Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/127679.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Will_Schuester/Kurt_Hummel
  Character:
      Will_Schuester, Kurt_Hummel
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Dubious_Consent, Teacher-Student_Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-10-17 Words: 3274
****** Pressure Gauge ******
by recrudescence
Summary
     Will likes to believe he's more or less in tune with what his
     students get up to, but he doesn't remember anything like this from
     his own high school days.
     Spoilers for S2 up to Duets. Also, this fic contains some pretty
     dubious consent, as well as an underage character wanting to get it
     on with a non-underage character. I don't condone or recommend
     partaking in the behavior portrayed here.

When the choir room is inexplicably locked and Sue takes over the auditorium
because she swears it's the only possible rain location for Cheerios practice,
Will is ready to throw in the towel and cancel rehearsal for the day.
It's a dank, drizzly Friday and everybody's mood seems to match since no one is
particularly keen on hanging around school any longer than they have to. "We
could see if one of the math classrooms is open," Will suggests, as
enthusiastically as he can, and then does his best not to react to the
collective groan he gets in return.
"Mr. Schue, this sucks." Mercedes is looking at him the same way he's seen her
looking at the thoroughly unappetizing protein shakes Sam sometimes brings to
class. "I don't get why we can't just schedule practice times around when the
Cheerios meet, anyway."
Will doesn't tell her that this is something much easier said than done.
"It's cool, we've got a movie to see anyway," Tina says. "Why don't we just
take a day off? It won't kill us."
Mike, already halfway to the door, adds that it's a zombie movie, which Will
guesses is supposed to be some kind of deciding factor.
"I want to work on topping my personal best at bench-pressing," Artie says, a
little too abruptly, and he follows them out.
Not even Rachel protests. "Finn's coming over for dinner with my dads and we
need to go shopping for a tie," she announces, clasping Finn's hand. "It's
going to be a very in-depth process." Finn seems jittery, but he smiles a
little when Will pats him on the shoulder and tells him to have a good time.
By the time the hallway clears out, the only student left hanging back is Kurt,
looking displeased.
Will has already resigned himself to an evening of grading Spanish
compositions, but Kurt isn't showing any signs of clearing the building. "Hey,
Kurt. What's the matter?" He asks it as jovially as he can.
Kurt has on a deep gray sweater that looks more expensive than Will's entire
outfit and soft enough to fall asleep on in no time flat. He fiddles with the
cuff of it with a hesitancy that isn't characteristic of him at all. "Nothing.
I just really wanted to see about getting some feedback from you. I've been
wanting to prepare something to sing for Mercedes. She took me to church with
her family a little while back."
Considering how outspoken Kurt had been about his stance on religion, Will
blinks at him, bewildered. "Oh?"
"And," Kurt adds, holding up a finger, "she outed me as an atheist in front of
the entire congregation, but I appreciate her being there for me even if maybe
I don't appreciate the way she went about doing it."
"Oh." That makes a little more sense than Mercedes suddenly converting him,
which had been Will's first assumption. "All right, well, maybe we can do some
one-on-one time later. Does that sound good?"
"I assume you're free now, since we were supposed to have practice," says Kurt.
"Why don't you come over, say hi to my dad? He's been bored lately and I can
make tea. We have cinnamon, jasmine, black walnut, and chai." His eyebrows are
lifted hopefully and there's something so ridiculously quaint about being
invited over for tea.
Will's social life is not a thriving hotbed of activity these days. "Sure. We
can do that."
When Kurt smiles at him, it's a mix of uncertainty and appreciation and it
reminds Will of Finn, just a bit. "Thanks, Mr. Schue."
But once he follows Kurt home and pulls up to the curb, Kurt shows him in and
admits he forgot his dad was over with Finn's mom. "He should be back soon, so
don't worry." Looking anxious and caged, as if he's expecting Will to turn
around and walk right back out the door. "Let me get the tea ready and then we
can go downstairs."
And Will doesn't protest even though he should, and the next thing he knows
he's seated on the couch in Kurt's basement, which appears to also be Kurt's
bedroom, which makes Will feel a little caged himself, and he has a small
scalloped teacup in his hand. Neat and precise, like Kurt, and the tea inside
is sweet and cinnamon-scented. Kurt's served it up with cream and sugar and a
plate of gingersnaps that have been carefully arrayed on a rose-edged plate
even though they clearly come from a box. Will compliments him on the
arrangement and Kurt swears it's nothing, that he's constantly finding ways to
make food interesting so his dad will remember the importance of eating right,
and they sip and speak about small things until Kurt sets down his cup and
folds his hands as if he's about to give a speech.
"I wanted to let you know I'm grateful to you for not foisting prayers on me or
smothering me with sympathy when my dad was sick. Just...you being there if I
needed you was enough. And I'm glad you were." Then he's scooting closer at the
tiny table, until he's sitting too near Will on the couch for it to do anything
but set off warning bells, and the next thing Will knows Kurt's pecking him on
the cheek and asking quietly to be kissed.
Will stares, heartbeat throbbing in his temples, because he can't have heard
that correctly. His fingers are wrapped around the teacup, tightly and too
clumsily, and he wishes he had something more stable to hold onto. When he
moves, Kurt's denim-clad leg brushes against his own. "Excuse me?" The kid has
to be rattled; he's been through a lot lately and Will should never have agreed
to see him home.
Kurt had been coming out of his shell since the end of the last school year,
expressing himself genuinely instead of through cutting remarks and snide
stares, and Will was glad. Then his dad ended up in the hospital and Kurt fell
apart. Now he sits perched primly beside him, the soft warm press of his lips
still singeing on Will's cheek and Will suddenly has to rethink everything.
But Kurt isn't rattled now. "I said please kiss me."
"Kurt, this is completely—"
"Inappropriate, I know," he finishes dismissively, and when he leans in with a
hand on Will's shoulder, Will doesn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed
with himself for not flinching. "Think about it, Mr. Schuester," Kurt
continues. "I'm just a kid. Just a stupid teen. I can't be held responsible for
my actions when you're so clearly taking advantage of me. You wouldn't want
that on your conscience, would you? You'd be the next Mr. Ryerson."
Wide mouth parted, eyes big and wet like he's been crying and lips pink like
he's been biting them, looking vulnerable and innocent and not at all like a
devious-minded flirt. He could walk into Figgins's office that way, spill
whatever story he wanted, and be utterly believed. His hair smells good, like
raspberries, and Will shouldn't be close enough to smell that at all, but he's
crunched into the corner of the couch and he can't seem to make himself move.
"Kurt, you..." Will hasn't attended any kind of teaching seminar that prepared
him for this kind of situation. Coping with Rachel's crush last year, while
he'd still been with Terri, had been nerve-racking enough. He still doesn't
know how he would have resolved that if Rachel hadn't come to terms with things
on her own. And Rachel hadn't come on nearly this strong. Carefully, blood
rushing too hot and too ferociously under his skin, he shrugs his shoulder away
from Kurt's hand. "You've had to deal with an awful lot of pressure and maybe
you need someone to talk to. This isn't the best way to react, I know you know
that. Why don't we just go over what you're planning to sing for Mercedes?"
Kurt doesn't seem to hear him at all. His eyes are downcast and his voice is
very quiet and Will has a gut-churning suspicion there was never any song for
Mercedes at all. "You've never kissed a boy before, have you?" Pushing up onto
one knee, other foot still on the floor. His hand settles on the couch arm and
his mouth is almost brushing Will's ear. "Me too."
Politely, he takes Will's cup and places it on the table. His back arches,
wrists crossing, and then he's lifting off his sweater. The dress shirt beneath
is filmy and the color of the ocean.
"Kurt." Will's voice doesn't sound anywhere near authoritative, and Kurt
doesn't so much as acknowledge it. "Enough. I'm telling you to stop."
Fingers at his lips, Kurt shifting until his knees are parted on either side of
Will's thighs and he's practically sitting on him, right there on the couch.
"Shh, no, I understand you're freaked out, but just listen to me. I think we
can help each other. You don't have a wife anymore, or Ms. Pillsbury, so you
probably want to hold onto whatever you can."
That cuts too close to the bone for Will to answer with anything but a wince.
Kurt's mouth is soft, scarcely grazing his jaw, and Will can feel him smile
slightly. "I'll let you do anything, I've been thinking about it so long and
never had another person to help me." Kissing him, dry and fast and unsure
against the corner of Will's lips, before drawing back to look him in the eye.
"Don't you want to be my first?"
Christ. Will likes to believe he's more or less in tune with what his students
get up to, but he doesn't remember anything like this from his own high school
days. "No. That's not what I want and this isn't how you treat people. You
don't fucking...you don't assume things like this. Do you hear me?" Will's only
ever been with one person, that one person being his ex-wife, and having a
sighing bundle of limbs on his lap—a boy—is more than he can process.
Not with Kurt ignoring him once again, breath hitching and eyes squeezed shut
and voice twisted around words Will doesn't want to believe he's hearing.
"Please fuck me...I can show you how, take care of everything, I've practiced,
just want someone real in me." Sighing and moaning breathily, rocking into
Will's lap and Kurt is hard against his thigh, pressing against him through
those tight jeans, and Will's knee-jerk reaction is to push. Acutely aware that
he shouldn't be touching him at all, and Kurt sinks to the floor without a
sound.
"Damn it, Kurt, listen to me." His hands clamp down on Kurt's biceps and he can
see the shock flaring in the kid's eyes when his head snaps up. "That isn't
something you come to a teacher for."
The sweater's been discarded and Kurt's in the process of shrugging that gauzy
blue shirt off one pale shoulder, looking at him through lowered lashes. "I can
scream," he whispers, sounding almost apologetic for saying it at all. "My dad
will wake up and rip you a new one for trying to molest me."
To Will, it feels as if every organ in his body freezes on the spot. For a
moment, he can't breathe, can't do anything but stare. What is wrong with this
boy? "You said he wasn't home."
"I lied." Kurt smiles sadly. "It always works out that way: even if the
student's in the wrong, it's the educator who bears the cross. Kids don't know
what they're doing and can't be held responsible. That's just the story that
holds up."
"You can lie about whatever you want, but this isn't happening. Your behavior
is...it's beyond words at this point. I'm going upstairs and speaking to your
father." He's hardly taken a step when Kurt gets to his feet and shakes his
head.
"He's still recovering. He doesn't need any extra stress." Kurt looks up at
him, lips parted like he wants to try and kiss him again, and Will has a hand
in that soft, smooth hair to keep him at a distance. He can't remember doing
that. "Last year," Kurt murmurs, unruffled, "you screwed me out of myriads of
opportunities to showcase my vocal talent. You might as well screw me
literally, too."
Emma would know how to handle this. Acting out in times of crisis.
Displacement. Hormones. Typical adolescent frustration manifesting in atypical
ways. And Kurt goes about undoing a few more buttons, baring fair skin no doubt
untouched by sun for as long as he's been obsessed with pampering himself, and
Will can't force his gaze away even though he wants to. This isn't what he
deserves for taking pity on Kurt for everything he's been through.
Kurt has him by the hand and his shirt is hanging open. Will doesn't remember
ever seeing Kurt wearing less than two layers of clothing, though he's sure he
has. "I really did want to thank you for leaving me some breathing room when
Dad was in the hospital. And for drawing the line at singing about nonsecular
things. I don't want you to think that part wasn't true."
"I know," Will tells him. "You don't need to make up stories or accusations to
get attention. You're better than that."
"I'm really not." Kurt actually looks remorseful, but the expression vanishes
when he looks Will squarely in the eye and declares, "This is about you, too,
though. When you dance and rap and act like one of the kids, it's like you're
trying to be young again, and I can give you that." His tongue darts out,
wetting his lips, and Will swallows hard.
"You never experimented as a kid, did you?" Kurt asks, and Will can't tell
whether or not he's expecting an answer. "You never did a lot of things when
you were a kid. I think that's why you like glee so much. But there are only so
many experiences you can live vicariously." And he steps back, sounding younger
still. "Haven't you ever been curious?" One hand drifts to the front of his
jeans and Will's eyes obligingly follow.
"That doesn't matter." He could stop him if he really wanted to, but he
doesn't. He can't seem to will himself to do anything but watch Kurt draw down
the zipper and step out of his shoes.
"That's exactly what matters." He drops his jeans.
Stripping, standing before him, reaching to hold him around the wrist and guide
Will's hand down his body.
Naked,flushing, gasping, young and brash and saying he has condoms,
jesuschristwhatiswrongwithhim, and Will is staring. Still a little softness at
his stomach and upper arms, as if he hasn't quite finished growing out of his
baby fat, and legs parting still wider, balls drawn up and erection stained a
deeper red than his face and leaking already, Will's fingers coming away damp
and Kurt's hot tongue lapping over them before he can yank his hand away; Will
can't begin to rationalize this. "I wouldn't do this for just anyone," Kurt
says, voice catching. "And I promise not to tell anyone either."
He's on his knees, then, with his cheek to the front of Will's trousers, and
Will sinks onto the edge of the couch, poised to stand again but not able to.
Kurt is arching against him, mouthing up along his neck, Will's fingers
catching in his hair a second time, Will's brain is swirling and striving to
turn the entire situation into something happening to someone else, and Kurt is
touching him through his pants and still speaking. "I can suck your cock. Would
you like that?" Stroking over the cloth with heated hands, murmuring that Will
needs to let go and that he can be so good for him if Will would only let him.
It's desperate and needy and Will sees how this could pan out; he can envision
it perfectly in his head, a dysfunctional relationship that would make his
marriage to Terri look like a sitcom. Kurt kissing him in the choir room after
rehearsal, nipping at his lips and whispering that he's already made himself
ready for him, that he could just take down his slacks and let Will fuck him
right there, up against the wall. Kurt with one manicured hand down the front
of his pants, touching him and bringing him off just before the bell rings.
Kurt easing Will into touching him with just a fingertip at first, slipping
easily inside where he's scalding-hot and slick. Kurt lying back, languidly
stretching and working himself open, stripped bare and letting Will watch him
as he moves his knees under himself, moans muffled in the pillow, fingers
disappearing into that little pink opening. Please. Want it so much, all you
have to do is fuck me.
And the real Kurt shivers and burrows against his chest. "You need this, too. I
know you do. How long has it been for you?" Breathing harshly against Will's
jaw, kissing there. "You don't know what to do, do you? It's okay, Mr. Schue, I
can show you."
He has the kid's face in his hands—God, his cheeks are burning—and Kurt's eyes
are bright with need or wetness and Will is shaking his head, reaching for that
hastily shucked-off sweater so he can cover him. "Get dressed. We can talk
about this. You're not making any sense."
"This makes more sense than anything. Think about it: I'm not old enough to
acquire any means of artificial stimulation and not straight enough to
experiment with the real thing. No one in school is mature enough to understand
that. No one my age, of course." Squirming, shuddering with pleasure as Will's
hands drop to rest on his bare shoulders. "Go on," urging him, soft as can be.
"Just treat me like a girl. Most people do, anyway."
Somehow, he does it. Gets up. Strides towards the bed and hears Kurt whimper
something that sounds like a plea. Pillows scatter when he pulls off the duvet.
One swift sweep of it and Kurt's well and truly swathed; he looks stricken for
the split second Will glimpses his face before pulling him in close and
wrapping both arms around that blanket-draped form.
"This is just a reaction to all the pressure you've been feeling. You don't
want your first time to be like that. I know you don't."
"I want what regular people get to have. I just want to get to screw around in
high school like everyone else."
"You'll get there." He's holding him too tightly, but Kurt is dead weight
against him and Will doesn't want to loosen his arms only to see him fall.
"I don't think I will." The voice is too shattered, too subdued, to possibly
belong to Kurt and, once again, Will wants to believe they're both different
people. "You don't know what people have told me."
"You'll get there," he says, because it sounds reassuring and he doesn't know
what else to say. There's no preparing for some conversations, and Will hates
that. He grew up thinking teachers had the answers to everything. "Maybe not
right away, maybe not even soon, but you will. You're strong."
"Promise?"
He stands there holding him, and his chest feels too heavy for his body to
support and Kurt's face is damp against his throat. If Kurt keeps crying, maybe
he won't ask again.
Will doesn't say anything.
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