Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

True Love Will Find You in the End

By ktfranceebee

Chapter 4

Kurt breathed in the crisp, afternoon air as he opened the door to his Lincoln Navigator and hopped out. He smoothed down his navy and white cardigan, which creased slightly on the drive over, and adjusted the collar.

It was a beautiful day. The air was cool despite the sun shining brightly in the clear blue sky above, but that was Ohio for you. It was a perfect day… To spend indoors baking, that is.

Kurt shut the driver-side door and opened the backseat door on the same side. He was grateful to see that the two paper grocery bags that he loaded with his ingredients did not tip or spill on the ride over. He scooped up the bags into his arms, making sure that his car keys were still gripped safely in his hand so he wouldn't lock them inside the car, and shut the door behind him with a swish of his foot.

Kurt blindly made his way up the path to Dave's home, just barely able to see over the top of the brown bags.

From what he could see, despite his limited field of vision, was how beautiful the Karofsky's house was. It had white paneling and pale, moss green trim on the shutters of the windows giving it a Colonial-American feel. Kurt made note of the steps leading up to a fairly spacious front porch so he wouldn't trip. Once he made it up the steps, he brought his knee up, adjusting the bags that were starting to slip. After he maintained his grip on the bulky bags, he stuck out his fore finger and rang the doorbell.

It didn't take long for Kurt to hear the growing sound of rather rushed footsteps on the other side of the door. As soon as the door opened, he was greeted by the cheerful looking visage of David whose expression quickly evolved into a confused frown.

"Kurt—Jesus... Why didn't you tell me you were bringing this much stuff? I would've helped you with it," Dave said as he automatically reached for the heavy bags that Kurt was struggling with.

"It's o—" Kurt's breath caught momentarily in his throat as Dave's knuckles grazed his chest. He was close. In fact, Dave's chin practically rested on the top of the paper bags, which were still in Kurt's grip. He was close enough for Kurt to see the dimple in his cheek as the corner of his mouth turned up in a playful smirk; close enough to be disappointed by the observation that he must have shaved that morning. But why that mattered so much to him, he wasn't sure.

"Well…" Kurt pressed his lips together in what he hoped wasn't a totally awkward smile as Dave pulled away, relieving Kurt of the weight of the bags. "You're helping me now so…" Kurt trailed off at the way a muscle jumped in Dave's forearm as he tightened his grip. He looked down at the keys in his hands wondering why he was completely flustered. He was fine that morning and on the drive over… In fact, he was the one who offered to come over and help Dave in the first place. But the startling notion that this was the first time he would spend an extended amount of time in Dave's company, alone, made his heart thrum in an unexpected way.

"Your um…" Kurt cleared his throat as he pointed the tiny remote on his keys in the direction of his vehicle parked on the street. He pressed the lock button twice, and the resounding honk and blink of his headlights indicated that the car was secure.

"Your house is quite lovely," Kurt tried once again as he followed behind Dave, who was already walking past the threshold, into the house.

Dave chuckled appreciatively and said over his shoulder, "I'll be sure to let my know mom that you approve." Dave stopped shortly after Kurt made his way inside. After Kurt shut the door behind him, Dave nodded his head towards a coat stand in the corner by the window.

"You can hang your sweater up if you want," he said before turning back around and going through a door frame into another room.

"Um…" Kurt followed Dave into a large kitchen without taking the offer. His hands trailed down protectively over his stomach, resting on the scratchy material of his sweater. He wore it for a reason. It was from his sophomore year so it still fit him, plus it was long enough to cover his pear-shaped hips. But, as he looked down, Kurt wondered if going with stripes was a good decision. "I think I'll leave it on."

Dave scoffed as he set the bags on the marble counter, "Dude, we're baking a freaking cake. I mean… Suit yourself, but I'd rather wear something comfortable and wouldn't mind getting ruined."

Kurt looked at Dave who turned back around and was leaning, with his arms crossed in front of him, against the kitchen counter. For the first time since Dave opened the door, Kurt noticed what Dave was wearing. It seemed like the first time ever—besides that night at Scandals when Dave was wearing that horrible jean jacket—that Kurt was seeing Dave in something other than his old letterman jacket or a god awful polo. He was wearing a simple, white, cotton t-shirt ('probably just Hanes,' Kurt thought to himself) as well as a comfortable looking pair of jeans and… Socks.

"You're not wearing shoes." Kurt pointed out, trying to stifle the giggle with his hand. Dave looked down at his feet, which were, in fact, covered with socks. He rolled his eyes humorously.

"Well, I do live here. You can take yours off too, if you like," Dave suggested jokingly, looking down at Kurt's favorite pair of white Doc Marten's. Kurt toyed with a button on his sweater as Dave raised his eyebrows.

"No, but thank you. But I guess I will take this thing off," Kurt complied with a huff, undoing the few buttons on the front of the sweater. As he shrugged off the material, he heard Dave make a little cough before turning around towards the bags.

"You can just, uh… Put it on one of the chairs," Dave said, head ducked slightly as he strummed his fingers on the countertop.

Kurt hummed in acknowledgement as he neatly draped his sweater over the back of one of the white, wooden kitchen chairs. It really was more comfortable without it. Underneath the sweater he wore a dark blue, button up dress shirt and dog-printed scarf in the same color. Figuring that the kitchen would only heat up while they were cooking, and wanting to refrain from getting the sleeves messy, Kurt untied the scarf and slid it off, putting it on top of the sweater, and proceeded to pop open the buttons on his cuffs, and rolled the sleeves up to his elbow as he made his way towards Dave.

"So, you know I'm gonna have to—" Dave stopped talking as soon as Kurt reached his side. As he turned to look at Kurt, his eyebrows rose slightly and his mouth formed into a small "o" at the end of his broken sentence.

"What?" Kurt asked in regards to not only to his unfinished sentence and the fact that his eyes seemed to be darting around in his skull.

"I um… I was just going to say that I can pay you back for all this," Dave said, as he motioned towards the contents of the bags. He skimmed the items on top, not wanting to impose. The slight blush on his tan skin seemed to slip past Kurt.

"Nonsense," Kurt said waving him off as he pulled the bags closer to him as he started unloading the ingredients onto the countertop. "Oh! By the way," Kurt shot a warm smile up at him as he pulled out a small Tupperware container from the top of one of the bags. "These are for you."

Dave smiled warily as Kurt held out the container. "I may have had to beat Finn off of these before he ate them all, despite the fact that I made a surplus of them."

Kurt watched Dave out of his peripheral vision, lifting the lid off of the container while Kurt continued setting out his ingredients. Inside, Dave found a stack of about five gingerbread cookies that Kurt made the night before.

"Well, now I really feel like a dick. You're going to bake a cake for my sister's birthday and supply me with cookies? I'm a terrible hostess." Dave sighed dramatically.

Kurt's lips twitched into an amused smile. "Well, I'm not baking this cake alone," Kurt said in a stern tone, jesting all the while. "You're going to help me."

"Aww… And here I thought I was going to be able to sit back and wa—eat cookies." He raised the container.

Kurt hummed disapprovingly, folding the empty paper bags neatly now that all the ingredients were laid out, "'Fraid not," he sighed. "Just think of yourself as my Sous-chef."

"So…" Dave said, picking up a cookie and inspecting the precise, icing design on it. "I'm like, the Anne Burrell to your Mario Batali?"

"You watch Iron Chef America, but you can't cook?" Kurt huffed, hands on his hips as he faced Dave who was relaxing against the island in the middle of the kitchen.

"Hey!" Dave said, pretending to be offended. He waved the cookie towards Kurt. "Riding a bike is a lot easier in theory."

"I can vouch for that," Kurt mumbled under his breath, remembering his thirteen-some botched bike riding attempts when he was a child. Louder, he added, "Just eat the cookie, David."

As Kurt checked the oven, without bothering to ask Dave (he had to assume he had free reign of the kitchen, if he was going to be baking in there), making sure there was nothing already inside, he heard a deep, and rather loud, appreciative groan coming from behind him.

"Oh… My God." Dave enunciated. Kurt couldn't help warm rush of appreciation as well as something else he couldn't quite place at the reaction elicited from Dave. Rather pleased with himself, he turned towards Dave whose eyes were closed in ecstasy.

"Good?" Kurt asked with a wide smile.

"Good?" Dave parroted as he chewed. "I'm pretty sure this is the best thing I ever tasted. Here," he picked up the container once more and held it out towards Kurt this time. "You have one."

Kurt chuckled and shook his head, "Thank you for the sentiment, but I know what they taste like."

"It's alright, there a couple a more in here just—"

"I don't want one, David," Kurt said harshly suprising Dave. Kurt took a breath, surprised and already guilty by his own outburst. All he thought about were the last, belittling words Blaine said to him.

"Okay," Dave said slowly as he put the half eaten cookie back in the container, replacing the lid as well.

"I'm sorry, I just—"

"It's okay, I shouldn't have pushed… That."

"I brought them for you—"

"And I already feel guilty for asking you to help."

"And we should probably just get started on the cake because we've been talking for a long time, already."

Kurt and Dave eventually stopped their "back-and-forth" to notice just how close they were standing next to each other and just how out of breath they were.

They were practically toe to toe before they stepped away from each other, both awkwardly clearing their throats as if they broke some sort of boundary that neither of them realized they shouldn't cross.

"You're right, um…" Dave gave him a weak smile. "Here… Just tell me what I need to do and I'll do it."

"Okay, well… First we want to preheat the oven to 325 degrees," Kurt said, turning the dial.

"You know, we already have a lot of these ingredients here… Wait… Why do you have M&M's and Kit Kats?" Dave raised an eyebrow as he held up one of the three orange, square packages.

"Trust me, David, I know what I'm doing," Kurt assured him before he continued. "We won't be using all of this. I'll just take home the rest. But was it alright to assume you have…" He withdrew a folded paper from his back pocket and read from it. "Milk, oil, salt, eggs, and sugar? It seemed silly to bring such widely used ingredients."

"Yeah, we've got those things here. Just let me get 'em," Dave said and as he made to squeeze around Kurt, he gently rested his hand just in between Kurt's shoulder blades. Kurt started, and with wide, confused eyes, he watched Dave as he went in the pantry.

Kurt knew about how much Dave had changed the past couple of months. How much more accepting of himself he was… How brave he was to make the decision, on his own, to go to a gay bar… But the biggest change, or realization, for Kurt seemed to be just how gentle and kind Dave really was underneath all of the false bravado.

He kept his eyes glued onto the door waiting for Dave to emerge, and when he did he was holding a bottle of canola oil, a canister of salt, and a package of sugar. His eyes then followed Dave, after he set the three containers down on the counter, as he went to the fridge.

Was it strange for him to be feeling this comfortable around Dave? Since his break up with Blaine, Kurt had been reduced to a hermit, moseying about the house and only replying to his family members with monosyllabic grunts. What was it about Dave that got him to laugh for the first time in weeks? to get him to waste time talking and joking around when they should already be preparing the frosting by now? that made his stomach swoop every time he touched him, when his own boyfriend, at the time, would cringe away from him?

Oh…

"And here are the last ingredients, Chef Hummel." Kurt's reverie was broken as Dave reappeared next to him with the milk and eggs. Dave grinned mischieveously at Kurt, unaware of the internal conflict he was facing.

"Thanks," Kurt said a little breathlessly before shaking his head.

No. No, this wouldn't do at all. It wasn't as though Dave liked him. Not like that.

And did he even like Dave like that?

"You alright?" Dave asked, concern clearly written on his face.

"Yes, of course. I'm fine. We're just a bit behind schedule that's all."

"So, shall we?"

"Yes, well… We should really wash our hands, first." Kurt offered, already moving towards the kitchen sink. At this point, as Kurt turned on the faucet and pumped some of the soap onto his hand without waiting for Dave, he decided that it was best if he just avoided eye contact all together. If he didn't look at Dave, then the easier it would be for him to avoid thinking about what a nice smile he has, or the way his hazel eyes twinkled whenever he tried to get a rise out of Kurt.

Dammit…

Kurt moved his hands away from the flow of water when he realized that all the suds were gone, but only to be left looking around the area of the sink for a towel-a problem that was easily remedied when he looked to the left to see Dave standing there holding up a hand towel.

Kurt's original plan involving no unnecessary eye contact was quickly botched as Kurt gave Dave a shy smile, taking the towel from Dave to dry his hands and moving out of the way for Dave to wash his.

Kurt wasn't sure how much longer he would survive this arrangement, but it didn't matter much to him, as long as the cake made it out of the oven unscathed.

So far, everything was going according to plan.

The two layers of cake were already in the oven baking. As much as Kurt wanted to avoid facing whatever this… Feeling... Was that he had for Dave, Kurt found it strange that it was Dave being the one distracting him from it. Kurt's confusion, however, would only come crashing down upon him in the silences where their laughter ceased but continued to echo off the walls and tiles of the kitchen.

They seemed to have worked out a system, though. Kurt measured out the ingredients and added them to the bowl as Dave folded them in together, and soon it seemed that Kurt felt like his cheeks were going to explode from laughing so hard at Dave's silly and often sarcastic comments. Kurt found he enjoyed seeing Dave flustered or aggravated, such as when Kurt handed over a box of chocolate cake mix to add to the bowl ("Who the hells invents a recipe for cake that involves cake mix?"). Or when Dave looked at Kurt like he'd grown a second head when he handed over the cup measurement of sour cream ("It makes the cake denser, David!").

Everything seemed to be going smoothly until the two began making the frosting.

Or at least smoothly according to Kurt.

Kurt had assigned Dave to microwaving the chocolate chips until they were melted while he used the electric mixer to beat the butter and cream cheese at medium speed. He seemed acutely aware of Dave on the other side of the room, checking and stirring the chocolate at thirty second intervals so it wouldn't get scorched and lumpy. After a minute and a half, Dave returned to Kurt who had already added the powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla extract into the bowl as well.

"Here we are," Dave said, holding the hot bowl with a flowery pink oven mitt.

"Cute," Kurt smirked giving Dave's gloved hand a quick glance as he continued to mix the creation.

"Glad you think so," Dave said without an ounce of malice.

"Here," Kurt said. He turned off the mixer and handed it over to Dave, making sure the whisks stayed in the bowl. "You do this, I am going to check the cakes."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dave interjected quickly. Kurt didn't think he's ever heard someone sound so scared about the prospect of mixing something. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Just add the chocolate to it, but make sure you do it slow; the chocolate is hot. You don't want to cook the cream cheese in the frosting."

So Dave added a little bit of the melted chocolate before turning on the mixer.

On High.

Kurt was pretty sure he squealed as he felt the gooey substance hit his face.

Kurt held up his hands defensively. He was expecting a further onslaught of sugary frosting to come at him, but it seems that Dave was quick to switch the dial back over to Off. Kurt stood in the same position, palms up and away from his body and shoulders pulled in slightly. He continued to gape in surprise, his eyes screwed shut despite hearing the gasping breaths of the person standing next to him.

"Oh my God," Dave wheezed as he propped the mixer on top of the sturdy bowl. "I was not expecting that." Dave supported his weight on against his knees as he continued to howl with laughter.

"I said… Slow," Kurt uttered, still stuck in the same dazed position.

"You said to add the chocolate slow, dork. You didn't say anything about the mixer." Dave rubbed his eye. Kurt began to think that maybe Dave got some frosting in his eye, but quickly realized that it was only tears. The front of Dave's shirt apparently got the brunt of the damage. If they were making a red frosting, it would have looked like it belonged in an evidence bag at a crime scene. The white frosting, however, looked fairly innocuous against the white shirt.

Kurt was happy to see, when he looked down, that his clothes were perfectly fine. There was just that sugary smidgen of frosting that seemed to have landed on his face.

"Kurt, here," Dave said, calming down slightly from the laughter. He picked up the towel that they used to dry there hands only earlier. "M'sorry."

"Is it bad?" Kurt asked, finally dropping his hands to allow Dave to clean him up. Kurt wondered if maybe some of the frosting flew into his hair, unnoticed.

"No, it's fine," Dave said softly as he wiped Kurt's cheek with an unnessary amount of concentration. "There was a reason I was buying cake mix at the store the other day… No electric mixers required." Kurt was wondering why they were speaking in such hushed tones. The tone of the kitchen was much more serious now than it was about thirty seconds ago-during the ruckus that ensued. Dave licked his lips and Kurt couldn't help staring at them; the way the pink flesh seemed to shine after his tongue darted over them.

"But we did use cake mix," Kurt replied in a quiet reminder. The air felt thick in the kitchen, and Kurt couldn't say it entirely had to do with the oven being on. His eyes felt heavy as well as he watch Dave's minute facial expressions from where he stood, standing so close.

"S'part of the recipe," Dave pointed out, in a murmur.

Kurt swallowed thickly when he realized that he could feel little puffs of Dave's warm breath on his face… The way that the damp, soft towel that was stroking his cheek only moments before seemed to be replaced by the dry, rough pad of David's thumb. The towel slipped down in between their bodies, a victim of gravity, falling at their feet… And somehow Dave's broad hand found its way to Kurt's waist, squeezing gently at the soft flesh there, protruding slightly above his belt hugging his hips.

Kurt's eyes snapped open and stepped away from Dave, who seemed almost as confused and frightened as Kurt was, but for a different reason. Dave's hand seem to grip at the air where Kurt was just standing, as if befuddled by his sudden absence.

"I—Have to go," Kurt whispered. He stared at Dave's saddened eyes, not understanding how much they were a reflection of his own.

"Kurt…" Dave responded a similar hushed tone. The name he uttered rang in the quiet kitchen like an aching, unspecified plea.

The only answer that Kurt was able to give to Dave was '"I can't" as he pushed past him, running towards the front door.

Wow, this chapter was a doozy to write. Mostly because I'm incredibly anxious for the next one.

If you're wondering what outfit Kurt is wearing, you can refer to this pic. He wore this outfit in "Funk".

http : / / pics. livejournal . com / boysinperil / pic / 0001y9cz / s320x240

You will have to wait until the next chapter to see the cake... Patience loves. :)

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