Chapter 33: Coping

He could do this. It was Friday. He just had to get through today, and he could hole up in his room all weekend. He could do this. No one was throwing slushies at him, or pushing him into lockers, or tripping him in the hallways. They just moved out of his way, and talked about him behind his back. His team mates didn't talk to him at all. But they wanted to win, so they acknowledged him on the field. He needed the scholarship, so he kept playing. He was a transfer in his senior year. The only friends he had made were on the football team, so now he had no friends. He moved through the day entombed in a bubble of tension, pretending not to see the smirks, and stares.

When he got home it wasn't much better. His mother had cried and prayed for two days. His father had come in to his room last night, and said that this was difficult for her. Yeah, like it was easy for him! His father had convinced his mother to go and talk to her minister. Somehow, Dave didn't think that was going to help.

He was splintering apart. His life was quicksand, and he was slowly sinking.

Kurt and Blaine walked into Glee, and it did not take an Einstein to figure out that the Karofsky bomb had gone off.

"Lady Face, did you know?" Santana had figured it out last year, and basically black mailed Karofsky into taking her to the Junior Prom.

Dave had said that since all hell had already broken loose Kurt didn't have to keep his secret anymore. "Yeah, I knew last year but Dave wasn't ready to come out so I didn't say anything." Kurt didn't say how he had known. That would stay between him and Dave, and Blaine, of course.

"That boy has a lot of nerve! He better never show his face at this school again." Mercedes was pissed.

Puck slumped back in his chair, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. "As Kurt's number one fruit fly, I don't think you're allowed to be homophobic, Aretha."

Mercedes totally ignored Puck, too intent on her rant. "I knew that boy was bogus when he came in here with Santana last year, all 'I'm sorry. Let's start the Bully Whips'. But this! He spent months slamming Kurt into lockers, and drenching him in slushies for being exactly what he was himself? What the hell is that?"

Finn nodded. "That is kind of weird. Isn't that like hating on yourself?"

Kurt smiled and patted Finn on the shoulder. "Yes, Finn. That's exactly what it's like."

Finn took the turns slowly but he got there. "You mean he hated himself so he took it out on you."

"My dads say…" Rachel didn't get to finish her sentence.

"Stuff it, Streisand. We get it." Santana linked hands with Brittany.

"I guess Dave wasn't happy being a dolphin." Brittany remembered when Santana had trouble dealing with the same issue.

"He must be freaking out." Tina looked around the room. Everyone knew the kind of torture that the high school hierarchy could dish out.

Mike grimaced. "Does anyone know how he's doing?"

Blaine looked at Kurt, and one by one the others turned to the countertenor. "We've been talking. He says that he has it relatively easy because they don't have a Slushie machine at his new school." Laughter circled the room at that but they sobered quickly as Kurt continued. "But no one talks to him. They all talk about him, of course. They spray painted his locker."

"Same shit, different school." Puck was never surprised when things went bad, he expected them to.

"Yeah, but this time Karofsky's not the jock tormenting the loser." Mike looked around the room. "This time he is the loser."

Santana smirked. "Irony, anyone?"

"Okay guys, today we're going to tackle duets from the 80's." Schuester strode into the room, all bounce and energy.

Everyone groaned. Artie glanced at the song titles on the handout Will was passing around the room. "Worse, this is worse than disco!"

Kurt and Finn were in the kitchen getting a snack to tide them over till dinner. Kurt stood at the counter, cutting fruit. Finn slumped in a chair, eating his way through a bag of nachos, complaining about a movie Rachel was dragging him to.

"A French movie about a guy in a wheel chair. In French! How am I supposed to understand it?" Finn brushed nacho crumbs off his rugby shirt.

"It has subtitles, Finn." Kurt rinsed the cutting board.

"I have to read the movie?" Finn was appalled.

Kurt laughed. "It's not…" Kurt stopped as Nigel's ringtone sang out of his pocket. "Hey, babe. I'm having dinner with my folks. I'll be over later. Of course." Kurt smiled as he slipped his phone away.

"It's not fair." Finn complained around a mouthful of chips. "You sleep over at Nigel's all the time and no one says anything."

Kurt took his plate of fruit, added some yogurt, and joined Finn at the table. "You could do the same thing if your girlfriend was four years older and didn't live with her parents."

Finn shook his head. "I don't think so. I think they let you get away with it because you can't get Nigel pregnant."

Kurt grinned. "It's not like we don't try."

Finn threw a fistful of nachos at him.

Dave called after dinner, as Kurt was packing his overnight bag. "Hey."

"How was today?"

Dave sighed. "I never thought I could be so tired from talking to no one."

Kurt sat on his bed, beside his half packed bag. He said nothing as he pictured Dave walking through the halls alone.

"Maybe I should find out if they have a Glee Club."

Dave was joking, but Kurt thought it was a good idea. "You do have a good voice that you're totally ignoring."

"You think so?" To Dave, who was suffocating in condemning silence and disgusted stares, Kurt's compliment felt like sunshine. He wanted to hold the compliment in his mind and warm himself from the inside out.

"Yes. What's happening with your parents?"

"Still not saying much. My mother wants me to go to church with her on Sunday, and talk to the minister. That should be fun!"

Kurt shuddered. "Maybe it will make her feel better."

"Yeah, maybe." Dave sounded doubtful.

"What are you doing tomorrow? I'm taking Nigel's nephew and niece to a movie, if you want to join us?"

"No, thanks Kurt, but I'm going to hide out here. Do some homework, listen to music. Maybe go to Scandals tomorrow night."

"Okay, call me if you need to talk."

"Thanks, Kurt."

"Bye, Dave."

"Night, Claire." Nigel shut his bedroom door and turned to his boyfriend.

Kurt sat on the bed, waiting, legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, leaning back slightly, arms out at his side, supporting himself on his hands. Nigel watched heat darken those crystal eyes, and felt his cock twitch. Kurt nodded and Nigel slipped to his knees. Kurt stood, and paced across the carpet to his lover, silent, sure. He never took his eyes off Nigel, and Nigel felt captured and desired and God! So lucky!

Kurt touched Nigel's hair, and then walked around the kneeling man, a slow circle. He touched the other man lightly, at neck, shoulder, back. Each touch was fleeting, teasing, meant to incite but not quell the need humming through Nigel. Kurt stopped in front of his boyfriend and tipped Nigel's head up. He put two fingers to Nigel's lips, and traced them lightly. He pushed gently, and Nigel sucked the fingers in. He ran his tongue over the digits, and nipped at the finger tips.

Kurt slid the two fingers in and out of Nigel's mouth, simulating other pleasures. Nigel dropped his head back, and curled his tongue around the invading fingers. He whimpered a small deprived mewl of disappointment when Kurt withdrew his hand. Locking eyes with Nigel, Kurt ran his fingers over the outline of his own cock, very evident through the tight fit of his jeans.

Nigel reached up and laid his hand on Kurt's wrist. "Please?"