Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/386696.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Gen, M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Finn_Hudson/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Kurt_Hummel, Brittany_S._Pierce, Burt_Hummel, Sue_Sylvester, Aunt
      Mildred, Quinn_Fabray
  Additional Tags:
      Bullying, Character_Study, Self-Discovery, Awesome!Sue, Awesome!Burt,
      Brittany's_hidden_depths, 5+1_Things, Mildly_Dubious_Consent, Drugs,
      Underage_Drinking, Underage_Sex, First_Time, Bad_Sex, Episode:_s01e05_The
      Rhodes_Not_Traveled, Episode:_s01e06_Vitamin_D, Episode:_s01e07
      Throwdown, Homophobia, Homophobic_Language
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-10-25 Words: 9059
****** Five Times Someone Massively Let Kurt Hummel Down (And One Time Someone
Unexpectedly Came Through). ******
by amorremanet
Summary
     Five times in Kurt Hummel's life when someone could've done something
     better (and once when things were just right).
Notes
     Both of the characters engaged in the sex act are aged sixteen, so
     the sex is technically not illegal, from that perspective. However,
     they're both underaged, and both of them are intoxicated (Kurt's been
     drinking and Finn is high on pseudoephedrine), to the point that Finn
     doesn't remember what happened the next day, so the consent given is
     dubious at best.
1. Knowing that Mom will be home from the hospital soon is the worst feeling in the
world. It shouldn't be, but Aunt Mildred is Kurt's babysitter today, and she won't
tell him when Mom's coming. Frowning deeply, Kurt peers over the back of the couch
and out the windows, but he doesn't see Dad's truck. When he asks, he gets more of
the same: Aunt Mildred tells him that Mom, Dad, and Uncle Jim will be back home
when they're home, and that the doctors are probably just making sure everything is
okay before letting Mom come back. It's a complicated situation, after all, and she
can't come home if she's still sick. Something bad could happen. And Aunt Mildred
doesn't know when Mom's going to be alright again, so she obviously can't tell Kurt
anything.

She tells him all kinds of other things, though. Like how Dad could have played for
the Cleveland Browns if he hadn't blown out his knee in college. And like how Mom
could have been the best designer in Ohio — or maybe even the whole world, since
she got that scholarship to Parsons in New York — but then Grandpa Mike got in bad
with the credit people, and Mom never got to graduate. And how Uncle Jim won't buy
Aunt Mildred the decanter that she wants because he's a stingy, penny-pinching
tight-ass who never has any fun and just doesn't understand what a good woman he
married… but Kurt doesn't want to know any of that. It's not that he doesn't care,
he does. He just wants more to know when Mom is coming home already. The curtains
she's been sewing are still waiting for her on the table in her special room, and
when she gets back, she's going to teach Kurt how to use her sewing machine. After
last time, she promised him.

Kurt's looking out the window again when Aunt Mildred finally turns her back on
him, but he knows an opportunity when he sees one, and he doesn't pass it up. While
she rummages inside Dad's Cupboard (the one Kurt is not allowed to go into, ever;
the one that when Dad goes in it, Mom tells Kurt to leave the room), Kurt goes
downstairs and holes up in his room. Aunt Mildred smells weird anyway.

His closet is the first place that he goes to, and he gets out the toys that Mom
likes the best. All the dolls come out first, the Barbies and the Raggedy Ann, and
then comes the plastic pony and the pretend jewels that are plastic, but still
don't really have an excuse for being so gaudy. Dad didn't want to let Kurt have
any of these, but that's because Dad can't pick anything, and doesn't know the
value of a good Malibu Beach House Barbie. The football and the toy cars Dad picked
out all have a little layer of dust on them.

At least Mom understands good toys: her favorite is the shining Barbie tiara with
the pink heart in the center, and, looking in the desk-sized Barbie vanity, Kurt
runs his magenta brush through his hair. He positions the tiara in the center of
his head, lets it hover dangerously for a moment. He combs the little plastic
things into place, rakes them through his perfectly kept and conditioned strands of
brown, and once it's in place, he beams at himself. He waves his hand at the wrist,
the way that Miss America did on TV last month, when he shouldn't have been awake
and watching. Mom let him stay up late to see the ending, and on the living room
sofa, Kurt curled up against her chest. Because of what the doctors had to do, she
was skinny, and pale, and her sweater had two others underneath it, but she'd still
been shivering through the whole show.

But she held Kurt close, even as her hands trembled, and she let him twist his
fingers up in her big blonde wig, and he breathed in her smell of cigarettes and
floral soap.

"Mommy?" he whispered as the contestants all lined up. "They're so pretty, but I
think you're beautiful."

"You're beautiful too, baby," she told him softly, rubbing circles on his back.
"Promise Mommy that, whatever happens, you know that, right? And promise me you're
always going to be yourself."

"I promise, Mommy," Kurt agreed, hugging her around the neck.

While he's trying to get his hair just right, Kurt hears Dad's truck roll up the
driveway, tires crunching on the uneven pavement. Kurt races upstairs like it's
Christmas morning, tripping over his own feet and knocking the tiara all askew. He
catches it, barely, just before it topples over and off his head. Never mind that
it's not perfectly right, Kurt just wants to see his Mom again. She'll be tired
like the last time, but then they'll put on her Liza records and sing "Liza With a
Z" and everything will be just right again.

Dad comes in first and storms right past Kurt, his face red and contorted in ways
Kurt's only seen when Mom lets him watch gymnastics and ice dancing competitions on
the cable. Without a word, Dad goes into the other room, right to Aunt Mildred, who
stands. Something happens, or is said, and she cries out, wailing, sobbing,
choking, begging Dad to go pour her an apple Schnapps.

"Get it yourself, Mildred," he snaps, snarling like a wolf — and she staggers
through en route to Dad's Cupboard. She's crying. Her makeup runs all down her face
until she looks like some tribal mask of war, hanging up in a museum, and not a
former Miss Teen Ohio gone to seed.

Outside, the motor quiets and the headlights turn off. Kurt didn't even notice that
it was late enough for the headlights. When Uncle Jim traipses in — he moves like
he's in molasses and wet clothes — he isn't wearing his hat. His ugly, navy blue
Detroit Tigers baseball hat — Kurt hates it, it's ugly, and it isn't on Uncle Jim's
head. He always wears that stupid hat.

Something else isn't right. Mom isn't here.

Ducking around his uncle, Kurt looks outside. Mom isn't there either. He rounds on
Uncle Jim.

"Where is she?" he demands, his voice shaking.

"Mommy went back to God, kiddo," Uncle Jim says in a hushed voice. He puts his hand
on Kurt's head, musses his hair. The tiara clatters to the floor. "She's with the
angels now."

It isn't until some five days later, after the visitation and the funeral, after
seeing Mom's cold body on display in a black-painted casket and hearing all her
friends talk about what a fighter she was that Kurt understands Uncle Jim's double-
speak. Mom died. The cancer won.

If she'd listened and stopped smoking, maybe her chances could have been better,
but she didn't. She went away, and left Kurt her jewelry and her records instead of
her.

Alone in his room, Kurt curls up with his pillow and Mom's little record player.
Ella plays loud over the fog of silence, confusion — Ev'ry time we say goodbye, I
die a little / Ev'ry time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little / Why the gods
above me, who must be in the know / Think so little of me, they allow you to go…

Without meaning to, Kurt sings along and hot, angry tears stream down his face.

                                        ~*~

2. After the first time he watches it, Kurt decides that Queer Eye for the Straight
Guy is the best show to ever come on TV. He may only be ten years old, but it is
the best, without any question. What could be better than five gay men making
straight men look better? Really, Dad could stand to let them work on him — all he
ever wears is jeans and flannel, and the baseball caps that he and Uncle Jim take
on their fishing trips, and outside of Kurt's room, the house looks like a cover
story from Midwestern Redneck Living. The people from the magazine would probably
come to take photos and gush over the sofa covers that Dad might have made out of
potato sacks, and the plastic wall-mount fish that sings "Don't Worry, Be Happy" (a
Christmas present to Kurt from Uncle Jim; Kurt refuses to have it come anywhere
near his room), and the 1980s kitsch fridge magnets from Mom and Dad's honeymoon in
Disney World. And then there's how Dad smells…

Sitting Dad down to watch an episode with him is just an intervention, and Kurt
takes it just as seriously as the people in Aunt Mildred's soaps. As his son, it's
Kurt's duty to make sure that Dad looks good, has a nice house (one that Kurt
wouldn't be embarrassed to bring people over to, if anyone actually wanted to
come), and takes care of himself in a way that isn't so gross.

While Carson Kressley tries to get the Straight Guy more educated about his clothes
and what a state they are, the channel abruptly changes. The new figure on it is
tall, and blonde, and smiley… but she's also a woman, and she's in a sparkling gown
that Vanna White would wear if Vanna White shopped at Sears, and her teeth are
nowhere near as perfect as Vanna's. Kurt crinkles his face in surprise and glares
at Dad, who sits rapt before this pretty slut.

"Dad!" he protests, whining. "I was watching that!"

"Shhh, Kurt." Dad waves a hand at him, to quiet him. "They're drawing the Ohio
Mega-Millions tonight."

"Nobody ever wins that!" Kurt points out. "Let me watch my show!"

Dad says nothing. Kurt storms down to his room. Without thinking about it, he pulls
out Mom's old record player. He changes into his black t-shirt and the black pants
he wears for dance class, and when he's ready, he puts on Mom's old Judy at
Carnegie Hall. Some day soon, he'll need a new copy of it. He's listened to it all
so many times, but "You Go to My Head" is still okay. Putting it on, Kurt stands
before his mirror and he doesn't need to be Kurt Hummel anymore. Little Kurt who no
one listens to, at home or school or Aunt Mildred and Uncle Jim's — he's Judy
Garland now and everybody loves him. He says all of the words right along with her,
and sings when she does, and even flubs the second verse when he knows all of the
words, because Judy screwed them up, so he can too.

Near the end, Dad runs downstairs and squeezes Kurt tight, cuts off his song and
lifts him up into the biggest bear hug Kurt's ever had. When Kurt expects
apologies, he gets something else instead: "We won, Kurt!" Dad yawps, holding Kurt
close to him. "We won all three-hundred million smackers!"

By morning, everything's all cleared up: they won three-hundred and twenty-seven
million dollars, and Dad and Uncle Jim have enough college between them that they
know just how to invest it. Kurt's getting more money in the college funds that Mom
and Grandma Jane left for him. He's getting a trust fund, which will collect
interest for him until 2011, when he's eighteen and it becomes his legally. Even
after taxes, Kurt and Dad will have a lot of money, more than anyone else in Lima,
maybe in all of Ohio. They could leave and go to California, or New York, or
somewhere more open-minded, somewhere that deserves them more than this crappy
little town.

Kurt could go to private school, one of those progressive ones where they'd
encourage him to follow his dreams and where they'd have a strict no-harassment
policy, where no one could make fun of him or call him a girl or anything. And even
after paying the tuition, Dad wouldn't have to worry about money ever again. Aunt
Mildred would never run out of apple Schnapps.

"No, Kurt," Dad tells him when he proposes these ideas. "We can't blow all this
money on things we don't need — it's a gift for us. We need to keep it for when we
might really need it, and we can't let it go to our heads, okay?"

"But I really need to go to private school!" Kurt wails, slamming his hand on the
kitchen table. The tacky plastic plates with Disney characters on them rattle, he
hits the table so hard. Temper tantrums are for babies, he knows that, but what
about this is so hard for Dad to understand? The Lima public schools are Hell-holes
built on rats' nests, and Kurt hates going to them.

"You need to stay where you are now." Dad's face is unmoving, his voice flat and
unimpressed. "What doesn't kill you's going to make you stronger, kiddo. Chin up."

Whoever said that first had clearly never been a fifth-grader in the the Lima
public schools. Rolling his eyes, Kurt sighs and goes down to his room again. Dad
may not understand him, but Judy always does. Dressed all in black, standing before
his mirror with his record and his hairbrush, Kurt croons "Somewhere Over the
Rainbow" and dreams that he could someday get there. Or if not there, then anywhere
but here.

                                        ~*~

3. Quinn Fabray is the prettiest, most popular girl in Adlai Stevenson Middle
School, and, at age twelve, Kurt decides that he has had quite enough of being
picked on. Maybe running for seventh grade class president isn't the solution that
everyone else would choose to actualize, but if Kurt wins the position, he'll have
the power and no one can make fun of him again. His name will be Kurt, not a loser
or any of the other slurs they like to throw at him. If he does it with her,
though, they can share the glory, and he'll be cooler by association. They'd be
running against Elliot Phillips, a total nerd, and Rachel Berry, for God's sake —
they'd have the election in the bag.

During lunch, Quinn sits at the best table in the cafeteria, surrounded by the
other popular girls — like Santana, whose skin is flawless — and Brittany, who
something just always feels off about, like she knows something that Kurt knows
too, but he can't ever put his finger on it. Even more so, it's a nebula full of
popular boys around them as their bodyguards. Finn Hudson is among the ranks of
these boys, off to one side, making eyes of a sort at Quinn… or maybe he just ate
some bad fries. As he strides up, Kurt lets his eyes get caught on Finn, on his
facial construction, and he wants to stay and talk to Finn, not Quinn. Finn is
cute, and Quinn smiles like she wants to eat Kurt's soul.

"Are you lost?" she drawls lazily, bored, unwittingly dangling a challenge in
Kurt's face. He holds eye contact with her. She's just a popular girl; he doesn't
need to be afraid.

"Not at all, actually," Kurt says smoothly. "I had a proposition for you, about the
current class elections."

Nodding, Quinn stands and leads him aside to a corner where they can talk in
private. "I'm listening," she purrs with a smirk.

Kurt tells her everything in great detail: she is popular, Kurt is less so, Elliot
is definitely not, and Rachel Berry is scary beyond all reason. Obviously, Quinn is
a shoe-in to win the election, but what happens then? The less popular students
seem to really hate her and her clique, and that's where Kurt comes in. What he
lacks in social influence, he makes up for in being useful. Maybe he's not as
pretty as she is, but he's a hard worker and he'll be an extremely dedicated
running mate, and she couldn't find a better co-president if she tried.

She hums thoughtfully. "Let me think it over, okay? Meet me by the fence after
school and we'll talk."

As Quinn has Finn and the other boys throw Kurt into the dumpster, he can't help
feeling like he should have seen this coming. With a clang, the top closes and
Kurt's heart sinks. It isn't long before it opens again, and Kurt thinks he might
be able to get out. Looking up, he sees Brittany staring down at him, her
expression a mix of fear and sympathy, and he stares back, feeling empty and
confused. …But, wait, what? Why would Brittany be helping get him out?

"Hey," she whispers like a conspirator in some plot to overthrow America. "I just
wanted to say, I think you're really brave being so out like you are. Nobody
understands you, but I know how it is, believe me I do, but trust me… the only way
to make them stop is to just, you know… try harder to fit in. Like I do. It doesn't
help for you to shove it in everybody's faces."

The lid closes again and, with a sigh, Kurt sinks into the trash. Quietly, he finds
himself singing, "And I think it's gonna be a long, long time / 'til touchdown
brings me 'round again to find / I'm not the man they think I am at home, oh no,
no, no…"

                                        ~*~

4. Maybe Brittany has a point, Kurt supposes, but when he's fouteen, Kurt decides
that he doesn't care. Quinn won class president, and Kurt didn't try to run for it
again. All he has for lunch is salad every day, and he's started taking care of his
skin with a devotion that no one else can match or even understand. Out of Aunt
Mildred's lady magazines, he's taught himself hairstyling and fashion, and maybe
Quinn's boys still torment him, but at least he looks good now when they do it.
He's slender, and stylish, and taller than he was last year. Faking confidence gets
easier when he puts on the right look.

For all he looks better, though, he's stopped speaking much at school. When a
teacher asks a question, he keeps his mouth shut unless they call on him
specifically, and he doesn't speak out sometimes when he feels like he should. It's
supposed to draw attention off of him, but it never does. Even when he says
nothing, they still throw him in the dumpster, call him queer or fag, or throw
things directly at his head. Before he wasn't being brave, and he isn't now. All he
is, all he can be, is just Kurt Hummel. It's all that he knows how to be, and it's
what he chooses.

Just like how he chooses not to talk to Finn. There are so many reasons why he
shouldn't, and many more why he just can't, but ultimately, not talking to him is
Kurt's choice. Why would he want to talk to Finn and risk rejection? Not even the
certain rejection of his love — they live in a small town, Finn is almost surely
straight, the Christian influences are everywhere; rejecting Kurt's love would be
Finn's duty — but just in general. Finn's with the other boys when they lob the
cafeteria's meatloaf surprise at Kurt's head. He's with them when they shove him
into lockers and when they trip him into mud puddles on the one day when his entire
ensemble is dry clean only. They can't be close, they can't even be friends. But
Kurt can look at him, and he can dream.

And, even if the bullying is painful, Kurt doesn't entirely mind getting to see
Finn's face. Finn's the only one who ever smiles kindly. The others smirk and jeer,
but they never smile.

Being silent at school doesn't mean being silent at home, though. Kurt knows that
he needs to tell Dad about this. Dad ought to know — he's Kurt's father; besides
Aunt Mildred and Uncle Jim, they're all each other has. Resolved to tell him, Kurt
comes to Friday night poker, which finds Dad, Aunt Mildred, and Uncle Jim all
gathered around the kitchen table. On their fifth hand, and Aunt Mildred's sixth
mojito, Kurt decides it's time. He opens his mouth to speak, but Uncle Jim gets
there first.

"Can you — No, you won't believe what I saw down in Akron the other day, Burt," he
huffs. "Those queers who've been kicking up that big-ass ruckus about their gay
marriage rights were all protesting downtown. Signs and displays and everything —
the whole shebang! Fucking fags… if they were meant to get married, God woulda made
Adam and Steve, you know what I'm saying?"

Kurt looks to Dad. All Dad does is make a gruff little grunting noise. Does he
approve? Does he not? Kurt can't tell.

Somehow, Kurt isn't sure by what grace, he makes it through that hand, and then he
retires to his room. He puts on the jeans Dad doesn't know he has, and his
Christina Aguilera CD, and he knows he isn't her — not the way he used to pretend
to be Judy Garland — but it doesn't matter, because he doesn't need to be Plain Old
Kurt. When he sings — "I am beautiful no matter what they say. Words can't bring me
down…" — he can think that someone hears him. He can think that it matters.

                                        ~*~

5. Realistically speaking, Kurt doesn't mean to have sex with Finn in the boys'
bathroom after rehearsing their team's mash-up.

Hell, he doesn't even mean to kiss Finn. She isn't even here anymore, but it's
April's fault that it happens.

Getting caught drunk at school was not one of Kurt's better ideas. Throwing up on
Miss Pillsbury's shoes was easily the lowest moment in his high school career,
followed closely by Coach Tanaka driving both of them to the ER and getting picked
up there by Dad. According to the "talk" Kurt had with Miss Pillsbury, the
subsequent "talk" with Mister Schuester, and the (entirely unhelpful) pamphlet he
got handed on teen drinking and its dangers ("So You Want to Raid Your Parents'
Liquor Cabinet" — really, who do they think they're kidding?), the whole experience
should have taught him something valuable. Clearly, he was having issues with
something, and what he needed to do was to talk about these issues with someone and
work them out, rather than trying to drown them. He'd just set himself up for
greater problems down the road, if he didn't get a hold on his issues now, in their
infancy.

Well. That lesson might be bullshit, but the experience did teach him something. He
knows that he has to be smarter now. No getting so wasted that he can't stand up.
Brushing his teeth like his life depends on their cleanliness. Gargling Scope if
he's pressed for time. Hiding his booze in his flavored water. The overachievers in
the National Honors Society all get away with it; Kurt's just doing what they do
and making it look better. (Not that that's hard — he actually puts thought into
how he looks, while Elliot and his cadre of weirdos look like they rolled out of
bed and into a pile of trash thrown away by demented nuns.)

Besides, what he's doing is much better than Finn's new obsession with his "vitamin
D." Maybe he's dumb as a brick, but Kurt isn't; he took one hit of Finn's
"vitamins," let it take its course, and now he's just had some of his "water"
instead of taking pills like everyone else. His vice might be technically illegal,
but at least it doesn't make his heart race like Seabiscuit. Sure, drinking tends
to require that he take extra time he doesn't want to spend, but holing up in the
bathroom to brush his teeth is an acceptable sacrifice. At least Dad hasn't caught
wise yet.

While making his precautionary second brush, Kurt gets a slap on the back and
nearly gags on his toothbrush for the trouble. Coughing, he doubles over and spits
into the sink. "Excuse me!" he snaps, slamming the toothbrush onto the counter.
"There is a time and a place for everything, and I—" Looking in the mirror, he cuts
himself off. "Oh, Finn, I — I'm sorry, I thought you'd be someone else."

"Don't be sorry!" Finn tells him chipperly, talking far too fast for any human
being to talk, sitting down on the counter. Tapping on it like he's playing the
drums with his hands. Looking down at Kurt with those gorgeous brown eyes. ...Why
does he have to be so beautiful? It makes staying mad at him difficult. "I'm sorry
I didn't see if you were doing anything — your toothbrush went into your throat,
didn't it? You're okay, right? Are you okay? I'd be really upset if you weren't
okay, especially if your throat got hurt since you sing from the throat and we need
everybody's ready for Tuesday… You are okay, right?"

It's like talking to a child. A hyperactive child. A six-foot-three, muscular,
perfectly sculpted hyperactive child who just happens to be the guy Kurt's in love
with. "Oh, no, don't worry about it," Kurt replies softly, smiling, blushing,
looking away. Keeping eye contact with Finn might kill him. "Throat's fine, no need
to get flustered."

"Oh, well, that's good," Finn agrees. "You were really good in rehearsal today,
too. Everyone's really doing good with the mash-up, I'm excited for it, we're
totally going to cream the girls, and you know, you really were great. I mean it,
you've got this passion when you sing, and when you dance, and when you kick, and
when you argue about the costumes and the feathers and stuff."

As he's talking, Finn starts humming something unexpected, and Kurt doesn't even
need to work at recognizing it. He may need to pinch himself to make sure he isn't
dreaming, because this was totally the plot of a dream he had once… though, in the
dream, Finn was drumming it and Kurt did the whole dance perfectly before Finn
threw him down and took him hard. Even so, Kurt knows that melody better than he
knows his evening skincare routine, better than he knows all of the inane gadgets
and add-ons that Uncle Jim told Dad to put in his car. Raising an eyebrow, Kurt
stares at Finn's hands, which are still tapping. They're out of synch with the
music; why doesn't it throw him off?

Before he even realizes, Kurt starts singing along: "If you like it, then you
shoulda put a ring on it. Don't be mad once you see that he want it…" Wait, what is
he doing? Shaking himself around, Kurt stops. He hasn't nearly drunk enough to
justify doing that.

Finn cocks his head to the side, and, for the first time in days, looks something
other than peppy. "…Why'd you stop?" he asks. Gentleness underscores the bright
tone he's had like a subtle score in some foreign film. "Is — I mean, I don't want
to steal the song from you or anything, if you think it's yours or something, I
just got started listening to it after you helped us win that game with it. You
were really amazing out there, you know that right? And I know it wasn't my
favorite song and I tried to make you not use it and all, but you were so spot on!
And it's kind of fun, but just don't tell Puck, okay? I don't think he really digs
on the whole Beyoncé thing."

"Of course not," Kurt agrees. "Your secret's safe with me." They're conspiring in
something now, and he knows that he should find a different aspect of their
relationship to cling to, but even with football and New Directions, they don't
have a relationship for Kurt to find something in. He knows that. Forgetting it
would undo him. Now, he needs to finish up here and leave. With a sigh, he rinses
off his toothbrush, dries it with a paper towel…

"Why don't you sing on your own more often?"

Eyes wide and brow furrowed, Kurt looks up at Finn. He wrinkles his nose like he's
smelling something nasty. "…I don't know what you're talking about."

Finn looks decidedly un-peppy again. It's the face he gets when he's trying to
answer a hard question but can't quite find the answer — Kurt can't help what he
wants, but he knows better than to act on it. "I mean, you're in Glee for a reason,
right?" Finn finally starts to explain. "So you have to be a good singer, and
you're always really good doing back up and stuff, like in the mash-up? But you
were singing just now and you were really good—"

"All due respect, Finn, but I think you're just a little excited." Playing it off
is like second nature, and it's necessary besides that.

"No, Kurt, I'm serious, I — why don't you sing for me? I promise I won't tell
anyone, since you're not telling Puck about the Beyoncé, and I won't laugh or
anything if you want to sing, like, Sesame Street or Disney or something."

"The lead vocal parts in Disney movies are actually very complicated," Kurt informs
Finn, pointedly looking in the mirror, pretending to fix his hair. But he can't
shake the feeling of Finn's eyes watching him. Sighing, he turns to face Finn and
sees an expression he didn't think occurred in nature. Until now, Kurt's only seen
it on digitally altered pictures of sad puppies. "…You really want me to sing
something?"

"Please?" Finn asks, unable to hide the whine in his voice. "I won't laugh, or tell
anyone, and I just really, really want to hear what you sound like without anyone
else there. Please, Kurt?"

Kurt says nothing, but nods, and closes his eyes. He breathes in deeply, pretends
this is his bedroom… Wherever the song comes from, he doesn't know, but again, he
starts singing: "Games, changes and fears: when will they go from here? When will
they stop? I believe that fate has brought us here and we should be together, babe,
but we're not. I play it off, but I'm dreaming of you. I'll keep my cool, but I'm
feigning. I try to say goodbye and I choke, try to walk away and I stumble. Though
I try to hide it, it's clear: my world crumbles when you are not near…"

Turning his eyes back up to Finn, Kurt trails off and waits for Finn to say
something, anything. As long as he has no idea that he's the one Kurt thinks of
when he sings that.

"So, wait, I… why don't you sing on your own more often?" Finn asks. "You're really
good, you know?"

Until now, the alcohol's laid dormant in Kurt's brain and bloodstream, lurking and
doing nothing that he could feel. Now, though? He knows that it's a bad idea, and
he doesn't care. Grabbing Finn by the leather jacket, Kurt pulls him down and
kisses him harder than he thought he could kiss anyone. It shouldn't be happening,
it's a bad idea — but then why does Finn kiss back? Why do they press against each
other and grind harder than dancers in a rap video? Suddenly, the air between them
disappears and what stays behind feels fevered and sweaty like the July Kurt got
dragged off camping with Dad and Uncle Jim. Even just pressing against his chest,
Kurt can hear Finn's heartbeat pounding, hard and fast, or maybe that's his own. He
can't believe he's doing this.

He cannot believe he's doing this.

Eventually, Finn takes a second, a pause for breath, and Kurt takes the opportunity
Finn hands him. Holding fast to the jacket, Kurt pulls Finn back until he feels
himself hit the wall; he positions himself so Finn has to rely on him and the wall
to stay standing. Who really cares about the less-than-romantic location? Better
people have settled for less. As he tightens his grip on the leather and kisses
Finn again (slower, this time; deeper; more insistent), Kurt feels his hips moving
of their own accord, grinding into Finn's with calculated force. To his credit,
Finn is a fantastic kisser. Even if he's only slept with Quinn once, he's a guy.
They've had to have kissed before. She probably holds him closer than this, the
tarnished Chastity Ball Queen — and the thought makes Kurt's hands move off of
Finn's lapels. One snakes around Finn's shoulders and pulls him in; the other moves
downward instead, and Kurt finds himself pawing at Finn through his jeans.

Finn seems to get the message. Which is good, because Kurt would die if they had to
stop kissing now.

In a minute, he regrets that. It all goes well until — "Finn!" he whines. He
doesn't mean to whine, but really.

"What — wait, I — I was just… you wanted to do this, right? I mean, if you don't we
can stop, I'm sorry, just… wait, I—"

Kurt cuts him off, grabbing him by the wrist: "I want this," he tells Finn softly.
"You just can't put it in like that, though. I'm not a girl. It doesn't work like
that."

Not that Kurt knows how it works from experience. Before now, he's never even
kissed anybody, much less let them get his pants off — but he's read things. And
he's watched. Finding them wasn't difficult. Like the song says, the Internet is
for porn. Slowing their pace, Kurt brings Finn's hand up and, without asking, he
takes Finn's pointer and puts it in his mouth, licks it like he's trying to find
the Tootsie Roll center. Hand taste isn't anything to phone home about. Even the
fact that it's Finn's hand doesn't much make up for the indecisive saltiness or the
rough texture (moisturizer; Finn needs some).

Slow might not be a bad idea, though, and Kurt draws out getting Finn's ring and
middle fingers wet, moves his lips and tongue around each one deliberately. Nothing
changes about the taste from taking his time, and Finn's skin rubs like softer
sandpaper on Kurt's lips — even if he has to chapstick the hell out of them
tonight, it's worth it. Kurt gets his tongue into every nook and cranny, and either
way, Finn doesn't seem to mind. He doesn't seem anything but confused. Poor guy.
Somehow, Kurt can't imagine him sitting in class and thinking about this until he
thinks he might not be able to stand it.

"What's that for?" Finn asks, eyes wide and eyebrows contorted like Olympic
gymnasts.

Guiding Finn's hand down, Kurt tells him: "I — you're supposed to put them in.
Pointer first, then middle, then ring, and then your… you know." Finn apparently
doesn't. "Your — you know, little Finn?" That one doesn't sink in either.
"Dinglehopper? …Battering ram? …Ace in the hole?" Kurt sighs. Even Finn can't be
this dense. Taking a deep breath, he prepares himself for the shame of saying this,
but apparently Finn needs it. "…My anaconda don't want none unless you've—"

"Oh! …Okay, okay, I've — okay, I can do it, I can…"

Finn trails off as Kurt guides his hand back to its purpose. Neither of them is
breathing quite right — Finn's breath is coming far too quickly, and Kurt's is
shaky, and Finn hesitates… then, suddenly, there's a finger there and it's not what
Kurt expected. …What did he expect? He isn't sure… but it wasn't really this. It's
not bad — the middle finger goes in and he can't help pulling a face. It's not a
frown, because this isn't bad… but this is surprising. There are fingers squirming
where he's not sure they should be, and it's not that it isn't good, but it's
weird. Isn't it supposed to be… nicer?

But, then, that isn't fair. Finn is trying. When Kurt briefly looks at his face, he
can see concentration spelled out like when Finn was still learning how to move
while singing. He's focusing on doing this right, and it's working, Kurt guesses.
Having fingers there feels odd, extremely odd, but Finn moves them slowly, and
gently, and he's taking care to make sure he doesn't do anything wrong. Finn's
third finger goes in faster than the others and Kurt's options are look up, look
down, or meet Finn's eyes. Looking down would require risking the chance of looking
at what's going down, so Kurt glances up to the fluorescent lights and tries to
keep his breathing steady. …God, if this were a porno, they'd look so washed out.

"…So… now?" Finn asks tentatively, and Kurt nods. He closes his eyes and breathes
in deeply. Breathes in like a man before a firing squad. It hasn't been yet, but
this is going to be fun. He relaxes. Fun, right — it's going to be fun.

Then he gasps.

Immediately, before he can really feel the gasp, it turns into a wince. A pained
noise escapes from the lowest part of Kurt's throat. This is… It hurts. Why does it
hurt? No one online mentioned that. Kurt's toes curl inside his Prada boots and his
hand clenches on Finn's wrist. The other one digs its nails into the skin on Finn's
neck. Even though the pain subsides, it's still different. Kurt's heart races like
he's on Finn's "vitamins" and he shifts his hips, bends his knees trying to get
Finn in deeper. …It doesn't work just right. That hurts too — the pain is
momentary, but sharp, and slowly, it starts to feel good. Kurt gets his hips just
right, and Finn gets the motions down. Maybe there aren't any choirs of angels
singing 'Gloria' so loudly they penetrate Kurt's mind even though he's luxuriating
in pleasure… but it's nice, finally. Still different, but nice.

Kurt moans and slides his leg up against Finn's. Without warning, he yanks Finn
down and kisses him again. Their hips slide together, and then—

"Oh, oh!"

Kurt's eyes snap open and he finally looks at Finn. Oh, god — not that face. Kurt's
not ready for Finn to have that face. …But he does. And he moans. And, as abruptly
as this started, Kurt feels empty again (something lingers; something, whatever it
is, has yet to go away; Kurt doesn't mind that, but as the sensation of just being
penetrated, it feels weird), and he's more than a little shaken. Finn slumps
against him and Kurt's unsure of what to do. Sighing heatedly, he puts his hands on
Finn's shoulders and tries to coax him back up; Finn stands of his own accord,
though, and withdraws quickly. He turns right to the sink and starts washing his
hands.

"I'm sorry — I just, I — I'm really, really sorry, Kurt, I didn't mean to do that,
I promise, it's just, I…"

Kurt ignores how he's still unfinished and pulls his pants back up. Leaning behind
Finn, he does the same here, since Finn's apparently preoccupied. Once the both of
them are clothed again, he comes around and takes one of Finn's hands. Matter-of-
factly, like it's just a thing he always does (it's not, and hopefully, Finn
doesn't think that), he gets soap from the dispenser and starts helping Finn scrub.

Finn goes quiet for a moment, then asks softly, "You're not mad, are you? And you
won't tell anyone? Please don't tell anyone, Kurt, that doesn't always — I didn't
mean—"

"It's okay, Finn," Kurt tells him gently, interlacing their fingers. "Sometimes it
just happens. …We can't leave together or someone might suspect something. But I
promise that I'm not mad."

Finn nods, and gives Kurt a small, sweet little smile. After he's gone, Kurt waits,
for propriety's sake and to just barely give himself a proper send-off. He showers
immediately when he gets home, and almost skips his evening skincare routine, he's
so distracted. He only doesn't because he thinks a zit might be coming onto his
chin.

He and Finn had sex. At school. Kurt's not a virgin anymore, and even if he's just
a throwaway to get rid of the stress of a pregnant girlfriend — which he doubts,
because Finn wouldn't do that to someone — Finn's at least a decongestant bisexual.
Quietly slipping into bed, deciding to make an early night of this, Kurt thinks
that he can live with this.

The next day, he finds Finn before classes start, and something about him looks
distinctly wrong. He's pale, and only keeping himself up by slumping against his
locker. His eyes are aimed downward, and his hands fiddle with what Kurt recognizes
as a package of the "vitamins" that Mrs. Schuester gave him. There are the
beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, but, luckily for Finn, they're small,
and, if he feels like it, Kurt has something he can use to treat them. Beaming, he
quickly fixes his hair and bounces over to Finn; he takes the decongestants and
opens them.

"Thanks…" Finn says sluggishly. As he takes them back, all of Finn's movements seem
to go like he's underwater, or in slow motion.

"Not a problem," Kurt says brightly. …Should he mention anything? Finn looks out of
sorts, so maybe it's not the best idea, but what the hell. He looks like he needs
to hear something pleasant. Lowering his voice, Kurt leans in close and tells him,
"So… I just wanted to say… yesterday was really fun for me, and, you know… thank
you."

Finn swallows one of the pills, and then goes quiet. …Oh, no. The blank look on his
face makes Kurt suddenly feel cold. "Wait, I… what did we do yesterday?"

Oh, no. Kurt's heart starts racing, his insides twist around like worms boring
through an apple, and he's sure that the temperature around them has plummeted… but
Finn doesn't seem to notice that. Desperately, he searches Finn's face for any sign
of Finn screwing with him, but… the confusion is genuine. …Why wouldn't he remember
having sex?

"…I was having trouble with my cues," Kurt explains quickly, before the silence can
get awkward. "For the mash-up. …But you stayed and helped, and just… you made it
really fun. Thank you."

"Oh." Finn thinks about it for a moment. He still can't remember, Kurt can tell by
how hard he's thinking, but then he nods. For all appearances, he accepts it. "So,
uh… do you need more help or anything? Because we don't have any practices today,
so, you know… I can help you more later, I guess?"

"Oh, no, it's fine." It isn't. "I've got them down." If this mash-up thing works,
Kurt is ratting the rest of these twits out to the girls. Kurt looks away from him
and sees Mercedes going to her locker. "I — I need to go. I'll see you later,
Finn."

Without waiting for Finn to say goodbye, Kurt rushes around the corner to
Mercedes's side. She knows that something isn't right, but rather than just telling
her, he asks if she'll come to the auditorium with him after school. Mister Schue
won't be using it today; they'll be able to have alone time.

Mercedes brings Tina, but Kurt doesn't think he minds. The only thing that gets him
is how badly his voice breaks as he sings, "Time can never mend the careless
whispers of a good friend. To a heart and mind, ignorance is kind. There's no
comfort in the truth; pain is all you find. So I'm never gonna dance again. Guilty
feet have got no rhythm…"

                                        ~*~

6. Approaching Coach Sylvester's office is like walking towards the lair of a
dragon, and, for all Coach Tanaka's warned him about not letting the gorillas on
their opposing teams not take his 'sweet virgin blood,' Kurt is so much more
concerned that Sue might. Big, burly, chromosomally-challenged apes, Kurt could
deal with. But even if she listens to the student input more than Mister Schue, Sue
is scary beyond all reason, the way that Rachel was in middle school. The only
difference is that, unlike Rachel, Sue might actually sneak into someone's house to
wake them up at five AM for vocal drills. Or whatever she's going to do to her
section of Glee Club.

Unfortunately, this is something that needs to be done. More than Sue, Kurt is
afraid of what Mercedes will do to him if she finds out that he didn't go attempt
to address his concerns with her. She might not devour his soul with a side of
fries the way that Sue probably will, but Kurt can't risk making Dad replace his
baby's windows again and he has no doubts that Mercedes will do something to make
him regret not talking to Sue. Even if it's just hitting his shoulder and telling
him that Sue won't kill him, Mercedes will do something. His Beatle boots shuffle
on the linoleum as he adjusts his Marc Jacobs jacket, his slim-fit Deréon jeans,
and his Versace scarf. If he's going to die today, then at least he's going to go
out looking good.

With a resolved sigh, he knocks on Coach Sylvester's door. From behind it, in a
voice louder and harsher than the Almighty Oz, she booms, "Enter!"

Kurt finds her looking over a Cheerleading Today, which isn't surprising in the
least. But it takes him aback when she looks up at him and smiles. "Well, well,
well. If it isn't my little Elton John," she says, her voice sickeningly,
worryingly sweet. "Sit."

Nodding, Kurt obeys and sits opposite her, but before he can think to stop himself,
he asks flatly, "Am I supposed to be flattered that you're comparing me to an
overweight queen with no taste in patterns or sunglasses?"

She laughs. It is not a comforting sound. …Is she supposed to do that? "Good point,
Versace, but the man did write some of the best music of the past thirty years.
Crocodile Rock, The Circle of Life, The Bitch is Back… You know, I saw him play
live once when I was living in London, and it's true, he looks like a rainbow and a
unicorn had a sick, torrid affair and then their illicit love child vomited on his
head, but that man can really sing — and so can you, as it happens."

Pursing his lips, Kurt sits up straighter, folds his hands in his lap, and crosses
his legs. He isn't sure whether or not he believes the story, but disagreeing with
Sue has only gotten Mister Schuester a world of trouble. So he nods. It's just
safer that way.

Leaning her chair back, she surveys him and asks, "So what can I do for you,
Queenie?"

Kurt sighs and grabs onto his knee. He can do this. He can do this. He can do this.
"…That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually—"

She cuts him off: "What is?"

"The nicknames," he retorts immediately, getting snippy though he should know
better with Sue Sylvester.

"How do you mean, Dorothy?" Her eyes are narrowed. For all she looks pensive, it's
probably just because she's thinking of which sauce to marinate his tender, no
longer virginal flesh in and what vegetables to toss in with it.

Bringing up Judy Garland at all, even through bringing up Dorothy, makes Kurt shift
in his seat. But he can't back out now. "They need to stop," he tells her with a
confidence that he doesn't really have. Already, he can taste his necessary lie
bubbling up like witches' brew. Is it terrible? Yes. Do Dad, Mercedes, and Brittany
already know that it's false? Yes. Will Sue crush him like a worm if she catches
him in it? Yes. Is any of that going to stop him from telling it to her? Not in the
slightest.

"I see what you're trying to do, Coach Sylvester, and it was kind of amusing the
first couple of times, like, ha ha, I wear nice clothes, so you'll call me 'gay
kid' in front of everyone, but…" He pauses. Here it comes. He's done this before,
and, so help him, he'll do it again. "But I'm not gay, Mercedes and I are kind of
an item actually, and, to tell the truth, I've really stopped finding it funny, so…
could you please stop?"

For several moments, all she does is look at him. Her eyes go up and down, and he's
sure that she's trying to find his softest, weakest spot so she can tear out
whatever organs are there with her bare hands. Somehow, he keeps his posture
straight, but he still swallows thickly and his jaw starts quivering like a violin
string. She could kill him and convince everyone that he never existed in the first
place, Kurt is sure of it. Every second she doesn't say anything, he feels his
temperature dropping, his insides freezing over the way they did with Finn. She
could kill him, she could kill him, she could kill him easily, so why doesn't she
just do it already and save them both the trouble of the wait?

"You know, Cher, I had a girl just like you in college at Ohio State," she says
finally. Both the words and the tone make Kurt feel as though he's just been
smacked upside the head with a bag of bricks. …Is Coach Sylvester actually being
nice? "Karen Andrews. Skinny, pretty little thing. Fashionable. Wanted to be a
photographer. I think you kids call girls like her 'lipstick lesbians'. Oh, she was
a good one. The kind of girl Melissa Etheridge would write a love song about. I
loved her passionately. When we were together, it was like all the stars were in
perfect alignment. You could physically hear the angels singing."

Sue pauses, and before he can stop himself, Kurt asks, "…What happened to her?"

She looks up at the lights, then at one of the framed Cheerleading Today covers on
her wall. When she speaks again, her tone is suddenly somber: "Her parents found
out about us. Broke us up. Forced her to marry some million-dollar net-worth
jackass from Harvard Law and moved her out to Massachusetts to be his pretty little
wife and birth his ugly little babies."

Once again, she pauses, but just long enough to lean across her desk, like she's
his informant, delivering high-security documents from the CIA. "I know what you're
feeling right now, kiddo," she tells him, her voice bare and honest. "And I know
your situation, too. Young. Flaming. Redneck lottery-rich father who voted for
McCain. Feeling trapped. You're thinking that no one in this shit-kicker small
town, with the exception of Aretha, will ever understand you, let alone accept you,
for the shining, rainbow-colored star you are—"

"But I'm not gay," he insists. She's going to eat him whole for cutting her off.
But the lie needs to be kept up.

"Wanna know a secret, Liza?" She smirks and, like so much about this moment, it
only makes Kurt feel entirely unsettled. "Queer recognizes queer, and you're
looking pretty damn familiar to me. …And, even if you weren't, I've seen the way
you look at Finn Hudson and I'm sure I'm not the only one." Kurt says nothing. What
can he say to that? Sue takes it as a free pass to keep on going: "Now. You might
be two sizes too small to be on Cheerios — it's nothing personal; I just need my
Cheerio boys a little more butch — but you are one of my Sue's Kids, and I've kind
of taken a shine to you—"

"Because I remind you of your ex-girlfriend?" He phrases it as one, but there's no
question in Kurt's tone. Sue just said that he reminds her of her ex. Creepy.

"Yes, that." At least she's honest? And then comes the unnervingly sweet smile
again. "And because I know what you're going through. …I want you to know before I
say this that this is a very rare occurrence, and by no means should you take it as
an open invitation to come and whine to me about every trouble you encounter.
You've got a fag hag, use her for that. But I am going to tell you this: yes, it's
true. Almost no one in this town will understand you or what you go through, and
many of them will never want to. But that is no reason to ever let them make you
feel ashamed of who you are. You're as gay as the day is long. …So what? Your
little lust bug's about as dumb as a bag of rocks for everything that isn't
football, but that doesn't define him. Rachel Berry is annoying as all get-out, yes
but she has other traits. She's also obsessive, irritating, and, frankly, rather
weird."

Another pause. Another smile. This time, it looks so genuine that Kurt might throw
up. "You are more than that one thing, and do you know what you should do if anyone
tries to treat you otherwise?" Kurt shakes his head. "If they try to treat you like
gay is all you are, you stand up, look them in the eye, and then you smack them in
the face and hurl the soul-crushing insult of your choice. I'd give you some ready
ammunition, but you're witty enough that I don't think I need to feed you lines."

Reaching across the table, Sue musses his hair. For the first time in his life,
Kurt doesn't mind this at all. "So, my little Freddie Mercury," she says, "does
that tell you what I think about the nicknames issue?" Slowly, Kurt nods. "Good.
Now get out of here and go take your problems out on Mercedes. I need to burn off
the utter sentimentality of this moment before it infects me any further."

Without another word, Kurt leaves and heads for Mercedes's locker. He's not walking
on air, not even close, and there certainly aren't wings on his feet. But, for
once, he doesn't feel the compulsion to hide behind another singer — he doesn't
need to be Judy, or Christina, or Elton, Macy Gray, or even Beyoncé, and he doesn't
need to sing Finn's back-up (though, realistically, if the club ever comes back
together, Mister Schuester will probably keep him in that spot). When he belts
"Defying Gravity" to the empty corridor, he's Kurt Hummel, and that's everything he
needs to be.

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