I don't own Glee. :(

Dave lost himself.

It was almost immediate; his hands clutched at the front of Kurt's shirt, dragging him closer, needing to feel the countertenor against him.

He could taste Kurt's lips; they were warm and smooth under his.

He can feel Kurt's fingers digging hard into the back of his neck, feel them snake up and tangle into his hair.

He can smell that coconut, that tantalizingly beautiful smell, and it invades his nose.

This time, though, it was real.

Everything was real.

The little noise Kurt make when Dave's hands clench on his thighs.

The way Kurt shudders at his touch.

Everything, everything, everything was real.

And that was scary.

So Dave does what any terrified teenager with Kurt Hummel in his lap would do: he stood quickly, knocking Kurt onto the floor with a gracefully thump, and stumbled unceremoniously toward the door, saying loudly, "What the hell. What the hell. What the HELL. What the hell."

It wasn't even a question. From the floor, Kurt yelled, "Karofsky, shut the fuck up!" and his mouth clamped shut. His feet stopped their progression toward the door. He just stood, dumbfounded, with one trembling hand on the doorknob.

"Sit down."

He does what he's told, but his knees knock together as he lowers himself back onto the couch.

Kurt was still sitting on the floor, but his knees were pulled up to his chest, arms hugging them like they were his only anchor. He looked so vulnerable, so alone, so broken that Dave wanted to hold him and never let him go again.

He doesn't, though.

"You called me Karofsky."

"I'm aware."

"Sorry."

"Yeah."

"Really."

"Okay."

"Have I totally ruined everything?"

"No."

He didn't believe him. Not in the slightest.

Not even when Kurt untangled himself and crawled, hands and knees, to perch carefully on the couch beside him.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing." A red blush started to creep up his neck, and Dave had a moment of complete euphoria when he realized that he, David Karofsky, managed to make Kurt Hummel blush.

"I don't know what else to say." The truth spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it; the corner of Kurt's mouth arched up into the smallest of smirks. "You freaked me out."

"So you don't find me attractive."

"You're fucking sexy." This time, he clapped a hand over his mouth and Kurt laughed, out loud and clear. "I can't believe I just said that."

"I'm sexy, but you don't want to kiss me." He sounds confused, but his eyes were lucid. Dave looked down at his hands.

"I do want to kiss you." He could almost see Kurt raising a skeptical eyebrow; he heard the fabric of his shirt crinkle as he crossed his arms. "I want to hold you and touch you and fucking hear y-"

He felt a smooth hand start to rub circles into his back. The gesture, the warmth of Kurt's hand, the taste of his lips that still lingered on Dave's tongue...

Everything just became too much.

So Dave lifted his head and met Kurt's clear eyes again, looked far into them, and tried, very, very hard, to resist.

But he couldn't.

So he takes Kurt's face gently in his hands, thumb smoothing over the soft, porcelain skin of his flushed cheek, and kisses Kurt's warm lips as gently as he possibly can.

It's long and soft and so completely pure that Kurt doesn't seem to remember that he's supposed to breathe. Dave reminds him by shattering whatever moment he had tricked himself into thinking they were having, because God knows Kurt Hummel wasn't about to have a moment with Dave Karofsky.

"So this is what you need help with."

Kurt's eyes are still closed.

Dave's hand moves down to smooth along the columns of his throat, following every line, every silky feature, every dip, every bone.

"You want this."

Kurt's eyes are still closed.

Dave presses a hard kiss into his collarbone.

"You want passion."

Kurt's eyes are still closed, but his breathing his heavier. It flows through his parted lips, ghosts over Dave's face.

Dave wonders if Kurt can feel his knees shaking.

"I'll help you, Kurt."

His eyes open.

Dave thinks they're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Dave was having a crisis.

Because what, exactly, did Kurt expect him to do?

Text him? Call him? Not call? Not text?

And if, for a second, Dave gained a little bit of courage, what ever would they talk about if he actually called?

He thought that things went well, despite his minor break down.

He thought that things would go well.

But he hadn't heard from Kurt in over twenty four hours, and Dave was not the type of person that liked to be kept waiting.

He sighed and tossed his phone across the room.

It slipped across the floor with a few sharp clangs and disappeared under a bookshelf. He wondered if he should just leave it there.

It wouldn't make a difference. Kurt wasn't about to text him.

He probably gave out his number often.

Because Kurt was beautiful and talented and likeable and people wanted his number.

Still, Dave reminded himself, he hadn't asked for it.

He hadn't even hinted that he wanted it.

So maybe Kurt had wanted to give it to him?

He dove after his phone with fumbling fingers and retrieved it after a few failed groping attempts. And before he could stop himself, he typed out a quick hey need help w/ jane eir…meet in libry and we need to tlk and pressed send.

Minutes later, slow, antagonizing minutes, a New Text Message from Mr. Perfect lit up his screen.

He felt his heart clench in his chest, he felt his muscles tense, he felt butterflies explode in his stomach as his thumb pressed the little green button.

*Eyre.

He laughed.

Because that was so classically Kurt. He pulled himself upright and headed for the door, but his phone vibrated again in his fingers.

Swallowing, he peered at the name and tried to keep from throwing up.

New Text Message from Mr. Perfect

He punched at his phone and read carefully.

Not the library. My house. Meet me there in twenty.

And very suddenly, Dave got the feeling that they wouldn't be studying at all.

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More to come.