the burner.
"And for the night," Burt added, his voice a little gruff, probably from the effort of having to force down the urge to beat the living shit out of Dave. Not that he blamed the man. Dave really wasn't looking forward to what might happen if Burt got a chance at him alone. Or maybe 'when' was a better word. This *was* the man's house and he was definitely the type who worked with his hands. Dave had a feeling that he was going to find himself cornered in a wood shop or an attic or maybe back out in the garage once Kurt and Carole had gone to bed. He wondered idly if he'd bring Finn along. The boy was awfully good hearted, but Dave had done him some serious damage and he might want to get a few swings in. Maybe. He really didn't know. Hudson was kind of an anomaly in their group of jock jerks—popular because he was a nice guy, not because he was a badass like Puckerman or a wit so sharp it would cut you like Azimio.
Finn raised an eyebrow, fingers still resting at his throat. "Oh. That's… oh."
Dave licked his lips again, nervous. "I'm sorry. About your throat." His words were still just a whisper, and he forced his voice up a few notches. If there was ever a time to be noisy, it was when apologizing to the Real Kids. "I shouldn't have attacked you. I… I messed up."
Finn frowned, glancing over at Kurt. The slender boy raised an eyebrow, gesturing dramatically, and Finn forced a grin. "Um, okay. I guess it's… okay. I mean, I'm okay. So. Yeah."
There was a short moment of tension as they all just kind of stood there and stared at each other, then Carole spoke up, the friendly woman ever willing to put on a smile. "Dinner is served, boys!" She picked up the pot, dumping the pasta noodles into a dish. "Finn? Why don't you set the dining room table while Kurt helps me get this grub ready to go?"
o o o
Dave stared down at the serving dish, half wishing it would just disappear. Who would have thought that taking a scoop of spaghetti could be such a nerve-wracking experience? It was just so hard, the first night at a new place, when you didn't know what the rules were and you couldn't ask because the whole point of unwritten rules was that you didn't talk about them. Carole and Burt didn't seem to care too much about money, but you never knew. It was always best to try to use as possible, at least until you knew whether or not taking an extra roll would be okay'd with a smile or earn you a miserable night shoveling snow in nothing but ripped sweats and socks.
He snuck a glance over at Burt, hoping the man's expression might give him a hint as to how much he should dish out, then ducked his head once more as the man raised eyebrow in his direction.
"You okay there, Dave?" The question was calm, but curious, and the fact that Burt topped it off with another sip of beer made Dave a little nervous. The man hadn't even gotten through one whole bottle yet, but Dave knew well that a slow start didn't necessarily mean a sober night.
Dave chewed nervously on the bottom of his lip as he carefully picked up the spoon. He hated figuring out the limits when it came to new homes, and Burt in particular was really tough to read. Half the time his foster dads would just take the dishes and spoon out however little they wanted him to eat. Despite the small dinner it made for, it put Dave's nerves at ease. But having to decide for himself… There were just so many variables. He didn't want to get too little and make them think he wasn't grateful for the food but he didn't want to take too much and make Burt think he was being a pig. So many decisions.
Under the stress of Burt's continued stare, Dave gave in a carefully scooped a small spoonful of pasta onto his plate. Better too little than too much. Getting too little would just offend them. Getting too much could really, truly piss them off. He knew *that* from experience.
Dave risked another look over at Burt, letting out a small sigh of relief when the man didn't appear to be bothered by what he had taken, then passed the bowl on to Kurt. One bowl down, three more to go. The sauce pan didn't seem quite so daunting now that he had managed the spaghetti dish, and he carefully drizzled the tiniest bit across his spaghetti, ignoring the strange look Kurt was shooting him.
"Dude, is that all you're gonna eat?" Finn said around a mouthful of pasta, a greasy breadstick clutched in one hand. He was certainly living up to the stereotype of a teenaged boy and his stomach, having piled his plate so full of spaghetti that he'd had to use a second dish for his many breadsticks and salad. But then he was a Real Kid, and everyone knew that Real Kids ate better. There was nothing wrong with that.
"I'm not very hungry," Dave lied. Actually, he was starving and the scent of the pasta was driving him absolutely crazy. But then he was *always* starving. There was just something about having gone hungry… you never really forgot what it felt like, and anytime your stomach seemed even the slightest bit empty it just sent you into a sort of panic mode. But there was no point in going nuts with the food, even if it turned out Burt really *didn't* care how much he ate. Not eating made your stomach small and if he ate half of what Finn was shoveling down he'd probably vomit it right back up. Talk about the ultimate waste of good food. Better to try and sneak some food into his napkin and put it in his pockets for later. As Burt turned to talk to Carole, Dave seized the chance to do just that, plucking a breadstick out of the basket and shoving it down into his lap to hide away for later.
It never hurt to have a stash.
"So, Dave," Burt said, voice forcibly friendly. Dave looked up for an instant then lowered his eyes again, trying to seem as respectful as possible. He didn't know what Burt Hummel had planned for him, but he would do his best to stay on his good side. The man had the power, after all. All the power. Especially once he'd finished that beer and moved on to the next dozen.
"I am afraid that we don't actually have a guest room."
Oh. Well, that was no big deal. Dave could and would sleep just about anywhere. "I can sleep in the garage if you want me to, sir," he replied absently as he slowly twisted a particularly delicious looking piece of spaghetti onto his fork.
Kurt chose that moment to choke on his bread and Dave winced as Finn pounded on his step-brother's back.
"I think it's a little cold in the garage," Burt said once his son was breathing normally again, a hint of amusement in his voice."
"S'okay," Dave replied with a shrug. "Sir. One of the upsides to being fat. I don't get cold easy. Sir." The garage wouldn't be too bad. It was out of the wind and snow and he could always put his socks on his hands and pull his shirt over his head. He'd slept in a garage for almost six months when he was younger, using a tarp to keep the cold away in the winter. The family he'd been placed with had actually had a guest room, but they saved it for guests, so he had gotten to sleep with the cars. Considering that he'd already been in juvie twice, it had actually been a pretty good placement. He hadn't had to put out, anyway. Sleeping on concrete was the easy life compared to what his Pops had in store for him.
"I wouldn't say you're fat, Dave," Carole said, a strange look on her face that Dave couldn't quite read. "Maybe… big boned. But I really don't think the garage is an appropriate place for you to sleep."
Ah. They probably thought he'd try to steal their car. Dave shrugged again. "I'll sleep wherever you want me to." Oops. "Ma'am. I meant ma'am." Couldn't forget the polite and respectful thing. "I just thought maybe you wouldn't want me in the house. With your stuff. Not that I would steal nothin'," he added quickly, shooting a nervous glance at Burt as the man opened his mouth then shut it again, frowning. Burt agreed, Dave was pretty sure of that. He probably wouldn't say so in front of Fancy, but Dave knew how these things went. It was cool.
"I was thinking more along the lines of the couch in the living room," Burt said as he took another sip of beer, forcing a smile.
Dave just shoveled the last of his spaghetti into his mouth, not bothering to argue. Burt would put him where Burt wanted him once the rest of the family had gone to sleep.
Thankfully the conversation moved on and Dave sat silently while the family chatted for awhile about some TV show where people, like, shepherded whale killers or something like that. He wasn't really paying much attention, distracted by the mess of pasta left on Kurt's plate. He wondered idly if Fancy was on a diet and, if so, whether he could have the rest of his dinner.
"And that's why I would NEVER buy perfume from the Japanese." Kurt announced with a shudder. "Those poor, innocent whales!"
Carole nodded her agreement as she stood, smiling down at the table. "So, who's up for dessert?"
Dave rose suddenly, reaching out to take her plate, smiling in what he hoped was a respectful and polite way. "I can wash the dishes, Mrs. Hudson," he said softly.
The woman's already bright smile somehow managed to grow ever brighter as she nodded. "Why, thank you, Dave. Why don't you clear off those plates and I'll go get the pies out of the oven?"
Dave nodded, giving Kurt a tight lipped smile when the boy looked at him oddly, his head cocked to the side.
"I never took you for the domestic type," he said dryly as Dave lifted up the boy's half filled plate, balancing it carefully on his arm.
Dave shrugged, ducking his head a little. "I'm a foster kid. That's kind of what we're there for. I mean, it's just kind of expected, you know, if you're gonna live for free in someone's house."
Kurt frowned at that for some reason and Dave turned his back on him, trailing behind Carole into the kitchen. He waited for a moment, watching until her back was turned, then tugged a paper towel off the roll, carefully spooning the leftovers from the plates into it, a shiver of pleasure running through him as he imagined what it would taste like later. He didn't mind it cold—it still tasted good to him—and pasta was really filling. He wouldn't have to go to sleep hungry that night.
"Dave, what are you doing?" Dave jumped at the sound of Carole's voice beside him. He had been so focused on imagining the rich taste of sauce on his tongue that he hadn't noticed her stepping up next to him, peeking around his broad shoulders at the makeshift To-Go baggy he had created.
Dave felt the tips of his ears redden as his stomach chose that inopportune moment to growl. Dammit! That was definitely not polite or respectful. He really hoped she didn't tell Burt. She probably wouldn't. Would she? She was really nice. Maybe if he just explained…
"I was just, ah, saving this. For later. For… me," he finished lamely, avoiding Carole's concerned gaze. "I… I'm sorry. Really sorry," he said quickly, stumbling over the words. "I should have asked you if you wanted to keep it. I assumed you were gonna wanna throw it out. I shouldn't have kept it either way. I guess I ruined it if you wanted to keep it. I… I'll throw it away." He picked up the little pouch of pasta he had made, doing his best to ignore the disappointment growing in his chest. It didn't matter. He probably wouldn't even be here long enough to worry about food. He could hit the McD's dumpster in the morning.
"Wait," Carole said, catching his arm. "No, that's perfectly fine, Dave! But let me get you a container to put it in so that the sauce won't get all over you." She reached out and opened up a cabinet, pulling out an empty butter container. "Are you still hungry, Dave? You really didn't eat much tonight, and as a mother of a teenaged boy myself, I know just how much you guys can scarf down!"
Dave shook his head, a little too vigorously. "No! I'm fine. Fine. You don't gotta worry about me." He flashed her his very best smile, hoping that she didn't notice the broken tooth. "I can take care of myself, Mrs. Hudson, ma'am."
Carole frowned. "Would you please just call me Carole, Dave? You're making me feel like an old lady!" She reached out and squeezed his arm. "And you shouldn't *have* to take care of yourself. You're sixteen years old—you still have a couple of years to go before you have to start paying taxes, young man!"
"Everything okay in here, Carole?"
Dave started slightly at the sound of Burt's voice, dropping his eyes, his shoulders drooping as the man entered the kitchen, looking suspiciously between them.
Carole smiled brightly, patting Dave's shoulder. "It's fine, Burt. I was just wrapping up these leftovers for Dave to munch on later." The woman put her hands on her hips, making a comical face in Dave's direction. "Hon, why don't you get some dishes out of that cabinet behind you and we'll go have some pie! Cherry or pecan, big boned boy's choice!" She nudged Dave with her elbow, chuckling and he floundered for a moment, mouth opening and closing.
"I, um, I don't… I… I don't really know," he finished lamely. "I've never had cherry pie. Or pecan. I… I had apple pie once. It was really good. I kinda got in trouble, though, 'cause I was at a shelter at Thanksgiving and I, uh, ate the whole thing." He laughed, blushing a little. "I can be kind of a pig. But I guess you know that. I'm pretty sure I ate every Pop Tart in your house when I came over to see Finn."
"There's nothing wrong with having an appetite, Dave," Carole said carelessly. "You're a growing boy."
"I don't wanna be any trouble. I mean, you don't owe me nothin'. Anything. I kinda owe you…"
Carole reached out, wrapping an arm around Dave's shoulder, and he ducked his head, hoping silently that this wasn't pissing Burt off. He wondered idly if the man had come in the kitchen to get another beer.
"Dave, where I come from, kindness doesn't come at a price and you don't owe me anything." She patted his arm again, something that was starting to almost feel like a familiar gesture, and smiled. "Now come on, grab those dishes, and let's get our dessert on! You can try the cherry and the pecan and we'll see which you like best, okay? You too, sweetie," she said, laying a finger against Burt's chest as she passed by him on her way to the dining room. "Well? Come on, boys!"
Burt ducked his head in acknowledgement. "We'll be right there, love," he said with a smile.
"She's really nice," Dave said quietly once the woman was out of the kitchen, sneaking a quick look at Burt before dropping his eyes back down to the plates in his hands.
"I'm a lucky man," Burt said simply, running a palm across his balding scalp. He frowned suddenly, eyes crinkling up a little at the edges. "Hey, are you just happy to see me or is that a breadstick in your pocket, boy?"
Dave's eyes widened as he dropped a hand down to his pants, fingers working to shove down the top of the roll sticking out of his pocket. "I… I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, sir."
Burt waved the words away, an odd look on his face. "You don't have to hide food, Dave. I don't starve my kids." He smiled tiredly at the boy and Dave looked away. No, a man like Burt wouldn't starve him. But there was a difference between starving someone and moderating what they ate so they didn't eat you out of house and home.
"So… how 'bout that pie?"
o o o
Dave shivered, running his hands along his bare legs. There were goosebumps on his skin from the cold but he didn't dare try and cover himself. Dressed in nothing but a pair of Finn's old boxers, he sat on the edge of the couch trying his best to remember how to breathe.
A warm body was pressed up against him, a hand making its way down his naked back. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt warm breath against his neck, the strong scent of beer wafting into his nostrils.
"David." The word was a promise, and not the good kind. It was a promise of pain and fear and helplessness to come and there was no way to escape. He would be freer locked in a cell than trapped in this societal prison.
Hands shaking he reached down to tug down his borrowed boxers, the look in the man's eyes instruction enough. A rough hand grasped his cock and Dave bit his lip as the man tugged at the limp member for a moment then moved downward to his balls, roughly pinching at them until he elicited a small cry.
"How do you want it, slut?" the man asked, his bald head shining in the dim moonlight seeping in from the window. "On your back like a girl-bitch or on all fours like a dog-bitch?"
Dave just shook his head, knowing better than to answer. They didn't care what he wanted. If they cared what he wanted then he wouldn't be in this position to begin with.
There was a sharp slap to the side of his face and he cringed. "Well?"
"Wh-whatever you want, sir," he whispered. "Anything you want."
The man nodded sharply. "That's a good boy." He grabbed Dave by the shoulder and pushed, pressing his back up against one of the couch arms, and then reached underneath the boy to draw his legs up and apart, leaving his ass exposed.
Dave obligingly hooked one of his legs over the back of the couch and reached a hand around to hold the other up, spreading them as wide as he could. Maybe it made him a slut, but it was worth it to go along with it. Your asshole was a muscle and, like, any other muscle, when you got tense, it tightened, which did not make for a comfortable fucking. The trick was to relax as much as you could and just let what was going to happen, happen. The more you struggled, the tighter your ass was and the more it hurt. People had some crazy idea that an asshole was like a pussy, that it would loosen up with use, but that wasn't what asses were made for and it didn't matter if you you'd been buttfucked a thousand times—you didn't get any looser. The only thing that could loosen you up was working the muscle before you started, stretching it gently and then shoving in before it had time to tighten up again.
A normal person would probably rather bleed than take it like a whore, but Dave had enough experience in the area to know that it wasn't worth it. You felt just as horrible on the inside either way—might as well quell the pain on the outside a little.
Dave glanced down, trying to get a look at the man's cock. Was he big? His Pops was big. But was this his Pops? He couldn't remember… Why couldn't he remember? It had to be his Pops. The bald head, the rough look, the masculine scent. He looked tougher than the tricks Dave tended to take. This was the kind of guy who knew how to do a hard day's work.
"Here we go." The words were hoarse and rough and Dave let out a little whimper as he felt a finger shove into him. There was a little wetness, probably just spit, though. Maybe if he was lucky he'd get some lube before the man put it all in. It wasn't always very comfortable for the fucker to shove into the fuckee without something to help it slip in easy. Friction and all that. He wondered idly if he would rate a condom or if the man would be barebacking him. His Pops barebacked him all the time, God save his soul. But for some reason this just didn't seem like his Pops.
Dave pulled his leg further upward, hoping that he might get the chance to hook it over the man's shoulder after he pushed his dick in. His muscles were already aching from holding it upright and it would probably be quite awhile before they were finished. Of course that pain would be nothing compared to the burning sensation when the man's cock entered him.
He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes rolling back in his head to stare at nothing as he felt the tip of something much larger than a thumb or a finger pressing into him. He gritted his teeth, careful not to nip his tongue, and let out a grunt of pain, fingernails digging into his own palms.
The man began to fuck him rhythmically, shoving in and out at a good speed as he let out little sounds of pleasure.
"God, you're tight."
They always said that. What did they expect? The Grand Canyon? Of course he was tight. It was an asshole. It was made for shitting. It would be kind of uncomfortable if shit just slipped out while you were walking to school.
Dave turned his face as sweat dripped off the other man, trailing into his eyes. They were pretty close in height, close enough that he could look the man right in the eyes if he wanted. Not that he wanted that. He wasn't sure who was on top of him, and he really didn't want to know.
"I guess you are good for something," the man muttered, his bedside talk oh-so-charming. "Maybe my boy *should* stick you in a tent in the backyard."
Dave blinked. Stick him in a tent? What did that mean? The word teased his mind and he frowned deeply, trying to remember just what was so important about that word.
"But you just remember—that's all you're good for. Don't you be trying to mess with my boy's head. He's better than you. You're not worth the ground he walks on, you sweaty, chubby bully."
Sweaty… chubby… bully…
Dave let out a yelp as the man's head raised up and Burt Hummel leered down at him, his rough hands making their way up his chest to wrap slowly around Dave's neck, the pounding thrusts of his dick into Dave's hole never pausing.
No! No, no, no!
Dave tried to sit up, failing miserably as Burt dropped all his weight down on him, shoving the leg he was holding up so far back that it was painful. Then the fingers closed around his throat and his breath was totally gone.
"Dad? What's going on?"
Dave turned his head to the side, trying desperately to call out as his eyes latched onto Kurt's slender form, but he was unable to spare the air, Burt's hands contining to choke him.
A sickened look came over Fancy's beautiful face and Dave let out a silent sob, tears flowing freely down his cheeks.
"Dave?" Burt was suddenly standing over him instead of inside him, the man still thrusting into Dave having somehow miraculously transformed into his Pops. Burt's voice was worried as he reached down to touch Dave's face and Dave let out a scream with breath he didn't know he had.
"Dave? Dave, wake up!"
Dave let out a cry and flung out a hand, connecting with the man's face. Burt stumbled back a few steps, grasping at his cheek, his eyes wide, and Dave sat up straight on the couch, arms wrapped around his sweating, shaking chest.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Burt blinked then shook his head as if to clear it, reaching out. Dave flinched, anticipating the blow, then slowly looked up when it didn't come. Oh, God… had he just hit Burt? He had. Oh God, was he going to die? He'd hit his father once when he was… having his way… with him. He hadn't been able to get out of bed for a week.
"Dave," the man said softly, "wake up. You're okay. It was just a dream."
A dream? It was… just a dream?
Dave took in a sharp breath. Of course it was just a dream. Was he out of his mind? Burt Hummel wouldn't do that… Would he? Dave swallowed hard, licking his lips nervously as he glanced around, trying to calm his panicking brain, assessing the situation.
He was in the Hummels' living room, on the couch, that much he knew. He wasn't wearing much, just a pair of Finn's old boxers with the Superman logo all over them, but that was because they had let him take a shower and Carole had put his clothes in the wash. Not because Burt wanted him undressed. Right?
Dave glanced over at the afghan he'd knocked onto the floor with his flailing, wanting to pick it up and use it to cover himself but not wanting to offend Burt. Being dressed when someone was, well, *not*, was a psychological advantage—any real man knew that—and Burt would probably want to use it to his advantage, especially after Dave had smacked him in the face. It wasn't like it really mattered. Psychological advantage or no psychological advantage, Burt Hummel was in control. Dave was just along for the ride.
He dropped his gaze as the other man slowly ran his eyes up and down his body, doing his best to look as submissive as possible, slumping his shoulders and wrapping his big arms around his chest again in an attempt to look smaller. It probably didn't have much of an effect considering that he was fucking enormous, but anything he could do to look less like a threat was well worth the effort.
"You look like you hurt, Dave."
Dave jerked, looking up sharply. He looked like he hurt? What did that mean? Was it a threat? An observation? A promise? Why would he say something like that? Was he going to make him hurt? What did he want? Dave forcibly choked down his panic and wet his lips nervously, meeting Burt's eyes for an instant before rolling them submissively off to the side. "I… I'm okay."
Dave relaxed minutely when, instead of sitting down next to him on the couch, Burt grabbed a recliner and tugged it over a few feet until he was sitting pretty much knee to knee with Dave. He'd rather their knees be touching than their thighs.
"Those are some pretty nasty bruises," Burt said quietly as he reached out, halting his hand when Dave flinched, his fingers hovering in the air above one of the deep purple bruises marring the boy's face.
Dave's heart sped up and he wished desperately for whatever this was to be over with.
"I bruise easy," he lied, raising his eyes long enough to give Burt's face a thorough searching, praying to whoever might listen that there would be no hint of a mark where Dave's hand had met his cheek.
Burt nodded silently, not really in an accepting way, more like he just needed something to do.
Dave took another slow breath, his brain going a million miles an hour as he tried desperately to figure out what this man wanted from him. Sex? He shivered at the thought, the memory of that dream much too vivid in his mind for comfort, but he doubted that was what Burt was out here for. Some married men liked something a little rougher on the side, the kind of stuff that a wife would never let them do, but Burt just didn't seem like the type. The way he looked at Carole was too… something. It just didn't remind Dave of a cheater.
Did he want money? Surely not. He knew that Dave had none to give, and the state wasn't lending the Hummels a penny to keep his fat ass under their roof. Somehow he didn't think that it would even occur to a man like Burt that he could put Dave on the street to pick up small bills on his knees in dark alleys and dirty bathrooms.
A punching bag? Dave was good at that, for sure, and Burt had every excuse to want to beat him senseless. But he didn't have to wait until they were alone in the dark for that. Burt could beat Dave anywhere and people would just cheer him on. Hell, he deserved it. It would be a nice, hot dish of karma.
Burt let out a small sigh, running a thumb across the cheek Dave had struck.
Dave winced. "I'm sorry I hit you Mr. Hummel, sir," he whispered, clasping his hands together in his lap. God, he felt naked. And alone. And cold. "I really didn't mean to do it, sir. I… wasn't awake. I thought you were… that you were…" His tongue flicked out nervously. "I thought you were… someone else." Wow, that sounded lame.
"It's okay, Dave," Burt said. "I can't pretend that I'm not a little angry with you, but I am *not* angry at you for *that*. I know you were asleep. I could tell. That's why I came in here. I went to the kitchen to get some water and I heard you crying."
Dave blinked. He came in here because he… heard him crying? Dave rubbed his hands nervously down his bare legs, fingernails catching in the hair. "I'm sorry I woke you up, Mr. Hummel. I should have told you… I… I have nightmares sometimes." Sometimes? Every night was more like it. Or every night that he was sleeping in the same house as a Man In Power, anyway. It had gotten him kicked out of more than one foster home. "Another reason I should probably sleep in the garage."
"What were you dreaming about?" Burt questioned, actually looking worried.
Being raped by you? Somehow Dave didn't think that Burt would like that answer. And if he did, well, then Dave didn't want to know it. "Just… stuff. Stuff that happened a long time ago. With my dad."
"I take it you and your dad don't have a very good relationship?"
That was a very diplomatic way to say that his Pops was a son of a bitch. And that Dave was a pathetic whore. "I guess. I mean, I love him. He's my dad. We just don't always get along so good." He shrugged. "It's mostly my fault." He waved vaguely between them. "Obviously I'm not anyone's dream kid."
Burt shook his head, chuckling. "And you think that Kurt is? My God, that boy has a mouth on him! Sometimes I don't know if I'm talking to my son or a PMSing Disney Princess. And Finn? He used to toss my son into Dumpsters! He and his little friends nailed our lawn furniture to our roof!"
Dave gave a short laugh. "Finn actually wasn't there for that one. He was grounded. Puck was the ringleader on that."
Burt smiled at him. "And yet Kurt considers Noah Puckerman his friend. Nobody's perfect, Dave. I seriously doubt that 100% of your family problems can be traced back to you."
Dave gave him a tiny smile. "Thanks, I guess. I… I really am sorry for all the stuff I've done to Kurt."
Burt nodded seriously. "Like I said: I can't pretend that it doesn't still make me angry, Dave. Kurt is my son and I love him more than life itself. I admit, I have spent more than a few afternoons imagining myself clocking you one, fist to face. But Kurt has a heart of freaking gold when he wants to, and it's one of the things I admire most about him. He's willing to forgive you, and I find that pretty impressive."
Dave lowered his eyes. "You can hit me if you want to." He took a deep breath. "Or… or beat me. You don't have to worry about me, Mr. Hummel. I know how to be a good boy and keep my mouth shut. You can get some good use out of those billion extension cords everyone has stuffed somewhere in their house and Kurt never has to know." He laughed. "I got so many bruises already, what are a few dozen more, right?"
Burt made a frustrated sound and Dave looked up, frowning at the look on the man's face, then dropping his eyes again.
"Dave… that's now what I meant. I was kidding, sort of. I am not going to beat you. Dave? Look at me. Please?"
His voice was almost pleading and Dave took a deep breath, raising his gaze slowly, a little afraid of what he might see. But Burt's eyes were surprisingly kind.
"Dave, I am not going to beat you. Ever. I don't believe in doing that to people. Especially not children." He frowned deeply. "Is that… is that what the guard did to you today? Did he… beat… you?"
Dave blinked, surprised. Burt didn't know what had happened today? Kurt hadn't told him? He'd thought with all the Brokeback Mountain comments… No wonder he'd let him eat at their table. He didn't realize what Dave was.
"Wha? No… I… Well… I…" Oh what the hell. He might as well get it over with. The man would find out eventually and then he'd be out faster than than he could say 'goodbye'. Might as well do it before he got too comfortable. "I blew him."
Burt blinked, brow furrowing. "Excuse me?"
"I blew him. Sucked his cock. Licked his balls. Whatever you wanna call it."
Dave's eyes widened at the almost frighteningly shocked look that passed over Burt's face.
"You… you mean that you *are* gay?"
Dave shifted uncomfortably on the couch, wishing once more that he wasn't quite so naked. "I… yeah. No. I dunno. I guess."
"But… they said the guard attacked you…"
Dave snorted. "Nah, Kurt just walked in on it and freaked out. The guard? He paid my Pops for me to give him head. I mean, I didn't have much of a choice, but I didn't fight him or nothin'. There's really no point in fighting. I just try not to think about it much."
Man, if the look on Burt's face was anything to judge by, Dave might very well want to start running now. Dave shifted again, pointedly placing his hands over his balls. The man had gone from concerned to furious in, like, an instant. This didn't look good.
"Oh my God… Dave… has that ever happened to you before?"
Dave tongued his cheek, looking off to the side. He *really* didn't like the faces Burt was making. He tensed as a palm came down on his knee, his thoughts flying back to his earlier dream. Oh dear God, don't let him have misjudged Burt. The man hadn't seemed to want him before, but he hadn't really known what he was, had he? He was probably seeing Dave's cheap ass in a whole new way now.
"It's… happened before." The words came out a little hoarse and he swallowed, trying to clear away the bile that was beginning to rise in his throat before it could spill out. Somehow he didn't think spewing on the man would help anything. He choked it down and steeled himself. He could handle this. He just had to play it right, get it over with, then he could leave and never have to think about it again.
Dave took a deep breath and reached out, mirroring Burt's hand with his own, his thick fingers stroking across the man's cotton pajama bottoms.
Burt jerked slightly, giving him a strange look as he pushed the boy's hand off his knee.
"God, Dave… When?"
Dave licked his lips and reached out again, touching Burt's knee once more. "I don't remember. A lot." He shivered, more from the memories flooding through him than from the chilly room, but Burt frowned, reaching out to rub him on the arm.
"Aren't you cold, sitting there in just that?"
Dave looked up, catching his eye. "You… you wanna warm me up?"
Burt blinked, his mouth opening and closing in silence for a moment before he spoke. "I… excuse me?"
Dave looked pointedly between them, doing his best to keep down the sickness rising in his gut as he dropped a hand to his crotch, roughly fondling his own balls through the thin boxers. "Look, I… I'm no virgin. And I'm used to it hurting." He made a choked sound as he tried to block the images of ten, twenty, a hundred men from his past, all with Burt's face, that were swarming his mind. "I… I just don't wanna talk about it, okay?" His voice was pleading, but he didn't care. Let Burt think he was weak. He *was* weak. "Just do it. Don't make me tell you about it. I don't wanna talk about it." To talk about it, he'd have to think about it. And thinking about it hurt way more than just taking it ever could. Physical pain was just that: Physical. No burning in the ass could ever measure up to the pain he felt inside whenever he stopped to actually think about the things he did.
"What I… Oh my God..."
Dave flinched as Burt suddenly shoved his chair back several feet, holding his hands up like Dave had a gun pointed at him, a shocked look on his face. "You thought I was…? No. No, no, no! Oh God, no!" Dave winced at the vehemence in his tone, hunching his shoulders as he tried to make himself look small. "Why the hell would you think...?"
"I thought... after you realized... You touched my knee. And asked me if I was cold… because I'm not wearing clothes…" It had made more sense in his head. But that was because he was fucked up, wasn't it?
Burt pressed a hand to his mouth, actually looking as though he was going to be sick. "I was just worried that you were cold… I hadn't even thought about the fact that you aren't wearing clothes… God, Dave, I would never do that! That's disgusting!"
Dave's cheeks began to burn and he drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and burying his face. Burt was right. It was disgusting. *He* was disgusting, for even thinking that Kurt's father would ever want *that*. God, he was so sick. What was wrong with him? He shouldn't be here. He tainted everything he touched.
Dave fought back a sob. God, he was so tired. Why couldn't he just die?
"Dave? Dave, talk to me."
The feeling of a hand caressing the back of his head broke through Dave's emotions and he sniffed, forcing back his choked cries. Burt had pulled his chair back up to the couch and had an arm wrapped around him, holding Dave's big shoulders steady.
"I'm sorry," Dave said miserably, his voice cracking. "I'll leave. I should never have come here. Kurt should never have asked me. He doesn't understand. He… he doesn't get it. He thinks it's them, but I know it's not. He doesn't understand that it isn't them, it's all me. How could it be them? There were so many. The only thing in common is me. It has to be something wrong with me." He let out another choked sob and reached out, blindly grasping for Burt's hand. "Please… please don't tell him? I don't want him to remember me as this. I've never had anybody who treated me like he does. Just pretend that I left in the night and you didn't even know? Please, Mr. Hummel?"
"Dave, no… it's not your fault. There's nothing wrong with you. You were the victim, Dave."
Dave let out a sharp laugh, not caring if it sounded a little crazy. "I'm not a victim, Mr. Hummel. You said so yourself at the detention center. I'm so sorry."
Burt took a deep breath, catching Dave's face between his palms. "No. No, no, no. This is not what I was talking about, Dave. I don't want you to leave, okay? It's alright…"
"Dad?"
Dave jerked as the sleepy sound of Kurt's voice came from the direction of the stairwell.
"Dad? What are you doing still up—" Kurt paused in the doorway, his eyes growing wide as he took in the scene before him. Dave blushed and ducked his head, leaning his body away from Burt. This night just kept getting better and better.
"What is going on here?" Kurt's voice was strained as he quickly made his way over to the sofa, plopping down beside Dave, his silk nightgown billowing around him. "Dave, are you okay?" He reached out, wiping at the tears that had escaped down the boy's cheeks, then glared at his father. "Dad! What did you say to Dave?"
"It's not his fault, Kurt," Dave said miserably as he rubbed at his face with the palms of his hands. "It was me…"
And it was him. All him. He had started this whole mess and, like an avalanche, it just kept tumbling down, growing bigger and bigger, leaving a mass of destruction in its path. This was wrong. Kurt shouldn't have anything to do with this. It was *his* mess. Kurt had just been caught up in the rubble. It wasn't right. He couldn't stay here. It just. Wasn't. Right.
Dave stood abruptly, almost sending Kurt toppling off the couch as he pushed him to the side. "I… I need to go."
Burt stood, frowning deeply as he reached out for him. "Dave, no—"
But Dave was already across the room and out the door by the time his name slipped from the man's lips, his bare feet slapping against the cold pavement.
Kurt would be better off without him. Anything else was just a dream.