I'm really surprised to see how many people seem to be reading this, especially since it was just a silly little idea I had whilst very bored. I hope I don't disappoint you all~

Rating: This chapter isn't M, but the story will be eventually.

Warnings: Future slash, homophobia, all that jazz.

Disclaimer: If I owned Fox, it would have three X's.

Notes: This whole story is going to be quite snippet-ey at first, simply because I'm sticking to the Glee order, but missing out massive chunks of...well, everyone but Kurt and Karofsky. So, yeah, it will slowly get more cohesive, I swear! XD

Enjoy!

Showmance

The second time I stick up for you, I end up in a dumpster. I see the football team surrounding you, and walk over to calmly and non-violently convince them not to make you take a dumpster-dive.

It doesn't work. It takes three guys to even get me in, and another two to stop me struggling, but soon I'm lying amongst the trash. Moments later, you land on top of me.

I flail and panic and you just roll your eyes at me, casually trying to stand up when the others leave. I suppose you're trying to appear indifferent and diva-like, the way you always do, but you slip on something and fall back down, right onto me.

Our faces are inches apart, and my breath is knocked out of me, both literally and figuratively because you're so close. My heart is beating so hard I think you must be able to feel it. I struggle to push us apart, but end up just wrapping my arms around you and falling deeper into the trash.

I try not to make eye contact with you. For the past few weeks, I've barely talked to you, even in Glee, but you haven't commented on it or anything. Maybe it's a personal thing, but Artie doesn't really talk to you either. Heck, I barely ever see you converse with a guy. You just stick with the girls, mostly Mercedes, occasionally Tina and, when you aren't trading verbal blows, Rachel.

If I didn't know better, I would assume you didn't like me. I mean, I know we haven't had the best history, but I do know that you don't really hate me anymore. But it's more than that. I don't talk to you because I'm afraid of you, and that's why you don't talk to me, or Artie. Or Finn and Puck and the other football players. It's because you can see it, their fear. The fear of being called gay, the fear of attraction, your attraction. They don't want to make you feel like there's a connection when there isn't one.

I'm different: I'm afraid because there is a connection and I damn well know it. You, however, seem oblivious.

Seemed oblivious. Staring me right in the eyes like this, I can't help but wonder if you…well, if you're wondering.

Because, yeah, we've been staring for a good couple of minutes now, in total silence.

Then, without reason or rhyme, we both burst into laughter. And we're lying here; limbs tangled, bits of trash all over us, in hysterics, as if the world can't touch us. But that's the thing – the world's throwing us into dumpsters and we just don't give a fuck.

'You know they're going to torture you for this, right?' You ask, and I can't help but laugh again in return. You raise your eyebrows at me. 'You're weird, Karofsky.' But you're looking at me with an expression of curiosity rather than loathing, which I think is a good sign.

'Is weird bad?'

'We're in Glee Club, David. Weird is good.' Your voice has gone really soft and it almost makes me bypass the fact you just called me David. (Screw Dave. David sounds so sexy.)

I nearly miss your whisper of 'Very good.' as we climb out of the dumpster, me practically picking you up and hoisting you out. Nearly, but not quite.

Azimio won't talk to me for days. We barely ever hang out now anyway, and I'm pretty sure it's because he refuses to talk to anyone in Glee and I'm a certified loser now. But, you know what? I'm not exactly sure how much I care. Because…well, weird is good, right?

Okay, I'm lying. I do care. I care that people in the halls are looking pointedly at me and then turning to their friends and giggling. I care that I got my very first slushy yesterday morning. I care that Azimio isn't talking to me – he's my best friend, of course I fucking care. But right then, at that moment in the dumpster? I genuinely felt like the world could suck my dick. And I don't know why, Hummel, but you make me feel like that, like I could take on the school.

But when I'm alone, I'm terrified. Terrified that people are going to start the rumors…no, the rumors have started already. Terrified that people will actually believe the rumors. I mean, sure, they can call me a fag all they like, but if there's no evidence…

Is there evidence?

Wait, fuck, no. There can't be evidence for something that isn't true.

Because it's not. I'm not gay, and I'm not a loser. I walk tall and I carry a big stick. No, that's not a fucking euphemism.

I'm not gay.

~ Briiiing! ~

We've been attempting to perform Le Freak for the better part of an hour now and, honestly? We suck. We really suck. Mercedes has pointed out how much we suck, and now Mr. Schue is all mad and shit.

I hate disco. I hate disco dancing, I hate disco music and I hate disco clothing.

And this song. It's…it's…

'It's really gay.' You say, and that pretty much sums it up. With those words, I know that I can't sing this song if my life depends on it.

'If we have to do this song, I'm quitting.' It's an empty threat, but I doubt Mr. Schue is aware of that.

'Come on, David, don't be like that.'

'Do you have any idea how much crap I'm getting for being in the Glee club? If we perform this song, I'm dead! The hockey team already threatened to turn me into a human slushy if I didn't quit!'

'I'm sorry, guys, we don't have time to discuss this. We're doing this song on Friday at the pep-assembly.'

The pep-assembly. Where the whole school will be watching us. Oh, fuck.

'They're going to throw fruit at us. And I just had a facial.' You quip, and I wish on everything I can think of that that's all they'll do.

I'm not sure which is a bigger problem right now: the fact that my reputation is about to be shattered into a zillion pieces, or that Rachel just won't leave me alone.

We've been making posters all afternoon, and I think she thinks we're flirting. We got caught and sent to Figgins' office, and I think she thinks this is some sort of bonding experience.

And then she drops the bombshell: 'Do you want to practice for the assembly tomorrow after school?'

'Rachel. We…uh, we need to talk.' This is going to be painful. So, so painful.

'What is it?' The hope in her eyes is practically shining.

'I… I know where this is going, Rachel. And we…we can't be together. I'm…I'm…' Oh my god. Why can't I speak? Why can't I just say no?

No, I know why.

It's because, I know if I refuse, that's it. It means I'm not…normal. Because a normal guy would be attracted to her, right?

'What are you?' Rachel asks, innocently.

If only she knew how often I asked myself that question.

'I'm…' I glance to the left as Quinn Fabray and her cronies strut past. 'Celibate.'

And then I realize what I just said.

'You're celibate?' She echoes, and I notice that Quinn has stopped.

'Um. Yeah. I can't risk the…er, the temptation.'

'That's…' she looks startled, and I internally leap for joy. No girl would want to be with a guy who won't put out, it's… 'perfect!'

Oh, crud.

'That's absolutely perfect, David! I want to be at least 25 when I have sex, because it's important, you know?' No, no I don't know. What I also don't know is that Rachel had gone to see Miss Pillsbury earlier after a certain throwing up incident that was apparently my fault. If I had known that Miss Pillsbury had encouraged her to find similar interests between us, I wouldn't be surprised when she blurts out, 'We should join the celibacy club together!'

She whirls around to where Quinn is stopped staring at us with a bemused expression, and immediately starts babbling to the blond about joining her club. Quinn simply looks her up and down, and with a sigh, tells her that they have to let anyone, (with a roll of the eyes) join.

And that's how I end up in the Celibacy Club.

~ Ba-bam, baaaam-bam! ~

I sit down next to Hudson and try my very hardest not to die of embarrassment.

Why am I here? Why did I have to say I was celibate? Why couldn't I say I was…I don't know, dying of a rare, incurable disease? Or a spy? Or…an alien sent from outer space to observe the human race? Any of those excuses would have worked better. Okay, maybe not, but none of them would have landed me here.

'I think I'm going to kill myself. I'm serious.' You and me both, Jacob.

We're now on the topic of skirts, and I just don't get it. I mean, sure, they show off a lot of leg, but what use are they except easy access? Surely they must just get cold…bits. Ergh.

I wonder what you would look like in a skirt. Wait, no, fuck. Shut up, shut up, shut up! I do not want to think about that, it's disgusting!

I drown out the rest of the guys' talking and when the girls come back in, I take turns balloon thrusting with Jacob. Not thrusting with Jacob, I take turns to do it with Rachel. Not do it…ah, fuck. Jacob and I take turns balloon thrusting with Rachel.

My balloon doesn't break.

The rest of the time, I sit and wonder if Quinn Fabray's hair is naturally blonde, until Rachel starts a celibacy riot, and drags me with her as she storms out.

Watching her, I decide she's actually kind of cool. In a weird, terrifying way. Which is a shame, because a couple of hours later, we're sat drinking virgin cosmos in a fucking picnic, and I have to break her heart.

'Rachel, I lied to you. I'm not celibate.' And here's the worst thing to ever say to a girl: 'I'm just not…I'm not into you, I'm sorry.' I can't possibly sound any more pathetic as I say it, but there really is no other way, since she's been dropping hints for the better part of an hour, trying to get me to kiss her.

I won't lie, seeing her face right then breaks my heart for a moment. I very, very briefly consider pretending to like her just to make her feel better. 'There's someone else, isn't there?' She says, mournfully, accurately.

'How did you know?'

'I know I haven't mentioned it, because it tends to freak people out,' She sighs with dramatic flair, flicking her hair back for added effect, 'but I'm kind of psychic.'

Oh, dear God. She knows. She knows I have some weird, fucked up obsession with you. She knows.

'Plus, you were staring right at her in the celibacy club today.'

Or perhaps not.

'It's kind of obvious, I mean, you only said you were celibate to impress her, when she walked past, right?' Rachel continues, sighing dramatically.

'Um, right?' I must look utterly shellshocked, because that's how I feel, but Rachel, oh-so-observant, ever-so-slightly-psychic Rachel, doesn't seem to notice.

'It's such a shame you had to choose her, though, since she's so attached to Finn.'

It takes me a while, but I finally clock on: Rachel thinks I'm in love with Quinn Fabray.

'Which is stupid anyway, he's way too good for that bimbo. I mean, sorry! I'm sure she's really great…'

And apparently Rachel has a bit of a thing for Hudson?

This might work out after all.

~ Ba-bam, baaaam-bam! ~

You and I haven't spoken since the dumpster incident, and I'm beginning to wonder if I made it all up in my head.

But then it happens.

In Push It, you slap me on the butt and wink. I'm pretty sure it was a joke, but that doesn't stop me from changing the routine and grabbing you instead of Rachel and properly grinding my hips against you.

I've never touched anyone like that, and even though we were barely touching, it sends heat rushing through my whole body. I can feel the blood rushing up to my face and down south. For a moment, before we jump back into the routine, you stare up at me with wide, wide eyes and I try to read your expression. I'm not entirely sure if it's shock or loathing, but I grin in return, and you smile hesitantly back.

I try not to notice the flushing of my cheeks and the fact that this moment has been added to my wank-bank for the whole of eternity. I think I've forgotten most of the words to this song, too. Not to mention, Mr. Schue's going to kill us. But for that moment right there, this whole Push It charade is worth it.

~ Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo... ~