A Locker Room Impasse

Warnings: Slash, Non-Con, One-Sided

(Does not contain sex, but some sexuality)

My first attempt at some Kurt/Karofsky.

All of Kurt Hummel's instincts tell him that he should be screaming right now, raw yells ripping from his throat. His mouth is open, but no sound can escape. It seems like his muscles have become paralysed from the shock and desperation overflowing in his veins.

His eyes are shut, the eyelids screwed up like waste paper, creases obscuring his vision. However, that is the only sense he can block out completely. His arms are pinned against the wall so he can't block his ears, taste and smell are useless here and it doesn't matter how hard he wishes for it – he can't rid himself of the hot, heady whispers of breath against his cheek.

He lets out a tiny whimper. It's the only sound he can make.

"Shh, no one's gonna hear us here." The voice in Kurt's ear is low, almost a snarl.

"What - what do you want?" Kurt asks, trying to stand his ground but his voice on the verge of shattering, his composure collapsing.

"You know exactly what I want, Hummel."

A hand starts to creep slowly up his arm, over his t-shirt, onto his neck and upwards, across his jawline. It's not physical restraints holding him against the wall now, but fear that keeps his body immobilised against the wall as the boy leans closer, into him, breathing into his neck. Kurt tilts his face away. It could look romantic, almost erotic, but there's something about the angle of the smaller boy's neck, something about the closeness of the larger, which makes the whole thing seem really quite uncomfortable.

"But you're so pretty, Kurt. And you're not really in a position to argue, are you?" And Karofsky kisses Kurt's neck.

A surge of emotion floods through Kurt; he senses disgust, mingled with shock. Fear was definitely there, worry, hatred and a whole swarm of others that he cannot place names on. And concern, concern for what Blaine would think.

Karofsky glances left, into the mirror. He can see himself leaning against something, but Kurt is obscured by a pillar at the end of the bathroom. He turns back round to face him, looking as if he's about to collapse, roughly grabs his shirt and pushes him up against the cubicle divide.

Kurt's eyes open with harsh surprise and, for the first time, he looks at Karofsky's face. He wishes instantly that he hadn't, closing them again but with the image branded on the back of his eyelids.

Now the hands are untucking the shirt from Kurt's jeans, before sliding underneath and over Kurt's chest, on his flesh. He wants to flinch away, to escape, but Karofsky's strong and Kurt is weak and he can't. He can't.

"Do you let your boyfriend touch you like this?"

With his free hand, he turns Kurt around to face him, kissing him. An ice cold shiver runs through Kurt's body and a sound resembling a combination of a choke and a gasp passes between their mouths. Karofsky bites down on Kurt's bottom lip, a catalyst for the tears to finally start.

Both boys can taste the copper slick of blood in their mouth as they break apart.

"Want it again?"

Kurt's words are trapped in his throat. He's only supporting himself on the post behind him – the one thing stopping him from crumbling is knowing that, if he did, it would be straight into Karofsky's waiting arms.

"Answer me, Hummel!"

Kurt resolves to shaking his head uselessly. He can feel his lower gum beginning to swell.

"Kiss me back and I'll let you go. Go on, and you can run and cry to your silly little boyfriend."

Karofsky's hand is now lingering on Kurt's hip by the waistline of his jeans, fingering the elastic slightly.

"You know what'll happen if you don't."

Kurt lets out a low moan. He knows which is the lesser of the two evils, but he's desperate to get out of either if at all possible.

"I'll give you five, Hummel. Five. Four. Three..."

Kurt, trembling, quickly kisses Karofsky's cheek, glistening with sweat, then falls back against the divide.

"Oh, no, that won't do. Do it properly."

Instinctively, Kurt leans away from Karofsky as he draws himself closer, drunk and intoxicated on power. A fresh sob breaks him as his tongue trails along his collarbone and up the rent arch of his neck.

"Now, try again."

Slowly, Kurt presses his bruised mouth to Karofsky's. Even his lips are shaking, and they're painful to touch; not that Karofsky cares. Tears are spread from Kurt's cheeks to Karofsky's and as soon as he begins to sense that Karofsky's about to take a break, Kurt pulls away and crumples in a twitching, overwhelmed heap on the cold tiles.

Karofsky kicks Kurt once in the stomach and walks out, leaving Kurt weak, helpless and vulnerable, shielding himself from himself on the McKinley bathroom floor. His lip bleeds and he breaks.