The Storm

Chapter Three

By Gayforkurt

Summary: David Karofsky, a billionaire who collects beautiful things and people, kidnaps the famous countertenor Kurt Hummel – and suffers for it. NB: Warnings for dubious consent, some bitchiness and sex. Enjoy! Rated: M

A/N 1: This chappie is very, very short by my usual standards but I felt it necessary to break it where I did. I hope you don't hate me for that but I promise the others will definitely be longer.

A/N 2: Remember this is extremely AU, folks. Also, I am cleaning up the other chapters and I plan to release them as soon as they're ready. Feed the author – please review.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters except for the OCs; Murphy et al do, unfortunately. I'm just playing with them and plan to return them unharmed.

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KHDK

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David Karofsky did not think of himself as an evil man; no, he didn't even think he was a particularly harsh man to work for. Certainly he had never received any kind of feedback through all the years he had been running his father's empire that anyone had been less than satisfied with his demeanour. Yet, a niggling doubt about the plan to kidnap the diva, Kurt Hummel, underscored a rising sense of guilt in him. He had never felt guilty before about any of his many business deals or personal relationships. Somehow, though, when Kurt had spat at him with so much hate, he'd definitely felt doubtful about his desire to bring the singer to live with him.

He seated himself on the bench before his favorite musical instrument, a lovingly restored 1929 Steinway Model 'L' Grand Piano in ebony satin finish, and rested his hands gently on the keys. As Kurt's beautiful, blue-green eyes swam before his mind he unconsciously began playing Chopin's Nocturne No. 1 in G Minor. Music helped him to concentrate; it calmed him miraculously. Not many people would expect such a wonderful artistic ability from a former jock not particularly well-known for his sensitivity.

However, Dave's parents had loved music in almost all its forms and Dave had grown up to the sound of it flowing through all the homes they'd owned, at all times of the day. When he'd gone off to college, he'd had a small moment of rebellion when he only listened to the loudest of heavy metal, rock and alternate music, anything that was different from what he'd grown up hearing. That didn't last for long, though, because his passion for classical music ran deep within him and he gradually started attending concerts whenever he got the chance.

That was how he'd seen and fallen head over heels in love with the fascinating young singer who'd performed a breathtaking rendition of Handel's 'Ombra Mai Fu' with such purity, Dave had almost fallen into a trance. The concert at the Metropolitan Opera that night featured upcoming singers, some of whom were just in their senior year at Juilliard, some doing post-grad work. They'd all been excellent but when Kurt Hummel, a slender, china doll of a boy took his turn center-stage and opened his mouth, the sound that had emerged had held the audience spellbound for the entirety of his performance.

Tumultuous applause had shaken Dave out of his dream-like state and yet he sat through the emotional ovation that Kurt received with a graciousness that belied his youth. When the auditorium was almost empty, Dave made his way backstage (being a patron he had access, of course) to demand a meeting with the young singer, but halfway there he'd turned away. He'd never before felt he was inadequate in anyone's eyes, least of all some kid who'd probably never handled more than a $1,000 in his life. This time, though, for some reason, Dave felt as if he would appear as some lumbering, sweating oaf daring to come into the presence of something finer than he deserved.

So, his courage failed him but his passion for the boy soprano continued and grew. Whenever, over the ensuing years, Kurt performed, Dave was there. He met Kurt only once, and that was at a fund-raising banquet and he was certain Kurt didn't remember that occasion. They had been introduced by a society matron dripping in jewels and gushing over Kurt's brilliance but Kurt had only had eyes for one of the other men in the party and had barely glanced at or acknowledged the quiet, almost brooding David Karofsky.

Still, Dave didn't hold such shallowness against Kurt. He was young, he told himself, and he only needed a little time to mature. Then he would be ready. Dave, at that time, didn't ask himself for what Kurt would be ready. No, he just told himself – soon.

Now he had Kurt where he wanted him but – Kurt was not happy to be here. As the music came to an end, Dave sighed, wondering again if his plan had been too extreme to begin with. He hadn't actually started out planning to abduct Kurt; it was just that, as he had thought and brooded and planned, this had seemed the only way to get the hard-partying, hard-working young singer to himself.

Now, as the sweetly sad music of Debussy's Clair de Lune sounded in his music room, a tear welled up and ran down Dave's cheek. He realized, belatedly, he had messed up badly and he was glad his parents were not around to witness his incredible folly in taking for himself something he didn't deserve. He would have Kurt returned to the mainland the next day and hope the diva would be able to put this no doubt traumatic experience behind him.

Dave continued for the next hour or so to pour out his anguish, and if the strains of the melancholy music echoed through the house, he was not aware. His staff knew not to interrupt him when he got like this, and only his assistant had ever had the courage to bring him refreshments which he often ignored. Finally, when he'd pulled himself together and returned to the persona of David Karofsky, ruthless billionaire entrepreneur, did he let himself retire to bed.

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KHDK

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Kurt, after showering and dressing, had fallen into a light doze but he jerked awake. After a moment of disorientation, he remembered everything and he sat up swiftly. The woman had left a carafe of water and glasses on a tray on his bedside table and he helped himself to a drink as he took in his surroundings. Someone had turned on one of the floor lamps in his room for it was pitch black outside. The warm light gleamed, the reflection in the shiny floor aiding in illuminating the beauty and warmth of the room. Really, had it not been for the unusual circumstances surrounding his presence, he could actually enjoy being in such a stunning house.

As he sipped the still cool water, he wondered what had awakened him. He didn't think it was the sound of the surf just beyond his door; no, it was much closer to hand. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, replaced the glass on the tray and straightened his clothes before heading toward the door on tiptoes. He pulled it open very slowly, hoping the hinges wouldn't creak, and peered out. Aha! There was no one in the corridor; the guards must have retired thinking he was out for the night.

Kurt went back to retrieve comfortable slip-on shoes, grabbed a light sweater and headed back out the door. Of course he had no idea where he was going but as he crept along the dim passageway, he heard what must have disturbed his sleep. Someone nearby was playing the heck out of a piano, and from the sound of it, that was no cheap upright. Of course, nothing in this house was cheap, Kurt guessed.

As he crept along, he paused every few feet to check if anyone else was stirring. It felt as if it was relatively late, probably closer to midnight from the coolness of the air, and figured most everyone but the musician was asleep. Moving towards the increasing volume of sound, Kurt slowed as he approached a door that was only slightly ajar. Quieting his breathing, Kurt put a hand out and pushed the door open very slowly. He almost felt as if he was a little child who'd been sent to bed but had sneaked out to come and listen to the grownups in the drawing room.

The gentle strains of Mozart's Sonata in A, which he recognized was being played excellently, poured out of one of the most beautiful instruments Kurt had ever seen. What almost made him gasp, though, was that the musician, whose back was to him, was the same man who'd kiss-raped him and threatened to handcuff him – naked – to his bed earlier.

Kurt didn't know if he should interrupt the impromptu concert or just return to his room unnoticed. As he stood there, however, even over the rich sound of the Steinway, he could hear a sound he never thought he would. That was a sniffle!

Tiptoeing back out the door and pulling it to without actually shutting it, Kurt stood for a moment and pondered the strange man who'd whisked him away from his life. Kurt didn't think of himself as a vindictive person; however, he felt he had every right to make this man's life a living hell for what he'd done (and threatened to do) and now, finding out that he wasn't as hard as he appeared, would only make Kurt's mission easier to accomplish.

He hardened his heart to the really excellent music still pouring out of the room and the memory of David Karofsky's no doubt momentary weakness, and squared his shoulders. To the much slower and slightly sadder sound of Schumann's Reverie No. 7 Opus 15, Kurt made his way back to his room, a little more cheerful at the thought of putting his plans into play when the morning came.

David Karofsky, he sneered in his mind as he completed his pre-bedtime skin care regimen, brace yourself! As a cold smile thinned his normally full pink lips, the strains of Beethoven's immortal Sonata No. 14 in C sharp minor – the Moonlight Sonata – ushered Kurt into a deep, peaceful and dreamless sleep.

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TBC

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A/N 3: My Kurt is definitely no shrinking violet, is he? I will rein him in if I see him getting too vindictive, trust me. Heh-heh, heh-heh-heh.