Part 14
Dave's hands feel large as they press delicately against Kurt's face. He kisses Kurt's lips, his cheeks, his jaw. The kisses are soft and quick. Occasionally, Dave sucks against his skin. Their jeans rub together, pressure points at Kurt's right knee and left thigh. Dave's teeth catch along Kurt's bottom lip. They drag along the tender tissue. Lust spirals through Kurt's head, making it difficult to think.
Kurt clutches at Dave's shirt, fingers twisting over and over again in the cloth. Dave's hand slides around the back of Kurt's neck, threading through his hair. His thigh slips between Kurt's legs, wedging against Kurt's hardening arousal. The pressure is unlike anything Kurt's ever felt, and he can't help but tear his mouth away and gasp for air.
In a move that Kurt can barely process, Dave's arms curls around Kurt's body. He steps backward, bending as he goes, bringing Kurt with him. Kurt's knees bump into the soft ground. Water seeps into his jeans, but before he can complain, Dave is rolling Kurt onto the picnic blanket. His elbow presses into the ground near Kurt's head, acting as a brace for Dave's body. Dave's other hand skates over Kurt's face, thumb brushing over Kurt's forehead, his eyelashes, his lips.
"I love you," Dave rasps. His nose brushes against Kurt's and his teeth nip softly along Kurt's lips.
Kurt can't breathe. He feels oversensitive and tender, as if any movement might send him into combustion. Dave's face looms above him, and Kurt thinks, What am I doing?
Dave kisses him again. His tongue slips inside, sliding along Kurt's. Kurt can't stop his hips from thrusting upward. Dave groans. Kurt can feel the vibrations against his mouth, against his teeth. Kurt's fingers scramble along the tarp. Plastic crinkles in Kurt's ear as he desperately searches for purchase.
Hot breath ghosts along his skin as Dave moves from his lips to Kurt's neck. His mouth sucks into Kurt's flesh. Heat flashes across his body; Kurt feels like he's boiling from the inside out. He stutters out a fractured breath then gasps as Dave sucks even harder. No one has ever kissed him there. Kurt never knew that his neck is a direct line to his cock.
He can't stay still. Kurt squirms, body twisting the tarp beneath him and pressing into Dave's body above. His brain clears for a moment when Dave lifts his head to gulp in air. Kurt can feel the rapid beat of Dave's heart through their clothes, and he thinks, I need to stop.
It's easier said than done. Dave moves to the other side of Kurt's neck, mouth going to work, sucking more bruises into Kurt's skin. However, this time Kurt fights the pleasurable haze. It doesn't matter if it feels good, he tells himself. Dave finds a spot near the base of Kurt's neck, and Kurt can't stop himself from arching his head backwards, displaying his throat like an offering.
"God," Dave says like prayer.
Kurt looks up and sees Dave's eyes flutter shut. It gives Kurt a reprise. He flattens his palm against Dave's chest- and Gaga, is it firm- and pushes upward. Dave's Adam's apple bobs above him, then the larger man lifts up and rolls to his back. Good, Kurt thinks. He understood my… Kurt's thoughts die with a rush of surprise as Dave yanks Kurt on top of him.
"Dave," Kurt says breathlessly, attempting to get him to stop.
Dave buries his fingers in Kurt's hair and pulls him down for a kiss. "I don't mind," Dave says when he breaks away for air. His voice is low and rough. "You can be on top." He drags his thumb across Kurt's swollen lips and stares into Kurt's eyes.
Kurt is frozen by the gaze. His heart pounds in his chest and his pulse roars in his ears. Kurt feels like he's run a marathon. Dave's hard body is beneath him, and with even the smallest of movements Kurt can feel how Dave is affected by their kisses. Despite the fact that this is further than Kurt's gone with anyone else, it's not Dave's arousal that knocks Kurt out of his lustful haze. It's the intense, single-focused look of love.
What am I doing? Kurt thinks again frantically. Dave is my kidnapper.
Something glitters on ground next to the tarp. The gleam blinds Kurt for a brief second, but a shape take form. It's a key.
It's not a key.
It's the key.
The key to the ATV. Dave's never let it out of his sight. Kurt's breath catches in his chest. Dave's fingers trail up Kurt's spine, and he starts to tug Kurt back down. Kurt doesn't think. He doesn't plan. He just acts.
He presses forward, knee digging into Dave's leg. The man grunts, but Kurt doesn't stop to look. He grabs the key. The edges poke into his skin, but Kurt pays no attention. He squeezes the metal harder, engraving the form into his palm, unwilling to let it escape. He hasn't breathed since he reached forward, so he sucks in a mouthful of air.
"Kurt?" Dave's voice is close to his ear. Kurt eyes flicker to Dave's face. He catches a confused look, but he doesn't dwell.
He's up in an instant. Kurt's boots sink into the ground. He twists, back foot catching on the tarp. It bunches up as he presses forward.
"Kurt?" Dave asks again. He's sitting up. His shirt clings to chest, sticking by sweat to his skin.
Kurt runs. He splashes in the shallow water near the entrance of the amphitheater. His shoulder bangs into a boulder as tries to remember the way back to the four-wheeler. It hurts, but adrenaline pumps through his system, urging him forward. He thinks he hears Dave coming after him, but he doesn't stop to look.
He rounds another boulder, and suddenly, the dusty black metal of the four-wheeler appears. Kurt swings his legs over the seat. He fumbles with the key, pushing it inside the keyhole upside down before sliding it in correctly. It roars to life in a sputtering choke.
Fingers grab the back of his shirt. "What the hell Kurt?"
Kurt twists. He grabs Dave's hand and wrenches it away with all his might. Unprepared for the action, Dave stumbles backwards. He grabs the tool box for support, but it tumbles off the vehicle and Dave trips. Kurt twists on the gas clutch.
The four-wheeler jerks forward and Kurt almost flips over the front. He grabs the handles and hangs on for dear life. He doesn't really know how to steer the thing, but he just aims the handlebars in the direction he wants to go and hopes for the best. The front left-hand corner of the ATV scraps past a tree trunk. Kurt shouts in fright as the wheel lifts up.
"Kurt!" Dave yells again. He doesn't sound confused anymore. He sounds furious.
Don't look back. The though gives him strength and he makes the four-wheelers go fasters.
"You think you can make it out there?" Dave's voice seems father away. "You're going to die." Then, voice small and low, "Kurt stop!" Kurt doesn't stop. He weaves past a cluster of trees and veers to his right, away from the river and Dave.
Kurt doesn't know how long he rides before he finally stops to look back. His fingers ache from griping the handles too tight. His face stings from the bite of the wind and occasional smack from a tree branch. He didn't have time to put on the goggles, and his eyelashes feel like they're crusted with dirt. His slides off and shakes out his arms and legs. He aches as if he's been in a triathlon.
Everything is unfamiliar. Dave and the river are nowhere in sight. Kurt can't even hear the burbling water. He does hear chirping crickets and whistling birds. He's at the edge of a row of trees, a small clearing lies before him. It stretches out a few hundred yards then rolls downwards into more greenery.
It took about an hour to get from the cabin to Dave's amphitheater, and he figures he rode at least twenty minutes. He has no idea where the cabin is from here, nor does he really care. There's got to be something, someone out here. Kurt glances at the gas gage. A little more than three-fourths a tank. He figures that mean at least another few hours of fuel.
"Which way should I go?" Kurt asks aloud. His voice seems out of place in the depths of all this nature, but his words are eaten by the wind quickly enough anyways. He turns in place, looking for the best route to take. It doesn't really matter, as long as I don't go back. Excitement, or maybe it's hope, bubble in his chest.
For the first time in what seems like a lifetime, Kurt feels like he might have a chance to escape. To go home. To see my dad. Tears cloud his eyes, blurring his vision. Kurt doesn't wipe them away. They feel good.
Kurt stretches upwards again, and his muscles strain with the effort. He runs his fingers over the empty space on the back of the four-wheeler and wishes Dave hadn't grabbed the tool box. He rubs his eyes with the front of his shirt, clearing away what dirt he can. Then Kurt settles back on the ATV and gets as comfortable as he can.
He takes the path of least resistance. He rides along the edge of the trees, dipping in and out of the narrow layer of the forest, never venturing too far inside. After one frightening jump over a raised mound of dirt, Kurt slows down. Every so often he wipes his face on the inside of his shirt. Kurt can't help but cringe when he imagines what he must look life. If I come across anyone they're think I'm a deranged forester. Still, he keeps his eyes open for any signs of human life.
By the time the gas gage reads half empty, clouds have rolled in overhead, thick and menacing in their clusters. They darken the sky and hide the sun. Damn-it, Kurt curses when the first drops hit his nose. He tries to push on, staying away from the low-lying areas in case of flooding, but when the rain starts to sting his skin like angry bees, Kurt weaves the ATV into the cover of the trees.
It's too difficult for him to navigate, so he cuts the engine. He leans forward, still sitting, and rests his arms and head against the dashboard. The rain can't pound through the trees as quickly as the open ground, so even the he's getting wet, it isn't hurting. I'll just have to wait it out. It's rained a good portion of the time Kurt's been here, and he knows from experience that waiting it out could mean twenty minutes or three days.
I can't wait here three days. Kurt's belly is already grumbling and his throat is dry. He has to stand in place for a moment after he makes his way off the seat. His legs are stiff; his thighs spasm. He slips the key into his pocket, struggling to get it deep enough because wet denim isn't easy to maneuver.
His boots sink into the mud as he steps away from the four-wheeler. It rises over his toes and the sides of his feet, coating the thick rubber work boots in a layer of mud. Despite the slick ground, and the way he presses into the ground an inch with every step he takes, Kurt can still move with relative ease.
These will be the best boots you've ever owned. Dave's words float through his brain. It's true. The boots are ugly as sin, but if Kurt had been wearing his favorite chucks or any of his boots with heels, he would be slipping and sinking into the wet ground, not to mention that his shoes would be ruined.
Except, Kurt thinks, they aren't really mine are they? He yanks a low-lying tree limb out of his face. It cracks in half and splits off in his hand. Kurt throws it with all his might. It disappears into a throng of dark leaf shrubbery. Nothing here is mine. Not the boots or jeans I'm wearing or even this shirt. Kurt tugs angrily at the hem of his shirt. It squelches as it tries valiantly to stay glued to his skin.
Kurt walks far enough that the ATV dips out of sight, and he pauses, suddenly thinking, I'd better not go too far. I might not be able to find my way back. He tries to push down his anger, and forces himself to think. Come up with plan, just don't stalk around pissed off and make stupid decisions.
Like stealing the key and running away from the only person who knows where the hell I am. The thought slips inside Kurt's brain, sounding sly and smug. Kurt slams the thought behind the same door he placed his anger, and chooses to ignore the way the frame bulges outwards.
"Focus," he says to himself. He wipes his face again, though it really doesn't do any good. His whole being is wet. He tucks his hair behind his ears and looks around for a rock. He finds a tennis ball sized one a few feet away and rolls it in his hand. It has a few good sharp points, which is exactly what Kurt wants. He steps up to the closest tree and drags one of the sharp peaks across the bark. It takes a few hard strikes, but soon a decent sized 'X' is easily visible. Kurt backtracks, marking the trees as he makes his way to the ATV. Then, rock firm in hand, he sets out again, finding food foremost in his mind.
It's slow moving. Besides the rain and dark skies making it difficult to see, Kurt really has no idea what he's looking for. He checks the bushes and trees for berries, but the only kind he finds are peppering the ground under the leaves of these tall, skinny trees. Kurt can see some of the tiny red berries high in the branches. I could probably climb up there. The idea isn't appealing, and the berries look like the poisonous kind that grow on the trees in Lima. He keeps moving.
He finds nothing. Oh, he's sure that something around here is edible, but with no working knowledge of what will make him sick, Kurt decides that nothing is better than deadly. Sighing, he reaches out his hand to the closest tree and makes another 'X.' I'll head back and try to take a nap. Maybe when I wake up it'll have stopped raining.
It's not the best plan in the world. Kurt's stomach is still growling, but he's been hungrier. His marks on the trees work like a charm, and Kurt just follows them back until the four-wheeler comes back in sight. Kurt sets his rock on the seat of the vehicle, up and out of harm's way, and settles on the ground against the trunk of a wide tree. He grimaces at the immediate wetness that soaks his jeans.
Don't focus on the fact you're sitting in mud, Kurt tells himself. He tucks his fingers under his arms and props his feet on the back wheel of the four-wheeler. He tucks his chin into his chest so the rainfall hits the top of his head instead of his face. Closing his eyes, Kurt imagines what his homecoming will be like.
Dad will cry. Kurt can almost feel his father's arms wrapped his body, holding him tight, protecting Kurt from the world. He can't wait for the smell of car grease and gasoline to clog his nose again as he presses his face into his dad's shoulder. And Finn will be awkward and fumble everything he says. He pictures his step-brother hovering in the doorway of Kurt's bedroom, glass of warm milk in his hands and concern etched into his face.
Thoughts of his family keep Kurt company for the next few hours. He stands and stretches a few times, and walks around his tree but he doesn't go far. He just waits out the rain, trying to keep his mind occupied and away from thoughts of his empty stomach and Dave. Eventually, the sky begins to lighten. The downpour morphs into a light drizzle. Then the only water coming down is the pitter-pattering of remaining raindrops sliding off the leaves.
He waits a bit longer, making sure the sunshine isn't just a minor reprieve. The clouds are gone, though. The sun is on its way to setting, but it's still out and proud. Kurt tosses his rock back to the ground, no longer needed, and swings his leg over the seat of the ATV. His mud-caked jeans feel gross against the plastic cover. Kurt can't wait to be someplace dry and clean.
Kurt tugs the key from his pocket and sticks it in the ignition. He turns it to the right, the engine makes a rattling cough, then chokes out. "No," Kurt growls. He turns the key again. The engine coughs a little longer, sounding like an old man hacking out his lungs. Anxiety presses against Kurt's chest. He twists the key, kills the engine then takes a deep breath. "Please, please work," Kurt prays. He shakes the little piece of metal, as if that gives it some special magic, then slides it back inside.
The engine gives three unsettling coughs, then roars to life. "Yes!" Kurt shouts. He laughs at his own foolishness before twisting the handlebars to the right and giving the thing a little bit of gas. It lurches forward, wheels spinning in the mud, before heading where Kurt steers.
Thank Gaga, Kurt thinks then laughs again. It's been awhile since he's thought that phrase.
With the sun out again, Kurt's wet clothes soon become stiff as they dry. The mud becomes dirt and flies off of his body in clumps as he drives. The going is even slower than before, because Kurt is careful to look for sink holes of mud and standing water. He even has to stop the ATV a few times and test the ground with his feet, making sure the vehicle wouldn't get stuck.
Which is why, when the front wheels slam into a soft patch of muddy ground and the four-wheeler jerks to a forceful stop, Kurt's thrown over the front with breath-stealing surprise. He doesn't even have a chance to scream before his shoulder hits the ground. His back follows with a hard smack. Pain lances through his body, but more worryingly, Kurt's lungs seem to collapse.
He can't breathe. His fingers spasms in the mud, desperate for something to hold on to, for someone to lift him up and give him air. There's no one. Kurt trembles on the ground, four-wheeler rumbling near his head. Black spots dance before his eyes, and Kurt closes them, trying to concentrate and breathe.
Then, the iron grip around his lungs eases, and air fills him up again. Kurt takes a few deep breaths, eyes still shut, and lays in the mud trying to calm his racing heart. Eventually, he pushes himself up, sitting. He touches the back of his neck lightly and feels what he can of his shoulder and back. It hurts, but nothing more than a deep ache. I'll have some spectacular bruising. Still, Kurt feels lucky to be alive. I could have broken my neck.
Tentatively, he grabs the front of the ATV and hauls himself to his feet. The motion has his side throbbing, and his stomach rolls. Riding is going to be fun. Kurt can already imagine the vibrations and jumps of the four-wheeler jarring his body. He swallows, closes his eyes, and takes another deep breath.
Focus on the positive, Kurt thinks. He walks around the ATV, looking at where the wheels hit. I'm not dead. The left hand wheel is a few inches deep in mud. "I'm away from my kidnapper," Kurt says loudly. "I'm free. I've escaped." The right side isn't as bad, but it's still slick with mud. Kurt grabs the handlebars and heaves. Pain spikes through his body. He lets go immediately and dips forward, hands on his knees, waiting it out, breathing.
It wouldn't hurt to have Dave here now. The thought slips in before Kurt can stop it. Once it's there he can't let it go. What, he defends, it's true. Dave could lift that thing with no trouble. Even without an aching body, Kurt would struggle to lift the ATV from the mud. He imagines Dave lifting the wheels, muscles bulging in his wife-beater.
Anger floods Kurt's chest. Stop it, he tells himself. Stop thinking about Dave. Straightening, he grits his teeth and swings his leg over the seat of the ATV. "Can't pull it out, then I'm going to have to ride it out."
The four-wheeler is still running, wasting gas, so Kurt doesn't have to turn it back on. At least it hasn't stalled. Broken parts he can't fix, a stuck wheel he has a better chance with. He wiggles the wheels, hoping to nudge them from the mud. He gives a little gas. The wheels spin, and the ATV tries valiantly to go forward. Mud splatters outwards as if sprayed from a hose.
"Damn-it!" Kurt growls. He twists the handle further. The wheels spin harder, but the four-wheeler stays in place. Kurt slams his hand against the dash in frustration. He kills the engine and gets off to look at the wheels.
"I need some kind of leverage," Kurt says. He remembers the time he got stuck in the ice and his dad had stuck a towel under his wheel to give it some friction. He runs his hand through his hair and glances around. Maybe some leaves?
Kurt walks to the nearby trees and picks up the few leaves that have fallen to the ground. There are a few low branches and he strips those bare. Using his shirt as a basket, Kurt gathers an armful of leaves. The short walk back has him sweating; the heat of the day and the pain of his back work together to make the littlest exercise exhausting.
He tucks the leaves around the left wheel, then goes back for another shirtful for the right. Then, for good measure, he goes back once more and doles out the rest evenly. "Please work, please work," he prays under his breath.
Sliding back over the seat, Kurt grips the handles and tries again. The wheels spin, leaves crunch, but Kurt doesn't move. He guns it, wrenches the gas handle as hard as he can and lifts his bottom from the seat and leans forward.
The ATV squeals like a dying cat, then, in a heartbeat, the four-wheeler goes silent. Oh, shit. Kurt releases the handle and turns the key. There's nothing. No coughing, no lights, nothing. "No, no, no." He slams his fist into the dashboard, hoping for miraculous results. He tries the key again. The only sounds are the whooshing of his breath and the calls of the local birds and insects.
Kurt hangs his head and squeezes his eyes shut, holding back tears. What have I done to deserve this? Spending too much money doesn't seem like such a crime. I must have been a murderer in my past life. His back and shoulder throb. Kurt's lips curl up in a sad, mocking smile. My own body is kicking me when I'm down.
No. Kurt raises his head. "I've got to keep going. " If I want to see Dad again I can't give up. He slides off the seat. "If I can't ride, then I'll walk."
So he walks. He walks until the ache of his back and shoulder are matched by an ache in his feet and calves. He walks until the sky turns pink and orange, and then the stars start to shine. He walks until the rumbling in his stomach turns into a roar and a hammer pounds against his temple. Then, tired, he settles against the trunk of a wide tree, curls his knees to his chest and falls asleep.