AN: A lot of ugly imagery in Karofsky's thoughts and some violence. Just forewarned. Next chapter will open with Kurt telling others what happened so if you want to skip, skip.
Dave Karofsky had gotten sick of it all. Things at school had changed. The Glee club was still at the very bottom of the pyramid, along with all the nerds and losers, but for the first time, all the school pariahs were acting like they didn't know or care. Not many of them picked a fight face-on, but all the sneaky stuff was going on. It felt like a floor he'd been walking on was starting to twist and roil underneath his feet. He was still on top of it and that wouldn't change, but what was underneath was alive and a tiny push here and a tiny pressure there.
Not that that was really the problem. The real problem was that the fag school had taken the fag princess with them, which should have been great. No more Hummel walking around like he was such a perfect prissy little fairy. If God or fate or somebody hadn't decided to play the worst possible trick on Dave Karofsky and decided to make him lust after Hummel like a normal man would lust after a Playmate, it would be great to have Hummel gone. Now, at the fag school, somebody else had tapped that ass for the first time, and probably they were tapping it each time one of them actually got enough testosterone to get hard. They were probably passing him from hand to hand like a bong at a party. If they knew about how a football player, a hockey player, a jock was lusting for their little sex toy, they'd laugh their heads off at him, dangling their swishy wrists as they threw back their faggy heads and laughed.
Good thing for him that he'd directed as much of that frustration as he could into a plan. He'd scoped that fancy rich boy school out, put together everything he needed, and he'd get exactly what he wanted. He might not be able to manage it all today, but he'd be able to set everything up.
He felt like somebody who had had nothing to eat but dry bread for a month and was finally going to pull his chair up to a big steak dinner. Oh, yeah. Dave Karofsky had an appetite, and it was going to be satisfied.
Blaine's sophomore year English teacher, Mr Dobbes, had made them memorize long poetry each week. He'd said all kinds of things about how memorization is exercise for the brain, a skill that would give them far more than just a head full of vaguely remembered lines. Blaine hadn't expected the side benefit of the sensual thrill as he buried his face in Kurt's jawline and whispered as he slowly licked and kissed his way down Kurt's neck. "A hundred years should go to praise/thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze." His mouth was muffled as he continued to murmur, but the poem's pulsation kept its rhythm. He raised his head when he reached Kurt's navel and dipped his tongue in once, teasingly, wanting to see for himself the way that he could make Kurt's breathing speed and his eyes dilate. "For, Lady, you deserve this state/nor would I love at slower rate." He resumed, lifting his mouth again as he veered to pour his attentions on the turn of a hipbone. "And now, like amorous birds of prey/Rather at once our time devour/than languish in his slow-chapped power."
Blaine found the thrill more, rather than less intense each time he tenderly undressed Kurt and taking his time, relishing each second, transformed him from his remote, even chilled reserve, to a wire quivering with tension, released just before it sprang to pieces. He had to admit to himself that he was addicted to Kurt and his thoughts turned to him like an addict's to the next fix. Unless he was focusing entirely on something else, no matter where he was, anything, a gleam of color, a turn of a neck that was just enough like Kurt's, even a stray whiff of salt or soap like the smell that he greedily devoured from the other's skin could bring his memories and senses back so powerfully that it seemed there was no separation of time or space from the last moments with Kurt in his arms and bed.
It wasn't as though other moments were less real but that the moments with Kurt were somehow hyper-real, made from some more brilliant kinds of matter and energy. It even made him feel a kinship with the others that he knew experienced the same kind of thrill, as though when he saw David's face glow at the sound of his girlfriend's cell tone or even the sound of her name, or when Andreas couldn't help but look at his girlfriend's picture for an instant every time he picked up his phone.
Even his awareness that time was limited added to the intensity. There was so much to thrill and experience and delight in urgently, but still to linger in and give his attention to every square millimeter of Kurt's body.
Except somehow he felt superior to the poet who had captured that duality in his sensual verses. Each time that he was buried in Kurt's body, he felt as though in those compressed minutes, he had infinite time. Even in what had become routine already in those first weeks, the light kisses on Kurt's mouth, then lying on his back and pillowing Kurt's head on his chest, there was still variety, each time slightly different from before.
Blaine's eyes flickered to the clock and he saw it was later than he thought. He sat up and bent his head to kiss Kurt's shoulder. "It's almost four and I've got Ms Hernandez at 4:30. She gets homicidal if I'm not warmed up already." Pulling his clothing back on, he started to vocalize up and down thirds, fifths, and finally octaves as he quickly ran a comb through his hair. "I'll come get you before dinner."
Kurt swung his legs out of the bed as well. "I actually want to go to the gym, the small dance studio should be free now."
"I'll pick you up there, then." Blaine got in a quick fondle to Kurt's buttocks before leaving with a final kiss on his cheek.
Kurt dropped his iPod in the base and picked out the Jacques Brel song that Ms Cordwain had assigned to him. She'd picked a musically simple one, "Quand on n'a que l'amour," telling him that he'd started to sing and stand too tightly, too coiled around himself, and told him to dance and stretch to it first. She'd also made him do his own translation of the lyrics to make each turn of phrase his own.
As Brel's slightly raspy baritone began the third verse, Kurt began to sing under his breath to keep the rhythms fixed. "When we've nothing but love/To live our promises/And no other wealth/But to believe love always." He still didn't feel as though he'd gotten any of the movements right and sat down to think how to fix it. After a moment, he laughed to himself. It wasn't the kind of song that you could dance as a solo. Far from it.
Mentally, he put Mercedes, Finn, and Rachel in a triangle with himself in the center. No, that didn't work either. He added Brittany and then Puck to help lift her into the air, alternating her and Rachel. There, that was better. Not perfect, but enough to get the ideas and his body moving. He started the song again from the beginning.
Karofsky didn't expect much of a challenge at the gates when he drove in with the landscaping truck he'd hotwired from the service's parking lot. He kept the baseball cap pulled low over his face and muttered, "Forgot some of my stuff." The security guard waved him in without a problem.
Maybe for once life was going to take it easy on him. He saw Hummel walking alone into a big, modern building with a black steel sign calling it the Winder Family Gymnasium. He hadn't really known what to expect, but it wasn't seeing him walk around alone and, well, freely. Not that he'd expected that they were keeping him chained to a bed somewhere, but this looked almost too normal.
He pulled the truck up to the back, got out, and tried the service door. It was locked and had one of those keycard pads, the first obstacle he'd seen. But even that seemed to be going his way as a student came out and politely held the door for him.
Staying unobtrusive, he scouted around for Hummel, finally glimpsing him through a glass door to a studio. Only the door was glass so he caught sight of him only for a moment. Karofsky waited to see if he could spy anybody else in there, but didn't see anybody else come into view and didn't hear any voices. He opened the door and came in.
Hummel looked at him, startled and flushed. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"I've got a plan to get you out of here," Karofsky felt a broad smile of excitement and anticipation come onto his face as he crossed the room to stand over Hummel, backing him against a wall that was out of sight of the door. Hummel's face was just what he wanted to see, confused and nervous and actually eager to hear what he had to say.
"So here's the deal. I've got one of the landscaping trucks out back. We leave signs of a struggle here. I've got a ransom note we'll leave, too. We'd just ignore it, wouldn't even check to see if they paid. My dad just broke his ankle so he won't be using the little hunting cabin we've got about an hour from here. You'll stay there until your sentence here is over, plus a few weeks so it won't look like too much of a coincidence. I looked everything up and if you disappear involuntarily from here, you're actually free once the time is over," he added, at Kurt's skeptical look. "Let's face it, Hummel, nobody would ever go looking for you anyplace that belongs to my family. It's not much but it's got propane heat and I've even stocked it with supplies."
God, he was getting off on the way that Kurt was clearly searching the plan for flaws and not finding any. "I'm not running any big risks. I'd break into the cabin and you could handcuff yourself to a pipe if anybody comes in. You make up a fake description of the kidnapper. So even if somebody does find you, it's still time off your sentence."
It was like he could read Kurt's mindand knew what the next question would be at the tilt of his head. "So are you doing this out of the kindness of your heart or what?"
"Oh, no." He stepped closer to Kurt, intimately, hooked his finger into his shirt collar, and then bent to whisper just above Kurt's mouth, "I get what I want out of this, too. Every chance I get." He opened his mouth again to take Kurt's in the kiss that he knew belonged to him now, and then felt Hummel try to shove him away.
"The fuck? What the hell are you thinking, this is your chance to get out!"
"Right, by selling myself to you! No, thanks!"
He could not believe this, not at all. Hummel was actually trying to step around him and leave. Dave caught him by the arm. "Listen, you idio-"
"Let go of me." Hummel's voice was just as chilly and proud as it had ever been, as if he weren't the fag boys' pet trophy. One possibility came into Dave's mind. "Are you saying that you like it here, Hummel?"
"God, no! I don't have my freedom, I don't even have my own body, but at least I'm not selling myself to somebody who's done nothing but brutalize me."
The worst, the most disgusting possibility came into Dave's head as he felt the soft, expensive fabric under his hands, the kind of fabric Hummel hadn't worn since his father had died, and then saw the expensive watch. "You slut!" He shoved Hummel into the wall. "You slut, pretending you don't like it, but all this...you whore!" It actually hurt, part of him that he'd never acknowledged had wanted Kurt to see him as a rescuer, as a knight in shining armor, and to fall in love with him, to look up at him with shining eyes and cling to him like a fucking bride. But while Hummel was saying all that about not selling himself, he was choosing to stay here and get all these rich boy presents. "I would have loved you," he ground between his teeth, leaning against him.
If Hummel had backed down, Dave would have just walked out in disgust. But instead, Hummel spat out, "Let go of me," again. Dave stepped back to swing at him and Hummel actually dodged the first punch and started to run. He grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. Hummel threw his head back and screamed.
The only person who came in was a little mouse of a kid, even smaller than Hummel. "Is everything all-" Mouse boy stopped and stared.
"None of your business, don't make me hurt you, too," Dave growled. Instead of backing off like any sensible person would, the guy actually came running towards them and tried to grab Hummel out of his grip. Dave sent an elbow right to his head and that staggered him. Now that there had been a witness, things could get bad, but then again, while he hadn't told them what he'd be doing, his football buddies had promised to say that he was with them all night, and he'd been wearing gloves. He decided to make a run for it and leave the slut behind. But at the sound of the fight, another boy had come in, this one not a shrimp but still easy enough for him to take. "Back off and you won't get hurt," he warned, but the retard saw Hummel and Mouse Boy and tried to tackle him, yelling for help.
That seemed to open the floodgate and this time it was a group of boys that heard. Dave tried to fight them off and make his escape but there were too many this time. Half of them were holding him back and the others were going to Hummel and Mouse Boy, fussing over them, asking if they were okay.
Some black kid came in and looked like he was taking charge of Hummel. He had an arm around his shoulders and was looking anxiously at him. "No, David, really, I'm okay, thanks to-" Mouse Boy looked up. "Jim. Jim Driver." Dave knew he should be thinking about his own situation but instead, he could just keep staring at Hummel and the black kid, David, who was standing protectively next to him. Hummel was looking at him as if he trusted him. "Slut," Dave whispered one last time.