Kurt knew that Blaine was away on vacation with his family. What he didn't know was that Finn had planned some kind of super-cheesy romantic date for Rachel, and that Santana and Brittany were stuck with Sue, facilitating cheer boot camp for next year's squad. Supposedly, it was in their contract. The point was, by all rights their usual movie night should have been cancelled, but no one had bothered to tell Kurt anything about that until the very last minute.

Apparently, no one had bothered to let Dave know, either.

There was an awkward moment when Dave showed up on the doorstep alone: tall broad-shouldered boy with his hands shoved in his pockets—looking lost without his Cheerio entourage—light green polo and dark wash jeans, golden skin, curly brown hair, and that little mole near his mouth. The reality of spending the evening alone with him struck Kurt hard, tied his stomach in knots…and for the life of him Kurt couldn't figure out why, because he hadn't felt uncomfortable around Dave in months, maybe even a little over a year. The last time he could clearly remember had been at junior prom, and to be honest, he highly suspected that his discomfort on that occasion had comparatively little to do with Dave.

They just stood there silently for a moment, Dave averting his eyes and ducking his head in that way Kurt had come to realize meant he was nervous. For whatever reason, that was all it took to snap him out of this…whatever it was.

"Well hello," he said cheerfully. "I guess it's just us tonight. Any chance I could talk you into foregoing the horror movie just this once?"

Dave's nervousness seemed to dissipate a little at seeing Kurt take the whole thing in stride. He kept his hands in his pockets, but grinned and shook his head at Kurt as he stepped into the house.

"No way, K. You're not getting off that easy. It's 70s slasher week!"

"Oh, joy," Kurt deadpanned as he shut the door. "Just what I always wanted: to watch a bunch of half-naked girls run around screaming before being hacked to pieces."

"On the plus side, the effects weren't too realistic in the 70s," Dave reassured him. "And the music is pretty awesome."

Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"We shall see." He headed toward the kitchen to grab some drinks and snacks, directing Dave to get the TV set up and pick whichever seat he wanted.

"Now that we don't have to fight Santana or accommodate Finn's need for excessive leg-stretching room," he explained. When he came into the living room a few minutes later, however, he was surprised to find that Dave had taken up his usual spot in the middle of the couch. At Kurt's raised eyebrow—questioning this time, and damned if he didn't have an eyebrow for every occasion—Dave shrugged.

"It has the best angle, and I'm used to it. I can move to the chair if you want…"

"No need for all that," Kurt said airily, depositing the popcorn, diet sodas, and a bucket of homemade trail mix on the coffee table before motioning for Dave to move down. "Just scoot down a little."

Dave obliged, scooting to the end of the couch. He figured Kurt was going to sit on the other end and put the popcorn between them, and his heart sank a little. He really did love scary movies, and hanging out with the rest of the group…but his favorite part of Saturday nights by far was the fact that he always seemed to end up sitting beside Kurt. Lately, Kurt had even taken to using him as a convenient combination of shield and pillow, depending on whether the movie was boring or terrifying (Hellraiser made him shriek; he fell asleep ten minutes into Children of the Corn).

Kurt surprised him, however. He tended to do that. Instead of sitting on the other end, Kurt grabbed one of the decorative pillows—something he must have picked out, because Dave just didn't see anyone else in the house as the decorative pillow type—and plopped it in Dave's lap before stretching out with his feet toward the vacant end and his head resting across Dave's thighs. He looked up, grinning smugly.

"If you get to be predictable, I'm just going to be obnoxious and lazy."

Dave laughed, and then wondered if Kurt noticed how helpless a noise it was. Maybe not. He hoped not. He turned his attention to the television, trying to focus on Vampire Svenboolie's cheesy black-and-white opener instead of the warm weight of Kurt's head in his lap. This was made difficult by the fact that Kurt kept moving. For the first five minutes, he twisted and turned and re-situated himself like a cat, trying to get comfortable and oblivious to the fact that Dave was more or less dying by inches underneath him.

Dave breathed a sigh of relief when Kurt finally settled down, lying on his stomach with arms folded on the pillow in Dave's lap and his head cradled on them, face turned to the TV. Dave tried to tune into the movie, but he could feel everything Kurt did, every little reaction: fingers clenching on the pillow whenever something even a little spooky happened. It made him feel kind of bad for not agreeing to let Kurt pick a movie. He knew Kurt didn't like scary movies; he normally just watched because everyone else out-voted him. He was wishing now he'd told Kurt to go ahead and pick whatever he wanted.

He sat there wishing it for about ten more minutes, berating himself silently and wondering if it would be lame to suggest that they put something else on instead, before a cleverly executed jump scare had Kurt squealing and twisting to bury his face in Dave's stomach, hands clutching at his shirt. Dave reacted automatically; it had become habit to him by this point. He wrapped his arms around Kurt, giving his shoulders a quick squeeze before loosening his grip, ready to let go the second Kurt gave any indication he was uncomfortable. He never did, but Dave wanted to be ready, just in case.

Kurt looked up, expressive blue-green eyes set wide in the pale, heart-shaped face, lips parted and cheeks stained with the faintest pink…hands still fisted in Dave's shirt. Dave swallowed hard.

"Um…d'you…d'you want to watch something else?"

Kurt didn't say anything. He couldn't. He gravitated toward the warmth and that moment of perfect, unexpected safety he felt when Dave's arms closed around him. Proud as he was of his acting skills, he didn't even bother trying to deceive himself: this wasn't the first time being held by Dave Karofsky had made his blood race and his skin tingle. It had become his guilty pleasure, the favorite part of Saturdays that he would never admit to. All those times they'd been sitting so close together, shrouded in darkness and masked by the noise of whatever movie was playing, Kurt had felt the electricity in every accidental touch, but had never acted on it. Something always held him back, something with bright golden eyes and impossibly curly black hair, someone that smiled at him like he hung the moon and loved and trusted him so completely that he never even considered being jealous of the easy physicality developing between his boyfriend and another guy. With Blaine sitting less than two feet away, the guilt that twisted Kurt's gut was more than enough to mask the butterflies that Dave sent fluttering there.

But now, in this moment, Kurt was lost and Blaine wasn't here to find him, and Dave…Dave was overpowering. He filled Kurt's senses: the scent of clean, warm skin under soap and aftershave, planes of hard and soft muscle under his arms, surprisingly soft fabric clenched in his fists…hazel green eyes and that mole near his mouth again, like a homing beacon, and he just wanted to press his lips to it…

Kurt leaned up and in, hesitantly but with a clear purpose. His eyes couldn't decide whether to focus on Dave's own eyes or his lips, so they kept alternating between the two. They saw the former widen in surprise when it became apparent that Kurt wasn't going to stop coming closer, and then watched them flutter closed as he pressed a kiss to the latter.

It was soft, and wholly unfamiliar, but it was also bliss. Kurt had been kissed by Dave Karofsky once before, but it hadn't felt like this. Dave was kissing him back, but carefully, oh-so-gently, as if he was constructed of ash and could crumble at any moment. Kurt pressed in a little harder, released Dave's abused shirt to press his hands to his shoulders instead, before sliding them up the sides of his neck and finally cupping his face to hold Dave there with him, in the moment. He hadn't anticipated the half-choked moan such a simple motion would elicit from Dave, and so he had no way at all to know what it would do to him when he heard it.

Suddenly, Dave's soft kisses were not enough. Kurt pressed in harder, kissing more insistently and removing his hands from Dave's face to wrap both arms around his neck as tightly as he could. He had gone from laying down to being perched precariously on his knees in the little couch space between Dave's spread legs, and he wasn't exactly sure when it had happened. He just knew he wanted more, he wanted Dave to kiss him…

…to kiss him like he was a drowning man and Kurt was air.

Kurt pulled back with a gasp, un-wrapping his arms from around Dave's neck and standing up so quickly that he almost fell backwards. Like always, Dave moved to steady him automatically, with two gentle hands at his waist. Kurt felt the internal, silent tremors spread out from those hands until they were singing in his feet and rattling in his brain.

"Dave," he choked out. "I think…I think you should go."

"Kurt?" The bemused smile on Dave's face was falling steadily, replaced by a quick succession of confusion, realization, disappointment, and—worst of everything—hurt. He dropped his hands from Kurt's waist, and the other boy found that he missed them immediately. The space they had occupied felt too cold.

"I'm really sorry," Kurt said, unable to even look Dave in the eye. "This…I…"

"Blaine," Dave said, so gently. Kurt closed his eyes at the name, afraid to see Dave's face when he nodded his head, once. Dave was silent for so long that Kurt began to get nervous. He opened one eye slightly to find Dave had dropped his head into his hands, and Kurt's heart clenched painfully.

"Dave—"

He looked up, and his face was so understanding. Kurt felt sick.

"No, it's fine," Dave said, voice a little gruff but otherwise calm. "I get it. Blaine's my friend, too, and I don't…I wouldn't want to hurt him like that. Besides, you guys are so good together. You're practically made for each other."

Kurt didn't know what to say. He wanted to rewind the evening somehow, stick to witty banter and snacks and poorly-produced horror movies…but he didn't know how. Dave stood up.

"I'm gonna get going, K," he said softly. "I'll seeya next Saturday?" He didn't wait for an answer, but he barely caught it anyway as he walked out the door.

"Yeah," Kurt said, sounding choked. "Next Saturday."