Stolen

Part 1

"Hold on Dad, I want a coffee," Kurt says, raising his voice to be heard over the airport loudspeaker.

Burt stops, suitcase in hand. It bangs against his leg with the abrupt absence of motion. "Kurt, we're going to be late to board the plane."

"Didn't you have coffee this morning?" Finn asks. His backpack bulges, full of necessities for their trip to Arizona. Carole pauses beside her son. Bags hang under her eyes, and her mouth is pulled tight.

"They serve coffee on the plane sweetie," she says, looking down the long hallway. Gate 25B is at the apex of the curve that ends the north terminal of the Columbus airport.

"Carole, I know you're tired and stressed out, so I'm willing to pretend you didn't say that," Kurt says snappishly. It's six-fifteen in the morning, and after an hour drive to Columbus with a snoring Finn, Kurt's not feeling too generous. A splash of muddy water covers the toes of his goldenrod boots, a gift from a late summer thunderstorm. His matching raincoat is dripping onto the legs of his pants, and his eyes feel heavy with lack of sleep. I need a venti vanilla soy-latte, Kurt thinks. Finn yawns and Kurt gets a good look at a rainbow of mushed cereal stuck in his back teeth. Pronto.

"Look, you guys go ahead. I'll just get in line and meet you down there." Wrinkles pucker in between Burt's eyes, but before his dad can say anything Kurt adds, "I'll be quick. There's no one else even in line." He motions towards the mostly abandoned Starbucks. There's an elderly couple sitting at a small table quietly sipping on their drinks and a broad backed guy in a dark green hoodie standing off to the side, staring at the menu.

"Kurt…" Burt says with a sigh.

"Two minutes Dad," Kurt says holding up his fingers. "Three at the most. They're not even boarding the plane yet. I'll be there in plenty of time." And if I don't get my coffee I might murder Finn on the flight. Burt must have read something in his son's eyes, because he nods. Kurt grins victoriously.

"Two minutes," Burt says, pointing his index finger in his son's direction. "Two minutes or you'll have to babysit Nellie when we get to Aunt Janice's house."

Kurt shudders, remembering the last time he'd seen Nellie. It had been a year and a half ago at the girl's second birthday. Cake had ended up under Kurt's nails, and he never did get the purple marker from his cashmere shirt. "Two minutes," he repeats.

Burt nods again then leads the rest of the Hummel-Hudson gang down the long hall. Kurt watches them for a moment, reflecting on the strangeness that his life has become since his dad and Carole married six months ago. This visit to Arizona to see Burt's sister is the first time that Carole and Finn will meet any of Kurt's extended family. It's probably a good thing that Nellie was in the emergency room getting a penny out of her nose the day Dad got married, Kurt thinks as he makes his way towards the mini-Starbucks. Carole might have run away screaming.

The guy in the green hoodie is still staring at the menu as Kurt slides up to the counter. Kurt glances from him to the tired looking barista shifting side-to-side. The guy looks to be in his mid-twenties, and though the hoodie hides most of his body, from the strength of his jaw, Kurt can tell the guy's in good shape. "What can I get for you today?" The barista chirps, stealing Kurt's attention.

He presses himself into the counter and without looking at the menu says, "Can I get a venti soy-latte with a shot of vanilla please?" Kurt thinks about the four hour flight and adds, "Actually, can I have an extra shot of espresso too?"

"Sure thing." She pads her finger across the screen, entering Kurt's order into the register. "Anything else?" Kurt shakes his head. "That will be five-fifteen."

If Dad saw I was paying five dollars for a cup of coffee he'd have a cow, Kurt thinks as he twists his bag to the front of his body. He unzips the front compartment and sticks his hand inside. His fingers touch his iPod and his emergency hand wipes before remembering that he gave Finn his wallet earlier. He had spent an eternity getting his liquids through the security check point, and Finn had more room in his bag. So Kurt had pocketed his license and shoved his wallet toward his step-brother for safekeeping. "I'm sorry," Kurt says, staring at the barista in horror. "I don't have my wallet. Can you hold that order until I come back with it?" She clenches her jaw but nods yes. If I can come back, Kurt thinks with a frown. Once I go down there I don't know if Dad will let me come back.

"Here," a voice says from behind him. A shiny blue Mastercard appears. "I've got it." Kurt turns, following the calloused hand holding the card up to a thick green sleeve. It's the guy in the hoodie. "Can you add a small regular coffee to that too?" The stranger has a soft mid-western accent. His voice is gruff, as if he doesn't spend much time talking.

The barista nods, smiling again, and takes the card. "Sure thing. That's nice of you." The right edge of Green Hoodie man's mouth tilts upwards.

"Thank you," Kurt says, appreciation evident in his voice. Other than his dad, and occasionally Carole and Finn, Kurt's not used to people being nice to him for no reason, especially once they figure out he's gay. And that doesn't take most people long. The thought leaves a bitter trace in his mind, and Kurt doesn't want that. A good-looking guy just bought you a coffee. It's kind of like a date. Kurt's pretty sure that thought is nowhere near the other guy's mind.

Green Hoodie guy sticks his hands into the long pocket of his hoodie and says, "No problem." He smiles again, both sides of his mouth this time, then bobs his head. "I'm Dave." A heartbeat passes, then as if suddenly remembering his manners, Dave sticks out his hand.

"Kurt." Dave's hand is clammy, but his grip is strong and firm. Kurt can feel the roughness of his skin. He probably works with his hands. Burt has similar calluses on his thumbs and palms from working with battered car parts. Kurt's skin is baby smooth in comparison.

"Nice to meet you Kurt," Dave says.

Kurt goes to drop his hand, but Dave holds on for an extra second. His thumb brushes by Kurt's pulse point before letting go. His eyes bore into Kurt's, and Kurt thinks, Maybe I'm wrong about that date thing. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through his spine. He's way too old for you, Kurt tells himself, which is true. He's got to be at least twenty-three, if not older. Kurt's 'Sweet Sixteen' birthday cards are still sitting in his room, cluttering his bookshelf and desk.

The barista calls out their drinks, even though they're the only ones there. The elderly couple has wandered off, leaving Dave and Kurt to an empty seating area. Dave goes up to get the drinks. He takes one in each hand and says, "Do you want any sugar or anything in your drink?

Normally, the shot of vanilla adds enough sweetness for Kurt's taste, but with the extra espresso, the drink will be more bitter than normal. "An Equal will be fine, thanks." Dave heads towards the side counter where the creamer, sugar, and other additives live. Kurt settles down at the table farthest from the Starbucks counter. He glances at his watch.

My two-minute mark is up. He leans over, glancing down the hall to see if anyone is coming for him. He can see a hoard of people down by his gate, waiting for the boarding announcement, no Dad, Carole or Finn in view. Kurt flicks his gaze back to Dave. The guy is stirring Kurt's drink. He tosses the stirrer and pops off the lid to his own coffee. Twisting his head, he catches Kurt's stare and smiles again. For a moment, a flash of familiarity passes over Kurt, but then Dave turns back around and the feeling drifts away. I'd remember meeting a guy with shoulders like that, Kurt thinks.

Dave shuffles over and slides Kurt's coffee across the tabletop. Creamy brown liquid splatters from the tiny drinking hole, marring the pure whiteness of the lid. He takes the seat opposite of Kurt, holding his smaller drink between his palms. Kurt lifts his coffee and takes a small sip. Heat bursts across his tongue, followed by the bitter taste of the coffee. "I think it could use another sugar," Kurt says, mouth hovering over his drink. Dave nods, but doesn't move. The bottom of Kurt's cup bumps against the table.

"So, what brings you to the airport this fine morning?" Kurt asks, motioning towards the large windows on the other side of the hall. It's not pouring anymore, but rain still trickles down like tears. Dawn is already edging towards day. Planes of varying sizes putter outside the gate, guided by men in orange gear and flashing red sticks.

Dave smiles, that same half-one he gave the barista, and says, "Just waiting for someone."

"Oh, a relative?" Kurt asks. He takes another mouthful of his coffee. The bitter taste isn't as strong this time. He drinks again. The tang of vanilla sits at the tip of his tongue.

"Nope," Dave says. He still hasn't drunk any of his coffee. Kurt's starting to wonder if Dave just bought it as an excuse to make contact. The guy definitely isn't a charmer, despite the fact his eyes seem to magically flash from brown to green every time the sun fights its way through the clouds.

Kurt thinks about what to say next. He fills his mouth with coffee to buy time. Then he says, "Waiting for a girlfriend?" Dave shakes his head. Feeling daring, Kurt says, "Boyfriend?

A real smile appears this time and Dave lifts his eyes to Kurt's. "No. I'm unattached."

"Oh, I find that hard to believe," Kurt flirts. Red touches Dave's tanned cheeks, and Kurt's skin begins to tingle.

Not moving his gaze from Kurt, Dave says, "I've been waiting for the right person." The words are meant to be flirtatious, at least Kurt thinks they're supposed to be, but there's a dark seriousness to Dave's voice. A hint of uneasiness settles into Kurt's stomach. He swallows down more coffee to hide the feeling.

Suddenly, a female voice is shouting Kurt's gate number throughout the terminal. "Oh," Kurt says, grasping at a chance to leave. "That's me. I've got to go." He reaches for his bag and stands. A wave of vertigo hits him hard.

"Are you okay?" Dave asks.

Wide hands touch Kurt's wrist, but Kurt shakes them away. "I'm fine. I just stood up too fast." As soon as the words leave his mouth, dizziness crashes through him. He stumbles forward into the table, jarring his coffee to its side. Kurt watches the liquid spread across the table like blood from a wound. Then the image blurs.

"Here, let me help you," Dave whispers at Kurt's side.

How did you get there? Kurt thinks, amusement bubbling in his chest. Dave takes Kurt's bag and slings it over his shoulder then wraps one arm around Kurt's waist. His fingers press into Kurt's side. Kurt wiggles away from the sensation, laughing. "Stop it. That tickles." He snorts, something he'd normally never do in the company of others. Dave's grip tightens, the pressure of his hand going from gentle to hard.

"Come on," Dave rasps in his ear. Kurt leans into the taller man beside him. His legs aren't working properly.

"Where are we going?" Kurt asks. His head rolls to the side. The advertisement decorating the airport walls shine with a strange light.

Dave shifts his arm lower. His fingers dig into Kurt's hip. "To the bathroom."

"I have to get on the plane," Kurt says. "My family is waiting." His head whacks into Dave's shoulder. The muscle beneath that green hoodie is hard enough to send a throb of pain through Kurt's temple.

"They'll wait for you," Dave tells Kurt. "Besides, I think you need to splash some water on your face."

Cool water does sound nice, Kurt thinks. His skin feels hot, and if Dave just stops for a moment he'd take off his raincoat. A kid runs by them, shouting, and Kurt's stomach rolls. And a toilet to puke my guts out sounds pretty amazing too. Except, they pass by the men's restroom. "Hey," Kurt cries.

Dave twists, and Kurt half falls onto the man's chest. "Shh," he murmurs. "That bathroom is out of order. We're going to the one further up the way." Kurt doesn't remember seeing a closed sign on the door, but everything is spinning. He can't think properly.

"Okay," he agrees. They walk up the hall, Dave holding Kurt's weight. Time blurs, and suddenly Kurt is opening his eyes to off-white floor tiles and empty bathroom stalls. Two taped off urinals are pressed against the far wall. Something yellow flashes in the corner of his eye; Kurt follows the color. That's my raincoat.

Hands tug at his vest. Kurt closes his eyes again, but opens them as air-conditioning touches his bare chest. "What?" He's no louder than a mouse.

"Here," a voice says from beyond. Then Dave's lifting his arms and slipping on a blue cotton t-shirt.

"What are you doing?" Kurt mumbles. Fingers slide through his hair, pulling some of it forward to hang before his face.

"We're playing a game, remember?" Dave whispers, breath hot against Kurt's skin. A thumb slips below the edge of his pants and Kurt stumbles backwards. "Hey, hey," Dave holds up his hands. "I told you. I'm not going to hurt you." Kurt doesn't believe him, but his limbs are trembling, and he feels as weak as a kitten. With Dave's hands in the air, Kurt tumbles forward.

Strong hands catch him before he falls. "You're just putting on these jeans. Remember? For our game?" Kurt doesn't remember, and he doesn't want to put on the jeans, but he can't stop Dave from tugging down his pants. The room begins to spin. Kurt squeezes his eyes shut. He feels his feet being lifted, one by one, then the rough drag of denim scratches across his legs. The jeans are stiff, as if they were washed with too much starch.

A baseball cap is shoved on his head, securing his hair over his eyes. The bill of the cap shades his vision even more. Dave urges Kurt upwards, but the teen can't get legs to work. He feels like is heart is pumping poison into his system, sending heat and sickness everywhere, all the while sapping his energy.

Kurt hears Dave sigh, and then he's being picked up, carried like a rescued princess. His head rests against Dave's chest. Dave has one arm under Kurt's shoulders and the other under his legs. Kurt's stomach rolls, and he closes his eyes to quell the nausea. The world passes in a rumble of blurred sound. At one point Kurt hears Dave say, "Yeah, he's a bad flyer. Got drunk on the plane… kind of early, I know."

A raindrop hit's Kurt's nose. Kurt opens his eyes and stares at the moving wall of yellow cabs. He feels Dave's muscles shift beneath him. Red flashes before him, a car door opens, and then he's lying across the backseat of a sedan. That new car smell tickles his nose. The car jolts as the driver's side door slams shut. Kurt's head rolls forward. Dave's eyes, now green, meet his. The man shifts away. The car whirrs alive. Kurt feels the rumble of the engine beneath his body.

He closes his eyes again. The world fades away.