Title: Your Sins Into Me

Author: Emoryems

Rating: M

Spoilers: Pretty much everything up to 2.14 is fair game.

Warnings: Non-Con, violence, homophobic slurs, language.

Word Count: ~12,000

Summary: Karofsky's assault went much further than anyone knew, and later, at Dalton, Kurt's temporary roommate gets an unexpected glimpse into Kurt Hummel's less-than-perfect life. Please read the warnings!

A/N: So, uh, this is my first time breaching the PG-13 rating, and I'm pretty nervous about this. Written for a prompt on the glee angst meme. This version, as posted on FFN, has been edited to exclude the explicit material – the whole story is posted to my journal (link through profile under 'Homepage').

Let me know what you think? Con-crit is completely welcome, too.

Kurt smiles as his phone buzzes in his pocket, reaching to pull it out as he crosses the parking lot to the front entrance of McKinley High. His morning is already going well; there have been no hoards of lumbering Neanderthals awaiting him at the dumpsters, no early-morning slushie facial, no muttered or outright yelled slurs of any kind. This day is already looking up.

Good morning! - Blaine

Blaine sends a morning text when he is waiting for his first class to start, and Kurt has come to expect them around the same time every day. It never fails to put a smile on his face, or to set his heart racing in pleasure and joy.

The friendship he is building with Blaine has been blossoming over the last two weeks since his failed attempt at spying on the Dalton Academy Warblers, and Kurt can't wait to see how it proceeds. The way they're going, getting coffee or dinner or going to shows - it's exciting and new. Kurt looks forward to every meeting they have, every text message, phone call, email or Facebook wall post.

Blaine's an amazing friend; he's willing to talk about fashion (even if he doesn't have the wonderful taste that Kurt does), laughs at all of Kurt's jokes (which Kurt likes to attribute to Blaine actually understanding what he's saying), and will debate gay rights with the same fervour that Kurt does. He can't do these things with most of his friends – sure, he can go shopping with Mercedes or Tina, or get in some jokes that actually make Finn or Mike crack a smile, but this is different. Blaine and Kurt get along in a way that is deeper than he's ever experienced; they understand each other on a whole other level.

Kurt sends off a message in reply just before he reaches the doors, slipping his phone back in his pocket smoothly, and enters the hallowed halls of his high school. There are teenagers and teachers milling throughout, cheerleaders in their uniforms, jocks wearing their team jackets. There are people who exemplify a stereotype and people who break them all, and Kurt just keeps his head high and watches them move around him.

He can't wait to get out of here, to move on to something bigger, something better. Somewhere very, very far away from Lima, Ohio.

He's got lights and tall buildings dancing in his imagination as he approaches his locker and Mercedes, who is standing at hers.

Waving at his friend as he comes to a stop, Kurt notes Karofsky standing about 20 feet down the hall, his hulking shoulders encased in his letterman jacket and a smug look of desire mixed with contempt glaring through his eyes. Kurt quickly averts his gaze, focusing on putting his books in his locker and checking his reflection.

Mercedes comes up beside him and smiles in greeting, linking one of her arms through his for their mutual trip toward the science classrooms.

"Hey, Boo," she says.

"Hey," he says back. "Did you finish working on the project for Glee?"

Mercedes raises a brow and purses her lips, turning a sassy look at him. "Oh, I've got it down. You doubted me?"

Kurt chuckles and shakes his head. "Never."

When they get to where the rooms are, Kurt walks Mercedes to the door to hers and says, "See you at lunch." Turning on his heel to stride two doors down, Kurt feels the prickling discomfort of eyes watching him, and he catches sight of a red and white jacket out of the corner of his eye.

After the incident in the locker room with Karofsky, the other boy has been dogging his every move, staying just out of contact, but always there. It's frightening on a whole new level for Kurt, who is unsure what the other boy is thinking, what he is planning. If he's planning anything. All he knows is that he wants to stay as far away as he can from the bigger boy.

So Kurt ducks his head slightly and walks faster, only slowing down when he's in his classroom and has reached his desk.

Halfway through a stilted and monotonous explanation about Darwin's theory of evolution by natural selection, Kurt's phone vibrates and a message from Blaine appears.

Want to get coffee tomorrow? Normal time? -Blaine

Kurt grins.

Definitely -Kurt

Kurt stays late in the library of his school that night, researching for a history project that is due in two weeks. He likes to be prepared, and he likes to know that he has everything under control, so he gets this done without the company of his friends. Whenever they accompany him he ends up talking or singing, or a variety of other activities that are fun, but which lead to procrastination and late nights of finishing off school work just before it is due.

When he finishes, closing his books and making his way to his locker, the halls of McKinley are empty, leaving Kurt's footsteps to echo among the cold metal of the lockers as he walks. The floor is scuffed from a long day of students trampling their way through, and Kurt can see more than one spatter of slushie across the walls and tiles. It seems that the janitors have given up on cleaning them as they happen.

His locker is, to his relief, free of derogatory commentary for once, and there is no tack taped to the backside of his combination lock. He doesn't know who started that particular tradition, but it has been common for the past month, leading to many a sore finger.

Careful to pack lightly, only the necessary books for homework, Kurt shuts his locker and slings his bag over his shoulder. As he starts to turn around he hears footsteps at his back, moving with steady assurance. Before he can turn to see who it is, however, he is pressed forward with a powerful shove.

"Hey!" he protests, trying to get his arms between him and the locker to push back. He doesn't get the chance; there are two large hands grasping at his elbows, holding him in place. The hands barely give at all as he struggles, and soon both of his wrists are held in one of his attacker's fists.

"Don't struggle," a voice behind him says, and Kurt recognizes it instantly. He freezes for a moment in shock before disbelief and fear take over.

Karofsky has him pinned face-first to the lockers, arms held firmly together at the small of his back in one meaty fist. Kurt can feel the larger boy's breath on his neck, raising the hairs there to attention.

"What are you doing?" Kurt huffs out angrily, pushing back with as much strength as he can muster. The body behind his only shifts slightly from the movement, and before Kurt can gain more than two or three inches of space between him and the lockers, he is slammed forward even harder than before.

Breath knocked from his body, Kurt can barely protest when he is abruptly spun around and propelled down the hall.

"Let go, Karofsky," Kurt demands, trying to twist his wrists out of the tight hold they are in. As he is shoved forward again, Kurt stumbles, and he would have fallen if it wasn't for Karofsky's hold tightening, yanking his arms up roughly. Kurt lets out a choked off scream as he feels his shoulders protesting at the pull.

"Shut up," Karofsky says, leading them further down the hall. Kurt had been at his locker when Karofsky had originally grabbed him, and now they are heading toward the area of the school where the gyms and locker rooms are.

Realizing where they are headed, Kurt feels the rush of fight-or-flight thrumming in his body intensify. "What are you doing? I don't want to go anywhere with you, Karofsky. Just let me go."

Karofsky's grip tightens, and Kurt knows he's going to have bruises. "I told you to shut up, Hummel."

The door to the boy's locker room is fast approaching, and Kurt tries to spin to the right, but Karofsky's other hand comes up and grasps his shoulder tight, maintaining his hold.

Kurt can feel the blood rushing in his veins, pumping through his arteries; his whole body is singing with adrenaline and fear.

As Karofsky boots the door open and shoves him through with a rough two-handed push, Kurt yells out as loud as he can, hoping someone will hear. The rough shove has sent him tumbling to the ground, and his hands ache from catching his weight. Kurt scrambles to his feet, but before he can take more than two steps, Karofsky is on him again.

"Stop screaming," growls Karofsky, crowding Kurt backward.

Scared and angry, Kurt backs away, trying to lead the bigger boy in a direction that won't leave him trapped, and yells, "Then leave me alone!"

Karofsky's eyes are angry, but with a calm directive underneath that scares Kurt more than any rage could have.

Kurt's back hits a wall, and he tries to sidle sideways to escape, but Karofsky grabs his left arm, stopping him from moving. Without a second thought, Kurt swings his right arm up, bunching his hand into a tight fist to deliver a glancing blow to Karofsky's jaw.

Karofsky lets go of Kurt's arm to cradle his face, taking a single step back, and Kurt uses the opportunity to dodge around the bulk of the other teenager and makes for the door. He's close enough to reach out and pull it open when an arm wraps around his waist from behind and tugs him back against the taller boy's chest.

Arms pinned to his sides, Kurt struggles wildly and screams, "Let go!" He throws his head back, hoping to get lucky and break Karofsky's nose, but he only manages to hit a shoulder.

As he is bringing a knee upward to drive his foot back into Karofsky's legs, Kurt is released. He stumbles forward and spins, trying to keep track of where Karofsky is, and then he's suddenly on the ground, a sharp, throbbing pain ringing throughout his body. The right side of his face is on fire, and his left shoulder stings from hitting the floor so hard.

When he looks up, he sees Karofsky standing above him, his hand still slightly elevated from delivering the hard backhand. Groaning in pain, Kurt starts to roll to his knees, knowing that he has to get away from Karofsky. Get somewhere safe.

Karofsky puts a foot to his ribs, not quite hard enough to be considered a kick, and pushes him over onto his back. The weight of the footballer's foot is intense as he pushes it down on his chest, and Kurt fears that he won't be able to breathe if the other boy decides to step down any harder.

Disoriented from the hit and winded from the pressure on his chest, Kurt doesn't immediately realize what is happening until Karofsky has once again gathered his wrists together, holding them over his head. The other boy crouches down, and straddles Kurt's waist, knees placed firmly on either side of Kurt's chest.

Kurt is wearing a black tie, the one with a happy face on it, and Karofsky's fingers tug at the material, undoing the Full Windsor knot with sharp movements that pull at Kurt's neck. When he has the tie in hand, he pulls Kurt's arms down in front of him and wraps first one wrist in a tight knot, and then the other, and then both together.

Throughout this, when Kurt realized what Karofsky was doing, Kurt had tried struggling, tried bucking the heavy weight from his body. It all crashes down on him, though, exactly what this is about, when he pushes up with his hips, trying to dislodge the other boy. And finds a thick hardness pressing back against him.

Eyes widening, and a shot of fear greater than before piercing him, Kurt lets out a noise of protest, and begs, "Karofsky, let me go. Please. Please, I won't tell anyone what happened, just let me go."

Karofsky just stares down at him, an expression of longing coming over his face, and then he dips down low, beside Kurt's ear, and whispers, "No."

When Karofsky grinds down onto him, pressing his hard length into Kurt's stomach, and moans in his ear, Kurt tries to swing his arms up to hit him, tries to get a knee up to dislodge him, but he can't. Karofsky has a couple of inches and about 60 pounds on him. He just doesn't have the strength.

Kurt is saying, "Stop, please, just stop. I don't want this," over and over again, but Karofsky isn't listening to him. Or maybe he is, because every time Kurt begs him to stop, he pushes down harder, groans louder. He's getting off on Kurt's begging; enjoying it.

After what feels like an eternity, Karofsky stills his hips, panting softly into the side of Kurt's neck where his face is buried. "Mmm," he moans, "you smell good, Hummel." Karofsky keeps him pinned tightly to the floor as he brings a hand up to fist tightly in Kurt's hair, pulling the trapped boy's head back and exposing his throat. "Such a prissy little fag."

As Karofsky licks up the side of his neck, laving at his ear, Kurt feels tears start to form, collecting in the corners of his eyes. "Please. Please, don't."

Karofsky pulls back, sending a dark smile down at Kurt. "Don't cry, Hummel, you'll enjoy this," he says, brushing a finger under Kurt's eyes to wipe up the tears. Kurt tries to jerk his head away from the touch, but he can't move far, and his head spins sharply with the movement.

Trailing his finger down the side of Kurt's face, down the smooth expanse of his throat, Karofsky reaches the top button of Kurt's shirt, which he proceeds to pop open. Kurt feels Karofsky's hands working at his shirt, feels as his fingers trail along his chest as they go, and it is as if Karofsky is leaving a path of slime and disgust everywhere he touches.

As he undoes the last button, Karofsky yanks Kurt upward by his arms, forcing the slighter boy to stand as he does. Kurt's head swims from the abrupt change in position, and he stumbles along as Karofsky turns him with a painful grip on his shoulders and manhandles him toward the showers.

Kurt doesn't even get a chance to try and run before he's pressed up against the half-wall of a shower stall, its bricks digging painfully into his stomach. Karofsky's dick is pressed up against his lower back and the taller teen thrusts against Kurt even as he reaches up and pulls the shirt down, off of Kurt's shoulders to rest as far down his arms as it will go.

"Damn, Hummel, who did you fuck in a previous life to get skin like this?" Karofsky is running his hands over Kurt's upper back and shoulders, his calluses rough on Kurt's skin.

"Please stop. Stop. I don't want this – I don't want you touching me." Kurt's throat is getting sore from begging, but he can't stop. He doesn't want Karofsky touching him, and he doesn't want his hands petting across his body, groping without any remorse.

Kurt thought it couldn't get any worse, that Karofsky's wandering hands and trailing lips across his back were the most disgusting and vile things that could ever happen to him, and then he feels hands at his pants, pulling at the button and dragging down the zipper.

"No!" he yells, bucking back against Karofsky, struggling against the hold keeping him captive. "No! Don't, Karofsky!" The hands don't stop, though, and soon he feels cold air rush around him as he is fully exposed. "Stop, damnit!"

A hand presses into the middle of his back, effectively trapping his hands beneath his own body, and bending him over the wall. Karofsky's other hand is on his bare buttocks, caressing over them, and Kurt, through the nausea and tears, can almost feel the reverence steaming off of the other boy.

Karofsky smells of sweat and Irish Spring soap.

Still squirming, trying to avoid the hand as it explores his body, Kurt's chest heaves with sobs. They are harsh and a combination between angry and hysterical.

When the hand on his back drops away, Kurt feels some relief, but then he's immediately confronted by how wrong he was, thinking that maybe Karofsky would back off, because there are two hands on his cheeks now, pulling them apart and squeezing.

"No! No, Karofsky!" Kurt attempts to straighten up, to pull away in any manner. The solid hit to the side of his head, the same side that had been hit before, sends him reeling sideways. For a few seconds everything goes dark.

When his vision returns, he's slumped over the ledge, head pounding painfully. He groans softly, trying to focus on the tiles of the shower in front of him.

"You know," says Karofsky, who's still got one hand on him to hold him still, "this would go easier on you if you just quit struggling."

"Fuck you, you Neanderthal," Kurt slurs, blinking hard to maintain focus.

Kurt hears the sound of a zipper, and then the slide of clothes as Karofsky moves behind him, out of sight.

"Come on, Hummel, you can do better than that. Seriously, I've heard that one so many times that I've started to respond to it." Karofsky steps up close behind Kurt's body, wrapping an arm around his chest and pinching a nipple between his fingers. As he rolls the sensitive pebble around and plays with it, Karofsky licks at the junction of Kurt's neck and shoulder, sucking and biting the flesh until it bruises.

Kurt is still squirming, twisting this way and that, but Karofsky isn't budging, and his head is spinning so hard and fast that he is having trouble focusing. When his assailant gives an especially sharp bite and rubs against him, his hard dick grazing Kurt's backside, the pale countertenor cries out. "No. Stop touching me. Please, just stop. Stop."

Karofsky pants into his neck as he pulls away from where he has left a deeply purple bruise and blood-speckled bite marks. "Yeah, Hummel, keep moving. You're gonna feel so good, so tight, I bet."

Kurt stops squirming when he hears that, fear running his blood cold. This can't be happening.